A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Hermione stood at the doorway of the changing room, repeatedly peering out. Snowflakes from the sky had accumulated thickly on her hat.

She exhaled, a plume of cold air escaping, making her stamp her feet.

"I forgot my warming pendant... oh, wait, Warmth like a hearth!" She pulled out her wand and pointed it at herself, a sudden warmth spreading through her, as if seated beside a roaring fireplace in the common room. She couldn't help but yawn.

The changing room door creaked open.

Betty was the first to emerge, looking somewhat disheartened, followed by Fred and George, their shoulders slumped, as if heading into an inevitable losing battle. From the doorway, Angelina's voice echoed with a headache, "Alright, Harry, try talking to him, wish us luck..."

Harry mumbled something in response, then Angelina emerged with a numb expression that struck Hermione as peculiar. She seemed devoid of life, a mere shell wandering aimlessly.

Hermione stepped in, finding Ron sitting in a corner of the room. Harry glared at him.

"What's wrong? We're about to play, why's everyone so down? Oh, oh, uh—" Ron stumbled.

Hermione bypassed Harry and saw Ron leaning against the bench, his gaze vacant, face pale, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

At that moment, Ron suddenly moved, surprising both Harry and Hermione.

"Harry, quickly, cast a happiness charm on me," he urged urgently.

"What?" Harry looked at him, utterly perplexed.

"A happiness charm," Ron said, his lips slightly purple from the cold, "it's the only way, I've been thinking about it all morning."

"What's going on?"

Ron slowly sat back, "I admit, I'm a bit nervous, just a bit... alright, very nervous. Harry, I got lifted up and now I can't get down. Angelina said I'm no worse than Wood, Professor McGonagall waived my Transfiguration assignment..."

"You haven't eaten anything this morning!" Harry snapped.

"Yeah, but I don't think it would've made a difference even if I did..." Ron's voice was hoarse.

"I don't think so. If you're worried about underperforming, there's absolutely no need, it's your opponent who should worry," Hermione encouraged, "Slytherin's goalkeeper is a fool, what's his name?"

"Miles Bletchley," Harry interjected.

Honestly, he thought Bletchley played decently, but when two days ago Bletchley attempted to curse the chasers in the corridor and failed, Fred and George made serious threats, saying they wouldn't let him leave the Quidditch field unscathed. Harry, of course, sided with the team.

Continuing Hermione's lead, Harry comforted, "Yeah, think about it, Slytherin's team is abysmal this year. Flint's gone, their new captain is Monty, you know what kind of person he is—"

"I saw him earlier shouting at the players, sleeves rolled up high, showing hairy arms, I thought he was holding two hairy ham legs," Hermione quipped sarcastically.

Ron forced a stiff smile.

"Their beater is also a newcomer—Monty brought in Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know why, they're so dim they can't even tell the broomstick's head from its tail," Harry continued.

Ron's eyes flickered.

"To be honest, I don't know what you're worrying about," Hermione impatiently said, "compared to all the adventures you've been through, a Quidditch match is child's play, just a game."

Harry and Ron glared at Hermione simultaneously, annoyed at her blunt words. She looked a bit embarrassed, waving her hands, "I didn't mean to demean Quidditch—"

"You did!" Ron blurted out suddenly, "You just don't like Quidditch."

Now it was Hermione's turn to glare at him.

Ron turned his head away.

"Think about all you've been through—giants, three-headed dogs, basilisks, dark wizards, dragons, mermaids, Death Eaters, Voldemort..." she listed a string of events, concluding, "compared to these, the aftermath of losing a Quidditch match really isn't worth mentioning."

Harry felt it wasn't fair to compare things this way; some might not be as dangerous but were equally challenging. But he didn't want to provoke Hermione; that would only invite trouble. So, against his own feelings, he reluctantly said, "Yeah."

Ron stood up, seeming to come back to life, "That makes sense... Hermione, got any food on you?"

"No." Hermione said dryly.

"Don't lie," Ron said confidently, "you've got a bunch of snacks in your beaded bag."

Reluctantly, Hermione took out a bag of compressed biscuits and tossed it to him.

Ron tore open the packaging and started eating voraciously. Harry swallowed a mouthful of saliva; he hadn't eaten much in the morning, not because of nerves, but to avoid feeling too full and affecting his performance.

"Boys, have you sorted things out?" Angelina poked her head out from the door of the changing room.

Harry gestured a thumbs-up, fighting with Ron over the last few crumbs of crisps.

Angelina looked a bit lost, "Seems like you're really fine now, hurry up, we need to start warm-ups. Can you bear to let three girls face seven gorillas?"

"And Fred and George," Ron mumbled vaguely, crumbs flying.

"I don't know if we can rely on them, they're busy taking a snapshot with the professor's Snuffles. One minute for you." She disappeared.

"Let's go," Harry said.

"Wait a sec." Hermione took out her wand and tapped both of them; their bodies instantly felt warm, surrounded by a cozy heat.

"What charm did you use?" Harry asked.

"Warming charm," Hermione said.

Harry suddenly remembered. Familiar memories flooded his mind; it was another winter when they trudged through thick snow to Hagrid's cabin, and on the way, Professor Lupin introduced the warming charm. Only Hermione had the presence of mind to ask questions while shivering, while he was more focused on gossip about Sirius's school days.

Titled 'Gryffindor Freshmen and Hufflepuff Prefect,' this story now had one protagonist as a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, and the other as the Minister of Magic. Harry felt a bit dazed; even though he hadn't lived it, it still felt magical. He began to understand Mafalda's perspective. Someone nudged him.

"Don't space out, set an example for the new players next year," Hermione said.

Harry grinned.

Snowflakes drifted through the sky, forming icy crystals as they landed on the ground. The biting cold wind made Felix shiver as he sat on the stands, feeling a warmth that contrasted sharply with the weather. Valen perched on his shoulder, clutching its precious wand. Its tiny feet twitched back and forth.

"That hat looks great. You've got good taste."

Valen's mood lifted.

Felix quietly opened his palm, a pull emanating from it, sending a shiver down the spines of the young wizards on the pitch.

"Why's it suddenly chilly?" one student complained.

"It's been cold all along," someone nearby said. "Look, the two teams are starting to shake hands. The match is about to begin!"

The two teams were greeted with thunderous cheers. Felix subtly increased the pull, drawing in the full, passionate, warm, joyful emotions accumulated throughout the year. He appeared like a Dementor hidden among the crowd.

But the emotions he absorbed were limited. At most, students shivered briefly before becoming more enthusiastic, applause thundering. As Felix delved deeper into his research on magical talents related to fantastic beasts, he naturally gained insight into the magical properties within these creatures.

It was a magic distinct from that within wizards.

More precisely, the magical properties within each fantastic beast varied. Felix speculated that these powers were significantly influenced by their individual body structures.

"The talents of fantastic beasts stem from their bodies, whereas a wizard's talent originates from the soul. Or rather, a wizard's soul is the most unique—spirits themselves carry a certain magic, capable of minor manipulations of elements. When soul and body unite, an endless magic flows…"

"It's mere speculation," Felix interrupted, looking toward the center of the pitch.

The captains of both teams stepped forward to shake hands. Valen squeaked, pointing with its tiny wand. The whistle blew, and the match officially commenced.

Fourteen players soared into the air, moving at incredible speeds, soon becoming blurry silhouettes amidst the falling snow. It was still Lee Jordan atop the platform providing commentary for the spectators:

"The match begins. Johnson has seized the Quaffle first, of course, her weight only half, or perhaps a third of her opponents'. After a year's gap, both teams have new faces. Gryffindor has a new keeper, a critical position; Slytherin has two new Beaters… Look! Johnson evades two players; is she launching an attack? Oh, what a shame, just a hair's breadth away."

"The Snitch is in Slytherin's possession now. Walden is charging toward the goal. There's no one ahead of Walden; the Bludger isn't nearby either, only Gryffindor's keeper! He's a new addition to the team—oh! Excellent!"

Harry hurriedly looked toward the goal. Ron lunged forward, his fingers grazing the Snitch but failing to catch it. Harry seemed to hear a collective sigh, closing his eyes in despair.

"Fantastic! The ball's blocked! Brilliant, I must say, a stunning start—" Lee Jordan exclaimed excitedly.

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall interjected.

"Apologies, Professor. Let's get back to the match. Ron defended well, a good start. Now it's Gryffindor's turn to attack. Fred and George are near Slytherin's goal. I know this isn't part of their strategy; they confided in me privately, cough… cough…"

Harry didn't listen closely. He watched the goal, Ron jubilantly pumping his fist. From the Snitch's trajectory, it seemed Ron's hand altered its course, guiding it past the goalposts.

A surge of excitement filled Harry. He knew for Ron, the first catch was the riskiest. Ron's biggest weakness was losing confidence after a mistake, leading to more blunders. This was data Ginny provided, and Harry chose to believe it.

He directed his broom, snowfall intensifying, vision becoming hazy. Twice he narrowly missed the Bludger. After ensuring Ron didn't need assistance, Fred and George seemed poised to fulfill their pre-match promise. Two out of three strikes targeted Slytherin's keeper. While one missed, it rattled Bletchley enough for him to fumble two balls.

The match grew more intense. As Harry narrowly passed Draco Malfoy for the third time, he almost counted how many blisters Malfoy had on his lips. Malfoy's expression resembled one in a daydream, reminiscent of Luna.

Finally, referee Madam Hooch blew the whistle. Hovering in mid-air, Harry saw Katie entangled with Warrington; his thick arms had her head locked while her broom seemed to have vanished.

"Serious foul!" Madam Hooch yelled in frustration.

It took some time to retrieve Katie's broom. Harry took the opportunity to fly beside Ron. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Ron replied. "Blocked five shots, missed three. I'm getting a hang of it. But they're worse; Fred and George are blocking Bletchley, and he's not even guarding the goal."

"Watch out; they might pull the same on you," Harry warned.

Ron glanced anxiously at the Slytherin team. Montague was conversing with Crabbe and Goyle, their builds indistinguishable from this angle, like triplets. Crabbe and Goyle blinked clumsily in their direction.

"Can I use magic?" Ron asked nervously. "If they rush at me, I might end up casting a spell involuntarily."

"You'll be penalized, and our goal will be in trouble," Harry cautioned.

The match resumed.

Harry decided to end it swiftly. As time stretched, the situation would grow more complex. He soared high, trying to locate the walnut-sized ball in the increasing blizzard. He circled twice to no avail but noticed Mafalda in the stands sketching a crooked drawing, a serpent with horns. Harry glanced at it, deciding to mock her mercilessly when the opportunity arose.

Lee Jordan's commentary occasionally reached his ears, "The score is neck and neck—seems both teams are provoking each other's keepers. I'm not sure if this could become a new tactic, but—keepers need to be cautious in the future—Adrian Pucey has the ball—"

Finally, Harry saw it: the Golden Snitch hovering near Gryffindor's goal.

Crabbe and Goyle were converging on Ron, with Adrian Pucey trailing behind, forming a triangular formation. It seemed they wanted to replicate Gryffindor's first-half tactics. Ron paled; without using magic, he doubted he could withstand their combined assault. Then his eyes lit up. He saw Harry diving from above.

A surge of warmth filled Ron. Harry was coming to his rescue! The rhythm of the moment seemed to fall into place; he'd been in countless similar situations, just need to do his part calmly. What was it? Ron lunged forward, intercepting the Snitch. Simultaneously, he heard a rushing wind beside him; Harry, holding the Golden Snitch, soared upward.

The pitch erupted in passionate cheers. Luna's lion-hat roared in the chilly air, startling Valen.

"The match has ended."

Felix shook his head.

This Slytherin team truly lacked skill, and their coordination was off. But it wasn't his concern. He seized the final wave of emotional samples, ready to study them thoroughly.

It's challenging for a person to generate unexperienced emotions. He couldn't fabricate the intense collective emotions felt in a Quidditch stadium.

As dusk fell, the coin Felix kept suddenly grew scorching hot.

Had the house elf, Bondy, made a decision after nearly a week's wait, from the person in Numengard?

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