A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

In the midst of the gloomy skies, Felix twirled into view through the public fireplace at Hogwarts. Dusting himself off, he stepped onto the thick layer of snow-covered ground, producing a soft, crunching sound with each step. As he walked, returning wizards greeted him in the evening. A thin, elderly wizard engaged him in conversation for a while, discussing whether modern wizards lacked certain traits, only to realize eventually that he had mistaken Felix for someone else. His friend, fed up with the chatter, had already headed home for dinner.

Madam Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks was putting up a discounted poster. "Mr. Haep, coming out so late, care for a drink?"

"Oh, no thanks. I have matters to attend to..."

"Is it for checking the branch? I bought a chair; I spend a while lounging in it every night."

Felix turned down a side street where the light dimmed. This path led close to the Screamers' Hut, devoid of many people. He halted, fingers fumbling with a coin, when suddenly lively footsteps approached from behind.

"Mr. Haep."

House-elf Bondy emerged, bowing respectfully before Felix, inadvertently brushing his nose against the snow. He then retrieved a crumpled letter from his person and handed it over courteously.

Taking it, Felix casually inquired, "Bondy, who is your master?"

The house-elf tensed slightly, head bowed. "Bondy was given to Mr. Grindelwald to manage his daily life."

"When did this happen?"

"Within these past two years."

Felix glanced at him. "Is Mr. Grindelwald in poor health?"

Bondy took a deep breath, shrilly remarking, "The winters in Numengard are very cold."

"His magic?"

"After 1945, Mr. Grindelwald was no longer allowed to use magic."

Some form of magic, Felix thought. He had seen Bondy on October 27th, clearly under someone else's influence. Grindelwald must have been subjected to certain restrictions after his defeat—not the wand, as it wasn't necessary for a wizard like Grindelwald, but stricter constraints.

Such as unbreakable vows.

This part of history was hazy, lacking explicit records, almost as if everyone collectively and deliberately forgot this danger. It led observers like him to notice significant loopholes.

Why did Grindelwald give up everything after a duel? Were his hundred thousand followers all fake? Even if only one-tenth were loyal, they could shatter any Ministry anywhere in the world.

Felix didn't pursue this line of questioning. He asked Bondy, "Do you usually reside in Numengard?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can one keep an owl there?"

"What?!" Bondy looked surprised.

"Relying solely on you for messages is troublesome. Hogwarts' protective magic rejects other house-elves but doesn't restrict owls." Felix explained, suggesting that using owls for communication would be more convenient, sparing him the need to come out every time.

Bondy lowered his head deeply. "Oh, it's impossible. Numengard is sealed with powerful enchantments; no one can find it... Only the specialized personnel of the International Confederation of Wizards have the authority to open it."

Felix was slightly taken aback. Grindelwald's limitations seemed far greater than he initially thought.

Opening the letter, its contents were, as usual, succinct. It agreed to "discuss certain matters" with him. Aside from that, it contained some taunts like "have read these books, the insights are shallow," or "too pessimistic, lacking courage, not up to par with Carlotta Pinkston," or advising Felix "to thoroughly study the three hundred years of magical history from the 14th to the 17th century."

Towards the end, there was a request for parchment, ink, and quills.

"I added snowwater to the ink bottle for this letter. Also, those people check Bondy's mind every two to three months, deal with that inconvenience yourself."

Looking at the faint ink marks, Felix chuckled softly. He discerned contradictions in the letter but wouldn't think Grindelwald was getting senile.

Grindelwald claimed to have read Felix's books. Who gave them to him?

Frankly, Felix never mentioned his plans and aspirations for the wizarding world in his books. Therefore, to some, he was either a sympathizer for Muggles or a cunning opportunist, exploiting novel ideas from the Muggle society for profit. But people truly insightful, like Dumbledore or Grindelwald, could see his unfinished intentions. Namely:

Felix Haep believed in the inevitability of wizard-Muggle integration but was moderate or at least pretended to be so, subtly guiding wizards to accept this concept and prepare in advance.

If he presented this theory to ordinary wizards, they would likely frown upon it. They were accustomed to the existence of the Statute of Secrecy. Telling them that it would be broken was akin to telling them they would someday walk naked in a frozen wasteland.

For radicals, they too would dismiss this viewpoint, perhaps deeming it too soft, not decisive enough. For instance, the letter mentioned a witch, Carlotta Pinkston, born in 1922, famous for advocating the abolition of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy and had been imprisoned multiple times for willfully using magic in public.

By the way, she was due to be released next year, likely to stir up another storm.

Grindelwald had been a radical, but he was different because he was a failure. Giving Felix's work to him was akin to saying, "There's a similar yet milder perspective to yours, which has achieved some success. Take a look..."

Felix could sense a strong sense of preaching in this approach.

He speculated it was Dumbledore.

If it was indeed Dumbledore, then the restrictions of the International Confederation of Wizards were no problem at all. There were multiple ways to bypass the seal on Numengard, the simplest being through the phoenix Fawkes for communication.

Felix provided Bondy with some stationery. As for how to bypass the checks... Felix didn't get involved. If Grindelwald could attach himself to Bondy to observe, at least it meant he could use some memory magic. This was likely a test.

Felix wasn't taking the bait.

...

Over the next few days, Felix spent some time sifting through the history from the 14th to the 17th century. The Hogwarts library provided ample resources, including magical notes and travel diaries from that era. Especially, he found a few books in the Restricted Section—not enticing with any bewitching curses but simply documenting history. Normally, he wouldn't read such books.

Felix read with a chilling sweat.

It was a more raw, blood-soaked truth.

During this time, he began receiving an influx of letters, a deluge of invitations to various magical organizations. Felix hadn't realized there were so many magical societies—there were over thirty just in alchemical groups and ancient runes associations.

There were also many personal letters, the most representative being from Yuria Edmund of Ifa Moni. His description in the letter fully reflected the mindset of young people in the American wizarding world:

"...

The performance of the Magical Congress is disappointing. Those officials seem unaware of the severity of the problem.

I spoke with some older folks at school, and they told me about a group in the 1960s masquerading with notions of 'pure-blood' and 'glory' to recruit members. However, these ideals had no market in America at that time—by the standards of the British wizarding world, besides a few migrating families, no one had the qualification to claim pure-blood status.

So, their goals didn't succeed. I believe similar things might have happened in other countries, but due to the recent painful lessons from Grindelwald, people instinctively repelled such ideologies, and the new cult never managed to flourish.

Now, it's been nearly thirty years, a new generation of wizards has grown up, new discontent is accumulating, our biggest contradiction being the forced division between wizards and non-magical society. Despite some improvements in the last two years, it's still not satisfactory. Sooner or later, the facade of the idyllic peace we cherish will explode.

Headmaster Fontana's death deeply affected me; he sheltered me, but now he's gone.

Therefore, Mr. Harp, I've left Ifa Moni.

I've decided to enter politics; the Magical Congress plans to form an emergency team, which, in my view, is just for show, but I still decided to apply. Currently, I'm active domestically, but there might be a chance to meet in England in the future.

Wishing us all the best."

Felix closed the letter, pondered for a while, and took out parchment to write a reply.

"Dear Yuria,

From you, I see hope in the new generation of the American wizarding world. Some problems are difficult to handle, but we'll inevitably encounter them, so turning a blind eye isn't an option.

The issues you mentioned in your letter are something I've also deeply pondered. Here are my thoughts:

You face two issues: the frenzy caused by Headmaster Fontana's death, societal unrest, and the potential threat from Voldemort's forces; and the discontent of you, the Reformists, and all visionary individuals towards the Magical Congress.

The former is an acute event, the current focus of everyone's attention. The latter is more profound, seemingly less urgent, but trickier to address.

I wholeheartedly agree with your decision to join the Magical Congress. It will let you experience firsthand the dilemmas and moral quandaries that rulers face. If you can't confidently do better than them, the resulting consequences will undoubtedly be negative and adverse, no less harmful than the chaos triggered by Headmaster Fontana's death.

I also see you proposing other solutions, such as collaborating with the 'Future World' company, replicating some of the initiatives we discussed last year. However, I must point out that the situations you and I face are not entirely the same.

The Secrecy Law has existed for almost three centuries. In other words, among the living today, no one has experienced a scene entirely devoid of disturbances. Drastic changes inevitably bring both good and bad outcomes. People cheer for the fascinating world behind the opened gates, but they'll also undoubtedly be hurt by the thorns outside, leading to feelings of resentment.

Enumerating the conflicts between wizards and ordinary people is not a matter easily summarized in a few words.

The Hogwarts library contains a wealth of related documents and information, from witch-hunting campaigns in the 14th century to the years just before the birth of the Secrecy Law in the 17th century, marking the lowest point in their relationship.

In these three hundred years, early wizards operated almost semi-publicly; the cream of the crop among them (or ambitious wizards) often became guests of kings and nobles.

But lower-tier wizarding families still led double lives. Public opinion was controlled by secular and religious forces, and wizards and magic remained mysterious, cunning, and malevolent. Witch hunts were considered justified actions, and under certain propagandas, the expulsion of dissenting thoughts became rampant, resulting in a stark divide between the upper and lower classes. This period saw many thought-provoking cases: kind-hearted wizards helping neighbors only to be betrayed, and those genuinely beloved; not to mention, there were also villains among the wizards, with their terrifying tales spreading far and wide.

Various sharply contrasting viewpoints and ideologies clashed fiercely, leading to the creation of the Bard's Potter Tales.

If you ask me what viewpoint I hold, I'd say any attempt to classify a vast group of people through the actions of a small handful is undoubtedly a terrible idea. Especially when you've already chosen sides in advance.

But it must be admitted that the number of ordinary people far surpasses wizards, at a ratio close to 3000:1. This makes—even if only a small proportion of ordinary people hold strong views against wizards—the resulting consequences catastrophic.

Wizards' families were particularly prone to losing their children during that time because the children couldn't control their magic, often attracting the attention of Muggles hunting wizards and being powerless to resist. We're used to mature, self-protective wizards regarding pitchforks, hoes, and crosses as insignificant, but the actual history wasn't so rosy.

The newly established British Ministry of Magic (formerly the Wizards' Council) once sent a special delegation to negotiate with Muggle rulers William III and Mary II, hoping Muggle laws would acknowledge and protect wizards. When this attempt to gain official recognition and protection failed, it forced wizards to voluntarily turn in the opposite direction—going underground, conserving secrets.

The Secrecy Law was thus born.

This law effectively divided wizarding society from the Muggle society and, through long-term practice, established some consensus. For example: children of Muggle-born wizard parents weren't within the scope of secrecy, a practice undoubtedly easing tensions, especially compared to the stringent laws of the American Magical Congress.

As far as I know, the American magical world and the non-magical government have always been in hostile states, with a dark, bloody game underneath. At that time, some authorities authorized attempts to unravel wizard secrets, resulting in fierce confrontations and multiple relocations of the Magical Congress headquarters.

All of these need to be considered in advance..."

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