A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 436: Before the Tournament

In the remaining days of January, while no significant events occurred, small troubles persisted.

Upon Professor Moody's return to the classroom, he lived up to expectations, sparking new controversies. Among some senior students, he seemed reminiscent of 'Lockhart'—having them search for information, loudly read in class, and vividly recount their own experiences.

His famous phrase— "Constant vigilance!"—resurfaced in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

During this time, young wizards found themselves digging into records of a war from over a decade ago. The once silent records of the war were unearthed from the library shelves, including various newspapers from those years.

As they pored over these documents day after day, exhaustion set in. Coupled with the fifth and seventh-year wizarding level exams, several students who were previously attentive in class suddenly erupted into hysterical cries and were escorted to the school infirmary by professors.

Even Fred and George, the typically carefree pair, weren't immune. When the Defense Against the Dark Arts course returned to its 'normal' state, they breathed a sigh of relief. One afternoon, Fred sniffled, "Our parents rarely mentioned the times during the war. If one started, the other would interrupt. Mum hardly talks about our uncles... But when we went through those years of newspapers, we learned what they endured..."

George, looking troubled, added, "Every two or three days, seeing pictures of houses with the Dark Mark... it's haunting."

Harry remained reticent. Since Moody made the students read about those who perished in the war, a sense of reverence was directed at the 'war heroes' descendants within Hogwarts.

Neville stuttered several times, explaining his parents' recovery and showing clippings and newspapers he'd collected, yet the support for him continued to grow. Harry, too, noticed a change in the way Parvati Patil looked at him, her expression now softer...

He disliked this feeling, for whenever someone gazed at him like that, it reminded him of his parents' sacrifice. 'No one became a hero just for their son to be revered,' Harry thought, irritated.

He, Hermione, and Ron practiced spells in an abandoned classroom, mastering quite a few useful incantations. In a secluded corner, they shattered a small section of the Black Lake's ice, testing less practiced warming and waterproofing charms, shivering each time they emerged from the lake.

By the time the ice melted from the lake, they were already pondering how to maintain their combat prowess in its waters.

"Spells from land lose their effectiveness in water, especially the fire-based ones. They might shoot out a hot jet, but I doubt it'd be effective against Grindylows..." Hermione nervously remarked.

February arrived, and she transformed into someone different. When Ron suggested using their feet to push away dangerous creatures, Hermione glared at him fiercely, as though ready to deliver a swift kick.

"Perhaps we need some transfiguration and summoning charms," Hermione suggested.

"Are you suggesting we summon a stick?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Don't be ridiculous, I mean this—" Hermione drew her wand and loudly exclaimed, "Flocks of birds!" Her wand produced a loud noise, and a group of small birds flew out, fluttering their wings to encircle the three of them.

"What's the use of this?" Harry asked, recognizing the spell. Mr. Ollivander had demonstrated it with Krum's wand before the first task.

"They can peck, obscure vision, but I prefer Professor Flitwick's approach." Hermione struggled to maintain the magic, her face turning crimson. Harry and Ron had never seen her struggle so much with a spell.

As if battling against an invisible resistance, her wand traced a half-circle, and suddenly, these small birds inflated to the size of owls. Harry widened his eyes. He recalled this image from his second year when Professor Flitwick demonstrated it in a dueling class.

Encountering this magic up close after two years, Harry watched these elongated, sharp-beaked birds with awe—they were about three inches long!

Then, with a loud 'pop,' the birds vanished.

Hermione breathed gently, shaking her head. "I'm still not quite there yet. Despite being good at controlling magic, especially after practicing with Billywig beetles in the Magical Theory Club..."

As they returned from the Black Lake, Ron quietly said to Harry, "She just needs to hide behind a rock and mutter these spells. These birds would sort out any trouble for her, leaving you with no grounds to argue."

Thinking about the scene earlier, Harry couldn't agree more.

"How's your Bubble-Head Charm coming along?" Harry asked softly.

Ron's face fell. "It's a nightmare. I've already written to my family saying I don't need their help... but Fred and George cut that off. You know, Mum actually praised them in her reply..."

Harry felt for him, especially when every time Ron practiced the Bubble-Head Charm, the first thing he did afterward was take a bath, leaving behind a lingering odor of a lasting dungbomb.

His own progress with the Protego Charm wasn't smooth either. If given a choice, he'd surely prefer mastering the protective Protego Charm over the singularly purposed Bubble-Head Charm. But now, he had to make a decision about which was more advantageous.

For the next few days, he constantly made trips to Classroom 7, pushing aside thoughts about Occlumency. So when he was awakened by a nightmare one day, he could only blame himself for slacking off on this front.

Harry confided in Professor Lupin about this incident, hoping Lupin would convey it to Headmaster Dumbledore, though he couldn't recall much.

"I only know Voldemort is pleased, something good has happened," Harry rummaged through his thoughts.

Felix nodded, "Maybe he's found another temporary body for himself; it's inevitable since they've hidden so well." Felix also hoped Voldemort would pay a visit to trouble Rita Skeeter, which would allow him to attempt to capture young Barty Crouch.

However, Rita Skeeter had quietly moved, dodging trouble, currently holed up in Diagon Alley, arranging the materials handed over by Sirius Black.

Harry returned home with a heavy heart, beginning to doubt the significance of participating in the Triwizard Tournament—Voldemort was on the verge of resurrection, and all he could do was practice an ice-freezing charm in the Black Lake. Could he rely on it to counter Voldemort's Killing Curse?

The person who supported him through this period of self-doubt was Sirius Black. If anyone in the world understood his feelings best, it was his godfather, especially regarding their attitude towards Voldemort.

But what surprised Harry was Sirius Black finding himself temporary work. When he saw the emblem of Smeltings School through the two-way mirror, he was almost dumbfounded.

"Why are you at Dudley's school?" Harry exclaimed, disregarding the surroundings. A fifth-year student in the common room looked up with a troubled expression, muttering under his breath, "Another mad one." before resuming work on seemingly endless assignments.

The Sirius Black in the mirror was quite cheerful. "Felix introduced me. Since I can't produce a Muggle-recognized diploma, I can only do odd jobs, not much money... But you know what? I did find some tricks with handling

their Muggle technology!"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. Sirius Black—master of the Animagus transformation, the man who once fought against Death Eaters—was now handling Muggle tech to earn a living. The irony was not lost on him.

"What can I say? Being a caretaker helps me gather some news, keeps me closer to you, and hey, I've been discovering the fun in cooking!" Sirius chuckled. "Dudley's a spoilt one, but I'm making sure he eats his greens. I promised your mum, didn't I?"

Their conversation was cut short when a teacher interrupted, forcing Harry to hide the mirror under his pillow, sighing at the intrusion.

Despite Sirius's situation, Harry felt somewhat reassured. Sirius was always there for him, even if it meant taking up odd jobs at his cousin's school.

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