Chapter 12: Professors at Hogwarts
The Hogwarts Express had arrived.
Professor McGonagall went to the entrance hall to welcome the students. Professors from other subjects also arrived one after another, and soon there was a round of introductions and greetings.
"Good evening, young ones!"
The raspy voice belonged to Sylvanus Kettleburn, the current Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. He was missing half a limb an actual limb but that didn't stop him from joking cheerfully.
"You must be the new Muggle Studies professor!"
Kettleburn rolled up his sleeves. "It's so easy to talk to Dumbledore! Talented young wizards can teach straight away!"
The old professor was so enthusiastic that Melvin barely had a chance to respond.
"You've arrived at a perfect time!" Kettleburn sighed. "When I was young, I went through sixty-two probationary periods just to stay at Hogwarts. Headmaster Armando Dippet always wanted to expel me. He hated when I taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not until Dumbledore became Headmaster did I finally find peace."
In truth, it was because by then, Kettleburn only had one leg left and couldn't keep fighting. His temperament had mellowed, and Dumbledore could finally relax around him.
Standing nearby, Professor Flitwick explained to Melvin, "Even so, he still goes every summer to dragon reserves or the African jungle to hunt venomous beasts. That hand was bitten off by a five-legged monster."
Flitwick turned to look at him as he spoke. Kettleburn scratched his nose with his right hand half of his little finger was gone, and the newly healed flesh looked pink and tender. The wound was fresh.
With a wry smile, Kettleburn said, "Last month I went to Romania to see dragons. I got so excited watching the eggs that I couldn't resist touching them a few times. That angered a White-Eyed Australian brooder… By the time the keeper subdued her, my finger was already gone."
He told the story with such calm that anyone unaware might have mistaken it for a cat scratch.
"…"
The other professors were speechless.
Melvin had assumed Kettleburn was from Gryffindor but surprisingly, he was a Hufflepuff graduate.
Then came Professor Sybill Trelawney of Divination, swaying as she entered the hall. Her enormous round glasses magnified her eyes to a distorted size, hiding most of her face.
Sybill was a descendant of the true seer Cassandra Trelawney. Yet after generations of decline, few could say how much of that prophetic gift remained. Even Sybill herself was uncertain.
Her unverifiable prophecies, compared to the overwhelming talents of the other elective professors, left her constantly worried about being dismissed. She spent most of her time isolated in the warm, crowded North Tower her drinking problem born of unresolved melancholy.
Still, she had a knack for divination and mastered the tricks of fortune-tellers.
To keep her job at Hogwarts, she developed a more Muggle-style teaching method: observing her young students' honest expressions, picking those most susceptible to fear, and then inventing ominous predictions to maintain her image as an enigmatic seer. She even lowered the difficulty of assignments to attract students looking for an easy elective.
However, only a few select wizards knew that Sybill had truly inherited a fraction of Cassandra's prophetic power.
Smelling faintly of alcohol, she greeted the group and sat down to drink.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Levent," said Professor Septima Vector, taking a seat beside him.
Unlike Trelawney, Vector was a rational scholar. Her hair was neatly tied in a bun, her dark-grey robe sleeves fitted and crisp. She looked precise and capable though not quite as stern as McGonagall.
"We all thought Miss Charity Burbage would be taking Muggle Studies this year," Vector said with polite curiosity, "but apparently Dumbledore found a new candidate. How fortunate for Charity I've heard she found work in London and started living fully as a Muggle."
Professor Bathilda Babling, of Ancient Runes, sipped her mead and sighed wistfully. "How enviable. I'd like to quit and go to Cairo myself. They've just uncovered new ruins there."
"I want to go to the Yucatán Peninsula," said Vector. "The astrology and arithmancy of the ancient Mayan wizards remain a mystery."
"What's wrong with staying at the school?" muttered Trelawney, taking another sip of sherry. "I'd love to live in Hogwarts forever."
No one doubted her passion for the school not even Madam Hooch (the flying instructor), Madam Pomfrey (the matron), or Madam Pince (the librarian), who arrived soon after.
From Madam Pince, Melvin learned that the package from Flourish and Blotts had arrived and was being stored near the library. He'd count the books later.
A few minutes later, a pale young man approached wearing a purple turban and looking rather nervous. "Hello, Professor Lewyn. I'm Quirinus Quirrell, Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Hello, Professor Quirrell."
"…"
Perhaps worried about the strong scent of herbs on himself, Quirrell only offered a brief greeting before retreating to a corner seat, lowering his head.
He seemed… a little neurotic.
Babling whispered, "He used to teach Muggle Studies, but he didn't like Muggle culture. He was more interested in ancient magic. He even audited my Runes class but after learning that runes are mostly used in alchemy and not in powerful spellcasting, he gave up.
"I heard he went to Albania last summer to explore traces of ancient magic. Came back injured, apparently."
"…"
Melvin glanced at Quirrell, trembling in the corner. Interesting.
Voldemort was now nothing but a weak, bodiless spirit feeding on animal blood just to stay conscious.
Without cooperation, he couldn't control even the lowest goblin, let alone an adult wizard.
Quirrell went to Albania searching for dark power… but found only Voldemort's shadow. Enchanted, he lowered his defenses, opened his soul, and allowed Voldemort to possess his mind, offering up his body as a vessel.
Those herbs were likely used to slow the decay caused by that deadly aura.
Melvin wondered if the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would ever regret his choice.
"Listen they're here."
"Rattle…"
Before he could dwell on it, the students had already arrived. Professor Flitwick raised a warning outside, the faint clatter of the Thestrals pulling carriages echoed.
Dumbledore also arrived, fashionably late.
Night fell over Hogwarts.
The new students gathered before the great oak doors.
"The Sorting is a very important ceremony…"
"There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff…"
"At the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the House Cup."
Hermione Granger followed close behind Professor McGonagall, listening intently to every word. Yet even after walking through the stone corridor and stopping in the side hall, she still hadn't learned how the ceremony worked.
McGonagall turned to her, lips tight. "Wait here quietly. I'll come fetch you shortly."
Then she left.
Hermione exhaled slowly, tension evident in her face.
"What is the Sorting Ceremony, Ron? How do they make sure you end up in the right house?"
"It's like a test," Ron said. "My brother Fred said it's dangerous but he's probably just trying to scare me."
"…"
Hearing the two boys whisper, Hermione pursed her lips and began silently reciting spells from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk, which she had already memorized.
The students murmured among themselves as ghosts drifted through the walls, completely ignoring McGonagall's instruction to keep quiet.
When she returned, the first-years filed into the Great Hall, gasping at the sight.
Thousands of floating candles lit the air above four long tables laden with golden plates and goblets.
The dazzling glow was nearly blinding, but no one wanted to look away. Even the ceiling above shimmered with stars an exact mirror of the night sky.
"Merlin's socks…"
"Jesus' boots…"
Hermione whispered in awe, "It's enchanted it looks exactly like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History."
Harry and Ron exchanged weary looks. She'd been saying things like that since the train ride.
Unfazed, Hermione tried to calm her racing heart.
Then the old pointed wizard hat in front of her suddenly split open at the brim and began to sing in a hoarse voice:
"I'm the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, better than any hat you've ever worn…"
So that was it no tests, just the hat.
"Those whose names I call, step forward! Hannah Abbott!"
…
When you're nervous, time seems to crawl. But once you calm down, it flies by. Einstein's theory of relativity, in practice.
By the time Hermione came to her senses, she was already seated at the Gryffindor table.
Now she could finally listen, observe, and take everything in.
Closest to her was Hagrid, who had escorted them earlier.
At the head table sat Dumbledore, radiant and wise.
To his left, the four Heads of Houses including McGonagall.
To his right, the elective professors.
"Divination, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes…" Hermione's eyes sparkled. She was fascinated by them all. "And… Muggle Studies?"
She knew "Muggle" meant non-magical people.
The professor looked unlike any other. Young, well-dressed almost out of place in this world.
He wore a dark navy suit, white Windsor-collared shirt, and a silver-gray silk tie. His short black hair was neatly styled, and his calm dark eyes reflected gentle curiosity.
Too Muggle. Too ordinary.
"You have to be in third year to take electives…" she reminded herself.
…
"Harry Potter!"
"GRYFFINDOR!"
As cheers erupted through the Great Hall, the boy who had caught everyone's attention walked shakily toward the lion's table perhaps a bit hypoglycemic.
Melvin glanced briefly at him, then studied the professors instead.
Dumbledore beamed his grand plan was working perfectly.
Quirrell kept his head low, muttering faintly as he watched Potter.
Most intriguing was Snape. His eyes were fixed on the boy, but when he noticed Quirrell's whispering, he turned sharply and murmured a warning:
"You'd better behave. Don't think no one's watching you…"
"I don't understand what you mean, Professor Snape."
"…"
Melvin looked over the hall, now buzzing with excitement. Someone was crafting a savior's destiny. Someone else was reuniting with an old friend's son. And someone was scheming for the Philosopher's Stone.
A magnificent drama was about to begin.
He smiled faintly. Though he'd studied at Ilvermorny, he knew Hogwarts better than anyone here.
Well, for now… time to eat.
…
"Uh…"
Hagrid swallowed the last of his chocolate mousse. The plates emptied, and the clinking of silverware faded.
"Ahem."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. His twinkling blue eyes swept the hall, bringing it to silence.
"Now that you've all eaten and drunk your fill, just a few more words.
"First, let us welcome Professor Lewinter, who will be teaching Muggle Studies."
Warm applause echoed across the hall especially from third-years and above, the witches most excited to have such a handsome new professor.
"And Professor Quirrell has kindly agreed to take the vacant position in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
This time, the applause was faint. Quirrell hadn't made a great first impression.
"As the new term begins, a few reminders:
No students are allowed in the Forbidden Forest.
Mr. Filch, our caretaker, wishes to remind you not to cast spells in the corridors.
Quidditch tryouts will be held next week.
"And finally…"
Dumbledore raised his voice, eyes twinkling.
"I must inform you that anyone who does not wish to suffer a horrible accident and a painful death should avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
Melvin had a feeling this wasn't so much a warning as it was a quest notification:
"Mission clue updated. Please arrive at the destination to investigate."
(End of Chapter)