A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

As twilight descended, a tall figure emerged on the outskirts of a Muggle town. He turned down a fork in the road, walking for a dozen minutes through the dim woods until there was no path ahead. Unhesitatingly, he approached a dilapidated old house.

*Knock, knock!*

The rhythmic knocking echoed.

With a grating creak, the door cautiously opened from within.

"Who?"

A hoarse voice, as if soaked in brine for days, inquired. Then, a wand emerged tremulously from the darkness.

"Is it Moses Redscar?" asked a young voice.

The stranger paid no attention to the wand aimed at him, instead checking a list. With an intrigued tone, he read the text aloud, "Leiden Seymour, born in the renowned Timothy Witch Town in 1947, raised by his aunt. Hmm—despite being a man, you inherited various dark arts, smuggling and dealing in dark magical items, channeling all earnings into dark magic research. During the wizarding war, you chose to aid Voldemort, allegedly praised by high-ranking Death Eaters..."

"It's you?"

The visitor raised his head, revealing a youthful face with luminous pale blue eyes occasionally reflecting magical scripts.

The wand clattered to the ground.

"You're, you're, you're—Felix Harp! You've finally come!" The man named Leiden Moses Redscar slumped against the doorframe, the dusky light outside revealing a visage gripped by fear.

This stranger epitomized the classic look of a dark wizard. Wrapped in an impenetrable black robe, his frail frame hinted at various magical experiments beneath the exposed skin. His right index finger wore a layer of silver powder, but on closer inspection, it was wrinkled skin. His neck bore a patch of tender red flesh, contorted up half his face, vividly red, seemingly freshly healed yet existing for over two decades.

His moniker stemmed from this.

Felix darted into the house, cautiously navigating the floor littered with mold and dust-covered debris. He avoided any traps in the room, eventually selecting a relatively clean chair to sit.

The homeowner regained composure, at least on the surface. Moses gripped his wand, gaze deeply fixed on Felix. A contrast to his prior timidity, his voice lowered, "You shouldn't be here, Harp. I'm not like those lone wizards you've driven away. I have friends, they—"

"Are you referring to Bonnell, Elinor? Or Kennedy?" Felix inquired.

Moses stared at him in shock. "What have you done to them?" The wizard scanned frantically, seemingly seeking an escape.

"Well, under my persuasion, they evidently realized how unwise it was to stay amidst this situation. Hence, they decided to temporarily leave," Felix nonchalantly remarked. "It took some convincing, but the outcome was pleasing. I told them, once news of Voldemort's demise spreads, they'll be completely safe."

"That might take a while," Moses sneered. "How long did the last war last? Ten years?"

"Not my fault," Felix gestured toward the documents, "just following protocol."

Moses's nose twitched abnormally; a vibrant red crawled up his half-face scar. He snarled, "You're purging dissenters! You didn't convict me all those years ago, and now, for some inexplicable reason, you're kicking me out of Britain?"

"Lack of evidence," Felix retorted.

"What—"

"The reason you weren't captured back then was due to your sufficient concealment, Moses. The Ministry didn't have concrete evidence. But don't pretend to be innocent. You can't fool me, nor a skilled Legilimens. Hence, this task fell into my hands."

Felix calmly pointed to his eyes, silver specks flickering around the pupils like rings orbiting a blue planet. Moses, intimidated, averted his gaze. He'd never seen such terrifying eyes.

Felix raised the documents again.

"There are hundreds like you; the Ministry struggles with cases like yours. Ignoring them might lead to troubles later on. Yet, if action is taken too early, say, locking you up, it might seem too harsh. Though—excuse me, in my view, your offenses are glaring—"

"Don't read my thoughts!" Moses growled. "Memories can never be evidence!" His wand glowed, a black mist coiling around the tip, darkening the room.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Felix asked softly.

Moses's gathered courage deflated like an old tire. He leaned against the table in the corner, avoiding Felix's gaze.

"What do I need to do?" he muttered, loosening his grip on the wand.

"As I said earlier, leave this place. Take a break, travel, bide your time... until Voldemort falls, then you can confidently return, resume your promising illegal work. I won't be involved by then."

Moses muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Felix inquired.

"When did you start working for the Ministry? Weren't you a professor?" Moses couldn't fathom why he'd crossed paths with Felix.

Felix sighed. "Can't help it. They offered conditions I couldn't refuse—well, I could, but my morals forbid indebtedness, and honestly, I don't mind this temporary job. It's an opportunity to refine my magical abilities."

He touched a ring on his left hand, where a Ministry-issued hourglass was stored, filled with temporal energy.

Following the Wisengamot meeting's end, Ms. Bones had asked him to neutralize certain instabilities. "Each of them has a history, but evaded punishment due to various reasons, albeit minor characters in the grand scheme. Yet, they're akin to the wings of the mysterious people now."

She cryptically referenced the intrusion into the Ministry's Department of Mysteries.

"Whoever it is, I just hope they're not siding with the mysterious ones," she sighed with a headache. "The Unspeakables gave an unworried conclusion, but I believe... Well, maybe it's a good thing, at least if the mysterious ones plan similar ideas, it's too late now."

Ms. Bones attitude mirrored the Ministry's own indecision—they wished to reclaim the Time-Turner but feared it being snatched by Voldemort before it heated up.

And the latter's potential harm was far more significant.

...

Mozier stared at the black square table, which held several newspapers and two small booklets. One was the "War-Time Survival Guide" sent by the Ministry of Magic, and the other was the "Ancient Magical Script Easy Illustrated Guide," jointly published by Felix and a publisher a few months ago. Its cover, adorned with vibrant colors, resembled a children's book.

"Ancient magical scripts? Quite enviable," he remarked sarcastically.

"You got one too?" Felix said in surprise, following Mozier's gaze to the booklet. Intrigued, he asked, "How is it to read?"

"Not great," Mozier shook his head. He extended his hand, his face turning red with effort as he struggled to conjure an ancient magical script. However, the magical symbols shattered the next moment. "I'm getting old, not adapting well to new areas..."

"Could it be because of your research in Dark Arts? Others seem to find it useful," Felix calmly discussed with him.

"Really? I'll give it another try..."

Felix took some time to guide him. Then, Mozier started packing his bags. Despite the Ministry's prohibition on the excessive use of Untraceable Extension Charms, it evidently didn't constrain dark wizards. Moreover, Mozier was almost an alchemist himself, capable of crafting similar storage items.

All the furniture was abandoned, and Mozier selected bottles and jars from various corners of the room. Some were clearly enchanted to hold objects many times their size. Finally, with some effort, Mozier managed to cram them all into a single box, slightly out of breath.

"Are you going to watch me Disapparate into thin air?" Mozier picked up the box, glanced around the room nostalgically, and asked, "I have limited magical power; I can only guarantee leaving tonight."

"Oh, no, I can provide some untraceable Portkeys," Felix waved his hand, and a row of junk items appeared – boots, tin cans, butterbeer bottles, and a piece of rotten wood.

Mozier hesitated for a moment. "Any recommendations? I don't want to end up in Azkaban the moment I Apparate."

"No need for that. Your concern should be whether to continue engaging in shady activities or start fresh in a new place, abiding by the local magical authorities," Felix replied calmly.

Mozier chuckled, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal extensive magical scars.

"People like me?"

He said no more, randomly picking a Portkey and holding it in his hand. It didn't matter where he ended up; it wouldn't significantly affect him. "Well then, Mr. Harp, see you in ten years?"

"It won't take that long; remember to read the newspapers."

Felix waved at him. "Are you really letting me go like this? Don't I need to sign a magical contract? What if I sneak back..."

"Mozier," Felix said calmly, "who do you think benefits from such an arrangement? Don't be foolish. If a Death Eater appeared at your doorstep today, you'd have no choice. And I—when I see you among Death Eaters, I won't show mercy."

After the wizard in front of him disappeared, Felix checked off a box on the paperwork.

"Everything went smoothly."

>

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