A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

At the same time, at Number 4, Privet Drive...

"So, that guy found himself a job?" Uncle Vernon glared, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," Harry said dispiritedly. He had thought it was a good thing Sirius was working at the Ministry of Magic, considering Sirius hadn't held a proper job besides a few months as a teacher's assistant at a Muggle school.

In Harry's mind, he pictured his godfather with a structured routine like Mr. Weasley, clocking in and out at regular hours. But he overlooked something—things were different now, completely different. He hadn't seen Sirius for days in a row.

During the initial days of the break, Sirius was happy to sit with Harry and mock how he teased Amelia, the head girl (though that wasn't right), and how he held the upper hand in their banter. It seemed serious to Sirius, a serious back-and-forth like a boxing match.

But soon, almost visibly, the time Sirius spent with Harry decreased drastically.

One day, Harry stayed at Sirius's place until eleven at night, and Sirius didn't return. It shook Harry to the core. Was something wrong? His mind spun with terrible thoughts, but he forced himself to believe Sirius was held up unexpectedly. He resisted acting impulsively, returned to the Dursleys', and tossed and turned in bed all night. As dawn broke, he jumped up, skipped breakfast, and dashed to Sirius's place.

But there was no one there.

Harry panicked, considering using the Disillusionment Charm to search—Grimmauld Place, or perhaps Diagon Alley… He even had his wand out, only to spot a conspicuous note on the table. In hindsight, Harry realized he was overreacting, but thankfully, he didn't cause more trouble out of haste.

The contents of the note relieved Harry. Sirius had come back late the previous night, expecting to sleep in a bit, only to be called away before dawn. Sirius left a note explaining the situation for Harry.

Since then, Harry was eager to have Sirius bring the two-way mirror so they could stay in touch. But every time he saw his godfather looking exhausted, he couldn't bring himself to ask.

In the following week, Harry saw Sirius only twice, both times late at night. Sirius's eyes were so swollen; he'd doze off after a few words. When Harry offered him crisps, Sirius accidentally pushed them into his nose.

...

"What's he doing now?" Uncle Vernon asked at the dinner table.

"Not much," Harry said calmly. "He's now the assistant to the Minister of Magic."

The Dursleys looked puzzled.

"Like the Muggle Prime Minister's secretary," Harry clarified, pleased to see their surprise, trying not to show his satisfaction too overtly. "It's nothing, really. His last job was as a teaching assistant at a school; Dudley should remember, right?"

Dudley choked on his salad, coughing dryly.

"Boy, what have you done!" Uncle Vernon glared fiercely at Harry, while Aunt Petunia patted Dudley's back, calling out in a syrupy tone, "Diddy darling, what's wrong? Choked on your food?" Dudley's face turned red; he pushed Aunt Petunia's skinny arm away with his plump, triple-layered one, shrugging his shoulders.

Though Harry wanted to watch a bit longer, Uncle Vernon's face turned beet red, as if he was the one choking on salad now. He kept flexing his fingers as if he was about to charge at Harry's throat any moment.

"I didn't do anything," Harry hastened to say. "I guess he just misses his assistant P.E. teacher." He met Uncle Vernon's small eyes, "Yeah, Sirius's last job was at that... what's-it-called... Smelting School!"

"It's Smeltings!" Uncle Vernon roared; that was his alma mater, and Dudley attending there made him extremely proud.

Dinner turned chaotic. Uncle Vernon's reaction to Sirius appearing at his and Dudley's alma mater exceeded Harry's expectations. He seemed to think—these 'weirdos' were finally targeting his precious son. "Are they planning to monitor us from all angles?" he said, referring to wizards (or 'freaks,' in his words), his face turning a pig-like shade. He kept flexing his fingers, as if he might rush and strangle Harry the next second.

"This is an accident; Sirius was gaining experience by going to a Muggle school. He's going to teach at Hogwarts next year," Harry explained. "And he's quit now."

"That hippie as a professor?" Uncle Vernon sneered, while Dudley finally stopped coughing and started burping occasionally. For a while after that, Uncle Vernon grumbled discontentedly, "Look at you people! You have schools, governments—how many of you are there?" He asked, switching on the TV.

"Probably a few thousand," Harry said dryly.

"No wonder," Uncle Vernon exclaimed, as if he had found the basis for all his previous questions. He wanted to say more, but the evening news interrupted, "No need to worry, folks! The slowdown in the economy and the soaring unemployment rates are temporary, and things will pick up soon..." The man on TV strained to speak.

"Only fools would believe him!" Uncle Vernon's attention was captivated by the TV; he stared at the screen, saying, "This Prime Minister is terrible..."

Harry glanced too, but the man next to the Prime Minister caught his eye—a tall, dark-skinned figure in a dark suit, exuding a profound sense of stability. Harry looked again, yes, it was Kingsley Shacklebolt.

What on earth? Harry could hardly believe his eyes. He stared fixedly at the TV screen, but it stayed on the Prime Minister's face. He was desperate, scratching his head in frustration.

As the Prime Minister rambled on and wiped his balding forehead with a handkerchief, preparing to leave, the camera finally panned to the man beside him. Harry held his breath, confirmed he hadn't mistaken.

"You're still watching the news?" Uncle Vernon said in a sour tone to Harry, "Hell, how can our news have anything to do with your kind—"

"Too bad," Harry said calmly, pointing at the TV, "I just saw someone I know." In the bewildered expression on Uncle Vernon's face, he shrugged, "Yeah, looks like the connection between wizards and Muggles runs deeper than you'd imagine..."

Before Uncle Vernon could erupt again, Harry hastily slipped back to his room, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Sirius should still be at work by now. How to pass this time was a challenge. Harry picked up a purple booklet next to his pillow, the cover embossed with bold letters:

"Wartime Survival Guide—Authorized by the Ministry of Magic: Protecting Your Home and Loved Ones from Dark Magic"

Harry flipped to the first page, a sort of table of contents—

"The wizarding world is currently threatened by an organization claiming to be Death Eaters. Adhering to the following simple safety guidelines will help protect yourself, your family, and your residence from attacks.

1. Do not leave home alone.

2. Be extra cautious at night. Return home before dark whenever possible.

3. Check the security measures

around your residence, ensure everyone knows emergency spells like the Protego Charm, Disillusionment Charm, and underage family members should know how to Apparate at will.

4. Establish secret safety codes with family and friends to detect Death Eaters using Polyjuice Potion impersonations (see page 2).

5. If possible, learn the anti-Dark Magic spell Lumos Solem.

...

At some point, there was a tapping sound on the window.

Harry jolted up from his bed, not even noticing the booklet slipping to the floor. He looked toward the source of the noise, finding a squashed, ginger-colored head pressed against the windowpane. It startled him; he nearly fell off the bed.

"Crookshanks?" he exclaimed in disbelief, hurriedly making his way to the window. A ginger-colored cat jumped into the room from the windowsill, meowing at him.

"Crookshanks, how did you come here? Did Hermione send you with a message? But this is too far..." Harry was bewildered.

Crookshanks licked its paw and gestured outside.

Harry mechanically turned his head, gazing outside, only to widen his eyes the next moment.

Hermione stood lively by the flowerbed at Number 4, Privet Drive. She waved vigorously, holding a suitcase in one hand.

Harry rushed downstairs in a flurry, followed by Crookshanks, ignoring the shouts of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. He burst out the door, running toward Hermione.

"How—why—are you here?" Harry gasped for breath.

"I wrote to Professor asking where I could practice freely—" Hermione smoothed her hair, delighted.

"But I can't—here—cast—freely—" Harry panted, then spat out, "Sirius isn't home during the day."

"I know, the place Professor mentioned isn't here," Hermione said.

"So, um, are you here to bid me farewell?" Harry said, a bit disappointed. He thought he'd have company.

"No one told you?" Hermione looked surprised, "We're leaving together."

>

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