"A little helper..."
Hermione looked somewhat hesitant, not because she was unwilling to share this 'honor', but because without Professor Locket's permission, bringing unrelated people to look at his private letters was not really a good idea...
But to be honest, just relying on himself and Professor Breeze, handling the fan mail of Professor Locket, whose reputation is well-known in European magic circles, for a whole week was indeed a very difficult task.
Thinking of this, Hermione slowly turned her head back towards Harry and Ron. As expected, one was faking to fix his glasses, and the other suddenly started to examine an old broomstick whose twigs were almost all falling off, and neither of them responded to Hermione's gaze.
Seeing this scene, all the members of the Gryffindor team couldn't help but burst into laughter secretly, and Fred and George had the most exaggerated expressions. However, before they could come up with any jokes, Professor Breeze's gaze made them both immediately behave properly.
The Weasley brothers knew better than anyone that this professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts was not a generous man.
"If there's really nothing, then it's okay--"
Amoska directed a kind and understanding smile towards Hermione, before leaving directly.
"You two, must go with me to Professor Locket's office tomorrow. Otherwise, you will never have a chance to borrow my homework!"
"Let us off, Hermione, I would never touch this job again in my life... I would rather clean Fearch's trophy display cabinet one more time..."
Amoska could faintly hear the arrogant voice, mixed with the wind, as he walked dozens of feet away. The sound of the wind and the screams of the two little witches.
In the grand hall, there were only a few young wizards sitting at the four long tables. In Slytherin's side, Malfoy was proudly showing the spells he had just learned to Pansy and Daphne.
On the Gryffindor side, Ceres, a fourth-year student, was walking towards the entrance hall with his several friends, shoulder to shoulder. As he passed behind the Chinese girl from Ravenclaw in third grade, he discreetly threw a letter into her pocket. This was already the third love letter he had given out this semester.
Qiu Zhang didn't seem to notice, continuing to laugh and talk with Marie. However, Amoska, based on his previous life experience in love, thought that the girl with gradually blushing cheeks was probably not far from complete defeat.
"Is this really necessary, Professor Breen?"
Professor McGonagall's mood was much better than during the Christmas vacation. First of all, since Amoska had entered the school, the heir of Salazar Slytherin had been silenced. Secondly, Professor Dumbledore had been spending a lot more time in his office this semester than before, giving her a sense of security that he rarely did before.
As soon as Amoska sat down at the faculty table, he pursed his lips and smiled bitterly. When McGonagall called him by his last name, it meant that she had plenty of complaints in her mind.
"Frankly, Amoshta, you might be the most competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts in the past decade. If you continue to introduce to the young wizards your experiences in fighting evil as you did in class, and while teaching them some of those interesting ideas for modifying spells, I think..."
"Describing Amoshta's new spell as 'interesting' is too inadequate, Mrs. Miller!"
"Professor Flitwick stood up from his chair and said enthusiastically, "
"That is a spell that can only be created by a true genius!"
"Looking at Amoshta seriously, he suggested excitedly, "After leaving the position of the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, I think you can set up a separate course on optimizing spell model structure at Hogwarts. And I dare to bet that the young wizards will be fighting each other to get into your class, Amoshta!"
No problem, Professor Flitwick. As soon as Dumbledore 'flies to the west', I'll go back to Hogwarts to live!
Amoshta smiled and agreed. He noticed that Professor McGonagall still wanted to continue the previous topic, so he quickly called out to the professor sitting at the far end, who was wearing large glasses and had a neck adorned with countless chains and beads.
"What wind brought you down from the tower, Professor Trellawney?"
"Hic--"
Professor Trelawney, her hair disheveled, belched and looked dazedly at Amoshta.
"The approaching darkness made my eyesight blurry, Amoshta...when did you return to school?"
"The truth is..."
Professor Flitwick whispered in Amoshta's ear, "Sybil has finished off the sherry on the upper floor!"
"Oh, be quiet, Professor Flitwick!"
Amoshta's face tightened, looking very tense, "I don't want to be predicted again to encounter misfortune!"
As Harry and his two friends, forced to return to the castle due to the sudden fierce storm, prepared to go to the dining hall for some energy, they saw Professor Flitwick, who had fallen off his chair in laughter, and Professor McGonagall, whose cheeks were flushed red and her lips were tightly sealed, twitching slightly with effort.
While Professor Brene was standing in front of a professor they had never seen before, he held his hands together and looked very apologetic.
"What were they just talking about?"
After entering the warm common room, Hermione still looked thoughtful as she asked.
"It doesn't matter, Hermione--"
Tired out from fighting against the cold rain for the whole morning, Harry, who got up early and felt completely worn out, said, "I just want to go back to my warm bed now and sleep until Professor Breen's Defense Against the Dark Arts class next Monday afternoon."
After saying that, Harry left Hermione and Ron, swayingly heading towards the dormitory.
The rainy weather is really annoying, but for those who have time to take a leisurely nap in bed, it's the best weather. On Saturday afternoon, Harry had a refreshing and satisfying nap for the first time in a long while. During this time, Ron seemed to have come over and called him, but Harry only mumbled something and changed his position before falling asleep again.
When he sat up from the bed, rubbing his bleary eyes, the dark clouds that had covered the castle had completely dispersed, and Hogwarts was now bathed in the bright moonlight.
The dark and silent dormitory was empty, with no one around. If Harry wasn't mistaken, Ron and the others should be in the common room downstairs playing wizard chess or Exploding Snap.
And Hermione was either reading and reviewing in the library or writing her homework in the common room.
"Why didn't anyone call me up for dinner..."
As Harry, who was drowsy and sitting on the bed, was putting on his clothes, he complained quietly, but he knew that Ron had probably come by, but he couldn't wake him up.
The air was slightly sour from sweat, originating from Harry's dirty quidditch uniform that he had thrown on the floor next to his bed. He threw it into the laundry basket and slowly walked to his desk to open the window and air it out.
The cool breeze from the Black Lake brought Harry's dazed gaze back into focus. He sat down and stared at the half-written essay on the history of magic spread out on the table in front of him.
For two minutes, the little imp from the Black Lake representing vice and laziness fought with the little angel representing conscience in Harry's mind. In the end, laziness stood on top of the corpse of virtue and declared its victory.
"Maybe Hermione can give some good advice--"
Harry muttered, closing the parchment and folding it up, stuffing it into his satchel. Under the dim light, the black notebook that had been residing in his satchel for days exuded a mysterious magic. Harry silently gazed at the black notebook, and in a daze, without realizing when, his hand reached out again towards the pen...
...
