"Bring some help."
Hermione's voice was tinged with a hint of uncertainty, as if she was not sure whether she was doing the right thing. She knew that sharing this 'glory' with others was not what Professor Lockhart had in mind, but she also felt overwhelmed by the task of opening his private letters without his permission. How could he expect her to handle such a huge amount of fan mail by herself? It was not fair, nor respectful, to his admirers.
She glanced at Harry and Ron, hoping they would agree to help her, but they seemed to have no intention of volunteering. Harry was busy fiddling with his broken glasses, pretending they needed urgent repair. Ron was suddenly fascinated by an old-fashioned broomstick that had lost most of its twigs, acting as if he had never seen one before. Neither of them met Hermione's eyes, which were pleading for their support. The rest of the Gryffindor team watched the scene with amusement, trying not to laugh out loud. Fred and George had the most exaggerated expressions on their faces, ready to crack a joke at any moment, but they were silenced by Professor Watson's stern glance. The Weasley twins knew better than anyone that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was not someone to mess with.
"If they don't want to, forget it–"
Bryan gave Hermione a sympathetic smile, and then walked away from the scene.
"You two, you must go to Professor Lockhart's office with me tomorrow, or you will never try to learn from my homework again!"
"Leave us alone, Hermione, I don't want to touch this stuff in my life again." Ron groaned. "I'd rather clean the trophy room for Filch again."
Bryan, who had already walked dozens of feet away, could vaguely hear Hermione's angry voice mixed with the strong wind, and the wailing of the two reluctant wizards.
On the four long tables in the auditorium, there were some young wizards sitting sparsely. They were enjoying their dinner, chatting with their friends, or doing some last-minute homework. On the other side of Slytherin, Malfoy was proudly showing Pansy and Daphne his newly learned spells. He waved his wand and made sparks fly out of it, making them giggle and clap.
On the Hufflepuff side, Cedric, a fourth-year student, walked shoulder to shoulder with a few of his friends and headed towards the foyer. He had just finished his Quidditch practice and was feeling confident and happy. When he passed behind the third-year Chinese girl in Ravenclaw, he quietly slipped a note into her pocket. This was the third love letter he had sent her this semester.
Cho Chang didn't seem to notice it, and continued to chat and laugh with Marietta, her best friend. But according to Bryan's experience in dating in his previous life, this girl whose cheeks were gradually turning pink was probably not far from falling head over heels for Cedric.
"Do you have to do this, Professor Watson?"
Professor McGonagall's complexion was much better than during the Christmas holidays. She looked more relaxed and cheerful than before. There were two reasons for this: first, because the heir of Salazar Slytherin had not made any more attacks since Bryan entered the school. The atmosphere of fear and suspicion that had pervaded Hogwarts had lifted a bit. Second, because Headmaster Dumbledore had spent much more time in his office this semester than before. He 'seemed' to be working on something important. His presence gave McGonagall a lot of sense of security.
Bryan, who had just sat down at the staff table, pursed his lips and showed a wry smile. He knew that when Professor McGonagall called him by his last name, it meant that she had some objections to his actions.
"To be honest, Bryan, you are probably the most decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts in the past ten years." She said earnestly. "According to what you did in the previous class, you introduced the experience of fighting against evil to young wizards. You taught them useful skills and practical knowledge that they can apply in real situations. You also made them interested and curious about your subject. Why do you want to change your teaching method now?"
Professor Flitwick stood up from his chair with great interest. He was eager to join the conversation. He said,
"That's a very good question, Minerva! I also want to know how and why Bryan decided to create such an interesting new spell!" He looked at Bryan with admiration and suggested seriously,
"After resigning from the position of professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Bryan, I think you can offer a separate course on spell model structure optimization at Hogwarts. You can incorporate it into the charm class improvement course. I bet that the little wizards will be eager to join your class, Bryan! Your spell is a masterpiece of magic that only true geniuses can create!"
No problem, Professor Flitwick, when Dumbledore 'crosses the river Styx', I'll go back to Hogwarts to retire immediately! Bryan smiled and agreed. He saw that Professor McGonagall wanted to continue the topic just now, so he quickly turned to greet the professor who was sitting on the farthest side with big glasses and countless chains and beads around his neck.
"What wind blows you down from the tower, Professor Trelawney?"
"Hic—"
Professor Trelawney with messy hair hiccupped and looked at Bryan in a daze ,"The approaching darkness blurred my celestial eyes, Bryan, when did you come back to school?"
" The truth of the matter is—"
Professor Flitwick whispered in Bryan's ear. He muttered, "Sybil's stash of sherry upstairs is finished!"
"Oh, keep your voice down, Professor Flitwick!"
Bryan's face was tense, looking very nervous, "I don't want to be predicted that something bad will happen again!"
When Harry and his two friends, who had to return to the castle due to the sudden and rapid wind and rain, were about to go to the auditorium to replenish some energy, what they saw was a hilarious scene at the staff dining table. Professor Flitwick had laughed so hard that he fell from his stool, and Professor McGonagall, whose cheeks were flushed, lips tightly pressed, and body twitching, was trying to suppress her laughter. And Professor Watson was standing in front of a professor they hadn't seen much, with his hands folded and his face apologetic.
"What do you two think they were talking about just now?" Hermione asked with a thoughtful expression after walking into the cozy lounge.
"It doesn't matter, Hermione—"
Harry said listlessly after getting up early in the morning and battling the freezing rain all morning, "I just want to go back to my warm bed and sleep until Monday. Get up again after Professor Watson's Defense Against the Dark Arts class in the afternoon."
After saying these words, Harry left Hermione and Ron and wandered towards the dormitory. The rainy weather was indeed annoying, but for those who had time to take a leisurely nap in bed, it was really the best weather. On Saturday afternoon, Harry took a rare and hearty nap, enjoying the sound of raindrops hitting the window and the roof. During this period, Ron seemed to come over and call him, but Harry just muttered something, changed his position, and fell asleep again, ignoring his friend's attempts to wake him up.
By the time he rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat up from the bed, the cloud covering the castle had completely dissipated, and Hogwarts had already been bathed in the bright moonlight. The stars were twinkling in the sky, and Harry could see the silhouette of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
There was no one in the dark dormitory, and if Harry guessed correctly, Ron and Seamus should all be playing Wizard Chess or Gobstone in the lounge below. He could hear their laughter and shouts faintly from upstairs.
Hermione, on the other hand, was either reading and previewing in the library, or doing homework in the lounge. She was always diligent and studious, unlike Harry who often procrastinated.
"Why didn't anyone wake me up for dinner?"
Harry, who was sitting dizzy on the bed, complained in a low voice while getting dressed. He felt a pang of hunger in his stomach. He knew that Ron had probably already been here but he couldn't wake him up. He wondered if there was any food left in the kitchen.
The air was filled with a slight rotten smell of sweat. The source of the smell was Harry's football jersey which he had taken off after playing Quidditch in the morning. It was soaked with rainwater and mud. He threw the jersey into the rack. He walked slowly to the desk and opened the window. A cool breeze blew into his face. He breathed deeply and tried to disperse the smell.
The breeze from the Black Lake gradually brought Harry's bewildered eyes into focus. He sat down and stared at the more than half-written History of Magic essay spread out on the table. It was about the goblin rebellions of the 17th century. Harry had no interest in it at all.
The angels representing conscience and laziness were torn apart in Harry's mind for two minutes. In the end, laziness once again stood on the corpse of conscience, declaring his victory.
"Maybe Hermione can give me some good advice—"
Harry muttered, closing the parchment, folding it, and stuffing it into his schoolbag, which had lived in his schoolbag for a few days under the dim light The black notebook was exuding mysterious magic power. Harry stared at the black notebook silently. At some point in a daze, his hand reached for the pen again.
He felt a strange attraction to the notebook, as if it was calling him to write something on it. He wondered what would happen if he did.
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"Bring some help."
Hermione's voice was tinged with a hint of uncertainty, as if she was not sure whether she was doing the right thing. She knew that sharing this 'glory' with others was not what Professor Lockhart had in mind, but she also felt overwhelmed by the task of opening his private letters without his permission. How could he expect her to handle such a huge amount of fan mail by herself? It was not fair, nor respectful, to his admirers.
She glanced at Harry and Ron, hoping they would agree to help her, but they seemed to have no intention of volunteering. Harry was busy fiddling with his broken glasses, pretending they needed urgent repair. Ron was suddenly fascinated by an old-fashioned broomstick that had lost most of its twigs, acting as if he had never seen one before. Neither of them met Hermione's eyes, which were pleading for their support. The rest of the Gryffindor team watched the scene with amusement, trying not to laugh out loud. Fred and George had the most exaggerated expressions on their faces, ready to crack a joke at any moment, but they were silenced by Professor Watson's stern glance. The Weasley twins knew better than anyone that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was not someone to mess with.
"If they don't want to, forget it–"
Bryan gave Hermione a sympathetic smile, and then walked away from the scene.
"You two, you must go to Professor Lockhart's office with me tomorrow, or you will never try to learn from my homework again!"
"Leave us alone, Hermione, I don't want to touch this stuff in my life again." Ron groaned. "I'd rather clean the trophy room for Filch again."
Bryan, who had already walked dozens of feet away, could vaguely hear Hermione's angry voice mixed with the strong wind, and the wailing of the two reluctant wizards.
On the four long tables in the auditorium, there were some young wizards sitting sparsely. They were enjoying their dinner, chatting with their friends, or doing some last-minute homework. On the other side of Slytherin, Malfoy was proudly showing Pansy and Daphne his newly learned spells. He waved his wand and made sparks fly out of it, making them giggle and clap.
On the Hufflepuff side, Cedric, a fourth-year student, walked shoulder to shoulder with a few of his friends and headed towards the foyer. He had just finished his Quidditch practice and was feeling confident and happy. When he passed behind the third-year Chinese girl in Ravenclaw, he quietly slipped a note into her pocket. This was the third love letter he had sent her this semester.
Cho Chang didn't seem to notice it, and continued to chat and laugh with Marietta, her best friend. But according to Bryan's experience in dating in his previous life, this girl whose cheeks were gradually turning pink was probably not far from falling head over heels for Cedric.
"Do you have to do this, Professor Watson?"
Professor McGonagall's complexion was much better than during the Christmas holidays. She looked more relaxed and cheerful than before. There were two reasons for this: first, because the heir of Salazar Slytherin had not made any more attacks since Bryan entered the school. The atmosphere of fear and suspicion that had pervaded Hogwarts had lifted a bit. Second, because Headmaster Dumbledore had spent much more time in his office this semester than before. He 'seemed' to be working on something important. His presence gave McGonagall a lot of sense of security.
Bryan, who had just sat down at the staff table, pursed his lips and showed a wry smile. He knew that when Professor McGonagall called him by his last name, it meant that she had some objections to his actions.
"To be honest, Bryan, you are probably the most decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts in the past ten years." She said earnestly. "According to what you did in the previous class, you introduced the experience of fighting against evil to young wizards. You taught them useful skills and practical knowledge that they can apply in real situations. You also made them interested and curious about your subject. Why do you want to change your teaching method now?"
Professor Flitwick stood up from his chair with great interest. He was eager to join the conversation. He said,
"That's a very good question, Minerva! I also want to know how and why Bryan decided to create such an interesting new spell!" He looked at Bryan with admiration and suggested seriously,
"After resigning from the position of professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Bryan, I think you can offer a separate course on spell model structure optimization at Hogwarts. You can incorporate it into the charm class improvement course. I bet that the little wizards will be eager to join your class, Bryan! Your spell is a masterpiece of magic that only true geniuses can create!"
No problem, Professor Flitwick, when Dumbledore 'crosses the river Styx', I'll go back to Hogwarts to retire immediately! Bryan smiled and agreed. He saw that Professor McGonagall wanted to continue the topic just now, so he quickly turned to greet the professor who was sitting on the farthest side with big glasses and countless chains and beads around his neck.
"What wind blows you down from the tower, Professor Trelawney?"
"Hic—"
Professor Trelawney with messy hair hiccupped and looked at Bryan in a daze ,"The approaching darkness blurred my celestial eyes, Bryan, when did you come back to school?"
" The truth of the matter is—"
Professor Flitwick whispered in Bryan's ear. He muttered, "Sybil's stash of sherry upstairs is finished!"
"Oh, keep your voice down, Professor Flitwick!"
Bryan's face was tense, looking very nervous, "I don't want to be predicted that something bad will happen again!"
When Harry and his two friends, who had to return to the castle due to the sudden and rapid wind and rain, were about to go to the auditorium to replenish some energy, what they saw was a hilarious scene at the staff dining table. Professor Flitwick had laughed so hard that he fell from his stool, and Professor McGonagall, whose cheeks were flushed, lips tightly pressed, and body twitching, was trying to suppress her laughter. And Professor Watson was standing in front of a professor they hadn't seen much, with his hands folded and his face apologetic.
"What do you two think they were talking about just now?" Hermione asked with a thoughtful expression after walking into the cozy lounge.
"It doesn't matter, Hermione—"
Harry said listlessly after getting up early in the morning and battling the freezing rain all morning, "I just want to go back to my warm bed and sleep until Monday. Get up again after Professor Watson's Defense Against the Dark Arts class in the afternoon."
After saying these words, Harry left Hermione and Ron and wandered towards the dormitory. The rainy weather was indeed annoying, but for those who had time to take a leisurely nap in bed, it was really the best weather. On Saturday afternoon, Harry took a rare and hearty nap, enjoying the sound of raindrops hitting the window and the roof. During this period, Ron seemed to come over and call him, but Harry just muttered something, changed his position, and fell asleep again, ignoring his friend's attempts to wake him up.
By the time he rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat up from the bed, the cloud covering the castle had completely dissipated, and Hogwarts had already been bathed in the bright moonlight. The stars were twinkling in the sky, and Harry could see the silhouette of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
There was no one in the dark dormitory, and if Harry guessed correctly, Ron and Seamus should all be playing Wizard Chess or Gobstone in the lounge below. He could hear their laughter and shouts faintly from upstairs.
Hermione, on the other hand, was either reading and previewing in the library, or doing homework in the lounge. She was always diligent and studious, unlike Harry who often procrastinated.
"Why didn't anyone wake me up for dinner?"
Harry, who was sitting dizzy on the bed, complained in a low voice while getting dressed. He felt a pang of hunger in his stomach. He knew that Ron had probably already been here but he couldn't wake him up. He wondered if there was any food left in the kitchen.
The air was filled with a slight rotten smell of sweat. The source of the smell was Harry's football jersey which he had taken off after playing Quidditch in the morning. It was soaked with rainwater and mud. He threw the jersey into the rack. He walked slowly to the desk and opened the window. A cool breeze blew into his face. He breathed deeply and tried to disperse the smell.
The breeze from the Black Lake gradually brought Harry's bewildered eyes into focus. He sat down and stared at the more than half-written History of Magic essay spread out on the table. It was about the goblin rebellions of the 17th century. Harry had no interest in it at all.
The angels representing conscience and laziness were torn apart in Harry's mind for two minutes. In the end, laziness once again stood on the corpse of conscience, declaring his victory.
"Maybe Hermione can give me some good advice—"
Harry muttered, closing the parchment, folding it, and stuffing it into his schoolbag, which had lived in his schoolbag for a few days under the dim light The black notebook was exuding mysterious magic power. Harry stared at the black notebook silently. At some point in a daze, his hand reached for the pen again.
He felt a strange attraction to the notebook, as if it was calling him to write something on it. He wondered what would happen if he did.
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