Harry Potter: A Certain Ancient Rune Professor of Hogwarts (TL)

Chapter 671: Patterns

The next morning, the atmosphere at the great hall dining table was very lively.

Many of the young wizards had already finished their exams and were talking loudly, ready to enjoy their last leisurely moments before the holidays. They had every reason to be happy, as it was customary that, except for a small percentage of students who had failed to pass their spell assessment, the professors would not make any demands on their coursework, and especially would not give any assignments.

“We have one last exam.” Ron kept poking at the omelette on his plate with his fork.

“To put it another way, we’ll have close to two weeks of free time when the day is over.” Hermione said comforting words with her mouth stuffed with food and Harry agreed, but his eyes glanced subconsciously to Neville, the subject to be tested today is Defence Against the Dark Arts, and they would be seeing ‘Professor Bagshot’ again.

“No, what will comfort me is that the exams for the fifth and seventh years are still going on,” Ron said cheerfully, “How many more exams does Ginny still have to take?”

“Four.” Harry said.

Ron sighed contentedly when a large flock of owls flew in, closing their wings and landing on the dining table, clanking the plates. Half a dozen owls surrounded Dumbledore at the faculty table, and next to him Professor Marchbanks seemed to be allergic to owls and kept sneezing.

Harry watched with interest until Ron cried out in pain, and he turned back to the table in front of him where an additional grey owl had appeared on the table, its beak seemingly just released Ron’s fingers.

“It bit me!” Ron exclaimed with aggravation, huffing and picking up the letter that had fallen on the dining table, “I’d like to see whose owl this is – oh,” his tone became downcast, “it’s from Bill. ”

He opened the letter and read it quickly, the expression on his face went from shock to delight, and before Harry could ask, he spoke with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s Bill and Fleur, they’re planning to get married this summer – O Merlin’s beard! Well, the letter says that the timing is uncertain for now, they’re keeping track of the schedules of some important guests and for now it would be around the early part of August, and they asked me to drop by and find out if you guys – surely you guys are coming, right?” Ron trailed off with a confirmatory question.

“Of course, I’ll come.”

“Yeah, it’s a must to be there.”

Harry and Hermione said in a rush.

Ron contentedly read the letter all over again and looked up with some surprise, “I wonder how Bill managed to convince Mum to accept Fleur, mind you, she’s always been very … well – it could be that Mum has finally admitted that Bill and Delacour both are totally hopeless.”

“Tonks and Lupin are engaged.” Harry reminded.

“Yeah, I think that’s why.” Ron said, “Mum’s wish is completely out of the question.” He put the letter away and the three of them finished their breakfast and prepared for today’s Defense Against the Dark Arts exam with a sense of happiness.

At the professor’s table, Felix opened his letter, it contained a rather formal invitation, he skimmed it, it was written in rock and roll style English and was signed by Bill Weasley. He looked over at Dumbledore, who was calmly putting an official letter away.

“The International Confederation of Wizards?” Grindelwald, who is sitting on the other side of him, suddenly asked.

“Babajide asked me for advice regarding the new laws. Poor man, to have to face such a dire situation when he has only just taken office.” Dumbledore said calmly, “Actually, he has done a good job in the past, he just lacks a little confidence.”

Grindelwald was half convinced, and when he narrowed his eyes in contemplation. Felix asked, “Headmaster Dumbledore, did you get the letter from the Weasleys?”

“Ah, I saw it.” Dumbledore picked up an envelope with his slender fingers and surveyed the signature on it, “It’s Arthur and Molly, let me see what they have to say. Oh, oh – a wedding, another beautiful couple paired together!”

Professor Marchbanks was desperately leaning her body back and kept fanning the air in front of her, trying to keep herself away from the owl. “Let me leave, I can’t stand this!” She shouted. After waiting for Professor McGonagall to assist her away from the table, Dumbledore continued pleasantly, “It seems like only yesterday that Arthur and Molly were walking in the moonlight, but then in a flash, their child is about to enter the marriage; time is a fascinating thing!”

“I suppose,” he turned his head to Felix and said in an expectant tone, “Sirius and Amelia, and Remus and Tonks, those two pairs are ten out of ten as well?”

Felix nodded.

“Then I’ll have to prepare at least – three congratulatory gifts. I’ve also received quite a few wedding invitations one after another in the two or three years following the last war.” Dumbledore stood up, tiptoeing around with a leap of joy, “Official business would be too dull and boring compared to these happy events, and I must remind Babajide that he is the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards now.”

Grindelwald stared at his departing back for a moment in silence, and he muttered as if he was inquiring or talking to himself, “Is what he was saying true?”

“Which part? The Headmaster said a lot of things.” Felix asked.

“Yes,” Grindelwald said slowly, “he said a lot of things.”

At the edge of the long dining table, Snape glanced at several people out of the corner of his eye without moving, his mind racing with various thoughts. Dumbledore is hiding too much – he’s beyond sure that he’s not the only one who gets this treatment, for example, Felix, McGonagall, and even the mysterious Bagshot are all part of Dumbledore’s plan. But none of them could get a glimpse of the whole picture.

For example, he believed that no third person in the world would know that the Elder Wand in Dumbledore’s possession had silently changed owners at the moment.

Just what was Dumbledore trying to do?

Snape put down his cutlery indifferently and turned to leave the great hall. He didn’t believe any of Dumbledore’s nonsense about ‘it’s better if it becomes a permanent mystery’ and ‘that’s up to you’, if Dumbledore really wanted to make the Elder Wand disappear, all he had to do is survive until the end of his life, he didn’t believe anyone would dare to lay a hand on Dumbledore now.

Unless he was on guard against someone. Snape’s footsteps paused as he looked over at Felix at the table.

Then he walked through the long entrance hall and up the grand staircase. Dumbledore’s words from that night came to life in full, ‘I hope the day when it will be used never comes, and preferably become a permanent mystery, which means no major disruptions are made in the wizarding world’.

Major disruptions … Snape chewed on the words and pushed open the door to the classroom.

Dumbledore sensed some sort of danger, but he wasn’t sure if and when it would happen. In these circumstances, it would be unwise to let a wand of high magical power disappear into history, so he would be playing the role of a backup set up by Dumbledore, a temporary custodian who … would have the rights to keep the Elder Wand?

And who is the ideal heir in Dumbledore’s mind?

As soon as Snape opened the door, he saw Harry sitting in the front seat, and a strong feeling of dislike welled up inside him, he would never believe that Dumbledore would choose Potter, even if he had already surpassed himself in terms of magic power …?

Snape’s body became rigid, and if one surmised from this perspective, the range of options available to Dumbledore is in fact very small.

Harry stared at Snape blankly, his head started to spin, how could Snape appear in the examination hall? And why did he have such a strange expression on his face?

“Bang!”

Snape slammed the door heavily and strode up to the podium with what seemed like frost on his face. Then he waved his wand violently, and from the locked cupboard of the classroom flew piles and piles of exam papers, landing precisely in front of the students.

“The time now – nine o’clock – and you have two hours to answer.”

The students looked at each other and whispered to each other.

“Silence.” Snape said loudly, and once again the sixth years felt the long-lost low pressure envelop the entire classroom.

“Where is Professor Bagshot?” Neville asked bravely.

“He’s alive, but-” Snape said slowly as his cold eyes fixed on him, and Neville’s face turned pale, but what? Harry’s heart went up to his throat. “But you’ll only be able to see him this afternoon; I’ll be invigilating the written exams for the sixth year. Now all shut up – the exams begin!”

They hastily bowed their heads, turned over their question papers, and began to answer the questions, Harry pondered as he answered; did Snape become angry because he had to come and invigilate their exams? From what he said, Professor Bagshot should still be at the school.

For the next two hours, the classroom remained silent, the only sound of quills rustling against the papers was heard. When the exam was over, the students filed out into the corridor to discuss why Snape had invigilated their exam.

“Maybe Professor Bagshot is sick.” One student said.

“He was fine this morning, and didn’t Snape say he would be in charge of the practical test in the afternoon.”

Harry saw a worried look on Neville’s face and a wave of hidden worry flooded through him. He found the opportunity to bring it up to Hermione at lunchtime, who held up her fork and thought for a while.

“There’s only so much we can do in this case, Harry.” Hermione said with a downcast look, she saw Harry trying to open his mouth to retort, so she reached out and waved her fork twice to stop him, “Neville wanted to do something for Professor Bagshot, it’s the same thing you did back then to see Lupin off.”

“Of course, it’s not the same!” Harry shouted as several people around him looked over, and he lowered his voice, “At least I won’t get hurt, but G-but that man,” he said calmly, “I saw what he did with my own eyes –though only in memory–there were more than a few innocent people died because of him! That’s why I refused his invitation afterward. In case he tried to do something dangerous to Neville …”

“People do change, he’s been in prison for fifty years, hasn’t he?” Hermione whispered, “Besides, didn’t we analyse that he is under strict spellcasting restrictions?”

“A Dark Lord who uses an exclusive wand, I kind of pity him.” Ron grunted.

Harry sulked alone. He felt that it was his earlier partial favouritism towards Grindelwald and the glorification in his verbal descriptions that had prevented Ron and Hermione from realizing the seriousness of the problem.

After the afternoon practical exam for the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Harry, ignoring the strange looks from Ron and Hermione, chased after Neville and asked, “Na, Neville, did Professor Bagshot mention anything to you alone?”

“He said I did well on the exam.” Neville looked pleased.

“Oh, I mean, apart from that-”

“You want to know when Professor Bagshot is leaving school?” Neville looked at him.

Harry hesitated for a moment and nodded.

“Did you ask him?”

” Well, I did, and he said he wasn’t sure,” Neville said softly, “but he gave me this.” He pulled a walnut-sized glass ball from his pocket, “A Sneakoscope. It’s one of the seven Sneakoscope Professor Hap talked about, and it has one of Professor Bagshot’s hairs hidden inside.”

Harry passed Ron and Hermione a meaningful look.

“-but it’s broken.” Neville said under his breath and Harry was a little dumbfounded, ” Break, broken?” He asked as he stammered. Neville looked at Harry strangely, “Yeah, it’s just a souvenir, Professor Bagshot gave it to me as a gift.”

“Can I see it, Neville?” Hermione spoke in a less-than-normal tone, “Well, I didn’t know Professor Bagshot had studied ancient runes.”

Neville handed her the glass ball with trust.

“The one I have is one of his earlier works, which apparently didn’t work out. Actually, Professor Bagshot developed an appreciation for ancient runes quite early on, didn’t he, Harry?”

“Yes … I did see quite a few books on the subject in his office and discussed them together.” Harry said in a daze, images of the past tumbling through his mind as a sudden, strong wave of guilt welled up in him. He looked over at Hermione, expecting to hear from her that there aren’t any sly magical tricks lurking inside.

He hoped beyond anything that he had guessed wrong.

“It’s beautifully made, and it has floral patterns drawn on it.” After a few minutes, Hermione said, handing the glass ball back to Neville, “But it is indeed broken, the structure of the rune inside is mangled.”

“That’s what Professor Bagshot told me,” Neville said, “the floral patterns on it are of a kind that he is extraordinarily fond of, you can see similar patterns on his clothes.”

“Like Professor Slughorn’s gold buttons?” Ron quipped with a wide grin.

Neville couldn’t help but glare at him and retorted stiffly, “Professor Bagshot has a significantly better taste.” When he left, Hermione shook her head at Harry and Ron.

“You heard what I just said, I really didn’t find anything wrong with it.”

“Well, ugh – that’s for the best.” Harry said with a sigh of relief, a stone dropped from his chest.

The next few days were uneventful. Ginny’s O.W.Ls exams neared their end and Harry took the time to finish his last lesson in the Headmaster’s office, and he was surprisingly a little reluctant when Dumbledore announced that the lesson had ended.

“You have seen nearly all of the last hundred years of history through my eyes, but that does not mean that you possess the same wisdom as I do. It will take enough time to digest, a process that may be brief or may take a lifetime.” Dumbledore said softly.

The old man opposite him seemed to be brimming with enthusiasm and anticipation in his azure eyes, and Harry averted his gaze slightly, his eyes falling on a stack of official letters on the table with a collection of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

Dumbledore gazed at Harry, noting where his eyes lingered, and casually explained, “That’s an official letter from the International Confederation of Wizards, they’ve been sending one almost every day for a while now … I did delay a bit.”

Harry actually wanted to ask what the storybook was about, and why it is on his table, but the moment obviously wasn’t too appropriate, and he made up his mind to find another, lighter atmosphere to talk about the subject.

“How am I going to digest-” Harry didn’t finish his sentence.

“Do the right thing, Harry. And not the easy thing.” Dumbledore said, “Plus there’s careful thinking. This one may seem to be overstated, but I have observed that there are a considerable number of people who can endure physical torture, but not the pain of solitude and thinking.”

Harry nodded in puzzled understanding.

“So – it’s time to talk about the fragment of soul in your body.”

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