A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

"Arrogant, just like his father, full of himself, fond of breaking rules, likes to stand out, meddlesome, insolent—" Snape castigated the departing trio, his gaze fixed firmly on Harry, his eyes filled with deep-seated hatred.

"From Slytherin's perspective, he's indeed not likable. Well, all three of them," Felix murmured softly. "But, as you heard, they only caught the last few lines, no context... So, I told them we were discussing my new wand, gave it a whimsical name."

Snape remained silent. His dark eyes still fixed on Harry's departing figure, from this angle, he resembled his father.

After a moment, he spoke icily, "Felix, I will disclose information about your wand to that person."

Felix calmly replied, "I expected that. You decide how much you reveal."

"You think I have a say?" Snape retorted discontentedly, his black robes billowing as he strode through the rain curtains. His figure blurred.

...

"Such bad luck," grumbled Ron, climbing the stairs.

"Oh, don't say that—"

They stood at the staff room's entrance. Harry nervously knocked, hoping nobody was inside. The seconds waiting felt like an eternity, and finally, a familiar voice from inside said, "Come in."

Contrary to their hopes, Harry thought, hearing sighs from both sides, he gathered courage and pushed the door open. It was a long room, softly lit from the ceiling, warmer than the outside, perhaps due to the fireplace in the corner. Professor McGonagall raised her head from a pile of parchment, sharp eyes peering over square spectacles.

"Potter, Weasley, Granger, what brings you here?"

"We were asked to see you because... because of some mistakes." Harry handed over a note, McGonagall furrowed her brow, taking the note. It was stuck together, an effect of the Phoenix Society, her brow furrowing deeper as she tapped her wand on it, causing it to unfold.

McGonagall quickly scanned it, staying silent for a while.

"Is this true?" she asked, "Eavesdropping on professors' conversation?" The note vaguely explained the process and subtly referenced the background of the conversation, where they were discussing Phoenix Society's confidential information.

"We didn't mean to," Harry explained palely, "We—um, came out for fresh air after lunch, and then—" McGonagall huffed, Harry continued to explain, rewinding time to a few minutes ago—

"Did you hear? Professor Lupin's class is quite popular," Hermione pondered, she, Harry, and Ron had just left the Great Hall, ready for some air.

"He said to keep it secret," Harry's tone was irked, tapping his foot, "Said it's a surprise, and we only have his class tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to it."

Hermione and Ron chuckled.

"What's up?" Harry looked a bit bewildered.

"Your tone is like a kid arguing with parents... Watch out!" Hermione said as a first-year stumbled and almost collided with them.

"No running in the castle, you could've hit someone else," Hermione started sternly, then softened, "What's wrong?"

The first-year looked terrified, constantly glancing back, as if someone were chasing them.

The three exchanged glances.

"Hey, little one, we're prefects. If someone's bothering you, don't hesitate to tell us," Ron puffed up, making his prefect badge more prominent, "I have the authority to give detentions, deduct points..."

"Oh, come on, Ron, we shouldn't abuse our prefect privileges," Hermione said seriously, looking at the first-year, who seemed scared, "What's going on?"

The first-year, with a frightened look, stuttered, then turned and ran off, on the verge of tears.

...

"So, you want to know what happened?" McGonagall's voice was stern.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione nodded blankly.

"We're prefects, and we ought to—" Ron scratched his head, McGonagall glanced at him, "Forgive me for being direct, Mr. Weasley, but there's no rule in the prefect handbook that explains your actions today, and this isn't the first time."

The bell rang, McGonagall stood up, stuffing the parchment on her desk into a drawer. "I fully support Professor Snape's approach, deduction..." She pursed her lips, "and detention, starting this week—"

Harry and Ron raised their heads in horror, realizing something. Quidditch tryouts were on Friday afternoon.

"—until the end of this month, every Saturday evening until lights out, working on potion ingredients."

With that said, they were shooed out by McGonagall. The three hurriedly rushed to the Potions classroom, Ron complaining all the way, "Late again! I bet that old bat will give us trouble... Why couldn't McGonagall say a word for us? Snape's blowing things out of proportion, and now he's got someone to help him with potion ingredients for the whole term..."

Suddenly, Harry felt queasy, recalling the dim classroom, the dissected toads, the suffocating scent of ginger and peppermint, radishes, the secretion of spiny fins, bat and rat spleens, sticky doxy mucus... He shivered.

They returned to the common room late in the evening with heavy steps.

"I told you, Snape wasn't planning to let us off easily, ten points each for being late, whose fault was it... nearly two hundred points down," Ron lamented, close to crying like a bubotuber, as they slumped into the most secluded spot in the common room.

Harry and Hermione were equally low-spirited.

"Can we deduct points from other houses?" Ron suddenly had an idea, but neither Harry nor Hermione paid attention. They were used to Ron's impractical suggestions; he'd give up on them eventually.

"We can't do that, and you'll have to write a lengthy report," Hermione finally corrected.

"What if it's Malfoy and his gang..." Ron's eyes sparkled, then dimmed, "Oh, no, I forgot, he's a prefect too."

At that moment, Harry, who had been silent, asked suddenly.

"That story... the one Professor

Lupin told us, about Boggarts... Do you remember?"

Hermione nodded, "Yes, it was fascinating."

"I think I know what mine would be," Harry said softly, a pained expression on his face.

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