A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 621: Advanced Ancient Magic Class

Gryffindor Common Room.

"What did you say? At school! Are they insane?" Ron shouted, his face displaying disbelief.

Hermione shot him a fierce look. Ron lowered his voice but increased the urgency, hissing, "Is it true? The mysterious person is locked in Classroom 7? I hope I'm not dreaming." He glanced at the lounge clock instinctively, but it was already dark, and he couldn't see clearly.

"The professors used a lot of magic on him," Harry whispered, meticulously describing Voldemort's encounter, emphasizing the serpent made up of multiple guardian spirits. However, Ron kept muttering, "Insane, completely insane."

Hermione appeared slightly calmer, only briefly surprised. She attempted to analyze the purpose behind such actions.

"I thought Voldemort was dead—"

Harry and Ron looked at her in surprise.

Hermione impatiently said, "Yes, Harry's last sighting of Voldemort being captured at the end of the last semester doesn't prove anything because at that time," she mouthed the word 'Horcrux,' "there was still one in Bellatrix Lestrange's possession."

"You're right," Harry said. "Voldemort had one more means of achieving immortality than anticipated."

Hermione and Ron gasped.

"Did you find the extra one? Did you destroy it?" Ron hurriedly asked.

Harry stared at him, expression blank, nodding and then shaking his head.

"Found it but not destroyed?" Ron guessed. "But why? Is it hard to get it from someone? Hey, we can ask Professor Snape to sneak—"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Oh, sorry, I thought Professor Snape wouldn't mind—" Ron apologized halfway, suddenly realizing Hermione wasn't calling his name. "I'm Ron, remember?" But Hermione kept staring at Harry's face, lips trembling.

Ron's pupils dilated in fear. Slowly turning his head to Harry.

"Yes, I am the last one," Harry forced his tone to sound calm.

"Hush." Seeing both of their mouths gaping open, he raised a finger. "There's more to the story, Dumbledore and Professor Snape spared Voldemort's life because of this. Let me finish—"

He began recounting the events in detail, omitting Dumbledore's request for secrecy about the Resurrection Stone. The story was lengthy, starting from the last History of Magic exam. Harry quickly reached the part where he saw Snape and Dumbledore's private conversation. "They knew back then?" Ron exclaimed. "No, you knew back then?" He looked at Harry with a deceiving expression. "I thought I was done for."

"Strange that you suddenly wanted to write a book," Ron realized, then cast a suspicious glance, "During the summer at the Burrow, you and Ginny didn't interact much. I thought you were embarrassed, but now thinking about it..." He clenched his fists, anger evident.

Harry recoiled a step.

"If you plan to betray us—"

"How could I!" Harry nervously interjected. "Let me explain—" Ron was approaching, and Harry closed his eyes, expecting a punch. Instead, he received a hug. Harry could barely catch his breath. "Damn it, remember this punch if there's a next time," Ron threatened, brandishing his fist.

Hermione covered her mouth, eyes sparkling. "Oh, you two."

It seemed like the incident was over, the storm passing. Harry felt it was the first time in two months that he laughed freely. He sensed the worry in Hermione's eyes and hesitated before saying, "Don't worry, Dumbledore told me some things... he has a secret weapon..." Seeing Hermione about to speak, Harry shook his head repeatedly. "Don't ask. I promised Dumbledore to keep it a secret."

Harry's confidence stemmed from the legendary Resurrection Stone; he witnessed its magical wonders. Dumbledore used it to summon his sister Ariana and introduced her to Harry. However, this was just the surface of what Dumbledore had "researched" about the Resurrection Stone.

"Oh, by the way," Ron said, "When leaving the Great Hall last night, I saw Hagrid."

Harry's eyelids jumped. He felt his confidence rapidly replaced by another emotion. In a dry tone, he asked, "What did he say?"

"Are you still planning to take his class this year?" Ron retorted. Harry and Hermione remained silent.

The three of them exchanged glances.

Lying in bed, Harry stared at the bedpost, unable to help but complain in his heart, Why didn't Ron bring up this problem tomorrow?

The next day after breakfast, the new sixth-year students stayed behind.

The four Heads of Houses came down from the staff table to distribute and organize schedules for the students. It was a troublesome task since the Heads had to check the O.W.Ls exam results first to confirm students' eligibility for classes.

"Potions—Acceptable. I would never accept this grade if I were still teaching this subject," Snape's distinctive cold voice echoed to the Gryffindor table.

"Acceptable for Potions?" Ron asked, realizing too late that there was a change in the Potions professor.

"Yes, Weasley. Professor Slughorn is willing to accept students with 'Acceptable' or higher grades." Professor McGonagall said, placing a stack of blank schedules on the table, flipping through her notes.

She called several students' names in order, distributing schedules to them.

"Grainger."

Hermione walked over, swiftly stating, "I'll continue studying Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions."

Professor McGonagall's stern face revealed a hint of a smile.

"Of course, Miss Granger. Professor McGonagall even wrote a commendation letter." She waved her wand, and golden-red ink appeared on the empty schedule. Then she turned to Neville. Neville nervously took out a small note and read its contents, "I choose Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ancient Runes—"

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry, Longbottom. Your mother wrote to me. With your grades, you can still choose another subject, Potions, right?" She looked at Neville, who nodded.

Then Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and looked up from the crowd. "Anyone else choosing Ancient Runes? The first class is Ancient Runes, and you need to hurry—"

Countless arms shot up.

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