A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 203: The Magical Script Club's Recruitment

Later in the afternoon, a brand-new poster was hung on the bulletin board, and from quite a distance, one could clearly read the title on it—Recruitment Notice for the Magical Script Club!

A group of young wizards gathered around the bulletin board, and an enthusiastic student read aloud for everyone to hear:

"We are recruiting the first batch of members for the Magical Script Club, with the following requirements (choose any one of the three, selection will be based on merit):

Roughly master thirty practical ancient magical scripts (to the extent of repairing magical puppets), or be proficient in one practical ancient magical script (see illustration below);

Independently create an alchemical item;

Focus on 'Exploration of Ancient Magical Scripts' and complete a seven-foot-long essay (alternative reference book list attached).

Selection time: the last Saturday morning of this month; Location: Ancient Magical Script classroom;

—Head of the Magical Script Club: Felix Harp, born on September 7, 1993."

Beneath the poster, there was a moving image and a lengthy book list.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed to the front of the crowd, carefully examining the text and illustrations.

"I think the first requirement is the easiest to fulfill," Ron said, staring at the end of the first item. "It's the last sentence—just needing to be proficient in one practical ancient magical script."

His words elicited a chorus of agreement.

"Not at all!" Hermione retorted sharply. She pointed to the animated image on the bottom left of the poster—a young wizard holding a magical symbol, which promptly transformed into a burst of flames. "It's the most difficult of all the requirements. In fact, I believe the third requirement is the simplest."

"Are you kidding, Hermione? It's a seven-foot essay, seven feet!"

"My eyesight is just fine, Ron. In fact, I've written longer essays."

Many students recognized this assistant from the Ancient Magical Script class, especially those who had taken the elective for more than a year. They were familiar with her handwriting.

Privately, many people complained that the second-year Gryffindor was the actual professor of the Ancient Magical Script class, because her delicate handwriting often appeared on the assignments for this class, spanning five different years.

"Miss Granger, I hope you can explain the meaning and difficulty level of each requirement in detail," seventh-year Percy appeared. He had a badge on his chest symbolizing his role as the head of the boys' student council. His tone was dignified and formal. "Your words will be a powerful reference."

Ron whispered to Harry, "Look at him, he's like the spokesperson for the Ministry of Magic, just missing the protruding belly."

Harry glanced at Percy, then imagined Percy with Uncle Vernon's belly—a mental image that made him burst into laughter.

Seeing everyone's attention on her, Hermione said nervously, "Oh, of course. Professor Harp's Magical Script Club places greater emphasis on practical magical scripts. His three requirements revolve around this point."

"The first requirement assesses proficiency in practical magical scripts. Based on what I know—I mean, I've seen your assignments—many students from fifth year and above meet the criteria, except for that last sentence!"

"The second requirement is understandable, but to meet the professor's standard, you'd definitely need to use more alchemical symbols and practical magical scripts."

"The third requirement examines the understanding of practical magical scripts. Personally, I think—it's the simplest way and the best choice for students below fifth year..."

After a dozen minutes, Hermione finally broke free from the crowd and found Harry and Ron waiting at a distance.

"My goodness, this is the first time I've been treated with such enthusiasm!" Hermione said, unsure whether she was pleased or annoyed.

Ron muttered to the side, "I wouldn't mind trading places with you."

"Let's go, we should head to the Great Hall for dinner," Harry suggested.

At that moment, a voice interjected—

"Thus, you Muggle-borns have just stepped into the limelight!" Draco Malfoy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, wearing a sickly expression on his face. By his side stood Pansy Parkinson, along with his unwavering lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy! Maybe you should be more concerned about explaining to your dear old dad how you're hanging out with your Death Eater friends," Ron sneered.

Draco's expression darkened; Ron had struck a nerve. Ever since his thoughtless comment last Tuesday, after three days of brooding, his father had sent a strongly-worded letter, forbidding him from mentioning any topic related to the Dark Lord.

"Get this person out of your memory, understand! Otherwise, I'll bring you back." That's how the sentence in the letter went.

Draco paid no attention to Ron. He looked at Harry and said, "If I were you, I'd spend more time with that big oaf. You might only find him in Knockturn Alley in the future."

Harry replied without hesitation, "Hagrid won't get fired."

"Just wait and see, Potter." Draco smirked coldly and turned to Hermione. "You Muggle-borns have a bit of cleverness, but what else can you do besides rote memorization?"

"I can do a lot more. Do you want to try?" Hermione produced a strange syllable from her mouth, and a faint halo appeared over her palm.

"She's also ranked first in all subjects on the second-year 'Answer Sheepskin Parchment' leaderboard. Yes, to you, that's nothing... Oh, right, she might even become one of your examiners if you want to join the Magical Script Club," Ron taunted him.

Draco felt as uncomfortable as if he had swallowed a dead fly. He spoke slowly, "What a shame, it seems you've won the Daily Prophet's grand prize in fortune-telling, making you noticeably more confident..."

"Draco, don't pay attention to these lowlifes. My grandfather's servants are wealthier than their entire family. Being on par with them is the greatest humiliation I've ever faced in my life," Pansy Parkinson said haughtily as she pulled him away.

Ron furrowed his brow and said incredulously, "Are they insane? Why is their presence always so unpleasant?"

Even after dinner and back in the common room, Ron was still bothered by the incident. "Ruined my good mood for the day, Hermione. I mean it, if you become one of the examiners in the selection... hey! Keep your cat away from me!"

Less than three feet away from him, a ginger-furred, squashed-faced big cat was crouching down, its gaze fixed on his pocket.

Hermione grumpily picked up her cat. "Crookshanks, behave." She sat down on the other side of the small round table.

Harry looked down at a piece of parchment covered with names and various lines connecting them.

Hermione glanced at the content and worriedly said, "Harry, are you still preoccupied with that fugitive?"

"I just can't understand how my dad could pick that guy as his best man!" Harry pounded the table in frustration. Even though nearly a week had passed, he couldn't forget his anger at that moment.

Hermione tried to console him, saying, "People can change, Harry."

Curious, Ron asked, "I remember you said you were going to talk to Professor Lupin on Saturday for information. What happened?"

Harry sighed dejectedly. "I didn't meet him. Professor Lupin was sick. I knocked on his door for ages, and he finally replied in a hoarse voice."

"But he didn't outright refuse you, did he? Try again when you get the chance, after class or maybe the next weekend," Ron suggested.

Harry nodded; he was thinking the same thing. There was supposed to be a lesson in Dark Arts Defense today, but Professor Lupin looked too worn out. Harry didn't want to ask for a favor while the professor was teaching; he was afraid Lupin might collapse during class.

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