A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

The next day, Felix yawned as he got out of bed.

He hadn't slept well last night, tossing and turning, and suddenly realized a problem: His responsibilities seemed to have sprawled too wide, things not belonging to him eagerly approached, and he found himself unable to resist. Strangely, he didn't feel much resistance within himself.

When did this begin? Felix pondered this while brushing his teeth in front of the mirror. Faces and events flashed through his mind. In just over two years, he had experienced quite a lot.

Felix knew Dumbledore hadn't rejected his efforts to solve mysteries. He had willingly shared secretive information, things that Dumbledore had likely kept hidden from everyone else.

At least, Felix had probed enough to confirm that Severus knew nothing about the Horcruxes. Those who knew—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Sirius—were all under a binding oath, even Remus was unaware of the truth.

Why would a wise man, someone who guarded secrets so closely, easily divulge this to him? Felix speculated that Dumbledore might be hoping to groom him to face Voldemort.

That wasn't a bad thing.

Felix didn't resist this idea. His initial thought before joining was that he was already strong enough; the only real pressure would come from Dumbledore and the Voldemort-like soul fragment. Even if Voldemort returned, Hogwarts was safe with Dumbledore around. And he didn't mind lending a hand while under protection. If Voldemort's strength turned out to be manageable, he'd gladly deal with the trouble himself.

But things had drastically changed in the past couple of years. Before joining, he relied more on his natural talents, using superior spell levels to overpower others, not fundamentally different from those elite Aurors. Perhaps a few more ancient spells, sixth-level magic, and some tricks up his sleeve... but they had decades more combat experience. Felix admitted that taking a few stunning spells would leave him dazed.

He guessed that back then, he might have stood a chance against the peak Moody (as he learned during treatment). But if Moody came with a trained Auror squad, the outcome would be uncertain. He could resort to immature tactics, like accelerating the casting of instant-killing spells, which had worked in the US, but if his tricks failed, trouble would loom.

Now, everything was different. He had perfected instant-killing tactics, maneuvering effortlessly; the mind chamber magic was becoming combat-ready, unafraid of group attacks; his memory magic was reaching its peak, almost becoming an art form... The guardian's cloak wasn't very useful, just saved him from using a broomstick for flying; the human armor spell resisted arrows but couldn't withstand powerful curses... Additionally, his mastery of ancient runes was bottomless.

Honestly, Felix didn't feel much mental pressure. Even if there was a new landscape beyond him—let's call it "magical beings" or "legends"—he remained calm.

You could always run away. In the records of the last war, though rare, some managed to escape Voldemort's pursuit. Among them were the Lestrange couple, whom Felix had visited during his third-year summer break and extensively interviewed—not just their memories but also the analytical thinking of the two Aurors.

He concluded: In terms of escape skills, he was far superior to the Lestranges.

Considering the worst-case scenario where Dumbledore fell to Voldemort's resurgence, and Felix lacked readiness, he'd withdraw, wait for an opportunity, wait until he was ready to step over that threshold.

Felix had the patience for this and the confidence to go further on the path of magic than anyone else, but he needed time.

He had been thinking quite well, calm, rational, disciplined... fulfilling his usual standards. But as Felix stood in the ancient runes classroom, teaching, and saw those familiar faces, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"What if the time comes when someone needs to take Dumbledore's mantle, to face what he once faced? What would I do?" Felix pondered this weighty question, scanning the classroom. His gaze lingered slightly at the back row, and with a faint smile, he said:

"We have two extra guests in our class today. One is Professor Griselda Marchbanks from the Wizarding Examinations Authority—"

The young wizards clapped enthusiastically, turning their heads to see the petite, hunchbacked witch at the back. She waved, gesturing, "We have much to discuss! But, I think it's best to start the class!"

Ron clapped while craning his neck, "She's our examiner for next year, isn't she?"

Harry also watched Professor Marchbanks but divided his attention, glancing at the slightly balding old man beside her. Though not as extreme, the man's stature and appearance resembled Uncle Vernon. Especially when he glared with those bull-like eyes, the resemblance was uncanny.

Harry dreaded this man suddenly jumping up, tongue-tied in anger, just like Uncle Vernon, unable to utter a complete sentence when infuriated.

Hermione seemed eager to leave a good impression, sitting upright despite her eyes nearly disappearing into her eyebrows. Next to her, Neville sat red-faced, still recovering from the pre-class encounter—Marchbanks and Neville's grandmother were friends, so she knew him. Before class, her loud queries about Neville's grandmother and parents kept escalating, with Marchbanks constantly urging Neville to "speak up!"—resulting in her voice growing louder while Neville's grew softer.

"The other is Mr. Vira, Vice President of the Ancient Runes Society," Felix continued as the applause subsided, cheerfully adding, "Today, we continue our studies, as this knowledge might appear in the O.W.Ls examination..."

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