Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 36: A Friendly Exchange with Quirrell [Please Read On!]

Quirrell, the former Muggle Studies professor, stood at the side of the corridor, his hands clasped together, as if he had been waiting for a long time. Seeing him, he immediately forced an awkward smile: "Professor Lewynter, are you going to the Great Hall or back to your office? I have some questions about Muggles that I'd like to ask you, the psychology knowledge you mentioned earlier."

"..."

"Professor Lewinter?"

"Professor Quirrell, I remember you were also the Muggle Studies professor."

"I have some Muggle relatives who know some superficial Muggle knowledge, but not in-depth. After graduation, I have been hanging around in the wizarding world, so I don't really understand the in-depth knowledge and customs of Muggles."

Quirrell's voice trembled with excitement at his willingness to talk, and he stopped stuttering.

He had waited for several days for this right opportunity. Today, the bat had several classes in a row and had no time to bother him. He switched classes with Trelawney, which gave him this free time.

In order to talk to Lewinter smoothly, he specially changed his turban and the herbs in the turban before going out today.

Yes, herbs.

The Dark Lord is not an Irish leprechaun, but a ghost that exudes the breath of death all the time. In the hope of resurrecting the Dark Lord to gain power, they offer their body and soul, but they did not expect that the evil parasitism does not bring gold coins and good luck, but weakness and withering.

The ghost resides in the back of the head, constantly absorbing the flesh and magic of the living. In order to nourish the ghost, the body is on the verge of death, rotting and stinking, and the pus in the back of the head must be relieved by powerful magic potions.

Quirrell didn't know how to make potions, so he could only apply some herbal ingredients and mix in a lot of garlic and onions to cover up the smell.

He could adapt to the foul smell, but he couldn't ignore the feeling of his body constantly decaying. He could clearly feel his skin gradually softening and festering. He hid in the bathroom at night to clean his body, and the black and smelly pus made him feel terrified.

Things had developed to this point, the Dark Lord had already taken control of his soul, and Quirrell didn't even dare to have any regrets.

I can only be driven by the voice in my head.

Quirrell followed Melvin upstairs, his stuttering less intense. "I'm very interested in psychology. Last time, I heard you talk about fear. I want to overcome my own timidity and want to know how to apply this knowledge in practice... For example, the theory you used when you decorated the room last time. Can you tell me about it?"

"Oh, I can't reveal the layout of the room. Dumbledore specifically instructed me to do so..." Melvin wore a friendly, colleaguely smile, his eyes lingering on Quirrell's expression and turban. "I do have a few books I can recommend to you, just for entertainment. You know, although psychology is interesting, it's all theoretical knowledge and difficult to apply in practice."

Quirrell forced a smile.

"Look! Just like now!" Melvin stared at his face and said, "Your eyebrows are lowered, your upper eyelids are slightly raised, and the corners of your mouth are drooping. According to psychological explanation, this means that you are angry and resentful towards me."

"..."

Quirrell's face froze instantly, neither smiling nor crying, his expression looking extremely ugly.

"Avoiding my gaze now is a sign of embarrassment and guilt, a sign that you're trying to hide or escape. Turning slightly to the side with your arms stiff means you're on guard against me..."

Melvin continued his analysis, and seeing Quirrell's expression becoming increasingly grim, he suddenly changed the subject: "But how is that possible? We're just colleagues, and I only joined this year. What's there for you to be wary of?"

"That's right!" Quirrell breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's how psychology is. A lot of knowledge remains at the theoretical stage and has no practical value." Melvin said nonchalantly, "Muggles don't know Legilimency, so how can they know other people's true thoughts? By the way, do you know Legilimency?"

"Know...know."

When Quirrell met those dark and deep eyes, a chill ran down his back and his heart trembled.

He subconsciously wanted to turn away, but then he remembered his previous analysis and tried his best to restrain himself. "I... I have something else to do... I'll leave first. We... can talk later."

"Okay Professor Quirrell. Goodbye Professor Quirrell."

"Goodbye."

Melvin smiled friendly as he watched his back hurried away.

The Philosopher's Stone...

...The third floor of Hogwarts Castle.

The wooden door of the Muggle Studies office was locked.

"call……"

There was a slight sound of wind in the room.

From under the cracks at the bottom of the brown wooden door, fine dust flew out and landed on the ground in front of the office door, forming a layer of floating dust.

A faint silver light flickered through the gaps.

This bottle of silver substance was mixed by Wright. When making it, he referred to the silver mist formula in the meditation basin and made appropriate adjustments based on Melvin's needs. However, it did not have the rune array engraved on the container stone basin, so people could not enter the memory scene or truly feel the scene at that time. However, this was exactly what they needed.

Wright's letter mentioned that he was experimenting with making a cloud container, similar to what Muggles call a screen.

Melvin observed the silver mist floating in the bottle and pulled out the rubber stopper.

Tiny particles of light floated out of the glass bottle, and misty silver-white clouds filled the entire room. Its state was between that of gas and liquid, light and weightless, flowing almost like liquid, like the mist floating in the forbidden forest in the early morning.

Pulling out a wisp of memory to touch the silver-white clouds, the silver fluorescence spread like ripples, and these shapeless mists soon showed the scene in memory. Mount Greylock on a midsummer afternoon, the water was clear and transparent, and the shade of the trees was connected to each other, completely replicating the appearance in memory.

However, it is impossible to replicate the experience beyond the visual and auditory experience. The picture shows a midsummer afternoon, and the heat in the mountains is dispelled by the shade of trees and springs. In reality, it is early autumn in the Scottish Highlands, and there is already a hint of coolness.

The subjective recollection in my mind still seems to feel the coolness of the spring water, but it's a bit hazy and unreal. Memory is like that: the longer it passes, the more hazy it becomes, blurring the images, sounds, and touch until only an emotional perception remains.

Important and profound memories will ferment over time and become stronger and stronger, while some memories will evaporate until they disappear into nothingness.

Melvin sat behind his desk, thinking quietly.

As a professor at Hogwarts, after three weeks of teaching, his unique Muggle teaching style has affected almost all students in the school. Even the young wizards who have never taken Muggle classes will be indirectly influenced by their classmates or roommates. The seeds planted by Professor Lewynter have taken root.

He could feel a noticeable increase in magic power every moment, weak but steady.

At present, this influence has only spread among the students of Hogwarts. When Wright's screen design is completed and the plan proceeds as expected, the effect achieved may be completely different.

"..."

Melvin came back to his senses and looked at the shadow of memory in the room. He reached out and dipped his hand into the spring water, cupped his hands together, and carefully scooped a handful of clear water from his memory.

The clouds of memory are just images, and the air in the real office is just air. Touching the water in memory is like looking for the truth in the illusion of nothingness. Even for a wizard, this is an action that is doomed to be fruitless.

Melvin did it extremely seriously and meticulously, and the whole process was so slow that the movements looked a little difficult.

It was a simple movement that even a child could do, but he seemed to be struggling to do it.

"Wow..."

The moment his hands were lifted out of the water, water splashed and a slight but real sound was heard in the room.

Melvin looked down at his hands. There was no water on the palms of his hands, but the backs of his hands had become wet. A few drops of water slid down the backs of his hands, feeling cold and a little itchy.

Water droplets fell on the table, soaking Wright's letter paper.

There are many spells that can create water out of thin air, but these drops are not water condensed from a spring, nor are they water created by transfiguration, but real water droplets.

Turning false fantasies into reality, reaching the most essential secrets of magic...

Melvin couldn't help but smile.

He doesn't need the Philosopher's Stone; he is the Philosopher's Stone.

(End of this chapter)