Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 386 The Principal Has Lost His Mind
Melvin's speech was brief and direct, without any offbeat jokes, and he returned to his seat after delivering the announcement.

A brief silence fell over the four long college tables, followed by a cacophony of voices like waves crashing on the shore. The discussions of hundreds of people merged into a deafening buzz, with almost everyone talking to their friends.

"The Goblet of Fire... the semi-finals?" Ron, a pureblood, looked slightly bewildered.

Seamus and Dean, both of mixed race, were even more bewildered. The young wizards present all looked at Hermione. The "Mr. Know-It-All" was no longer a nickname used to mock her as a bookworm; it had become a compliment.

Hermione pursed her lips: "The Triwizard Tournament is a magical competition held between the three major magic schools in Europe. It was founded about 700 years ago and is held every five years. At that time, it was a friendly exchange between the three schools: Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons. Each school sent one representative to participate, and the headmaster of the competing school served as the referee."

Students from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff neighborhood gathered around. Some of the pure-blood students had received advance notice, but they only had a vague understanding and couldn't explain it clearly, so it was better to listen to Miss Granger's explanation.

“It happens once every five years. Why didn’t we hear about it before?” Ron scratched his head.

"Because the competition became increasingly intense and the missions increasingly dangerous, more and more warriors died, and the competition was canceled due to its notoriety."

“Death…death?” The eager and enthusiastic atmosphere suddenly froze, and Simo and Dean’s expressions stiffened, their faces turning pale.

Hermione nodded, recalling the information she had read in the Daily Prophet, and recited detailed historical records:
"When it was first established at the end of the 13th century, the Cup of Fire was just a friendly exchange competition. Later, in order to win the honor and monetary rewards of winning the competition, the competition among students became more and more intense, the tasks set by the referees became more and more difficult, many champions died in the competition, and there were always suggestions to stop the competition."

"According to 'Hogwarts: A History of the School,' during a competition held at Hogwarts in 1792, three headmasters were injured by a parrot that flew into a rage during a parrot-catching task. Headmaster Durmstrang was blinded in one eye, and the Goblet of Fire was discontinued from then on."

"hiss……"

What kind of parrot is that? It took on three opponents and still won.

The young wizards gasped, their surging passion cooling slightly.

The glory of becoming famous in the magical world is indeed very attractive, but the risks are too great, and it's not worth it.

"Then why did it come back this year?" Justin of Hufflepuff couldn't help but ask.

"This is the result of the efforts of many parties."

Hermione had proofread the articles for the feature article, and it was editor-in-chief Gu Fei who repeatedly instructed her to revise them. She had a deep impression of the intricacies involved.
"The Goblet of Fire was once a globally popular tournament, much like the Quidditch World Cup. In the early days of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, when they had no students, the news of competing against Hogwarts brought them astonishing fame, and a large number of young wizards became famous as a result, with many benefiting from it..."

Hermione's explanation was detailed and specific, but she missed some key points, so she started explaining from the beginning, forcing the young wizards to learn many details.

For example, the World's Wings of Champions has been held at least 125 times, with Hogwarts winning 63 times, Beauxbatons winning 62 times, while Durmstrang has not won a single title in 700 years.

Although many students died during the tournament, many famous wizards emerged from the Goblet of Fire, almost all of whom are depicted on Chocolate Frog cards and have not been forgotten to this day.

The young wizards whispered among themselves, their eyes gleaming with excitement and anticipation.

The little witch paused briefly, then sighed, "The former headmaster of Hogwarts spearheaded the suspension of the tournament, but for two hundred years wizards have been trying to revive it. This year, Ilfamoni and the Magical Congress of the United States also got involved, and with the help of Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman from the Ministry of Magic, they succeeded."

"By the way, isn't it supposed to be a three-way battle? How did Iphamoni get involved?" Simon asked curiously.

"When the Goblet of Fire was first founded, Iphamony had not yet established its school. After it became famous, the Goblet of Fire was discontinued. Upon learning that the Goblet of Fire would be restarted this year, its principal insisted on getting involved."

"I see..."

Just as the students were whispering and discussing, a deafening clap of thunder came from the dome, and with a "bang," the auditorium door was kicked open, and several little witches near the door screamed and backed away.

A wizard dressed in a black traveling cloak stood in the doorway, his hood removed, hanging down his back along with his sparse, mottled gray hair. He limped toward the head table, leaning on his cane, each step making a hollow sound.

As they passed through the corridor next to Gryffindor, the young wizards gathered around Hermione couldn't help but shrink back when they saw his face.

It was a round face covered in scars, not an inch of skin intact. His mouth was stretched open with a crooked gap. It was not hard to imagine that someone had once cut off a piece of flesh with a sharp blade. If the blade had been a little more off-center or a little more forceful, this man would not be standing here now.

The most striking feature was its eyes. One eye was original, like a black bead, while the other was an alchemical creation, resembling a silver scepter with a bright, vivid blue color inside.

The blue eye didn't blink, but darted around, looking around as if some kind of insect was parasitizing its eye socket, seemingly possessing its own will, which sent chills down one's spine.

"Mad-Eye Moody."

Harry heard Ron mutter the name and felt it was vaguely familiar. After the wizard had completely passed by, he suddenly remembered that they had talked about it in the carriage that morning—the wizard who attacked the trash can.

As the lame wizard walked to the head table, his blue eyes fixed on Dumbledore, his brows furrowed, Professor Levent and Professor McGonagall rose to greet him, whispered a few words, and invited Mad-Eye to take his seat.

"I forgot to introduce..."

Melvin rose again, his magically enhanced voice echoing through the Great Hall: "This is our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for this year, Alastor Moody."

……

After the dinner, Harry, Harry, and his friends went up the marble staircase. They were led by prefects and the freshmen lined up neatly, chattering away, just like they had been three years ago.

"I want to participate!" Dean shouted loudly from the side.

"Don't even dream about it, it's impossible," Ximo said coldly.

"Ok?"

"Because I want to participate too!"

"..."

The two prospective warriors immediately began their duel on the stairs, surrounded by moving steps, onlookers in oil paintings, and drifting ghosts, while Peeves shouted and cheered from the ceiling.

They weren't the only ones dreaming of becoming Hogwarts warriors; all the students in sight were beaming with excitement, fantasizing about the honors and wealth they might gain.

Listening to the noise inside the castle, Harry felt a sense of peace.

"The winner will receive a prize of one thousand Galleons..."

Ron, lost in his own fantasy, chuckled to himself. He grabbed his roommate's shoulder and shook him, asking, "Harry, if you had a thousand Galleons, what would you buy?"

“No need for ‘ifs,’ Harry’s vault already has that much,” Hermione shattered his fantasy. Ron immediately frowned and stared at him, his expression somewhat distressed.

"Right now, I just want to talk to Dumbledore about that strange dream. Maybe it's some kind of omen." Harry said helplessly, pushing Ron's arm away.

He felt he needed to figure out what role Wormtail played in Voldemort's plan to make a comeback, and why Voldemort specifically wanted him.
Is it all for revenge?
Can't we settle our scores after we're resurrected?

He squeezed sideways through the gaps between his classmates, pushing forward in the line like a nimble stag. Harry didn't look up, wanting to finish this before curfew:
"Excuse me... excuse me..."

As Harry pushed his way forward out of the line, he noticed something strange: the professors and headmasters were positioned oddly.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Levent walked at the front of the group, occasionally turning around to chat with the new Professor Moody, while Principal Dumbledore lagged behind, munching on a milk biscuit and idly looking around.

"Shouldn't the headmaster be talking to Mad-Eye? Is Professor Levent just sitting there bored?" Harry couldn't understand, so he went over to the headmaster and tugged at his sleeve.

“Mr. Dumbledore, do you have a moment? I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Before the headmaster could answer, Harry began to recount his strange dream from not long ago, focusing on the snake-faced baby hiding in swaddling clothes, the two wizards accompanying him, and the python crawling on the wall.

Dumbledore seemed very surprised and speechless, staring wide-eyed at Harry.

"Was this dream real? Or was it some kind of prophetic revelation? I even took a divination course this semester, so perhaps this is what Professor Trelawney called the 'third eye'."

Harry rattled off a long string of words, then felt a little embarrassed when he met the headmaster's gaze. It seemed somewhat inappropriate for him to approach the headmaster because of a strange dream.

“I know it’s absurd, but Professor, I feel I have to do something.”

"It has to be done? It has to be done!"

Dumbledore, abandoning his usual amiable demeanor, became somewhat irritable: "You're a fourth-year student, a minor wizard, what is it that you absolutely must do? Why is it absolutely necessary to do it?"

"Because it's about Voldemort!" Harry thought, puzzled.

"Voldemort hasn't been resurrected yet. You're still a student. Your job is to stay in the castle and study hard. Don't meddle in adult matters, understand?"

Harry was stunned: "Sir, that's not what you said before?"

"I used to be senile!"

Aberforth said rudely, "What sane wizard would entrust the task of defeating the Dark Lord and saving the world to an ungraduated student? Are all adults useless?"

"..."

“Listen, child, don’t think about this anymore. Just focus on your studies and go to school,” Aberforth patted him on the shoulder.

As Harry watched him quicken his pace to catch up with the other professors, he stood there stunned. Thinking about how Professor Levent spoke in place of the headmaster that evening, and how Professor McGonagall was in charge of talking to the new professors, he felt that Dumbledore's head was probably really messed up.

“I need to talk to Professor Levent,” Harry said seriously.

……

In the white porcelain cup was brown hot cocoa, and on the beautifully decorated porcelain plate were leftover shortbread and apple pie from the dinner.

Deep in the corridor on the eighth floor, in the principal's office, Melvin, Professor McGonagall, Aberforth, and Mad-Eye Moody sat around the desk, under the gaze of portraits of past principals.

Within the Death Eater group, three key members were all undercover agents. The plan to attack and replace Mad-Eye Moody would certainly not go smoothly. Wormtail and Melvin communicated, and the headmaster had also sent a message to Moody long ago.

Voldemort, of course, couldn't be there in person, so Barty, Wormtail, and Moody staged a dramatic attack on the trash can.

Albus persuaded Voldemort to let Barty stay by his side to take care of him and prepare the medicines and materials needed for the resurrection ritual.

Moody said gruffly, pulling a bald, missing-toed rat from his pocket: "Let this guy take my place at the school and find a chance to smuggle Harry out."

The mouse slammed onto the table with a thud, but didn't dare to make a sound. It curled up, hugged its tail tightly, and tried to minimize its presence.

Mad-Eye Moody is a scarred villain who has framed hundreds of dark wizards over the decades. Unlike the Longbottoms, who were kind to prisoners, he always believed that criminals should be broken first and then interrogated slowly.

Melvin picked up his hot cocoa, took a sip, and began reviewing the intelligence.

Although the headmaster was modest and reluctant when he first received the undercover mission, once he actually infiltrated the enemy ranks and got close to Voldemort, he was unwilling to leave easily. He found a way to hand over the Hogwarts infiltration mission to Wormtail and stayed in Hangleton himself.

“A plan to maximize profits.” Aberforth curled his lip.

“Albus is right,” Professor McGonagall nodded slightly.

“In that case… let Peter stay at Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Voldemort can sense the approximate location of the Dark Mark, and if the location is too far off, Voldemort will definitely find the flaw.”

Melvin pushed a silver kettle toward the insect's tail, giving him a place to hide so he wouldn't tremble from the stinging gazes.

"I agree with your approach; always remain vigilant."

Mad-Eyes leaned back, stretched his legs, pulled a curved bottle from his pocket, took a big gulp, and let out a satisfied exhale.

He doesn't like to drink things that others have touched, so he always carries his own bottle, which contains both alcohol and magic potions to soothe the pain he suffered from his youth.

After screwing the bottle shut and setting it aside, Mad-Eyes slowly asked, "Then what am I going to do?"

Melvin thought for a moment: "You can take turns teaching, as long as the students don't see the two Mad-Eyes at the same time."

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist strangling this rat.” Mad-Eye glared at the silver vessel containing the rat, and the silver pot trembled slightly.

Professor McGonagall spoke up at the right moment: "Remus and Tonks are short-handed. Alastor, since you can't show your face for the time being, go and help Remus with the werewolf matters. Remember to send back the hair regularly to make Polyjuice Potion, so that Wormtail won't give you away."

"Ha, head-on combat? I also think that job suits me better!" Mad-Eye grinned.

(End of this chapter)