Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 50 Christmas Morning
Christmas is here in the blink of an eye.

In the early morning, the owls outside the window were a little noisy.

Melvin was awakened by them and slowly opened his eyes.

The firewood and charcoal in the fireplace had burned out, leaving only a handful of black ash embers. There was still residual heat in the room, and the air was warm and dry, a little stuffy. A spell was cast to half-open the window, and cold air rushed in instantly. Outside, the sound of the north wind whistling across the grounds and towers could be heard.

A pile of packages lay on the rug beside the bed.

I changed out of my pajamas and slowly finished washing up.

Hogwarts has 24-hour hot water. Who can believe this?

All I can say is that house-elves are the foundation of the school.

When he walked out of the bathroom, the stuffy air that had accumulated in the room overnight had completely dissipated. Melvin then went to the bedside and opened the Christmas package he had received.

The friends I used to know live across the ocean, so I won’t receive any gifts from them this year. I’ve only been at Hogwarts for three or four months, and I haven’t met or made many friends with wizards. The gifts aren’t that many, so I counted them quickly.

Ms. Marchbank sent over some cookies, which didn't look very good, but looked like they were made by her own hands;

Several professors of elective courses gave me some exquisite and beautiful men's accessories as gifts, probably because they thought they matched his personality;
Professors McGonagall and Flitwick sent me books, and Professor Sprout sent me some dried flower buds with a lingering fragrance...

Dumbledore gave a storybook, "Tales of Toadstools: Origins", written by Beatrix Bloxam. On the title page there was a recommendation from the publisher's editor: These stories are morbidly focused on the most terrible themes, such as death, disease, bloodshed, evil magic, unhealthy personalities and the most disgusting bodily ejections and explosions.

Melvin was too lazy to guess what the principal was thinking and planned to find an opportunity to give the students a reading comprehension exercise.

Snape sent a small bottle of antidote for the muteness potion, which was quite specific.

Melvin sensed the malice in the potion, and quietly put it away, planning to sell it to Mr. Borgin when he had time.

The last letter was the most special. It was not written on parchment, and the ink had no scent. It was a pure Muggle letter, but on the cover there was the seal of the Department of Owls, and the seals of both the Magical Congress of the United States and the Ministry of Magic of the United Kingdom.

When I opened it, I found out it was from my assistant:

"Melvin—

Hey, it's me, Claire, your forgotten subordinate. I know you must be very surprised to receive this letter, and I was just as surprised when I started writing it. I've tried to contact you since arriving at Disneyland, through phone calls, texts, and emails, but no response. The theater doesn't have any contact information for you, and I even suspected you were arrested and imprisoned.

Later, someone from the Woolworth Building contacted me. Honestly, I have no idea how they found me. They knew my address and that I was looking for you. They asked me about your time at the theater and how the special effects were achieved. I suspect they were an official agency, a Pentagon office or something. Their questioning was very unique, you know? It fits my impression of a clueless bureaucrat.

A relatively friendly Mr. Graves told me that you're volunteering at a remote, underdeveloped school on the British border. With no electricity, no water, and no internet, contacting you through normal channels is difficult, and we can only communicate by letter. This is the seventh letter I've sent; the first six were all returned, stating that international mail required censorship. Damn it, I'd rather believe you were arrested for leaking state secrets or something.

……

Back to the topic, I don't know how you arranged it. I originally thought I would go to a Hollywood company for further training, but I didn't expect to join Walt Disney directly. The treatment was exactly the same as that of regular employees, and the promotion was inexplicably smooth. Everyone thought I had some special background.

Because my promotion went so smoothly, I'll be transferred to Paris after the Christmas holiday to participate in the operations and management of the Disneyland, which will open next year...

Boss, are you still my boss? Write back to me as soon as possible.

Merry Christmas, I hope you get this letter before Christmas.

Your less-than-faithful subordinate, Claire."

Melvin put down the letter and couldn't help but smile faintly. He opened the ink bottle and started thinking about how to reply while waiting for the quill pen to be dipped in ink.

……

Principal's office.

On the shelf, the phoenix Fawkes was curled up in a tattered cloth hat, with his legs curled up and pecking his head. Although he was too sleepy to open his eyes, he couldn't fall asleep again after waking up. His dark eyes stared at the old wizard's messy silver hair, revealing a human-like complaining look, and his short beak opened and made a "cluck cluck" complaint.

Chattering incessantly, like a mother hen brooding over eggs. The portraits of past principals have also come to life.

Some of the frames were empty, the portraits were no longer inside, and some had even left last night and probably wouldn't be back during the holiday. The empty frames made the other principals' portraits envious.

Portraits of the same wizards are linked together. For example, Madam DeVante was not only the headmistress of Hogwarts but also the headmistress of St. Mungo's Hospital, allowing her to travel back and forth between the hospital and the school. Several headmasters also have portraits in their families, allowing them to travel abroad during holidays.

For them, this was a sign of the family's continued existence. Some headmasters came from once-renowned pure-blood families, but no one had heard of them now. For example, Headmaster Phineas Black hadn't had any descendants enrolled in school for many years. Perhaps the Black family line had already died out.

The portraits huddled together, talking in low voices, their eyes fixed on the round table with spindly legs, where a dozen or so exquisite silver items were placed, swirling and emitting small puffs of smoke.

The early rising principal was unpacking his Christmas parcel.

One by one, the beautifully bound books were unpacked. The pages were thick, and each one was a massive volume with profound content. Just the title alone would make one lose interest in reading: "A Manual for Taming Dangerous Magical Creatures: Stings and Scales," "The Seven Doors of Alchemy," "Fluids and Frameworks: The Philosophical Paradox of Transfiguration," "How to Escape Gracefully When a Spell Backfires," "My Magical Self"...

Almost all the gifts were books, including books given by professors at school. Only Melvin gave a bag of Muggle whistle candies. The hollow ring candies made a slight whistling sound when put in the mouth.

Dumbledore tasted one and finally felt a little happier.

Putting aside the thick books that he didn't want to read just because of the titles, the old principal reached out and opened the book "My Magical Me".

Opening the cover, a brilliant smile came into view, and the wizard in a sky blue suit showed his white teeth.

The following is a long introduction to the author: Gilderoy Lockhart, Third Class Order of Merlin, Honorary Member of the Anti-Dark Arts League, and four-time winner of the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award...

"what……"

The portraits of the headmasters behind him all showed disgusted expressions, but Dumbledore read with great interest. He flipped through a few pages and put the book in the place closest to him, intending to read it slowly when he had time.

Next is replying to letters from old friends.

"Ms. Marchbank and Mr. Tofty of the Wizarding Examinations Authority...

"Amelia Bones at the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alastor Moody...

"And yours sincerely, Minister Cornelius Fudge..."

"..."

Dumbledore would read every letter carefully and reply seriously, even if some were just ordinary holiday greetings. After all, many old friends were getting old, and every communication now might be the last.

The centenarian wizard had experienced this many times.

Newt Scamander, who lived in seclusion in Dorset, sent his regards, mentioning that his grandson, Rolf, would be starting school next year and hoping for help in looking after him. Nicolas Flamel, who was temporarily living in Paris, casually inquired about the progress of the Philosopher's Stone project and offered to contact him anytime if he needed any help.

Molly, who was traveling, enclosed a box of fudge with the letter. The letter mentioned that she and her husband were going to Romania to visit their second son Charlie this year, and that the other children would stay in school during the holidays, and she hoped that the principal would discipline them strictly.

Soon only the last letter remained.

Dumbledore took the envelope in his hand, his eyes complicated as he quietly studied the marks on the kraft paper, but was hesitant to open it.

The envelope was a little dirty, even creased, and covered in mud and dust. The sealing wax on the letter was dark red and black, as if it were dried and solidified rat plasma.

The envelope was worn and had a strange smell.

Dumbledore stared at the envelope for a long time, but in the end he did not open it. He opened the drawer and put the letter into a wooden box.

Due to the limited viewing angle and distance, the portraits of past principals on the wall behind could not see the information on the envelope, and could only vaguely see the seal on the wax.

Nurmengard-Send

(End of this chapter)