A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts C.360: What Makes a Warrior

Felix, Flitwick, Sprout, Snape, and Moody stood together, with Moody leaning on a long staff, engaged in a lively conversation with Flitwick.

"Such a pity Millva didn't come; we're one Head of House short," Flitwick said.

"No need to worry, Professor Flitwick," Moody's deep voice rumbled, "we all agreed in advance. We came here today to join in the festivities. I also want to see how these students perform..."

"Millva is chairing the meeting. Lupin arrived this morning, along with representatives from the school board. It's important to have significant figures present on the school's side," Felix explained concisely, understanding the reasons behind it.

"Is that the Magic Lamp?" Moody inquired, his magical eye swiveling toward Felix, "The future world company's name, I've heard of it. The Daily Prophet practically interviewed everyone in Diagon Alley, asking for their thoughts on that suddenly appearing building."

"Indeed, I've seen it too, along with the Quidditch World Cup's light show. Although it seemed to have been overshadowed by that unexpected parade, I wonder if it was affected?" Sprout added.

"Not really a problem, actually. Lims complained to me about too many orders, unable to keep up, so they had to urgently hire more people," Felix replied with a smile, clearly satisfied with the progress of the Future World Company.

The professors conversed amongst themselves, while Snape remained silent on the sidelines, appearing even more withdrawn than usual. He wore a black robe, arms folded in front of him, a distant observer.

At ten in the morning, the crowd formed a dense mass. Some students sat on the slope, laying out blankets and various foods, as if they were having a picnic, leisurely observing their surroundings.

Felix looked at the professors, "It's about time. Shall we begin? How about"

"We're here to spectate," Flitwick interrupted, "Dumbledore assigned you to handle the training of the champions. Your Pensieve is the most suitable tool. I've already left my own memory eagerly, but I'm no match for Dumbledore. I'm planning to leave the memory of when I won the Dueling Championship that year..."

In the staff room, Professor McGonagall had organized several meetings to discuss the selection and training of the champion candidates. To legitimize Dumbledore's assignment of Felix, McGonagall used the Pensieve to convince the other professors. She recalled the Headmaster's admonition and only briefly explained its purpose. Later, it was Flitwick who voluntarily approached Felix, inquiring about the details and readily agreeing to provide a memory.

Aside from Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Felix himself, none of the other professors had done so. This actually illustrated that everyone held their memories in high regard. Dumbledore's previous concerns weren't unfounded; he didn't want to turn it into a mandatory action.

Felix slightly bowed and stepped forward, using his wand to point at himself. His voice carried far and clear, as though speaking directly into the ears of the students, all of whom could hear him distinctly.

"You should have seen the notice on the bulletin board. Today, we aren't selecting championsthat's the task of the Triwizard Tournament. What we're doing is selecting a group of promising students for special training. It's highly likely that the eventual champion will emerge from among them. Even if not, they will represent the students, welcoming staff and students from the four participating schools and attending exchange activities."

Felix idly twirled his wand, "So, what defines potential and a worthy champion?"

"The Sorting Hat sorts students into the four houses based on their most prominent traits. You might think it would be great if there was a 'Champion Hat'..."

Laughter rippled among the students.

"You might also think I'd pick the most skilled students. That would require having you all brawl, at the very least demonstrating your prowess in magic. But I must remind you, the Triwizard Tournament lasts an exceptionally long time, which means latecomers can catch up, and frontrunners can fall behind at any moment.

Strength is not the only criterion for measurement; otherwise, today's endeavor would be meaningless."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances. When they arrived, they speculated whether they would compete based on who had the strongest spells. But that couldn't establish a unified standard. Harry excelled at the Disarming Charm, yet even he knew the professors wouldn't consider just that factor.

However, the professors' words deviated significantly from what they had anticipated, seeming to care little about their abilities. This left Harry somewhat disappointed.

"...We professors have reviewed extensive records, analyzed past events, and drawn some conclusions. One of these conclusions can be shared with you: champions often face the most daunting difficulties, challenges far beyond their own capabilities. In such circumstances, a slight gap in strength isn't all that significant."

"The champion isn't always the strongest. You will find that there are more unseen obstacles obstructing your path to victory... So, I propose a small suggestion, starting from the very definition of a champion itself." Felix paused his actions and his eyes sparkled sharply, "We have returned to the initial questionwhat makes a champion?"

He took a few steps, looked at the crowd with a commanding presence, and when Felix posed the question once again, the students felt a weight settle in their hearts.

"Champions don't represent an individual or a particular house; they are given a unified title by outsidersHogwarts students. During the summer, I visited Egypt and met a local witch. I didn't ask her which house she came from because, in my eyes, she was simply a wizard from Hogwarts."

The young wizards' expressions involuntarily turned serious. They straightened their backs, and a piece of candy that a first-year was about to pop into their mouth hovered in mid-air, only to be set down. Luna clapped her hands and enthusiastically shook the hat she was holding.

"As champions represent Hogwarts when they embark on a journey for honor, I believe they should possess certain shared traits"

"Courageous and fearless, with remarkable spirit;"

"Wide-ranging knowledge, intelligent and wise;"

"Honest and loyal, steadfast and upright;"

"Focused and composed, with self-control."

Felix smiled softly, "Of course, those are ideal wishes. If we can adopt one or two of these traits, we're already quite fortunate." Unbeknownst to him, a suspicious black mist gathered in his hand.

He pointed his wand at the mist, letting it rise lightly, resembling a black lantern. When it ascended to a high point near the ceiling, the mist plummeted like a shell, trailing long black smoke. The young wizards quickly stepped back, but they realized the mist didn't spread infinitely. When it expanded to around fifteen feet, it ceased its growth, warping into a faintly visible door that hung in mid-air, about six or seven feet off the ground, shrouded in the black mist.

Beneath the black door extended seven steps, their surfaces as smooth as polished black mirrors, connecting step by step to the ground.

"Step inside, then come out, and if you get an invitation card, you're in." Felix said calmly, glancing at Moody leaning on his staff and the other professors nearby. He smiled and continued, "Let's leave this to the students. Let's have a cup of tea together and discuss the training ahead."

They didn't object. They came together today to express the school's emphasis. The selection criteria had already been established in the previous discussions, so Professor McGonagall confidently didn't show up, tending to more important matters.

They took a few steps away, "Oh, right," Felix stopped, thoughtfully saying, "I seem to have forgotten to add an age restriction. Actually, students from other years aren't necessary..."

"No need to complicate things, Professor Harp," Moody rasped, simultaneously gripping his staff tightly, "The more forbidden it is, the more people will attempt it. That's the lesson I've learned this week!"

His prosthetic eye swiveled, retracting into its socket, and he pointed his thumb backward. The Weasley twins were craning their necks, gazing at the black door. One of them seemed like he wanted to touch the steps on it.

The other Weasley noticed the professors looking back and hurriedly pulled him away. The two of them revealed identical grins.

"You're testing the students' character; it's a good move. But instead of imposing restrictions that make them resentful, it's better to let them try one by one. That way, they'll realize their own capabilities."

Moody rapped his staff with force, speaking sternly, "Not just anyone can become a champion."

Felix looked at Moody, his gaze lingering slightly, before saying congenially, "You're right, Professor Moody."

They left together, and the students on-site watched as the professors opened the door to classroom seven and walked out one by one. With a "thud," the door closed.

After a few seconds of silence, the students erupted into a flurry of excitement. Their gazes were fixed on the black door, shrouded in the mist and suspended in mid-air. The seven smooth steps that extended upwards seemed to hold an enchanting charm, drawing all their attention.

"Gulp!"

Harry swallowed a mouthful of saliva.

>

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