A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts C.352: The Disguised... Guardian (Dementor)?

As tradition goes, first-year students are ferried across the lake by Hagrid, while students from other years take the carriages and follow the path to the school's main entrance.

The school's Great Hall.

"Step this way, please, my dear," Peeves the Poltergeist somersaulted in the air, bowing and gesturing to guide a mysterious ghost into the Great Hall. This tall ghost concealed himself entirely under his robes, revealing only a pair of silver, emotionless eyes.

Peeves grinned charmingly and said, "I won't disturb you any longer. I still have things to do... I've prepared quite a number of water-filled balloons for the new students. Don't you want to see them burst over the adorable little ones' heads?"

The ghost remained silent. Peeves turned to leave, but a large silver hand emerged swiftly from beneath the robe, grabbing Peeves by the back of his neck and giving him a vigorous shake.

Peeves struggled briefly but couldn't break free. Instead, he was rhythmically jostled and tossed about, looking quite helpless.

He was a spirit born within the castle, possessing more power than the average ghost. Regular ghosts could only slightly interact with reality, but Peeves was different. He could genuinely compare his strength to the students', and he could even wrestle with them without much difficulty.

What made him wary were a few factors: first, the professors within the school. As a manifestation of the students' collective emotions, Peeves had a deep-seated fear of the professors, but at the same time, he represented the mischievous students and was always quick-witted in his arguments. His real concern was with the professors who exuded authority and integrity;

Second, formidable wizards who could influence him, like Headmaster Dumbledore and Felix Harp;

Third, the unconventional ghosts, like the Bloody Baron, and

The diminutive Peeves glared at the towering and aloof ghost before him and muttered curses under his breath. Suddenly, the silver eyes beneath the ghost's hood turned toward him, and Peeves immediately put on a disarmingly mischievous smile, nervously twiddling his fingers.

Within the Great Hall, the ghosts chattered among themselves

"Another newcomer, is it?" Nicolas Flamel, the resident ghost of Gryffindor House, spoke wistfully.

"Seems like a tough one," the corpulent Friar of Hufflepuff remarked cheerfully. "Good, someone needs to rein in Peeves."

"Indeed, well said," Nearly Headless Nick agreed. "Since the departure of the Bloody Baron..." He glanced around meaningfully, provoking a chorus of agreements and condemnation of Peeves' antics.

"By the way," one ghost inquired, "Who still has a picture of Peeves?"

"The one where the mischievous twins blew Peeves all around the castle with fans?" Nearly Headless Nick asked with keen interest, a satisfied grin forming. "I have it, acquired with five secrets."

"Perhaps we should organize a viewing event?" the ghost suggested.

A little over a year ago, in Felix's first year at the school, he had confronted Peeves' provocations with a Confusion Hex. This made Peeves lose his sense of time, mistakenly believing he had just been born and was incapable of handling the chaotic and mischievous thoughts of the students. He became disoriented.

His archenemies, the Weasley twins, had taken advantage of this by conjuring two fans and parading Peeves around, almost succeeding in hosting a party. However, Professor McGonagall had intervened halfway, stopping the event. Many young wizards and ghosts were disappointed by this turn of events.

At that time, someone had captured this scene in a photograph. The photo began to circulate, inciting a frenzy among people trying to obtain it. However, once Peeves had recovered, he angrily confiscated most of the copies.

During that period, Moaning Myrtle roamed the girls' lavatories on every floor, recounting Peeves' bullying antics to every student.

...

At the teachers' table, Felix and Professor McGonagall discussed unfinished matters from the Headmaster's office, and Flitwick joined them, discussing which spells should be included in the "essential skills."

Professor McGonagall stated seriously, "If possible, I'd prefer our young wizards to master all the knowledge. Every class is important."

"But, Millar, if we intend to do something, we must consider how to make the students accept it," squeaked Flitwick.

Professor McGonagall huffed. Of course, she understood this; she just set high expectations for her students.

Felix nodded subtly. "My idea is to distribute these spells across the years. For example, Disarming Charm could be learned in the third year and assessed in the fourth year. On the other hand, the Patronus Charm might require study in the sixth year and assessment in the seventh."

He added, "The purpose of assessment isn't just about grading; it's about ensuring they genuinely grasp these spells. So, in my opinion, the assessment should be flexible in terms of timing, and there should be no limit to the number of attempts."

Flitwick pondered and said, "That's a good idea. If we leave them all for the final year, most students will procrastinate. Severus, what do you think?"

"I have no objection, and you haven't included Potions," Snape said coldly.

Flitwick stammered, "Um... you are one of the regular professors in the Dueling Club, aren't you? You should be aware that defense against the dark arts has always been the students' weak point. Thankfully, the Dueling Club can compensate for some of the gaps."

"Last year, Lupin did a decent job," Professor McGonagall interjected.

"I understand," Flitwick said, "and there's Burbage as well. They're both excellent. But..."

He hesitated, trying to articulate his point. "We all know what this class is likeeach professor only teaches for a year. I don't deny that Dumbledore has tried his best to find competent wizards to teach this class, but being a skilled wizard doesn't necessarily mean being a skilled teacher."

"Being good at something oneself doesn't mean one can teach it to others," Felix summarized.

"Exactly!" Flitwick's eyes brightened. "That's it! A good professor needs extensive experience, an understanding of the various challenges students face... This process could take several years, but for the professors of this subject, it's simply not feasible."

"The Curse and Defense Against the Dark Arts, although both teach spells, have completely different focuses. I teach practical magic in general, including various foundational skills. On the other hand, most offensive and defensive spells used in dueling fall under the domain of Defense Against the Dark Arts..."

"Indeed, this class has the most unstable professorship. With a good teacher, students can learn a lot more, but with an inadequate or inexperienced one, the class can descend into chaos."

The professors fell silent, each mentally running through the list of Defense Against the Dark Arts instructors over the years, matching names with assessments.

Felix was also pondering the professors he had encounteredboth those he had met during his school days and those he had encountered while working. To be honest, someone like Lockhart was already a bottom line in various senses. Most people were just mediocre or not adept at teaching. They often described a simple question in a confusing manner, leaving young wizards puzzled. Others would speak solely from their own experiences, monologuing and failing to effectively address the troubles students faced.

Behind this issue lay another problemthere had never been a reasonable plan for this subject. Professors like Flitwick and McGonagall, experienced and skilled, taught from first year to graduation, knowing each student's characteristics thoroughly and offering tailored guidance.

Moreover, what each year should be taught, how much to teach, and general feedback were all very clear.

But when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts... even being able to follow the syllabus was already considered good. Professors like Lupin, who considered students' needs and tried to make up for their shortcomings, were few and far between.

Most simply followed their habits, teaching a bit here and there. A bit of this, a bit of that.

So, over seven years, many students would be surprised to find they had attended seven classes with the same contentfrom seven different professors.

...

Snape gave a disdainful snort from the side. Wasn't this the truth? What was there to discuss? He glanced over at the new ghost in the corner a few times, feeling that it had something to do with Felix. That shimmering cloak looked rather familiar.

Moreover, this ghost had remained silent the whole time, assuming an aloof posture. Nick nearly lost his courage when he tried to strike up a conversation and returned empty-handed.

A burst of commotion echoed in the entrance hall as the students' carriages arrived at the door. They rushed into the castle in the pouring rain, chattering and making a ruckus, instantly filling the school with a lively atmosphere.

Felix also fell silent. His eyes gleamed faintly as the previously motionless ghost in the corner suddenly sprang to life, grabbing Peeves and flying towards the entrance hall.

The students entered the cavernous entrance hall, shaking off the rain with the help of the torches hanging on the walls.

"Merlin's beard," Ron exclaimed, vigorously shaking his head and splattering water droplets everywhere, "we look like drowned rats."

Harry wordlessly twisted his sleeves, squeezing out a large puddle of water. His shoes and pants were soaked, dragging him down heavily, his wet hair sticking to his head.

"What's thatthat?" Neville, who had ridden in the same carriage with them, exclaimed, wide-eyed and shocked.

The people around him looked up, gazing at the grand marble staircase leading to the entrance, where, amidst flickering firelight, a tall figure stood with its back to the bright hall. It was suspended in midair, draped in a long cloak, the fabric billowing, its silver eyes exuding an air of indifference.

"What's he holding in his hand?" someone noticed the commotion from further away.

"A new student?" someone speculated, though it seemed rather short, almost like a tiny radish head.

"Impossible, they should still be floating on the lake... wait" a senior student's eyes widened, "that's Peeves!"

"Peeves being held in someone's hand? Good heavens!"

"No, wait, it's a D-Dementor!" a particularly nervous student shrieked.

The air froze instantly, the students gasping for breath, trembling and panicking.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry drew his wand and yelled.

Silver light cascaded onto the floor as a silver stag burst forth from his wand, leaping toward the "Dementor."

Harry didn't have time to wonder why a Dementor had suddenly appeared in the castle. He looked expectantly at his Patronus, fully confident that it would, as always, perform admirably.

"Sizzle~"

He began to doubt himself. Did he see wrong? But the tall "Dementor" reached out its free hand and caught the antlers of the stag, stopping his Patronus in its tracks.

He blinked, unable to believe his eyes. The lenses were indeed a bit blurry, but his Patronus was too big to be mistaken.

Ron stammered, "Is th-th-that the leader of the Dementors? Judging by its height, it's not imp-p-possible..."

Shivering all over, Hermione pulled out her wand in an attempt to defend herself, "ExpelliProtego~"

"Expecto Patronum!"

A seventh-year student shouted, and a silver leopard leaped forward, only to be slapped away by the "Dementor." Freed, Peeves quickly darted into a wall and disappeared.

As he left, he exaggeratedly shouted, "The new ghost is fighting the students! The new ghost is fighting the students!"

Professor McGonagall hurried over, her pointed hat askew, and angrily yelled, "Peeves, what mischief are you up to again?" However, the scene before her was not quite as she had imagined. She blinked, her eyes taking in the scene.

"Professor McGonagall, it's me," the ghost had no choice but to speak, his gentle voice saying, and in this scene, hearing a Dementor speak sent shivers down several students' spines.

McGonagall recognized his voice and, suppressing her anger, whispered to the ghost, "Felix Harp, pretending to be a ghost to scare the students, that's unacceptable. Let me tell you"

"Um, this was an accident, I apologize, Professor McGonagall. They mistook me for a Dementor..." Felix said awkwardly. He had never expected that someone would mistake a ghost for a Dementor, and even more astonishingly, that Harry would immediately release his Patronus to attack him.

What was going on in his mind?

McGonagall pursed her lips, her nostrils flaring, emitting a heavy breath. This was a sign that she was about to eruptusually accompanied by reprimands and point deductions, starting at twenty points, plus varying amounts of detentions. However, since Felix was a professor himself, he wouldn't be subject to the latter consequences.

"I'll leave now," the ghost hurriedly said. He didn't want to provoke an angered lioness in this state. McGonagall was known to maintain her strictness even when Dumbledore himself would have shown leniency. With a "whoosh," he disappeared.

McGonagall's chest rose and fell, and she glanced at the hourglass in the entrance hall that recorded house points. After a while, she sternly addressed the drenched crowd, "What are you waiting for? Into the Great Hall, quickly!"

Leading the way, she entered the hall, followed by a group of dejected students, their soggy footsteps making a clanking sound, leaving behind wet footprints.

"If I were you, I'd try to use spells to dry off," McGonagall stopped, rubbing her forehead in frustration. It was hard to imagine that among these students would emerge the champion of Hogwarts, competing for glory in the Triwizard Tournament in just over a month.

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