A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 184: Grimmauld Square

Chapter 184: Grimmauld Square

September 1st.

Felix Harp woke up early and, by way of Diagon Alley, returned to London.

He was set to embark on his procurement for the new school year.

In addition to updating his collection of magical films, he purchased a plethora of new books, clothing, and, most importantly, he found a map shop.

It was a charmingly antiquated establishment, its quaint brown shelves lined with an assortment of maps, each with its own unique flair.

From local London maps to maps of the British Isles, they served different purposes - aerial views, tourist guides, transportation networks...

As Felix was about to acquire a thick atlas, he casually asked the shopkeeper, "Have you ever heard of Grimmauld Square?"

The shopkeeper adjusted his glasses and looked up from a colorful album...

Thirty minutes later, he found himself standing in a dilapidated corner of London's old district.

The houses here were quite aged, their walls peeling to reveal unattractive shades of gray. To his astonishment, the ancestral home of the Black family was concealed amidst these buildings.

He looked around the vicinity; some houses were still inhabited, while others were clearly abandoned - heaps of garbage at the door, shattered windows.

On a more desolate lawn, his gaze landed on a building, its number 11 Grimmauld Square.

He glanced left and right - number 10 on one side, number 13 on the other.

"Curious, even the wizarding sight is blocked, is it not?"

Felix stood still, continually scrutinizing something.

An elderly lady carrying a cloth bag ambled over. "Young man, what brings you here?"

"Visiting a pen pal, ma'am. The given address is a bit vague, and I'm trying to identify it," Felix replied, improvising.

"I've lived here for over fifty years, since birth... Maybe I could help, tell me more."

"Well, it's Grimmauld Square in the old west district of London. The house number is blurred, but I guess it's number 12."

"Number 12? That's impossible, young man. There's no such house," the elderly woman's voice grew louder, "You must be mistaken... or perhaps your friend is playing a nasty prank."

"I find it odd too," Felix gestured towards the house before him, "This is number 11, and there's number 13, but strangely, no number 12..."

The old lady burst into hearty laughter, "It's not just you with that confusion." She winked, lowering her voice, "It's a mistake. My grandmother told me – well, she heard it from someone else – that when they built these houses, the builders were a bunch of dunces. They did their work, and from today's perspective, it's not bad. But they got the house numbers wrong, and even when the town hall inspected, they didn't catch it. And so, the mistake persists."

"I recall that over the years, there were a few reports, but no response at all. You know, this place is utterly neglected. Perhaps in another decade or so, they'll tear it down in the name of obstructing the view... Well, I won't agree, nor will my grandson – he's only two, but there's a saying, right? Teach them young; some traditions must be upheld." She tilted her head, saying it with a playful air.

The talkative old woman continued, and from her, Felix learned some less-than-reliable legends.

For instance, "Number 12 Grimmauld Square does exist, and it's a haunted house." Or perhaps, "The builders didn't actually mess up; a nobleman bought the place, but the house disappeared soon after..."

Felix was intrigued by these tales, occasionally exclaiming in amazement, earning the old woman's even more satisfied gaze. "Not many young folks like you, respectful to the elderly. Unlike the folks next door; they blast their speakers late into the night, causing unrest. I knocked on their door several times to no avail."

Felix handed her a small card, and for a moment, it seemed like a golden light flickered across the card's surface, though it might just have been a reflection of the sunlight.

"Ma'am, you can write a note on it and slip it through their door, urging them to consider others' feelings. Hmm, it's best to include the contact number for the authorities."

"Will it work?" The old woman took the card with a mix of doubt and curiosity. "People around here aren't exactly polite."

"Give it a try; it can't make things worse."

After declining her invitation, Felix Harp cast a Disillusionment Charm upon himself and stood quietly in place.

Several people walked by the street, but none paid him any attention.

Around noon, he withdrew his wand and made a series of motions, dispelling layers of mist until he merged entirely with the air.

His figure vanished.

In a narrow gap, Felix struggled to move forward but was soon blocked by a wall of air – a highly advanced magical barrier.

Then, he heard a piercing scream, an utterly unpleasant sound that sent shivers down Felix's spine. After a few seconds, a tremendous force repelled him outward, leaving him back on the grassy lawn of Grimmauld Square.

"Is there someone inside?"

Felix questioned uncertainly, "Professor Black didn't mention this..." But after a moment's consideration, he thought it might be a house-elf.

After a brief hesitation, Felix decided to leave. He could indeed force his way in again using his advanced magic, but it might take hours, even days.

If someone was inside, whether a wizard or a house-elf, they wouldn't just stand by in the face of his intrusion.

"At least now I know of this place."

Felix took a deep look, and his figure disappeared from sight.

...

Meanwhile, aboard the Hogwarts Express.

"Did you see that, Harry? Malfoy's a coward. The moment he saw a professor, he fled. Fits right into his family's tradition!" Ron said somewhat acerbically, but he wasn't entirely to blame; Malfoy had just mocked his family moments before.

"Ron," Hermione piped in a sharp tone, pointing at the slumped professor on the small table. "Be careful..."

The three of them glanced over; the disheveled professor was still asleep. They resumed talking, but their voices were lowered significantly.

"I'm dead serious. If he dares to mock my family again, I'll grab him by the head—Harry, what's up with you?" Ron looked at Harry inquisitively.

"What?"

"You're way too calm, just like Malfoy was when he was around. You drew your wand so naturally and looked at Malfoy as if he were some caterpillar."

"I've felt that too, Harry," Hermione said earnestly.

Harry scratched his head, "It might be related to me getting stronger? When Malfoy provoked us, I didn't feel much anger, it was like watching a performance. It's strange..."

He looked at Ron and Hermione, speaking with uncertain tones, "I think maybe it's because I knew, even if I did engage, I could easily win. I anticipated that outcome beforehand."

Ron let out a weird exclamation, "That's so cool, mate!"

"Lower your voice, Ron—" Hermione reminded him.

But Ron paid no heed, excitedly saying, "Tell us more about Professor Harp's special training, Harry! I'm so envious!"

Harry sighed, "Honestly, it wasn't a pleasant experience. I don't even know how I endured it. But Professor Harp said that such opportunities are rare..."

He began recounting, and Ron and Hermione were both staring at him, captivated.

Unnoticed by all, the sleeping professor on the side slightly trembled.

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