A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts-Chapter 584: Miss Winnie’s Magical Journey - (1)

Winnie stood in line, anxiously craning her neck, her golden ponytails bouncing behind her.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, there are six people ahead," she silently counted.

From her view, she could see Felix Harp sitting behind a table, stacked with a pile of papers—a witch had handed them to Mr. Harp earlier that morning. Harp occasionally scribbled and doodled on them, and there was a bell on the table.

"Ding-aling."

Winnie suddenly looked up, staring intently at the person at the front. She wasn't the only one doing so, and what followed was quite extraordinary. Mr. Harp gestured to the right, towards Mister Achille—more accurately, Mute Cannon, a man in his forties with half of his hair missing—cautiously extending his foot as if the ground was covered in invisible unknown traps.

No one rushed him; everyone stared, hoping to decipher something from him. But, as in previous instances, after a few steps, he vanished into thin air.

Winnie once again marveled at the magic, more miraculous than anything she'd seen before.

Recalling just fifteen minutes ago, this person nearly her age had effortlessly closed a towering twelve-foot wooden door without even using a wand. That single act subdued the onlookers; most struggled even with a wand, and those left—well, they didn't even have one.

Watching Felix's black hair and blue eyes while he worked—or was it work?—asking questions earnestly, Winnie couldn't fathom the cost to hire a wizard like Mr. Harp. In reality, such a thing hadn't crossed her mind.

All she knew was the "Extraordinary Adult Wizarding Course," not far from the castle, required fifteen Galleons for two weeks of guidance. She had asked herself, without daring to dwell on the notion; this had never happened in her reality.

Aside from the gloomy mood the day she was sent to the foster family, Winnie had few memories of her childhood. Over the years, she'd made a life in the Muggle world, working at a law firm and occasionally writing concise articles for magazines.

She wouldn't divulge that her vivid imagination stemmed from another world—a world where magic existed.

Her colleagues only knew her love for books, music, and her penchant for browsing various book and record stores. So, Winnie openly mentioned, every time she left, "I'm off to explore the Leaky Cauldron."

Friends sought obscure book recommendations or asked about the most popular records, and she always had the answers.

"Ding-aling."

Winnie snapped back; there was no one ahead now. She hurried a few steps, standing by the table, carefully observing Felix Harp's silhouette—a person almost her age, achieving remarkable feats, and she couldn't muster even a hint of jealousy.

Felix and Valen raised their heads, noticing the girl's somewhat distant gaze.

"Winnie Valentin, 24, graduated from... Queen Mary University of London?" Felix raised his head, inquiring.

"Yes, that's right," Winnie said, her voice trembling a bit. "You got it all right."

"...It's written on the paper."

Valen curiously observed this person with a similar pronunciation to its name—amber eyes, hair with natural curls, and a badge shaped like black and white piano keys on her chest.

Winnie blushed slightly, avoiding the light blue eyes, and looked down at the Niffler next to her—no, the Sniffer. Odd... her mind swirled with peculiar thoughts; if she were to snap a photo of the Sniffer and send it to the magazine, it might cause a sensation.

Felix tapped the table, and Winnie immediately focused on his fingertips. Subconsciously, an image flashed in her mind: it was this hand, merely waving gently, causing a golden letter "O" in the hall display to twist and drop, morphing into a table before her eyes, and another letter "K" turning into an intricately patterned dark green tablecloth.

It might fetch a good price in a knitting store.

But it was entirely unnecessary, Winnie thought. She found another aspect where magic diverged from technology: technology converged, while magic branched out. Then she sighed; these thoughts were impossible to share with anyone.

Felix noticed her drifting again and snapped his fingers in front of her. Winnie jumped.

"You seem a bit nervous. I'll skip the questions; head straight this way," he pointed to his right.

Winnie sighed in relief but then regretted her earlier conduct. Had she performed so poorly? As she took a few steps, she suddenly turned back to look behind her—the table, the young person behind it, the Sniffer on the table, the bell, and the queue—all had vanished.

So, that's what the previous people saw, Winnie thought.

"Harp Number Nine at your service," a voice said suddenly. Winnie was startled; she turned and looked at Felix. "You—oh," she exclaimed excitedly. "You're magically created?"

"You can think of it that way," Harp Number Nine said.

Realizing the entity wasn't real, Winnie wasn't afraid; her nervousness had dissipated somewhat. She had seen many talking magical objects. For instance, a Quidditch team poster that would loudly cheer "Go!" and a cup that would urge her to finish her drink, a mirror on the wall reminding her of dirt on her nose...

The oddest talking thing she encountered was an exquisite dressing table where the mirror, perfume bottle, drawers, and lamp each had opinions, often ridiculing each other's aesthetics. As the shopkeeper put it, "Ever since a particularly picky customer tried it, it turned out like this."

Winnie initiated a conversation, "So, what are you made of? A golden letter, a teacup, parchment, an ink bottle, cleaning solution..."

"None of those," Harp Number Nine said. "I'm a memory fragment."

Could memories exist on their own? Winnie was puzzled; this clearly had nothing to do with technology, but it was very magical, wasn't it?

She didn't consider herself knowledgeable about magic, despite reading several books. As a Mute Cannon, especially one who attended university, her attitude toward magic leaned more towards observation, akin to how she occasionally observed other customers at the record store, maintaining a natural sense of detachment.

Harp Number Nine walked ahead, guiding her. "Careful not to stray into others' territories," he said.

Winnie looked around and found herself on a peculiar, elongated path. Soap bubble-like membranes surrounded her, magnified thousands of times, and the contents inside were blurry. However, based on colors and shapes, she could vaguely guess—a serene, deep forest river in one soap bubble; a vibrant garden to her right, but she couldn't make out the flowers inside.

Then she spotted a towering castle, just an outline, but she knew exactly what it was.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"What are these?" she asked curiously.

"Memories that you find comfortable and pleasant," Harp Number Nine dutifully explained. Winnie skipped over something resembling a puddle and accidentally stuck her head into a soap bubble, frightening herself, afraid she might disrupt this dream

-like environment.

But the soap bubble was sturdier than she'd imagined; she caught a whiff of sickeningly sweet air.

Candies and sweets were everywhere. With a quick glance, she spotted over a dozen candy piles, a stout wizard excitedly tearful, and an exact replica of "Felix Harp" quietly saying something.

The next moment, she was yanked from outside.

"I warned you to be careful."

"Oh, sorry."

"It's okay," Harp Number Nine said. He stayed there for a few seconds, fixing the large hole Winnie had created—before that, sweet air had been gushing out.

"Who was that— you," Winnie pondered how to define their relationship, "numbered?"

"Number seven."

They walked a few more minutes, and finally, Harp Number Nine stopped. "Here we are."

Winnie found herself standing in front of a beautiful display case; inside was a shallow wooden disc with silver smoke swirling around it. She realized she was still in the lobby of Future World Corporation.

"What do I need to do?"

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"Recall," Harp Number Nine said. "Extract the strongest feelings about magic from your memories. Good or bad, but I recommend the happy ones."

Winnie racked her brain; she and Harp Number Nine stared at each other.

"Can't find any?" Harp Number Nine asked. Was this girl leading a miserable life? There were no signs at all.

"Too many," Winnie said.

"Then pick the ones that make you the most comfortable," Harp Number Nine said expressionlessly.

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