After leaving Dumbledore’s office, Hermes found several figures waiting farther down the corridor.
Since the new school year had not officially begun, most of the professors had yet to return to Hogwarts.
Aside from Dumbledore and Filch, the caretaker who remained at the castle year-round, only the four Heads of House had arrived early to prepare for the students’ return.
The cool stone staircase spiraled downward beneath their feet.
“Mr.
Moriarty.”
McGonagall stepped forward first, stopping in front of Hermes.
The firelight radiating from Calcifer glimmered across her square-framed spectacles.
Her chestnut hair had been meticulously gathered into a tight bun, and her gaze was as sharp and steady as ever.
She extended a hand.
“Welcome to Hogwarts.
Albus has already explained the situation to me, so…”
A faint smile softened her usually stern expression.
“Would you prefer to retire to your office for the night, or would you like me to show you around the castle now?”
Before Hermes could answer, a small wizard standing nearby spoke up.
“It is still relatively early.
I believe tonight would be better than waiting until tomorrow.”
Hermes and Calcifer turned toward him.
Noticing their attention, the man smiled pleasantly.
“Allow me to introduce myself.
Filius Flitwick, professor of Charms and Head of Ravenclaw House.”
He gave Hermes a polite nod before gesturing toward the gloomy figure standing beneath the shadow of a nearby pillar.
“And that gentleman is—”
“Severus Snape.”
The man in black interrupted before Flitwick could finish.
He stepped out of the shadows like a great bat emerging from a cave.
“Head of Slytherin House and professor of Potions.”
His pitch-black robes fell all the way to the floor.
The faint, bitter scent of potion ingredients and sulfur clung to him, while his greasy black hair hung around his pale face, partly obscuring his brows.
His deep black eyes remained fixed on Hermes.
There was no welcome in them.
No curiosity, either.
Only cold displeasure.
“Another one,” Snape muttered.
His gaze swept over Hermes’s immaculate formal attire, and undisguised mockery crept into his voice.
“This year, Dumbledore has found himself a walking clothes rack.
Every year, a new face eagerly volunteers for that ill-fated position…”
His thin lips curled slightly.
“And every year, he manages to find another arrogant fool.”
The corridor instantly fell silent.
Even Professor Sprout, who had been smiling and preparing to introduce herself, froze in place.
Hermes, however, did not so much as glance at Snape. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Being completely ignored only made Snape’s expression colder.
He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a low hiss.
“You would do well to understand that the Dark Arts are not toys to be displayed before impressionable students.”
After delivering that warning, Snape swept past him.
His wide black robes brushed against Hermes’s side, bringing with them the unpleasant odor of bitter potion fumes and worn leather.
Hermes frowned and instinctively shifted half a step away.
They watched Snape’s batlike silhouette retreat down the corridor.
Just as he reached the corner, his foot suddenly slipped.
His body lurched forward, and he nearly crashed face-first into the stone floor.
At the last moment, he caught himself against the wall, straightened stiffly, and continued walking without looking back.
Hermes’s eye twitched.
From the corner of his vision, he glanced at Calcifer, who was bouncing innocently upon his shoulder.
Sensing Hermes’s scrutiny, the little fire demon quietly turned his head away and began admiring the wall as though it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“Please do not take his words to heart,” McGonagall said.
“Professor Snape has always been somewhat…”
She hesitated, apparently searching for the most diplomatic description.
“Caustic,” Calcifer supplied.
McGonagall opened her mouth.
“Sinister,” he continued.
Her expression stiffened.
“And greasy.”
McGonagall silently closed her mouth again.
Beside her, Professor Sprout coughed into one hand, concealing what might have been a laugh.
“Nevertheless,” McGonagall continued after a moment, “it must be acknowledged that Professor Snape is an exceptional Potions Master.
His expertise is exceedingly difficult to replace.”
“His accomplishments in Defense Against the Dark Arts are equally impressive,” Flitwick added with an awkward chuckle.
“That may explain some of his… displeasure tonight.”
He lowered his voice slightly.
“Professor Snape has repeatedly applied to teach the subject, but Dumbledore has never approved his requests.”
“So he’s jealous,” Calcifer concluded.
“That is not precisely how I would phrase it,” McGonagall said.
“But that is what you meant,” Calcifer replied.
Hermes merely smiled and shook his head, indicating that he had taken no offense.
He had encountered far more unpleasant people during his years at Durmstrang.
Compared to them, Snape’s hostility barely qualified as an inconvenience.
Besides, Calcifer had already avenged him.
“It is getting late,” McGonagall said after checking the time.
“I should show you around before we lose the entire evening.”
She adjusted her spectacles and began leading Hermes through the castle.
The interior of Hogwarts was considerably more complicated than it appeared.
Many of its staircases had been enchanted and frequently changed direction without warning.
Some led to entirely different floors depending on the time of day, while certain steps had an unpleasant habit of vanishing beneath an unsuspecting person’s feet and trapping their ankles. Read this novel at novelping(.)com for the best experience.
The castle’s portraits were no less troublesome.
They constantly wandered from frame to frame, spreading gossip and giving directions that were not always accurate.
Every year, more than a few first-year students became hopelessly lost because of them.
Some arrived late to class, while others failed to find the Great Hall until the welcoming feast was nearly over.
Since Hermes had never studied at Hogwarts, McGonagall was determined to ensure that the school did not suffer the unprecedented embarrassment of a professor becoming lost on his way to his own classroom.
As she guided him past another moving staircase, she asked, “What do you think of Hogwarts so far?”
Hermes glanced around at the ancient stone walls, floating candles, and whispering portraits.
“Better than I expected.”
“More spacious than Durmstrang,” Calcifer added.
McGonagall nodded in satisfaction.
After walking a little farther, she seemed to remember something.
“By the way, have you finished preparing your lesson plans?”
Hermes’s footsteps stopped.
Only for a fraction of a second—but that was more than enough.
McGonagall immediately understood.
This newly appointed professor had not prepared anything.
Not a syllabus.
Not a teaching outline.
Most likely, he had not even decided what his first lesson would be.
“Follow me,” she said firmly.
Without giving Hermes an opportunity to object, she turned and led him toward her office.
Once inside, McGonagall walked behind her desk and withdrew a thick roll of parchment from one of the drawers.
“I anticipated that you might require some assistance.”
She pushed the parchment across the desk toward him.
“I have already prepared a preliminary teaching schedule.
Take it with you tonight and review it carefully.
If you find no serious problems, your classes will be arranged accordingly.”
Her tone left very little room for negotiation.
“Of course.”
A pleasant smile appeared on Hermes’s face.
He accepted the parchment and slowly unrolled it.
The fresh scent of ink rose from its surface.
Then his eyes swept over the schedule.
His smile stiffened.
Nearly every available space on the parchment had been filled with the same words:
Defense Against the Dark Arts.
His expression gradually became strange.
“Professor McGonagall,” he began carefully, “this schedule…”
“Compared with the other professors, your workload is already quite light.”
McGonagall glanced at the almost completely filled timetable in his hands.
Her eyebrows rose slightly, and the faintest trace of a sly smile appeared on her otherwise solemn face.
Clearly, she had anticipated his reaction from the beginning.
And she had been waiting to see it.