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Chapter 36: Gryffindor
Chapter 36: Gryffindor
The red-haired wizard idly tapped on the frame of his portrait, occasionally poking his head out to see what the other paintings were up to.
The tower, known to students as the Astronomy Tower, was home to weekly stargazing and astronomy lessons, and even the portraits in the corridors mostly pertained to the subject. They were, for the most part, quiet and reserved, with little interest in striking up a conversation.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps, and then he saw a familiar student walking by. He hurried to catch up.
"Hey, is your cold any better? Did Professor Moire give you some medicine? That old chap's potions are quite something— "
He had expected the student to walk away without a word, as he had done before. But to his surprise, the student stopped and regarded him thoughtfully.
"Are you Gryffindor?" Weid asked.
"Yes!" The red-haired wizard nodded eagerly. "Professor Moire must have mentioned me. He's the only one who bothers to chat with me these days."
"Aren't there plenty of other portraits around here?" Weid gestured to the surrounding area.
"Ugh, don't get me started," Gryffindor said glumly. "Have you seen that old coot in the painting across the way?"
Weid looked over at the portrait he was referring to—an elderly wizard with stars on his robe and hat, standing in front of a large telescope, intently studying the night sky.
"He's been staring at that unchanging sky in the painting for centuries, and he can't stand me interrupting his view," Gryffindor continued. "And then there's Shalott, the one with glasses. She's always scribbling calculations on parchment. She never stops. The funny thing is, a Muggle scientist proved her theory over a century ago, but she's still at it."
Weid spotted a thin witch hunched over her calculations, so engrossed that she didn't even pause at the sound of Gryffindor's voice.
"And those kids over there stargazing," Gryffindor complained. "They're like a bunch of Cornish pixies. When they're not gawking at the stars or sleeping, they're causing mischief—knocking over the old star-gazer's telescope, tearing up Shalott's parchments, pulling my hair, or spilling ink on my robe! I'm at my wit's end!"
Gryffindor's lonely, helpless sigh made Weid chuckle, dispelling the gloom, heaviness, and doubt that had been clouding his mind.
"How long have you been hanging here, and you still haven't gotten used to it?" Weid asked.
"You have no idea," Gryffindor said wistfully. "I used to hang in the entrance hall on the first floor, surrounded by portraits. I could watch the young witches and wizards coming and going, and even teach them a prank or two. It was so much fun. But then, to make room for Fusco's portrait, they moved me up here. I thought making new friends might be nice, but it's so dull!"
"Can't portraits wander around?" Weid asked.
"We can, but it's exhausting," Gryffindor explained. "Most of the time, I have to stay put in my own portrait. So, can you please move my portrait back to the entrance hall? Or somewhere more lively! I'll owe you one!"
Weid didn't promise right away. Instead, he said, "I'll have to ask the professors first. If they don't object, I'll get you moved to a different spot."
Gryffindor thought about it and then asked, "What if they do object?"
"Then I'll move you somewhere else discreetly, just not the entrance hall—it's too noticeable there," Weid said.
"Wonderful!" Gryffindor exclaimed, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Go ask them now! The sooner, the better!"
"......Alright, I will," Weid agreed with a smile.
As he turned to leave, Weid had originally intended to ask Gryffindor if Professor Moire had indeed emerged from his own office that morning and if Kylo often visited this place. But he decided to save those questions for another time.
However, after chatting for a while, he abandoned the idea.
The red-haired wizard was a real chatterbox; he didn't seem the type to keep secrets. Moreover, he had definitely known Professor Moire for much longer. Why would he keep secrets for Weid?
It was better to move the portrait first and then make plans...
...
Terence Moire finally finished teaching the seventh-year students. He stormed off, clutching his lesson plans, leaving behind a few students who looked like scared quails, their spirits dampened as if they had just weathered a storm.
How dare he say, "First-year students are better than you"? Do first-year students even know what alchemy is? Do they know how to write "0" in Runic?
The students were indignant, but not a single one dared to refute Professor Moire's scolding. They could only meekly agree, saying, "Yes, yes, you're absolutely right."
Professor Moire grew even angrier.
After meeting with Weid, he found himself increasingly dissatisfied with these carefully selected students of his. Reviewing their previous alchemy assignments only added to his displeasure. In the end, he assigned them five times the usual amount of homework, still feeling that these students had it too easy.
Huffing and puffing, Professor Moire returned to his office. From a distance, he heard a cheerful voice calling out, "How was your class today, Professor Moire? I'm sure the young witches and wizards learned a lot!"
It was difficult to remain cold in the face of such enthusiasm. Unconsciously, Professor Moire found himself smiling. "Oh, it's you, Griffiths."
"Who else could it be?" Griffiths said.
Professor Moire couldn't help but stop in the corridor and complain about his students: "—It's one thing that their intellect is lacking, but they're also not diligent. What's the point of studying alchemy if they're only interested in becoming decorations at the Ministry of Magic?"
"So, you've taken a liking to that young wizard?" Griffiths asked, leaning on the frame of his portrait, a mischievous smile on his face.
Professor Moire fell silent for a moment before heaving a deep sigh.
"Griffiths, gifted witches and wizards often stand out from a young age, their talents evident from the moment they step into Hogwarts. However, those with talent always gravitate towards learning profound and dangerous magic, seeking greater power and pursuing grand ambitions. Yet, few are willing to dedicate themselves to the study of alchemy."
"But in my opinion, what good does it do to master the most dangerous forbidden magic? Look at those who were once renowned! Some fell like shooting stars, some became infamous Dark Lords, and others, despite their fame, ended up with nothing! The stronger they became, the more death and destruction they brought upon the world!"
"It is alchemy that has the potential to bring true change to the wizarding world and bring happiness to people. We must continually learn from Muggles, innovate our techniques, and improve our alchemical products to ensure the wizarding world thrives and... to prevent wizards from being eradicated by Muggles."
"But in recent years... While I have made some achievements and introduced Muggle inventions into the wizarding world, I feel like a toddler learning to walk. The harder I try to catch up with the giants ahead of me, the more I realize the gap between us is hopelessly vast... and it only continues to widen."
"As for my students? All they care about is inventing something that will make them popular and earn them a lot of money. That's all they think about—"
"But that child is different, isn't he?" Griffiths interrupted.
"Yes..." Professor Moire smiled. "Even though he's only eleven."
(End of Chapter)
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