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Chapter 39: Griffiths' Farewell Ceremony
With the books secured, Wade continued his questions—this time focusing on Defensive Magic Against the Dark Arts, rather than Charms, which Professor Flitwick’s texts had already covered in great detail. He asked about spells like the Shield Charm, Disarming Charm, and Barrier Charm.
The level of Defensive Magic taught at Hogwarts was something every wizard understood instinctively. Instead of sending Wade to Quirrell, Professor Flitwick patiently explained each spell in depth, even lending him a few more books afterward. Wade felt deeply grateful.
In all of Britain, Hogwarts was the only magical school. The professors here weren’t judged by KPIs, nor were their pass rates or excellence statistics publicly displayed. There were no year-end evaluations or performance reviews. Teaching was, in truth, entirely based on conscience. Some professors were diligent and dedicated; others drifted through the years, teaching whatever they felt like on any given day—completely disregarding the fact that students had to take official Wizarding Certification Exams.
After finishing his questions, Wade remembered Griffiths’ request. “Professor,” he asked, “there’s a portrait who’s complaining that his current location is too quiet. He’d like to be moved to the Great Hall—would that be possible?”
“Is he a portrait with official duties?” Flitwick asked.
Some portraits at Hogwarts served as guardians—like the Fat Lady, who watched over the Gryffindor Common Room. Such portraits couldn’t be moved lightly.
Wade thought for a moment. “I don’t think so. He said he used to live in the Great Hall originally. He was moved to the Astronomy Tower only after another portrait needed space.”
“Oh, I know who you mean,” Flitwick smiled. “Griffiths was relocated mainly because many other portraits complained he disrupted their sleep. He also encouraged Peeves to prank Ministry of Magic inspectors during their visits. The Headmaster and the staff thought he deserved a lesson, so they sent him to the quietest corner of the school.”
“That’s… well, what about his request?” Wade asked cautiously.
“Liking the company of others isn’t a crime,” Flitwick said kindly. “As long as he promises not to stir up trouble with Peeves anymore, you can move him. But the Great Hall is out of the question—most of the portraits there still hold a grudge against him.”
“…Ah, fine. But honestly, I don’t get it. Why don’t they like pranks? Pranks bring joy!”
As he protested, Griffiths zipped from portrait to portrait in a blur.
“Hey, old man! I’m off—Shalom, if you ever write me a letter during your calculations, I’ll be thrilled, even if I never get it! Barry, and a big hug for Francesco—thanks for the hospitality! Here’s a little something in return!”
Wade watched helplessly as the portrait he’d just removed turned the telescope of Stargazer Elder 180 degrees, snatched the feather quill and ink bottle from Eyeglass Witch, and dumped the ink onto one Bear Child’s head while stuffing the quill into another’s nose.
Having provoked every portrait in the vicinity, Griffiths zipped back into his frame, shouting: “Hurry up! Let’s go! Let’s go!”
But portraits didn’t care about spatial distance. Even after Wade had carried the portrait down the corridor, the angry figures followed him into Griffiths’ new domain and proceeded to pummel the Red-Haired Wizard.
Eyeglass Witch was furious—she kicked him repeatedly, screaming, “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been calculating? How long?!”
The Bear Children treated him like a trampoline, bouncing wildly on his back while shouting with glee.
Stargazer Elder arrived last, swinging his staff with all his might—two solid blows—before clutching his side in pain, clearly having strained his back. He limped away, grimacing.
Wade couldn’t interfere with the chaos unfolding inside the portrait. When the dust finally settled, he looked down at Griffiths—now a crumpled mess, like a discarded rag doll—and sighed.
“You’re leaving, and you still managed to get yourself beaten half to death. What was the point?”
“Hah!” Griffiths rolled onto his back, the footprint still visible on his forehead, and laughed freely. “You don’t get it, do you? Isn’t this the best farewell ceremony ever?”
Wade remained puzzled.
Griffiths lay back, hands behind his head, gazing at the sky. “I don’t want to vanish quietly. That way, they might not even notice for weeks—‘Oh, that red-haired bloke’s gone.’ I don’t want a sad goodbye with tears. I want laughter. I want chaos. I want everyone to leave happy. Isn’t that better?”
After a pause, Wade said, “So… the world where everyone gets joy, but only you get hurt—that’s what you wanted?”
Griffiths froze, then burst into laughter. “Wade! You’re not so bad at humor after all!”
As he laughed, the scene inside the portrait slowly returned to order. The footprint faded. His torn robe mended itself. Broken grass and flowers straightened. The snapped branch on the tree regrew. Only the bruise on his face remained—faint but stubborn.
“Griffiths,” Wade said as he hung the portrait back on the wall, “you must be a Gryffindor, right?”
“Of course! Can’t you tell?” Griffiths peered out from his frame, craning his neck to look both ways. “Where am I?”
“This is the must-pass route from the Great Hall to the Library,” Wade replied. “Almost every student walks through here daily. Should suit your taste.”
“Hmm, not bad. Not bad at all,” Griffiths approved.
In the corridor, other portraits watched the new arrival with quiet curiosity. Some whispered among themselves.
Just then, Hermione Granger passed by, arms full of books, flanked by Harry and Ron—both clearly just coming from the library, still arguing in low voices.
“I’ll bet my Flying Broomstick it was Snape who let the Giant in,” Harry whispered, eyes wide. “He’s trying to steal whatever the Three-Headed Dog’s guarding.”
“No, he wouldn’t!” Hermione snapped, irritation rising. “You can’t just accuse a professor like that without proof!”
“Hermione, you’re always assuming the teachers are saints!” Ron snapped. “But I saw it with my own eyes! When the Giant appeared, I ran to find you—I saw Snape sneaking upstairs! Harry saw his leg bleeding from the bite! Why do you keep ignoring the facts just because he’s a professor?”
“I believe in him not just because he’s a professor,” Hermione shot back, walking faster now, done with the argument. “It’s because Dumbledore trusts him. If Snape were evil, Dumbledore would’ve seen it by now—after all these years!”
She stopped, then turned to Wade. “Hey, Wade, heading to the study session? Want to come?”
“Uh… sure,” Wade said, unable to refuse her tone.
He nodded at Harry and Ron, then fell in step with Hermione.
“—Unbelievable, right?” Ron muttered, frowning. “Can’t Dumbledore ever be fooled? Even Merlin got tricked once!”
Harry nodded silently, still convinced Snape was behind it all.
“Good afternoon, students!” boomed a cheerful voice from the wall. “You’re all Gryffindors, right? Me too! I’m Griffiths—what about you?”
Ron blinked. “I’m Ron Weasley. This is Harry Potter. We’ve never seen you before.”
“Right, because I just moved in today!” Griffiths said cheerfully. “Weasley and Potter… I think I’ve heard those names before. Probably your ancestors, right?”
“Really?” Harry’s curiosity piqued, and for a moment, the earlier argument was forgotten. The two boys turned to the portrait, chatting as if they’d known each other forever.
(End of Chapter)
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