A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

The next day, Sirius Black woke up from his bed, his mind heavy and foggy. It felt as though Kreacher had been banging his head all night, causing a splitting headache.

"Even though I know it's the consequence of overusing the Disillusionment Charm, I can't help but suspect it's related to Kreacher's incessant chatter!"

Sirius walked into the shabby bathroom and washed up in front of the mirror with suspicious dark red marks. He tidied up his hair, shaved off the dirty stubble, and as he showered, the mirror in the bathroom remarked, "You look like a walking skeleton."

He angrily pulled the curtain shut, and memories of his miserable days living here came rushing back.

Half an hour later, he dug out moldy clothes from an old wardrobe. He changed out of the dirty, ragged strips of fabric that once resembled clothing, and he managed to look presentable.

But carefully, he took out a tattered old piece of paper from his pocket. After being soaked in water yesterday, it looked wrinkled. He gingerly unfolded it, trying not to damage the moving photograph on it: It was a picture of the Weasley family winning a prize, with a fat old rat perched on Ron Weasley's shoulder.

He stared at the photo expressionlessly for a moment and then turned away.

"Kreacher, prepare breakfast for me." Sirius called outside, then after a pause, he added, "No spitting, no intentionally making it taste bad, and no...” He listed a series of conditions.

Kreacher bowed deeply, muttering curses under his breath as he left.

Sirius took a moment to step outside again, scanning for any suspicious figures. Instead, he spotted a Muggle lady out early for groceries.

"Maybe he's gone," Sirius thought, closing the door. The silver serpent-shaped door knocker "thudded" against the weathered black door. He felt a twinge of unease, staying quiet for a few seconds; nothing happened.

"Something just doesn't feel right..." he pondered.

But he couldn't pinpoint anything unusual. He sniffed the air, still catching the musty, dusty smell of decay. Everything in the hallway, from the peeling wallpaper to the threadbare carpet and the dimly lit magical chandelier overhead, seemed eerie. Even the portraits hanging crookedly on the walls appeared exceptionally quiet today, quiet...?

Sirius scrutinized the figures in the portraits carefully. They seemed to be asleep. He approached one, standing before a portrait that might have depicted an illustrious ancestor from the Black family. He lightly tapped the frame.

The aristocrat depicted in the painting had long, flowing curls that reached down to her waist, and she was leaning back in her chair, softly snoring.

Suddenly, Sirius felt as if a piece of ice had been shoved into his stomach, icy and convulsing, and his forehead started to ache. He became restlessly anxious, taking a few large strides to a curtain and yanking it aside.

Behind the curtain was a massive portrait – a depiction of an old woman. Her face was gaunt, with high cheekbones, bearing some resemblance to the current Sirius, though he didn't want to admit it. It was his mother.

The same woman who had argued with him for half the day yesterday, who had been so lively, was now sound asleep. She hadn't suddenly woken up to curse him as a "filthy and sinful child." Her drool hadn't even soaked half of her clothes.

Sirius retraced his steps to his room, wand in hand. He felt a bit more at ease. "Maybe I just scared myself," he thought. He began searching room by room, starting from the ground floor, and to prevent any surprises, he called Kreacher back.

"If that man from yesterday shows up, don't ask questions, just get me out of here immediately," Sirius warned the house-elf.

Kreacher looked thoroughly displeased, muttering in a voice Sirius could definitely hear, "Running away from home for over a decade, and now the spoiled young master is ordering old Kreacher around, heard he even killed someone..."

"Shut up!" Sirius roared.

"Creak—"

Sirius grasped his wand, the tip emitting a faint glow as a spell poised for release. With his other hand, he rotated the serpent-shaped door handle. The door creaked open. He waited two seconds, then cautiously peeked inside. The room was empty.contemporary romance

Hunched over, Kreacher shuffled in behind him, glancing around near his feet. "Nothing here, the prodigal young master's been locked away for over a decade, even his sanity's forsaken him. Oh, poor mistress, if she were aware from beyond, I wonder what she'd think. Poor old Kreacher..."

Sirius retorted without much patience, "She's doing well. We had quite a row yesterday, and she slept soundly last night, drooling all over."

They ascended the stairs; the aged wooden floor, long neglected, had been hollowed out by insects, and their footsteps produced creaking and groaning sounds. Sirius's heart couldn't help but tighten.

"It's as if I've returned to the war era," he mumbled, though excitement sparkled in his eyes.

His movements became more succinct and efficient. Each time he opened a door, he checked the doorknob for signs of recent use. After inspecting the dining room, storage room, and second-floor bedrooms without incident, he began to relax his tense nerves.

Even when he encountered an old ghoul in the second-floor restroom, Sirius found room for jest, "That ugly face of yours isn't the worst I've seen. Azkaban is the real hub for monsters and demons, though I'm something of a specimen myself..."

At the doorway of the third-floor study, though Sirius remained cautious, his wariness had started to ease. He pushed the door open and entered. The study was empty, the lighting brighter. He saw the old, worm-eaten bookshelves lining the walls, adorned with tarnished silver and green decorations.

Behind a heavy desk stood a high-backed armchair. He recalled his childhood when his father would often sit there. Yet, whenever he got close, it would lead to a reprimand.

"Whoosh, whoosh!"

"What the—"

Suddenly, the candle holder by the door came to life, twisting and winding around Sirius. He clutched his wand, but the hand holding it was pulled to the side. Sirius struggled, but the candle holder, as though alive, pried his fist open, causing his wand to fall to the ground, spinning uselessly.

Sirius's chest heaved violently, gasping for breath, and in his peripheral vision, he saw Kreacher similarly bound. From behind the desk chair came the sound of pages being turned.

Consumed by fury, Sirius roared out a name, "Felix Harp!"

The high-backed chair swiveled around, revealing Felix's figure. He held a hefty book bound in black leather, carefully flipping through its brittle, cracker-like pages, not bothering to look up as he said, "Wait a moment—I'm at a crucial point."

"Kreacher..." Sirius muttered almost inaudibly.

Kreacher seemed to have just figured out the situation. His form blurred for an instant as if he wanted to use Apparition, but in the next second, he was imprisoned.

Sirius wanted to continue speaking, but the pointed tip of the silver candle holder inched closer to his mouth, silently issuing a threat. He could only stare helplessly, as if trying to kill Felix with his gaze.

For ten minutes, the study remained silent, the only sound being Sirius's labored breathing. Just as he began to feel his wrist numb from constriction, Felix closed the book "Secrets of Dark Magic Revealed." He sighed and said, "Utterly wicked... I've lost my appetite for breakfast."

Unable to resist a hint of sarcasm, Sirius remarked, "Not very much like your... mentor, are you? Snape used to adore these things when he was young."

"Who doesn't have a hobby?" Felix responded, deflecting lightly.

A brief silence settled between them. Sirius lifted his head to fix his gaze on Felix, demanding, "How did you get in?"

Felix smiled and replied, "I had a little help from the Black family."

"That's impossible!" Sirius retorted, "Though I hate to admit it, I'm the last descendant of the Black family. Only I can enter."

Felix cast a glance at Kreacher.

"He... he's different..."

"Exactly!" Kreacher proudly proclaimed, "Old Kreacher has served the noble House of Black for generations upon generations. For generations upon generations!" Then, his gaze turned malicious as he shot Sirius a look. "The current master doesn't count; he's nothing but blood and no substance. Poor Kreacher has no choice..."

Sirius glared at him, his heart almost ready to strangle him.

Felix rose to his feet and scrutinized the wound on Sirius's forehead. "Potter's scar is on the right, yours is opposite. Quite strange, is it a coincidence?"

"You—"

Sirius's eyes widened. He wasn't too concerned about his safety now; he instinctively believed that Felix wouldn't kill him. However, he also realized a more sinister aspect of Felix compared to Snape – his words held even more power.

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