Alchemy professor at Hogwarts

Chapter 93
Hardy boredly flipped through the old files from 1988. After Braden moved all the materials, the two first returned the old car to the Ministry of Magic.

Then cast Apparatus together and head to the Leaky Cauldron for a few drinks.

By the time Hardy returned to Hogwarts through the public fireplace in Diagon Alley, it was already three o'clock in the afternoon.

A clumsy parrot, flapping its wings, kept banging on the window of Hardy's office.

Hardy waved his wand and opened two windows in the air, and the clumsy and dull parrot flew in immediately.

It leaned forward, fell face down on the desk, and slid a short distance.

Snape's voice came from the parrot's mouth, "Professor Ollivander, the rote potion has been brewed."

As soon as the words fell, the parrot on the desk made a "whoosh", twisting and turning back into a pebble.

"The timing is so accurate, Professor Snape really won't let me rest for a second."

Hardy took off his dusty suit, put on clean wizard robes, and went directly to Snape's Potions professor's office.

"Come in," said Snape in the office, looking at the Erlenmeyer glass bottle in his hand.

Inside, a bright red liquid like magma was flowing.

"As expected of Professor Snape." Hardy smiled and walked opposite Snape, looking at the things in the opponent's hand.

He tapped the conical glass bottle lightly with his wand and shook it slightly, causing orange-red bubbles to pop out of it, "exactly as recorded in the book "Unpopular Potion"."

Snape snorted softly, "Professor Ollivander, are you doubting my production level?"

Shaking his head, Hardy spread his hands, "No such intention, Professor Snape, rigor may be something I can't change, you should know that."

"The whole of Hogwarts, and only you, can always boast about yourself in different ways." Snape said sullenly.

Hardy was noncommittal. "Some people like to call this a sense of humor, like... the vast majority of people."

Snape glanced at Hardy and stopped discussing the subject with him.

It's not because he can't say no to Hardy, it's just that there is no need to continue.

He quickly brought the topic back to the rote potion, "Professor Ollivander, to be honest, I don't think Longbottom can survive the burning sensation of taking it."

"Maybe," Hardy said, staring at the popping bubbles in the Erlenmeyer, "but we should ask him what he wants."

eight pm.

Hardy came to the basement classroom with the rote potion that Snape had brewed.

Since the preliminary results of casting the Disarming Curse last time, Neville unconsciously increased the intensity of his training.

Although Hardy's week-long confinement punishment has been completed, he will continue to come here in the morning before class and after dinner, repeating boring movements.

"Except your weapons!"

As Neville skillfully swung the wand, a dazzling arc exploded at the tip of the wand, and then accurately knocked the wand in the scarecrow's hand into the air and rolled it to Hardy's feet.

"Look what I saw? A wand sent flying by a disarming spell!"

Hardy waved his wand, causing the wand under his feet to fly back into the scarecrow's hand.

"Professor Ollivander!"

Neville blushed and looked at him excitedly, "I did it, Professor, I really did it!"

"Congratulations, Mr. Longbottom." Hardy clapped his hands and walked in front of the other party, "Look, it's just a little more than others, why can't you do it?"

Neville looked down at his hands in disbelief, "Next time I visit my parents, I must tell them the good news."

"It seems that this underground classroom can be closed for the time being." Hardy looked around, and was about to wave his wand to put away the small blackboard and other things on the wall.

But Neville stopped him.

"Professor, I want to continue practicing here." Neville's eyes shone with determination, "I want to be as good an Auror as my parents."

"This is your goal in life? Mr. Longbottom," Hardy put down his wand, "I understand right?"

Neville nodded a little shyly, "To tell you the truth, my wish when I was a child has always been to be the killer of evil."

"Evil... nemesis?" Hardy blinked his eyes, this statement is really full of secondary feelings.

However, instead of making fun of the other party, he said, "It's a good idea, but do you know how many tests you need to pass to become an Auror?"

"I'm willing to work hard," Neville muttered, "if not three years, then five years, if five years is not enough, then ten years."

"I've inquired in advance, and the Ministry of Magic has not stipulated that a 60-year-old man cannot be employed..."

Hardy was amused by Neville's serious look, "If you really have the idea of ​​grinding an iron pestle into a needle, maybe it is really possible."

"Iron pestle...ground into needles?" Neville scratched his head in confusion, "I don't understand, Professor."

"Ah, it's an ancient proverb in the East, emphasizing the importance of persistence." Hardy explained.

In the next second, he brought the rote potion that Snape had prepared in front of Neville.

"If you are really determined and plan to work hard towards becoming an excellent Auror, this bottle of rote potion will help you."

Hardy explained: "It can cure your bad memory, but only if you can live with the exaggerated burning sensation."

"I'll give you a few days to think about it. After all, taking it is no small matter."

Staring straight at the rote potion in Hardy's hand, Neville nervously swallowed a few mouthfuls of saliva.

……

night.

Gryffindor common room.

Ron was yawning, playing wizard chess with Harry, "God, I'm so sleepy, after this game of chess, I have to go to bed."

Harry glanced at the other party in surprise, "What did Madam Pomfrey say about your situation?"

Ron pouted, "She told me to take a good rest, saying that this situation is a sequela of staying up late."

He took out a bottle of calming potion from his wizard robe, and gulped it into his mouth, "Madame Pomfrey also asked me to drink a bottle of this before going to bed."

"Who told you that you used to stay up all night reading novels, playing Eudemons cards, and doing homework for various courses." Harry said.

"Hey! Everyone does this, and it's not just me." Ron retorted, almost knocking over the entire chessboard.

"Found it!" At this moment, Hermione, who was sitting by the side, suddenly and unexpectedly shouted.

With a serious face, she spread out a large tome beside the wizard chessboard, "Come here and take a look at this."

She turned to the first page of the tome, pointing to the first paragraph of text, "The content written on it is exactly the same as Lockhart's interview script."

Ron glanced at the cover of the tome and found that it was Lockhart's long-published novel "Traveling with the Vampire".

As early as the first grade, he once saw Hermione read it in his spare time, "Hey, I remembered, you were still looking forward to taking a photo with Gilderoy Lockhart, a talented writer. Woolen cloth."

Hermione pursed her lips, "That's all in the past, Ron, as the old man said, young people always make mistakes."

She dug out Lockhart's interview script from her backpack, "Look, the description of the scene about the storm is exactly the same."

"And then?" Ron, who had just lost Wizard Chess, lay sleepily on the chessboard, his upper and lower eyelids had already started fighting each other.

Hermione leaned over and whispered closer, "I suspect—"

"Lockhart's novels are not written by himself at all, but stole other people's stories!"

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise, "You mean, Lockhart is a thief? He put all other people's experiences on himself?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Hermione said, "It's very possible that this interview script in my hand is the evidence. Look, it still has the old wizard's handprint on it."

"And the above interview time is also much earlier than the publication of the book "Traveling with the Vampire"."

Harry still couldn't believe it, he adjusted his round glasses, "Could this be just a coincidence?"

"I mean, it's possible that Lockhart just took parts of the interview and put it into the novel."

"Anyway, the few pieces of paper in our hands can't explain anything at all," Harry reminded.

(End of this chapter)