A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Finally, the term came to an end. The young wizards lined up to board the train back home, leaving Hogwarts partially empty.

The tranquility of a morning after heavy snowfall settled over the castle, wrapping it in a profound silence.

Felix Harp walked through the castle, occasionally encountering a fellow young wizard. Yet, he found solace in this stillness, embracing the quietude.

Near the frozen Black Lake, Felix chose a secluded spot and conjured a comfortable armchair with a flick of his wand. He snapped his fingers lightly, summoning a bright blue flame that floated above his head.

From a ring on his finger, Felix took out a book and began reading with keen interest.

The book in his hand was "Ravenclaw Manuscripts (Volume Two)," a compilation of materials left behind by Rowena Ravenclaw. The contents were divided into twelve volumes, each focusing on different categories.

The second volume contained Ravenclaw's personal reflections and did not delve into specific magical knowledge. Through his eyes, it seemed to be filled with passages akin to poetic murmurs, shrouded in clouds of vague imagery.

He randomly picked a passage—

"Stones turned into birds, chirping and singing. Crossing mountains and lakes, it brought back daisies from the crimson fields."

Felix: "..." He found it difficult to fathom Lady Ravenclaw's state of mind at that time.

Felix himself had received an education befitting a young aristocrat during Ravenclaw's era, with a deep familial connection to learning. Thus, he had a special fondness for poetry.

But were there any renowned poets from that age?

Felix scratched his head, aware that Hogwarts' four founders were active in the medieval period, yet it seemed that the poetry of that time was inseparable from religious hymns.

He continued reading—

"The river speaks to me, Creator, you endowed me with thought but not form. One day, I shall merge into the ocean."

Felix: "..." Upon reflection, it was quite artistic, at least enigmatic when read aloud.

Rather than delving into its intricate meanings, he breezed through the text like a casual reader. In less than half an hour, he reached the end.

"Tsk!" Felix clicked his tongue, unsure of what to make of it.

Did lacking literary appreciation mean one wasn't qualified to study magic?

He reclined in the armchair, gazing at the distant lake covered in ice and snow, recollecting the knowledge he had gleaned from the diary over the past few days. With his discerning eyes, he could easily identify which parts were more valuable to him. Though the diary had concealed much from him and even attempted to convey false information, he was still dealing with a fledgling Dark Lord who hadn't yet stepped out of school and whose every aspect remained quite immature.

In this regard, Voldemort and his past self shared some similarities. Both had forcefully augmented their mastery in specific subjects through "external assistance," achieving levels far beyond their peers.

But when it came to understanding and insight into magic, they were still quite shallow.

Unless you reached a certain level of mastery, you wouldn't possess the corresponding comprehension.

Felix felt a pang of understanding. Most wizards spent their entire lives studying others' magic, lacking the means to make any significant improvements—not due to a lack of desire, but a lack of ability.

"Wait, I think I've figured something out!" Felix suddenly sat up, his eyes wide with realization. "Birds, rivers, Creator, magic, consciousness..."

Felix swiftly opened "Ravenclaw Manuscripts (Volume Two)" to a particular page. He gazed at the familiar words—

"Stones turned into a little bird, chirping and chattering. Crossing mountains and lakes, it brought back daisies from the crimson fields."

If we regard this little poem as a true account of Ravenclaw's personal experiences, can it be logically explained?

The first line is undoubtedly about Transfiguration. Perhaps Lady Rowena Ravenclaw, on a whimsical day, transformed a piece of stone into a lovely little bird.

But what about the second line?

Did Ravenclaw use magic to make it produce sounds? Felix Harp shook his head, connecting the contents of the following lines. This legendary little bird clearly traveled a considerable distance and brought back a daisy from the crimson fields.

This was something beyond the scope of Transfiguration.

Perhaps Ravenclaw endowed it with some sort of "essence," akin to life, soul, or something similar, allowing it to maintain a degree of autonomy even outside the range of the spell.

He suddenly recalled his conversation with a part of the Sorting Hat that day—

"Sorting Hat, do you remember how you came into existence?" Felix mentally asked it.

"Of course, oh, I have a vivid memory of it." It responded cleverly and then, the shabby, raggedy hat burst into song in his consciousness.

"That was over a thousand years ago,contemporary romance

I was just woven into form.

Four eminent wizards there were,

Swearing to nurture young wizards to be stars.

These four great wizards,

Valued different talents and ideas.

Gryffindor came up with a way—

He took me off his head.

All four poured their thoughts into me,

From then on, I became the one to select and evaluate!"

...

After gaining the thoughts of the four founders, the Sorting Hat had practically become an independent sentient being.

And how similar it was to the little bird that flew over mountains and lakes, bringing back a daisy from the crimson fields!

The key here was autonomy. Both exhibited tremendous autonomy, akin to true life. Even outside the realm of magic, they could make independent decisions and perform complex actions.

How could this autonomy be achieved through magic?

Setting aside the realms of "life" and "soul," which he couldn't quite grasp, Felix swiftly thought of a method he could accomplish—injecting memories.

He had just acquired this knowledge from the diary.

Felix waved his wand, causing a palm-sized pebble to fly in front of him. Then, he lightly tapped the stone with his wand, and it swiftly transformed into an exquisite, small swallow.

However, upon closer inspection, one could see that the eyes of this swallow were remarkably lifeless, as though it were a puppet, every movement guided by the wand.

Next, Felix simulated a brief "memory" for the swallow in his mind. He touched his own forehead with his wand, drawing forth a thin silver, shimmering thread.

Felix infused this fabricated memory into the swallow's form, leveraging the knowledge from the diary to blend the two together.

He simplified this process as much as possible, merely to test his theory.

Under his gaze, the swallow's eyes grew more vibrant. Without his control, it flapped its wings and awkwardly took off.

Yet, the next moment, it plummeted into the snow, leaving only its legs twitching.

Felix pulled it out, and the swallow hopped and struggled through the snow, resembling a sparrow searching for food in the snow—his constructed memory was indeed of poor quality.

However, he stared intently at the little creature before him.

After about two to three minutes, faint threads of silver mist seeped from the swallow's form—the fabricated memory dissipated.

It returned to its lifeless state.

Felix waved his wand, turning it back into a pebble, lost in thought.

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