Hogwarts, yet another quiet and peaceful... breakfast time.
The owls flew past in a hurry.
"...Shocking! The elite Auror squad, a UK-US collaboration, was ambushed during an escort mission. Azkaban prisoner Lucius Malfoy successfully escaped. Now... this guy—the bounty is so much more than Sirius's from two years ago?"
"How much? How much?"
Harry and the others quickly gathered around as they listened to Hermione reading the newspaper, forming a crowd that was packed tightly. "Ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand..." Ginny murmured, her voice getting smaller until it was completely silent, with everyone quiet around them. A moment later, a voice faintly emerged from the crowd—
"Is the Ministry of Magic planning not to get by anymore?"
"Or are they certain this guy won't get caught? Could it be... he's actually already been secretly executed?"
There's never a shortage of kids with big imaginations among the Little Wizards.
"I want to become a bounty hunter. My dad couldn't earn that many Galleons even if he worked hard for ten lifetimes."
In the crowd, Ron looked at Harry, his tone serious and sincere.
"...I hope Mr. Weasley doesn't find out you're belittling his job like this."
"The Ministry of Magic has no future—"
...
"I really want to become a bounty hunter. I'll never earn that much money spending my life at Hogwarts—"
Professor Flitwick stared at the numbers on the newspaper, his eyes somewhat dazed—of course, he's no money grubber, but even the usually serene Professor McGonagall, except during Quidditch matches, couldn't help but have her eyelids twitch at those digits, "Being a professor has no future—"
"Exactly! The salary isn't even enough to buy me... a drink!"
The Hall's occasionally refreshing rare professor—Sybill Trelawney heard this and loudly proclaimed—the sound just reaching Dumbledore's ears, though the old man didn't even twitch his eyebrows, for the salary payment wasn't related to him as Headmaster.
"If you're drinking alcohol like it's water, then even if the entire Hogwarts budget were given to you, it wouldn't be enough for a month."
The true power-wielding Headmistress of Hogwarts—Minerva McGonagall retorted unreservedly, with a sarcastic curve at the corner of her mouth, "Professor Trelawney, perhaps you could sell the crystal ball in your lap for wine, after all, its prophecies never seem accurate—"
"You're desecrating the Inner Eye! McGonagall!!"
"Every year you predict a student will die in the castle—but I see everyone is perfectly fine, aren't they?"
Seeing the two about to get into an actual fight, even the Little Wizards not far away noticed the impending farce at the head table, Dumbledore finally wiped his mouth, "Minerva?" Professor Sprout also quickly pressed Trelawney back into her seat, pulling a bottle of sherry from her pocket and stuffing it into the latter's arms.
Thus, Trelawney, who began to warm up, quickly cooled down, with a smile returning to her face.
It seemed, Professor Sprout surely held the "Divination Class Professor's Handbook".
But at that moment, Dumbledore's gaze remained fixed on Minerva McGonagall, who had closed her eyes, the blue eyes behind his glinting glasses carrying a rare scrutinizing look, yet his voice remained gentle, "...Minerva?"
"I suppose... no, just a little agitated, probably because of the Little Wizards' grades."
Professor McGonagall rubbed her temple, the wrinkle beneath her forehead tense enough to crush a Billywig, saying this while fiercely glaring at the Gryffindor Little Wizards curiously looking over, who promptly shrank their heads collectively.
"..."
But Dumbledore still didn't look away, his voice even softer, "Really?" As colleagues working together nearly half a century, Dumbledore very easily sensed this old colleague's current odd behavior, this colleague known for her toughness, calmness, and even a bit old-fashioned demeanor, did not appear as simple as she claimed.
With rigid limbs, her hand rubbing the temple slightly trembling as if uncontrollably, those green eyes showing a sort of emotion even Dumbledore couldn't fathom.
"Minerva?" Dumbledore's voice grew softer, more gentle yet probing, "Are you really just feeling unwell?"
Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, avoiding the Headmaster's gaze, fingers braced on the table turning white at the knuckles.
"Yes, Albus," her voice finally regained its usual firmness, "Probably... just slept late last night, and... some matters, personal business, truly disturbing."
Speaking to this point, McGonagall purposely paused as though searching for a reasonable explanation for her brief lapse, "And those two Weasleys, lately more than one person mentioned their... joke shop? Those quick escape school tools... excuse me, I might need a rest."
Ah, it's because of those two Weasley boys? That indeed makes sense.
Numerous professors who suffered greatly from it all empathetically nodded—except for Dumbledore and William, both instinctively exchanging a glance.
However, further questioning was evidently unfit for this occasion, as Professor McGonagall already rose, nodding slightly to Dumbledore and the other professors, then strode out of the hall, her emerald robe billowing, leaving behind a mysterious shadow.
The air remained heavy after she left, even Professor Trelawney seemed awed by this unusual vibe, holding her bottle of sherry and blankly gazing at the doorway, Dumbledore silently, fingers tapping lightly on the table.
"Everyone has different concerns, the only one unaffected is Professor Snape, who's heartlessly eating noodles, and—loudly at that."
"..."
Snape's noodle-eating motion halted, he looked at William, who was seriously narrating in a broadcaster's tone, his face turning dark.
Damn, shifting the topic has to drag me in?
Seeing Snape's face nearly dark as coal, Professor Flitwick, always with a good touch in human interactions, chimed in at the right moment, using his sharp voice to try injecting some energy, "Truly... hope Minerva gets a good rest, but speaking of which—"
A very awkward transition, but everyone tacitly refrained from interrupting.
Then, Flitwick turned his gaze to William Richard quietly sitting aside, sipping pumpkin juice through a straw, "William, this morning's Prophet Daily mentioned you on the front page, look here—"
The small professor pushed forward the newspaper, pointing at the bold headline at the end of the main article—
"Hogwarts Professor to the Rescue, Professor Richard Displays Strong Ability, Yet Sadly Failed to Prevent the Wicked's Escape."
The entire piece praised William's strength, the Black Wizard's cunning—and those useless Aurors—the flattery keen enough to make William's eyebrows twitch uncontrollably, damn it, he should really get a grip on those drooling over how to flatter the boss when idle—