Anthony held the list of books as he walked up the stairs to the second floor. He intended to check out the Hogwarts library.

"Exceptional intelligence is humanity's greatest wealth," Professor Flitwick said when he handed over the list. "You wouldn't want to miss Hogwarts' treasury, Professor Anthony."

Some staircases might suddenly appear or disappear, causing students to struggle to remember the temperaments of all the stairs in the castle, but professors always had a bit of privilege—they could take the most convenient spiral staircases. Anthony made his way up the stairs to the sunlit corridor on the second floor. Looking out, the lawn spread out in a warm sea of green under the sun, extending all the way to the dark Forbidden Forest.

Inside the library, sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the rows of bookshelves lining the walls. As Hogwarts had not yet opened for the term, there was no one else in the library except for Madam Pince, the librarian. The air was filled with the scent of old parchment and dust. Long wooden tables were neatly arranged around the room, quietly waiting for those seeking knowledge.

When Anthony entered the library, Madam Pince scrutinized him sternly: "Professor Henry Anthony?"

"That's me," Anthony replied.

"Very well, please sign here. When students want to borrow books from the restricted section, they may come to you for permission." Madam Pince handed him a hefty tome. "There’s a reason these books are classified as restricted. The books here are relatively dangerous; please be cautious."

Anthony wrote his name beneath Quirrell's trembling signature: "I guess there are no books on Muggle Studies in the restricted section?"

"No books on Muggle Studies," Madam Pince said. "There are many Muggle-related books, and they are very dangerous. If you're interested, they are all in the Dark Arts section."

"Let's look at the regular books first," Anthony declined politely, taking out his list. "I want to find these books."

...

With Madam Pince's help, he quickly gathered all the books listed by Professor Burbage. Some of the titles recommended by Professor Flitwick were in the restricted section.

"Strange, I thought it would be here," Madam Pince frowned, gazing at the shelves. Among the fully stocked shelves, there was a tiny gap. A thick, viscous, blood-red liquid began to ooze from the book to the left of the gap, dripping onto the shelf below and emitting a sharp wail.

Madam Pince unceremoniously whipped the spine of the book with a feather duster. The liquid and the wailing both vanished.

Anthony looked down at his list. *Under the Spell*.

"Madam, is this book dangerous?" he asked. "I mean, are we about to rescue a student who fainted in the dorm for the entire holiday?"

Madam Pince shook her head in confusion. "No, this book doesn't have any lethal magic; it’s considered restricted because of its content. Its author, who is both a magical theorist and a magical creature expert, was very keen on exploring the differences in how magic manifests in wizards and magical creatures and conducted many illicit experiments for that purpose—he probably died in Azkaban. We worry that reckless students might be seduced by the content of the book, which is why we classified it as restricted. I can’t think of anyone who would steal it."

She stared at the gap as if she could glare the soul of the thief out from the crevice.

"Is there surveillance in the restricted section?"

Madam Pince took great offense. "I am the only one, and I never slack off."

"No, I’m not talking about that," Anthony realized she misunderstood. "I’m talking about cameras."

"Cameras?"

"Never mind, don't worry about it," Anthony gave up. He wasn't prepared to explain what closed-circuit television was.

However, Madam Pince wouldn’t let it go. "Are you talking about some Muggle thing, Professor Anthony?"

So, Anthony spent more than half an hour explaining to her the management of Muggle libraries as he knew it.

The more Madam Pince asked, the more Anthony had to tell her that Muggle library management was a complex subject, and Muggle schools offered corresponding courses, taking students several years to graduate. He was just an ordinary reader who couldn’t answer overly specialized questions.

"How interesting," Madam Pince said thoughtfully. "I didn’t know they had libraries."

Anthony took a deep breath and muttered to himself, "I’ve gotten used to it."

"What, Professor?" Madam Pince asked absently. She was once again fixated on the gap.

Anthony replied, "I meant that I will do my best to teach Muggle Studies."

"You'll do great, Professor Anthony," Madam Pince said. "When is your first class?"

"The second day of term, third-year Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Madam Pince's eyes widened. "Oh." She looked at Anthony with pity. "Good luck."

...

The half-month before the start of term flew by quickly. Anthony went out to have meals, drink tea, and exchange knowledge with the professors, and when he returned to his room, he focused on catching up on lessons, preparing for classes, playing with his cat, and finding time to reply to Mr. Weasley’s letter.

Professor Flitwick praised his talent in Charms, saying that he "trusts his magic very much."

"Charms and Transfiguration are very similar, but there is a subtle difference," Professor Flitwick told him when Anthony mentioned that his progress in Transfiguration was slow. "Transfiguration requires a bit more precision, while the biggest requirement for Charms is confidence. You have to believe that magic will respond to you! I’ve seen many students get the wand movements and incantations correct, but unable to cast the perfect charm because they worry about failing."

Professor Flitwick happily handed Anthony a piece of cake. "You trust magic very much, Professor Anthony, so magic favors you. Even with imperfect wand movements, because of your strong confidence, you can still achieve the correct effect. But Transfiguration is different... no, it is the art of restraint and precision. I have to say, I prefer the more forgiving Charms." He whispered to Anthony, "Don’t tell Minerva."

Anthony nodded earnestly, stuffing the cake into his mouth to indicate that his mouth was sealed tight. Professor Flitwick cheerfully commanded the teapot to pour him a cup of tea.

That said, who wouldn’t trust magic after spending a long time crawling out of a coffin, being woken up daily by vengeful spirits, and having a skeleton as a pet?

He also found time to have a drink with Hagrid.

Tom was right; Hagrid was a rugged and warm-hearted friend with a naive disposition that belied his fierce appearance.

He was very pleased to hear that Anthony had a cat. "You should take it out for a walk, Henry. The sun has been nice lately, and since the students haven’t arrived yet, you don’t have to worry about someone scaring your cat."

Anthony recalled his cat’s temperament of “no entry for the living.” He worried that it wouldn’t be the students scaring the cat, but rather the cat scaring the students.

"I’ll give it a try," he finally promised to Hagrid’s sincere black eyes.

Hagrid also shared a lot of information about Hogwarts with him. Anthony now knew that this year’s savior had been held by Hagrid when he was a child, knew that many magical creatures lived in the Forbidden Forest, including unicorns he had never seen before, and that the school’s favorite rule-breaking duo sneaking into the Forbidden Forest was the Weasley twins, both third-year Gryffindors.

When Hagrid learned that Anthony's first class happened to be the third years of Gryffindor and Slytherin, he patted Anthony’s shoulder with his huge palm (almost knocking him under the table): "Good luck, you’ll be fine."

He was very sure that the twins would choose Anthony's class.

"Look on the bright side," Hagrid said optimistically. "At least no Slytherins will choose the class. They won’t fight in your classroom."

...

The start-of-term feast on September 1st was very grand.

The house-elves had planned the menu at least two days in advance, asking the professors for their preferences and suggestions one by one. The surrounding weather was adjusted repeatedly, just to make the floating candles in the hall appear bright and warm against the ceiling, synchronized with the sky.

On the evening of the feast, a milky-white ghost floated through the wall, startling Anthony. The ghost was completely different from his wraith: wraiths had substance—otherwise, the wraith chicken wouldn’t peck him to wake him up—and the ghost evidently did not. He had never seen these ghosts in the castle before and didn’t know if they were related to the magic of the dead or if they could tell he was a wraith wizard.

"Oh, you haven’t visited Professor Binns yet," Professor Sprout said, noticing his reaction from across Trelawney. "He’s the professor of History of Magic and also a ghost; he usually only stays in the History of Magic classroom and his room."

The Sorting Hat sat on a wooden stool, waiting to sort the first-year students into their respective houses. The professors were required to wear their best robes and sit at the head table to welcome the newcomers into the magical world.

"Take a good look at Severus’s robe; you won’t see it very often throughout the year," Professor Burbage said to Anthony. "Eight thousand Galleons, a gift from a graduate."

Anthony turned to take a glance. Snape sat next to Professor Quirrell, looking impatient. His black robe… was very black. Anthony had no idea what the appreciation standard for wizard robes was. He was wearing his most expensive robe, which cost eleven Galleons and five Sickles.

"I didn’t find that eight thousand Galleons," he whispered to Professor Burbage.

Professor Burbage chuckled. Anthony swore Snape cast a mocking glance at them and began to speak quietly with Quirrell.

...

Once Professor McGonagall brought the new students in, the professors stopped chatting. It was Anthony’s first time attending the start-of-term feast, and he sat up straight, mimicking the others, staring blankly at his empty plate. Dumbledore, wearing his favorite wizard hat, watched the new students, who looked pale and trembling as they walked towards the Sorting Hat, tapping out a cheerful rhythm on the table with his fingers.

The new students were sorted into their houses like a production line. Some were clearly satisfied with their results, while others looked bewildered as they walked toward their house tables, glancing back three times.

Harry Potter—just as Hagrid had predicted while drinking with Anthony—was sorted into Gryffindor. The hall erupted with deafening cheers, and the Gryffindor table was in an uproar. Anthony noticed two identical red-haired boys jumping onto their chairs, waving their hats and shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" If Professor McGonagall hadn’t been standing nearby, Anthony would bet they could have danced a paso doble on the chairs.

Professor Burbage noticed him watching the twins.

"Yes, you have them in your first class," she said helplessly. "Fred Weasley and George Weasley, the Weasley twins. Good luck, Professor Anthony."

Professor Trelawney next to him stretched out her bangle-laden arm, took Anthony's teacup, and stared at it for a moment. "Doom, Professor Anthony. Inevitable doom."

(Note 1: Anthony was referring to "surveillance," which is a formal expression, but Madam Pince did not understand that he was referring to things like surveillance cameras, interpreting it according to the etymological meaning (over + watch) (yes, Overwatch), and thus said she was the only one. When Anthony switched to the more common term "cameras," it was clear that the magical world’s moving photographs had not considered video, so Madam Pince understood it as a still camera. After thinking for a long time, he couldn’t find a particularly good way to express it, so he added a note.)