Harry's words had reached the innermost table, and Hagrid's heavy sigh could be heard even by those standing at the pub's entrance.
"Hahahahaha, indeed, we've missed the best time to dock you points, Harry. I must say, it's a pity," Professor Flitwick chuckled heartily, patting Harry's leg. "You should've let us savor those moments a bit longer… after all, it's only seven years at most."
"You could still do it now, you know," Harry shrugged, grinning. "I've never missed a Charms class."
"Oh, no, that won't do," Flitwick said with a playful wink, teasing, "I can't go docking points from a professor. That'd be far too harsh—anyway, enough of that, lad. Let's head inside; you're the last one we're waiting for."
"Same as usual?" Rosmerta asked with a smile.
"Yes, please, and add some extra ice, thanks," Harry nodded.
Before the old Potter manor was renovated and its wine cellar inherited, Harry and Hagrid would sometimes come to the Three Broomsticks for a good drink. Rosmerta had long since memorized their preferences.
"Ice in this weather isn't the best idea," Rosmerta remarked casually. "Oh, by the way, Professor Harry?"
"Yes?"
"I'm so sorry about those things I read in the papers about you—I mean, keep fighting! I hope you reunite with your godfather soon."
As she spoke, Rosmerta leaned down and gave Harry a warm, cheek-to-cheek hug, soft and comforting, carrying the faint scent of lavender.
A few playful whistles erupted from the other tables in the pub. Rosmerta, unfazed by the teasing, straightened up, rolled her eyes at the culprits, and headed back to the bar to prepare their drinks.
"Ah, a sweet blossom," Flitwick said, slapping Harry's thigh with even more gusto. "I'd wager that hug alone makes you the most envied man in the Three Broomsticks tonight—oi, you lot, don't you know who this is?"
"Oh, we know, Professor Flitwick!" the whistling patrons laughed. They were Hogwarts graduates themselves from years past. "Harry Potter! The youngest and greatest professor in our history—cheers to you!"
"Thank you, and to your health as well," Harry replied with a smile, calling toward the bar, "A round of Butterbeer for them, on me, Madam!"
"Cheers to Professor Potter's generosity!"
"Professor Potter! You'll take down the corrupt Ministry of Magic and save your godfather!"
"Hear, hear!"
Harry's generous gesture sent the pub's atmosphere soaring. Three bottles of Butterbeer cost only a single silver Sickle, but it was more than enough to win the crowd's favor.
The wooden tables and chairs in the Three Broomsticks were weathered antiques, and the fireplace blazed year-round, filling the air with the sweet aroma of Butterbeer and mead.
"Merlin's beard, you're finally here," Hagrid grumbled as Harry sat beside him. "I was plannin' to head over with you, but you didn't answer the door. Thought you'd got here first."
"Sorry, I was with Hermione and the others in Mulgore. Er, Ron needed a bit of comforting—his pet rat's gone missing," Harry explained.
"Ha, no need to apologize for that," Hagrid said, clearly dodging the topic. He glanced left and right, avoiding Professor McGonagall's gaze across the table. "Ron's rat… that'd be Scabbers, right?"
"Exactly. Ron asked me to divine where Scabbers might've gone, but all I could see is that it's likely scampered off into the Forbidden Forest. Even I couldn't pinpoint its exact location," Harry said, choosing not to voice his suspicions about Scabbers just yet. He'd deal with the rat once he caught it.
If Scabbers was indeed an Animagus—Peter Pettigrew—then, as his friend's pet, it would've had ample time to learn the weaknesses of Harry's divination. The Forbidden Forest was a perfect hiding spot: endless trees, indistinguishable from one another, with no clear landmarks to guide a search.
A rat living far beyond its natural lifespan, fleeing to a convenient hideout, missing a limb… the coincidences were too many for Harry to ignore.
Too convenient.
"That's rotten luck," Hagrid sighed heavily. "If Ron's alright with it, I'd be happy to help him find a new pet—say, a cat, a dog, or maybe a wolf."
"Best not, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall warned. "Untamed pets could harm students, and I don't want the Ministry poking around over something like that—speaking of which, aren't we supposed to be discussing the time you took Harry to Hogsmeade for drinks without permission last year?"
"Cough, cough, COUGH!" Hagrid erupted into a fit of choking coughs. "Sorry, McGonagall, this drink's a bit strong—excuse me a moment!"
Shoving past Harry, Hagrid lumbered toward the pub's back door like a flustered bear. As his figure disappeared, the remaining professors exchanged glances and burst into laughter, even McGonagall, who'd just been so stern, allowed herself a small smile.
"I hope this doesn't catch you too off guard, Harry," McGonagall said, dropping the formal "Professor Potter" for this private, off-campus gathering. "It's just a friendly get-together. No need to be so stiff."
"I can tell," Harry said, scanning the cozy surroundings with a relaxed grin. "The absence of the Most Charming Smile Award speaks volumes."
McGonagall, Professor Kettleburn, Hagrid, Professor Sprout, Flitwick, Professor Sinistra from Astronomy, and even Professor Trelawney—who'd finally emerged from her office—were all here.
But one notable professor was missing.
As for Snape… his absence from such gatherings was entirely expected. Compared to the current Lockhart, even Snape was more likable. At least the Potions professor had genuine skill, a fact even the most Snape-hating Gryffindors wouldn't dispute.
"Hahahahaha!"
Harry's quip sent the professors into another round of laughter. If they hadn't cast a Muffliato charm to keep their conversation private, the entire pub would've turned to stare.
Trelawney, in particular, was laughing so hard she banged her head on the table, slapping the wood repeatedly. In the past, such theatrics would've irritated McGonagall, who'd always disapproved of Trelawney's antics. But today, McGonagall just shook her head with a faint smile.
Clearly, Lockhart had managed to offend everyone possible.
"Something to eat, mentor?" Trelawney asked eagerly, her enthusiasm almost palpable. "The meat pies here are excellent, and the toasted bread with cheese is quite sweet."
"Thanks, but I've already had dinner," Harry said, studying Trelawney closely. "How's it going?"
"Wonderful," Trelawney replied sincerely. "This is the life I've always wanted—a true seer, worthy of Cassandra's bloodline."
Trelawney had changed dramatically.
She was now a seasoned… well, somewhat lopsided shaman.
Her connection to the elements was rudimentary at best, as she'd thrown herself entirely into the Way of the Spirits, constantly probing the unseen undercurrents of the physical world. Without Harry's guidance, Trelawney had independently discovered the existence of the Astral Plane and mastered the ability to observe others' spirits through its lens.
The light and state of a person's spirit revealed volumes to Trelawney, granting her an almost piercing insight into those around her. Students could hide no secrets from her gaze.
If you audited Trelawney's Divination class now, you'd find the room even more shrouded in mist, but no longer reeking of alcohol. Gone were the tea leaves and tarot cards she'd once used to muddle through lessons. Now, she relied solely on her crystal ball to reveal glimpses of her subjects' futures.
Her classes had earned widespread praise—no one called her a fraud anymore.
In the past, passing Divination was as simple as crafting a sufficiently tragic "death journal" for the final exam. But now, that wouldn't cut it.
Students were dismayed to find that the once-easy professor was now playing for keeps.
This transformation had shifted McGonagall's opinion. She no longer saw Trelawney as a charlatan who scared students with fake death prophecies to garner attention.
This was, indeed, just a casual gathering of professors. After all, Hogwarts' staff were human too, with their own joys, frustrations, and need for relaxation.
"Care for a drink, Harry?" Professor Sprout raised her glass toward him. "To celebrate your new role as a professor—this is your first time at one of these, isn't it? Surprised? We're all a bit different outside the castle."
"Very different," Harry said, clinking glasses with Sprout and taking a sip. "I get it. You have to keep up that air of authority in front of students. If you're not strict enough, they'll never settle down."
"You catch on quick, Harry," Sprout said with a smile. "I've sat in on a few of your classes. You've got a real knack for teaching."
"Thanks," Harry said, raising his glass to the other professors. "Seems like everyone's had enough of a certain someone."
Professor Sinistra, already a bit tipsy, was ranting to Flitwick about Lockhart barging into her Astronomy class to boast about his supposed expertise in celestial navigation. To their astonishment, every professor had a similar story—Lockhart seemed to be everywhere, claiming superior knowledge in every subject.
The collective resentment was palpable. After all, every Hogwarts professor had their own expertise, and Lockhart's habit of showing off in their classrooms was infuriating.
"For the first time, I'm almost hoping that curse is real," Sinistra muttered bitterly. "At least then we'd only have to endure that idiot for a year."
"Aurora!" McGonagall said sharply, her tone a warning. "You've had too much to drink."
No matter the circumstances, a Hogwarts professor shouldn't be wishing a curse upon a colleague.
"Ahem, sorry," Sinistra said, sobering slightly. She glanced at Harry, a touch embarrassed. "I hope you don't mind, Professor Potter… er, I mean, has the Ministry sent anyone to talk to you about Sirius Black?"
"Not yet," Harry shook his head. "But it won't be long. Fudge can't sit still forever."
"That's good to hear," Sinistra said earnestly. "I hope justice is served and Sirius is freed soon. You deserve to have family by your side, don't you?"
"Thank you," Harry said with a smile. "I hope so too… By the way, about my father and his friends—the things they did back then—could you tell me more?"
The air around the table grew quiet.
"Of course," McGonagall said at last, nodding. "James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew—they were inseparable during their school years."
"You might be missing one, Minerva," Flitwick said with a chuckle. "Lily Evans—James was utterly smitten with her."
"I'm glad Snape isn't here today," Sprout said, shaking her head. "He wouldn't want to hear this… Truth be told, Snape knows far more about those days than we do. He was there, after all."
"I know about their history," Harry said curtly. "If I'm being honest, I don't think what my father and his friends did to Snape was right. In fact, I think they were the bad students—the kind who bullied others, like my Muggle cousin."
His words stunned the table. The professors stared at Harry, shocked that he'd take Snape's side.
"…That's a complicated matter, Harry," McGonagall said after a long pause. "Back then, the Dark Lord had already gathered his followers. They terrorized and killed—even Hogwarts, meant to be a sanctuary apart from wizarding society, wasn't immune to those divisions."