In the afternoon of the last day before school started, Ares spent half his time tidying up his office and living quarters.
He had chosen Quirrell's old office on the third floor of the castle.
It was a silo-shaped room divided into two levels. The lower level was used by Quirrell as an office, and inside a wardrobe embedded in the wall was a spiral staircase leading to his living quarters on the second floor.
Ares didn't need to bother changing the room's structure, but he carefully decorated the dormitory on the second floor to make his stay more comfortable.
After all, having suffered for so many years, surely he could enjoy himself a little now!
Ares spent the rest of the afternoon dealing with fan mail.
This was to be expected—
On the afternoon of the second day after he successfully stopped the Hogwarts Express from crashing, which was Monday afternoon, news had spread through the Daily Prophet. After that, owls kept by wizards all over Britain began a large-scale "migration."
These round-faced, chubby birds had two main destinations. One was the Ministry of Magic—to condemn Fudge and his team for dereliction of duty, nearly causing a generational break in the British wizarding world!
The other destination was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
In the ten years since Voldemort's downfall, the British wizarding world had been largely peaceful. In this situation, one could imagine the shock the sudden "Hogwarts Express Incident" brought to people!
And after the news broke that he had saved the lives of nearly a thousand young wizards, the wizards of this land exploded with interest in Ares.
According to incomplete statistics (Ares was too lazy to count carefully), in just three days, he received nearly... over forty kilograms of letters, and the speed of incoming mail showed no sign of slowing down.
Filch, whom he had entrusted to collect the mail, probably hadn't slept more than twenty minutes in total over the past two or three days, just like Dumbledore.
Ares read some of the letters, which roughly fell into three categories:
First: Simple expressions of gratitude.
Second: Expressions of gratitude and awe, casually asking if Ares could send back a postcard with his signed photo, or if that wasn't possible, an old robe he no longer wore.
Third: Accusations that as a school professor, why hadn't he carefully inspected the Hogwarts Express before departure... and whether he was the one who sabotaged the train to make it lose control.
Of course, there were also many gifts, mostly snacks like cookies and chocolates.
However, some people sent valuable treasures.
To thank him for saving his son's life, Lucius Malfoy sent him an expensive cane with a head encrusted with dense diamonds.
Ares liked this cane very much. He pulled off the diamond-encrusted head for careful safekeeping, and sealed the shaft along with the forty kilograms of letters in the fireplace.
So—
Ah, of course, the Welcome Feast is worth mentioning.
Naturally, and predictably, Dumbledore gave an inspiring speech.
He first praised the young wizards for their brave performance of remaining calm in the face of danger when the train lost control, and specifically praised Mr. Potter, a new addition to Gryffindor this year, for the perseverance he displayed in the face of crisis.
"Before the delicious food is served, I must remind you of one thing!"
Under the dazzling light of thousands of candles, Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled, and his lofty voice echoed through the hall.
"Anyone who does not wish to suffer a painful death should not enter the corridor on the right-hand side of the third floor."
A few people laughed, and amidst the laughter, Dumbledore glanced at Harry, then at Ares.
When looking at the former, his gaze was full of "encouragement," and when looking at the latter, it was full of "provocation."
Mr. Potter seemed a bit surprised, while Professor Delfino didn't care at all, his mind solely on the food.
Of course, Ares didn't forget Professor McGonagall's instructions.
He hurried back to his office immediately after the feast. To cope with the second half of the night shift, he had to get some sleep quickly to recharge.
After all, he was twenty years old now, no longer the energetic, carefree handsome lad of eighteen or nineteen.
Almost as soon as he closed his eyes—
Knock, knock, knock.
There was a knock on the office door. When he opened it, a sallow, expressionless face appeared before Ares.
"Professor Snape?"
Ares's surprised voice carried a hint of "grief and indignation." He glanced at the blanket covering his stomach.
"Is it time for patrol already? But I swear, I haven't even slept for two minutes!"
"Your sleep quality hasn't deteriorated at all compared to when you were in my Potions class, Professor Delfino."
Snape's generally gloomy face twitched slightly as he tried his best to suppress a sneer. He glared at Delfino.
"But... oh, sorry, I didn't mean to disturb your rest—"
Snape said dryly, then handed a brown-covered notebook from his robes to Ares.
Watching Ares flip through the notebook with some confusion, he continued:
"After lunch in the Great Hall today, I ran into Minerva. She expressed some concerns about you—she fears you are too young and lack teaching experience to handle... the Defense Against the Dark Arts class."
Pausing, Snape kept a cold face.
"I thought I should show some friendliness to a new colleague, so I'm giving you the lesson plans I wrote specifically for this course years ago when applying for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I hope they will be of some inspiration to you."
"Ah—"
Ares closed the notebook and rubbed his thumb, index, and middle fingers together, as they were smeared with undried black ink.
"I suppose it must have been many years ago... well, definitely not written this afternoon, but—"
Ares looked at Snape with a smile.
"Has the moon risen from the west, Professor Snape?"
"What is it, Professor Delfino?"
Snape asked in a dark voice, clearly understanding the sarcasm hidden in the odd remark.
"I thought you would at least express gratitude, Professor Delfino."
Snape's face darkened too.
"Or are people from Gryffindor naturally ungrateful?"
"Don't be 'House-ist,' Professor Snape. Of course, I am very grateful—um, yes, thank you, Professor Snape."
Snape snorted softly, his expression softening a little.
"Also—"
He stared into Ares's eyes again—empty eyes with sharpness deep within.
"About the patrol."
"What about the patrol?"
"We need to divide the work—the castle has seven floors. Generally, one person is responsible for floors one to four, and the other for floors five to seven..."
Snape's voice was soft, and the look he gave Ares became subtle.
"Which one do you want, Delfino? Don't lie, I guess... you definitely want the fou—"
"Floors five to seven!"
Ares blinked his clear eyes, which shone with "stupidity."
"I want the one with fewer floors."
Snape's breath hitched, looking a bit hesitant.
"As you wish then—"
He said, then turned to leave.
"Friendly reminder, Professor Delfino, don't oversleep—unless you want Minerva to dock your salary."
Students got points deducted for breaking rules, professors got salary deducted for negligence... What an unfriendly school.
However—
Ares glanced at the brown notebook in his hand, then looked at Severus Snape, who was opening the door to leave. A warm smile flickered in his black eyes.
"Professor Snape—"
"What is it, Professor Delfino?"
Snape looked back suspiciously, his tone stiff.
"Nothing... um, has anyone ever told you that you're not very good at being friendly?"
A moment of silence—
Bang!
Snape slammed the door shut heavily. Standing in the empty corridor, his sallow face turned livid.
He was very sure he didn't like this Ares Delfino, because—
Hmm... he was just too much like a Slytherin!