The Old Fox

"Kidnapping my ass!"

"That was a white lie! You know what a white lie is, right?"

After getting home, Lynn bitterly tore into his system, giving it a thorough scolding.

He swore he would absolutely, positively never equip that shameful title!

It was a slander against his character, a trampling of his integrity—he had to resist it.

Pushing the system matter to the back of his mind, Lynn prepared dinner while thinking about heading to London proper tomorrow.

There were less than ten days left before the time-limited quest ended, and the professor McGonagall had mentioned would visit still hadn't shown any sign of coming.

Lynn definitely didn't plan to miss out on the quest reward, so he couldn't wait any longer.

Just as he was washing the tomatoes in his hands, his mind wandering to the heavens, a sudden commotion came from the living room window.

Hearing the noise, Lynn turned to look out the window and found an owl staring at him through the glass.

See? Good deeds really do get rewarded! He'd just told a white lie today, and Hogwarts' owl showed up that very night.

Lynn opened the window for the owl, took a thin envelope from it, then tore off some breadcrumbs and poured a bowl of water to host this guest from afar.

Forgetting about cooking, Lynn sat on the sofa and opened the envelope. Inside was just a single sheet of paper.

Dear Mr. Belloc:

Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Adrien Foxx will visit at nine o'clock on the morning of July third.

Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

A Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?

Lynn held the letter, tilting his head in thought.

Rumor had it that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts was cursed by Voldemort. Whether that was true, Lynn had no idea.

But it was a fact that Hogwarts' Defense professor changed every year—meaning a new one each year.

This was 1990, one year before Harry Potter's enrollment storyline began.

And this Professor Foxx, who shared a surname with Dumbledore's pet phoenix, was a character who hadn't appeared in the original books.

His temper and character were a complete unknown to Lynn.

That gave him a headache.

Who knew what kind of mess this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had gotten into?

Everyone knew Dumbledore's judgment in picking Defense professors was notoriously unreliable. What if this Professor Foxx turned out to be a dark wizard?

He'd rather have that sour-faced Snape show up instead.

Damn it! Wasn't good karma supposed to be a thing?

Just as Lynn was frowning in frustration, the messenger owl had eaten and drunk its fill. It circled the living room once, as if thanking Lynn for his hospitality, then gracefully flew off into the night sky.

Unable to figure anything out, Lynn decided to stop worrying.

Since Professor McGonagall had arranged for him to take Lynn to Diagon Alley for supplies, it meant she trusted his character.

Professor McGonagall was a responsible headmistress. If she trusted someone, there probably wouldn't be any problems.

He'd deal with things as they came—let tomorrow's Lynn handle tomorrow's problems. Today's Lynn would just handle today's dinner first.

The next morning, after finishing his daily jog and breakfast, Lynn prepared tea and snacks for the guest and waited for Professor Foxx's arrival.

But he waited and waited, and when it got close to ten o'clock, the professor still hadn't shown up.

Just as Lynn was getting impatient, feeling like he'd been stood up, a sudden loud crash came from his backyard!

Through the window, he could see something like a plane crash—large clumps of wet soil mixed with turf flying everywhere.

Lynn's face changed. He rushed from the living room to the backyard and was greeted by a scene of utter mess.

An old man with silver hair, tall and lean, was lying face-down on his lawn in a sprawl that looked like a dog eating dirt.

Behind the old man, a broken broomstick, snapped in two, was twitching wildly.

What made Lynn's heart ache to the point of breathlessness was the huge patch of turf that had been destroyed.

He hadn't inherited his estate yet. His monthly expenses were deducted from a fixed allowance from the inheritance, and the money he saved was meant to exchange for Galleons in Diagon Alley. He had no spare cash to replace such a large patch of turf.

Just as Lynn was sinking into the sorrow of poverty, the culprit—that silver-haired old man—staggered to his feet.

He wore a long trench coat with a white shirt underneath, even a tie. Some dirt and grass blades made him look a bit disheveled, but they couldn't hide the transcendent aura about him.

"Lynn Belloc?"

The old man shook the mud off his glasses as he put them on and asked.

Lynn was snapped back to reality by his voice.

"Uh, yeah, that's me."

"Good, then I didn't fly the wrong route. I'm your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Adrien Foxx. You can call me Professor Foxx."

Professor Foxx's voice came out a bit rushed. After steadying himself, he pulled out his wand and gave the two pitiful broomsticks a casual flick, and they immediately quieted down.

Before Lynn could even open his mouth, the professor took the lead, grabbing Lynn by the arm and pulling him into the living room.

"Um..."

"Don't talk yet, kid. Listen to me." Once inside, Professor Foxx's breathing grew heavy again, his voice hurried as he cut Lynn off.

"My body's in some trouble right now, so I need your help to prepare a few things. This is important—do you understand?"

Though he had no idea what was going on, Lynn could see that the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's face was indeed an unhealthy shade of pale.

"Got it."

Seeing the urgency of the situation, Lynn didn't waste words.

Once in the living room, Professor Foxx started pulling things out of his trench coat pockets nonstop.

Like Doraemon's pocket dimension, the space inside seemed endless. Soon, a messy pile of items had stacked up around the professor.

"Cauldron, alcohol burner, tubers, grease, powder... I need alcohol—liquor and wine won't do! It has to be beer brewed from barley!"

Before long, Professor Foxx realized what he was missing. He looked urgently at Lynn, as if time was running out.

Lynn was stunned for a second, then shook his head quickly.

"I don't have beer at home, but there's a convenience store about 200 meters east of here. I can go buy some."

Professor Foxx looked truly terrible. He gazed at Lynn with deep gratitude.

"I'm counting on you, Belloc."

"Hang in there, Professor. I'll be right back."

Lynn grabbed his jacket and bolted out the door, heading straight for the convenience store.

Under the cashier's bewildered stare, he grabbed a pack of canned beer, tossed the money on the counter, and ran back home without even waiting for change.

By the time he was out of sight, the cashier remembered he was a minor, legally barred from buying alcohol—but by then, there was no catching him.

On the run back, Lynn suddenly felt something was off.

The professor's behavior looked like he was brewing a potion, but what potion recipe called for beer?

And the professor was way too frantic. He didn't seem like he was being chased. If he knew a potion to fix his body's problem, that meant this wasn't his first attack—so he should have had an emergency potion on hand, not brewed it on the spot.

The more Lynn thought about it, the more wrong it felt, and the faster he ran back.

In less than five minutes, he was home again.

As soon as he opened the living room door, Lynn caught a tempting aroma.

The sight before him left him stunned.

On the cutting board, two kitchen knives were chopping up and down at lightning speed with no one holding them. Fresh potatoes and lettuce were neatly sliced into thin pieces, hopping into a plate on their own like they had legs.

The old man calling himself Professor Foxx sat in the middle of the living room, holding a pair of chopsticks he'd swiped from the kitchen, quickly dropping mutton into a boiling cauldron.

"Whoa, Belloc, you're back fast. Didn't expect you to have chopsticks at home—saves me from having to transfigure a pair."

The alcohol burner blazed, red broth shimmering with glossy oil floating on top. Professor Foxx grinned at Lynn, who stood at the door with beer in hand and a dazed look, like a sly old fox who'd just snagged a chicken.

Suzhou lost, feeling rough. No asking for votes today...