The Three-Pronged Offensive of an Older Catgirl

Hogwarts. Headmaster's Office.

Professor McGonagall swept into Dumbledore's office in a blaze of energy, only to find Dumbledore happily working his way through the Cockroach Clusters before him.

"Oh, Albus!" Dumbledore's behavior made Professor McGonagall swallow the words that had been at the tip of her tongue.

On the office walls, the former headmasters in the magical portraits exchanged glances through their frames upon seeing this, then silently stepped out of the portraits in Dumbledore's office.

Yet heads occasionally poked out from the edges of the frames, proving that the past headmasters in the portraits were all eagerly awaiting righteous Professor McGonagall's display of deputy headmistress authority upon Dumbledore.

"We've long been on Professor McGonagall's side!"

"Oh, Minerva, I thought you'd still be busy with the young wizards' enrollment arrangements.

So, would you like to try some?"

Why else would Dumbledore be the headmaster while Professor McGonagall was merely the deputy headmistress? Dumbledore's ability to remain unruffled in the face of such a dramatic shift was worth learning from.

Dumbledore enthusiastically invited Professor McGonagall to sample his bizarrely flavored candy.

Ignoring the Cockroach Clusters crawling all over the desk, some of which might not even have been real, Professor McGonagall asked Dumbledore directly:

"Albus, have we found a candidate for next term's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Thanks to Voldemort's Curses, Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had become annual "consumables."

Perhaps it was precisely because the turnover rate for this course's teachers was so high that the rumor of Voldemort's Curses had been confirmed.

In any case, the subject was terribly cursed.

If a professor teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts taught for only one year, they would at most suffer some minor mishap.

For instance, losing a hand or a foot, or sustaining injuries severe enough to leave them bedridden.

But if a professor tried to "defy fate" and serve a second year as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—

That wizard would most likely invite misfortune.

Usually, that misfortune meant an unnatural death.

In short, as the years accumulated, the Curses on Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers only grew more entrenched.

At one point, Hogwarts had even struggled to find a professor willing to take the position.

In Professor McGonagall's recollection, Dumbledore had seemed to spend the entire holiday running about in search of a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the coming school year.

The reason she used the word "seemed" was because Professor McGonagall felt that the old man before her might have been stringing her along.

Looking at Dumbledore's leisurely, contented manner now, he certainly did not look like someone who had spent an entire holiday working hard.

Could Dumbledore have been slacking off in his office for the whole holiday?

Whenever she thought about how she had been running herself ragged while Dumbledore, the headmaster, drank coffee and ate candy in his office, Professor McGonagall's hands began to itch.

If Dumbledore could not recognize her Animagus form, she would definitely give him a couple of swipes.

Unfortunately, the two of them knew each other far too well. The older catgirl still had some dignity to maintain.

Noticing Professor McGonagall's unfriendly gaze, Dumbledore hurriedly put away the Cockroach Clusters and cleared his throat twice.

"Ahem. In fact, I have already found a prospective candidate for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

"Oh?" Professor McGonagall drew back the wand in her hand slightly.

"Then, the professor responsible for teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this school year will be..."

"Quirinus," Dumbledore answered. "Quirinus Quirrell. Do you remember him?"

"Professor Quirrell?" Dumbledore had truly given her an unexpected name.

"Before Professor Quirrell left for Albania, wasn't he the professor of Muggle Studies?"

How should she put it? This candidate was rather delicate.

Quirrell had once been Professor McGonagall's student, so she knew him fairly well.

He was a very intelligent young man. He had studied exceptionally well as a student, and later came to Hogwarts as their colleague, teaching Muggle Studies.

Professor McGonagall acknowledged Professor Quirrell's depth of knowledge, but theoretical knowledge alone did not seem sufficient for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"I recall that when Professor Quirrell left Hogwarts, he said he intended to go to Albania to gain some practical experience?"

This was also an unspoken secret among wizards.

Albania lay at the edge of Europe's Wizarding World and was naturally a lawless no-man's-land.

It was unrealistic for Quirinus Quirrell to gain practical experience within Britain's Wizarding World.

If he caused trouble in Britain's Wizarding World, he would either become a Dark wizard and lose all social standing, or be dragged off by Aurors to Azkaban for some "advanced academic" re-education.

To gain practical experience openly, one either had to hunt down Dark wizards to "practice" on, or simply travel abroad.

The Ministry of Magic's reach was indeed broad, but not broad enough to extend all the way to Albania.

"Yes. During the holiday, Quirinus contacted me and said he hoped to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the new school year.

We cannot exactly turn away such an enthusiastic young man, can we?"

Professor McGonagall's lips moved faintly, as though she wanted to say something.

When Tom Riddle had sought the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, that was not what you said.

The words did not leave her mouth, but Professor McGonagall suddenly realized something.

If Professor Quirrell had contacted Dumbledore in the middle of the holiday, that meant Dumbledore had spent half a month slacking off.

If Professor Quirrell had contacted Dumbledore at the beginning of the holiday, then this white-bearded old man had enjoyed an entire holiday of leisure.

An entire holiday...

Professor McGonagall suddenly wanted very badly to cast a spell at Dumbledore with her wand again.

However, since Dumbledore had so much time on his hands...

"Albus, I think there is something you need to know." Professor McGonagall handed Dumbledore a piece of parchment.

A name and an address were written on the parchment.

"Isaac Waldore. 12 Medway Street, Hampstead Garden Suburb, London."

Dumbledore recognized at once that this was the address of a young wizard copied from an acceptance letter.

What intrigued him more was why Professor McGonagall had given him the address.

Surely Professor McGonagall was not planning to make him, a man over a hundred years old, work overtime?

"Today, I visited Miss Granger's home and learned some information from her."

"Mm-hm?" Dumbledore flexed his fingers and quietly opened the candy box containing the Cockroach Clusters.

Pretending not to notice his movement, Professor McGonagall continued, "Miss Granger once met Mr. Waldore and received a prophecy from him."

"Oh?" A look of interest appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. A prophecy—how nostalgic.

"Oh, and Miss Granger also told me that Mr. Waldore can not only make prophecies, but has short platinum-blond hair.

Worth mentioning, he also has a pair of heterochromatic eyes."