A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Felix Harp took a step forward, his eyes sparkling like stars. One of the dark wizards swayed, as if hit hard at the back of his head, losing balance and falling to the ground. The other wizard remained relatively composed despite his companion's defeat.

Despite the fear brimming in his eyes, Felix's movements remained fluid. He raised his wand, a deep black aura coalescing at its tip. "Decay—" Felix stepped forward, thrusting his wand, silencing the last word of the wizard. Physically silencing—his chest caved, crashing into the wall.

"There's still one left, in room number nine," Felix stated, gazing toward the stairs, relaying the information he had just received. Behind the counter, Aberforth wore a furious expression, wand pointed at Felix.

"Leave! This isn't a place for you to cause trouble. I'll let the scuffle earlier slide, but don't think of dragging my patrons out of their beds," Aberforth commanded, unwavering with his wand.

"Touching. You should know what they're all about, and I only took the most dangerous ones..." Felix replied, but Aberforth stood firm, unwavering with his wand.

"My bar has been open for decades, I know what rules I must abide by," Aberforth growled, a menacing look on his face.

"What if I insist?" Felix met his gaze.

"Try me!"

"Fine." Felix stepped back, seemingly conceding.

But with a flick of his wand downwards, the air rippled like water, folding into layers. The small, dimly lit room suddenly brightened for a moment, a powerful light bursting from Felix before swiftly dimming.

Aberforth eyed him warily, the spell poised, but soon, his surprise was evident. Felix observed, a hint of curiosity in his expression. Such an expression had never graced the face similar to his.

A silver halo expanded outward, rejuvenating everything it touched. Dingy floors became smooth; dusty copper candlesticks gleamed; even the stains within the crevices of the covered wood vanished under the cloth...

His bar appeared revitalized, akin to when he first took it over.

But the transformation lasted only seconds; soon, everything reverted.

"What did you do?" Aberforth furrowed his brow. Not perceiving what had happened was the worst for him. He wasn't weak—far stronger than most. Yet, the decades-long familiarity of the house turned unfamiliar, an oppressive air enveloped him, isolating him.

If the cloth in his hand suddenly slapped him the next second, he wouldn't be surprised.

Felix sheathed his wand, gesturing with his hand.

"We both step back. I won't make a scene here, but if that person comes down and decides to leave with me, it's not your concern," Felix said.

"Transfiguration?" Aberforth didn't respond immediately, contemplating for a moment before blurting out.

Felix found this answer intriguing, unable to resist asking, "Could Dumbledore also do something similar?" It was a technique he had devised himself.

"If you mean controlling an area of land," Aberforth muttered, "He did it in 1945, but now, who knows."

"The legendary duel? Were you there?" Felix inquired.

"Legendary? Hah!" Aberforth sneered.

He suddenly calmed, pocketing his wand, and resumed absentmindedly wiping a highball glass, occasionally glancing toward the stairs. After a while, there was a commotion upstairs. He halted, staring at the dark stairwell, seemingly confirming something.

A figure floated down.

Red-faced, blond-haired, scarred, and limping, dragging a leg.

Behind the bar, Aberforth widened his eyes. The dark wizard from room nine didn't float down by his own accord but was carried down by someone, someone he knew all too well, the face he saw every time he looked in the mirror—

Another Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Thanks, Aberforth," Felix quipped, the 'Aberforth' he dropped remained silent, tossing the wizard he carried onto the floor with a thud. The genuine Aberforth behind the bar's eyelid twitched. The wizard's head had a sizable bump, obviously hit by something.

Before he could ask, he knew what had knocked the unfortunate fugitive: another himself suddenly jumped up, mid-air reverting to its original form—a bronze candlestick. It landed on the counter, wobbling, spinning twice before settling.

Aberforth figured out how Felix had done it: a method to spread his magic throughout the bar, likely similar to how he could accurately locate the two dark wizards even before entering? The sleeping wizard, perhaps dulled by alcohol, was unaware of the danger, allowing the metal candlestick at his bedside to knock him unconscious. Then, the candlestick transformed back, carrying the wizard downstairs...

"I detest pranks," Aberforth glared at Felix, sternly saying, "Your purpose is fulfilled. You may leave."

"Do you need me to convey greetings to Albus?" Felix asked.

"No need," Aberforth snapped irritably, having had enough for the night.

"If I say I'll come by tomorrow—"

"Get out!"

Felix fell silent, waving his hand. The three black wizards, previously knocked out, floated in mid-air, trailing behind him. "Then I bid you farewell, Mr. Dumbledore," he said, heading toward the door.

Aberforth stared at Felix's departing figure, feeling an oddity within him. He sensed a resemblance between this young man and his brother, beneath the polite facade hid an imperceptible stubbornness—a label often attributed to himself, although his own temper was more overt.

Yet, they were starkly different, Aberforth thought, at least the fellow dwelling in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts wouldn't do what was done today. He abruptly stopped Felix:

"How do you plan to deal with them?"

"I'll send them where they belong. Unfortunately, I didn't wish for this," Felix replied.

"Are you planning to kill them?"

"Mr. Dumbledore, your thoughts are shocking. I merely aim to exchange them for some money—I did mention earlier, I'm a bounty hunter." Felix turned back to the old man, his trophies packed, almost brushing the ceiling.

To be handed over to the Ministry...

"But, I did come across two lost souls near the Forbidden Forest. They stumbled upon Hogwarts' walls—" Felix pushed open the bar's door, a gust of wind sweeping in, making the old man's hand tremble. Felix leaned out of the bar, guiding the three floating dark wizards one after another out.

"And then?" Aberforth pressed.

He felt the young man's character was filled with mischief; if he didn't ask this, the fellow would have left. He despised people who spoke half-truths, making him sleepless at night.

"Naturally, they died," Felix said calmly, the door closing behind him.

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