Alongside the ancient rune knowledge, phineas discovered additional messages left by past heirs within the inherited memories. These messages offered not only insights but also methods for leaving one's own notes or contact information for future successors.
There weren't many messages, but two addresses stood out. One belonged to a man named Nicholas, from many generations ago, suggesting that any future heir in need could reach him by owl. The other was from Pandora, with a similar message.
Phineas had some familiarity with Pandora. While The Quibbler, the magazine founded by Xenophilius Lovegood, wasn't widely popular in the wizarding world, it did have a small, loyal readership. Pandora, his wife, was known in some circles as a spell inventor, often crafting new runes and incantations from home.
Interestingly, the address Pandora left was not her current residence, but a Muggle neighbourhood—likely her former home before marrying into the Lovegood family.
Phineas considered reaching out to her. Compared to a man who lived over six centuries ago, Pandora was far more accessible. However, he would only reach out under serious circumstances and would not act rashly. Still, he did consider writing to her occasionally, especially since, tragically, her death was imminent.
He didn't recall Pandora herself in great detail, but he remembered her daughter, Luna Lovegood, clearly—an odd, bright girl whom he had admired in his past life. He knew Luna lost her mother before she turned nine. If possible, he hoped to learn as much as he could from Pandora before that fateful time came.
But for now, Phineas's priority was to absorb the immense volume of knowledge left behind—particularly on ancient magic, spells, and transformations. Much of it was well beyond anything found in Hogwarts' standard curriculum.
The works here weren't polished, publicly published theories. Many were built on centuries of inherited magical experimentation, often rooted in ancient magical language. One book, in particular, intrigued Phineas—detailing ancient spells that required only a word or two to unleash power far beyond standard incantations.
The Christmas holidays passed swiftly. Phineas remained holed up in the Slytherin common room, poring over the texts and notes he had taken from Ravenclaw's secret chamber. The days seemed to vanish in the whirlwind of learning.
By the first weekend of January, students slowly began returning to the castle. The quiet, solitary days of uninterrupted study came to an end.
But the most notable event wasn't the return of the students—it was what happened at dinner on the last day of the holiday.
Dumbledore, who had not made many appearances during the break, stood at the staff table. Before the feast appeared, he lightly tapped the goblet in front of him with a spoon, drawing everyone's attention with a clear, resonant chime.
"Everyone, please be quiet. I have an announcement. Due to some personal matters, our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Jonathan E. Reed, will be leaving us temporarily. During his absence, our Potions Master, Professor Snape, will be taking over his classes. If time permits, I may also teach a few lessons."
The announcement caused a stir across the Great Hall. Whispers rippled through the four Houses as students processed the sudden news.
The biggest shock wasn't Professor Jonathan's departure—it was his replacement. Professor Snape, widely known for his overt favouritism toward Slytherin, was rarely welcomed by students outside his own House.
While Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students were resigned to the news, it was Gryffindor who reacted with the most visible displeasure. Snape already made their lives difficult in Potions. Now he'd be in charge of another core subject, and a crucial one at that.
To make matters worse, Professor Jonathan had been popular. His classes were clear, engaging, and practical—qualities every student appreciated. The comparison only widened the gap.
Rumours began to spread like wildfire.
"Do you think he left because of the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse?"
"That doesn't make sense—every other professor lasted a full year. He's only been here half that."
"Maybe that's why! The curse is getting stronger!"
"Dumbledore said it was for personal reasons."
"Exactly. That's what they always say when it's something they can't tell us."
The whispers grew louder and more speculative, making even the professors shift uncomfortably in their seats. Though the so-called "curse" had never been officially confirmed—no known spell could target a job post—it was hard to ignore the pattern. Since the death of Voldemort, no professor had lasted more than a year in that post.
Dumbledore continually dismissed the rumours, but the facts told their own story. Some in the magical community had even turned down the position out of superstition.
At the staff table, Snape sat in stony silence. His face darkened as he heard the murmuring from the students, especially the Gryffindors. The wave of doubt and criticism clearly irked him. Determined not to let the students undermine him, he made a decision on the spot—he would run Defence Against the Dark Arts the same way he ran Potions. And that meant deducting house points. Lots of them. Especially from Gryffindor.
His eyes drifted to the four giant hourglasses showing the House point totals at the front of the hall. As he studied them, something caught his eye.
Hufflepuff was about to overtake Slytherin.
Snape narrowed his eyes.
That won't do, he thought grimly. Hufflepuff's getting deductions next.
The House Cup belongs to Slytherin.