Ch: 170-176
Chapter 170: Forty Thousand Galleons
The bustle of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was like a boiling cauldron of Potion, with the hooting of Owls and the roar of steam locomotives everywhere. Signas's shout had an effect comparable to throwing a Dungbomb into a crowded dance floor.
The surroundings fell silent for a second, followed immediately by a more violent buzz of conversation.
"A hundred Galleons? Is he crazy?"
"I think he's gone mad for money. That price could buy half a shop in Diagon Alley!"
"That's Lockhart's signed photo, not Merlin's Resurrection Stone!"
The crowd formed ring after ring, blocking Signas's small stall so tightly that not even water could pass. Most people had a "look at this idiot" expression on their faces, and a few Hufflepuff students in old robes were even covering their mouths as if they were watching a farce.
Signas wasn't idle either; he first unequipped "The Dark Lords Elegance" talent that made his back ache. That kind of pretentiousness—looking up at the sky at a forty-five-degree angle at all times and even controlling the rhythm of his breathing—was simply too exhausting.
Once he shed the burden, he slumped onto his folding chair, and the laziness unique to street vendors returned.
He sat with his legs crossed, playing with a signed photo in his hand, letting Lockhart's big white teeth on the photo sparkle in the sunlight.
In less than three minutes, the place was packed.
Shabini and Nott squeezed through the crowd with difficulty, wanting to see what the commotion was about.
When they saw the price tag, their eyes nearly popped out of their sockets and hit Signas's table.
"A hundred Galleons?!" Shabini's voice went out of tune. "That's way too expensive!"
Nott was also clicking his tongue, then said self-importantly, "Besides, Professor Lockhart is on the train, right? Why not just go find him and ask for one?"
"Naive." A senior Ravenclaw boy nearby pushed up his glasses. Although he also thought it was expensive, he couldn't help but analyze, "Professor Lockhart is a popular celebrity now. Do you think he just pays attention to anyone?"
The crowd discussed and pointed, mostly in shock and ridicule; not a single person actually pulled out money.
Signas sat calmly on his small stool, took out a book, and began to read, turning a deaf ear to the evaluations of "profiteer" and "gone mad for money" around him.
Until a sharp voice broke the stalemate of looking but not buying.
"Fake! This is absolutely fake!"
The crowd parted, and a Hufflepuff boy squeezed out. His face was flushed red as he pointed at the photos on the table, like he had caught the culprit of some major case: "I've compared the signatures in the newspapers; Professor Lockhart's 'L' tail should curl a bit higher! And who could get so many signatures at once? You must have used a Doubling Charm!"
These words caused an uproar.
"I knew it! How could anyone sell them so expensively?"
"This is too much, actually scamming people!"
"Drive him out!"
Facing the accusations, Signas finally closed his book. He looked up, his black eyes as calm as two pools of stagnant water, without a hint of panic, even carrying a bit of playful amusement as if watching a play.
"Finished?" he asked.
The Hufflepuff boy faltered for a moment, his momentum weakening: "Finished... I've said it. Yours is fake!"
Signas picked up a photo and flicked it gently with his hand, producing a crisp sound of paper.
"Where's the evidence?"
"I just said, the handwriting is wrong!"
"Are you an expert in handwriting analysis?" Signas sneered. "Or are you the tapeworm in Lockhart's stomach, knowing the angle of every stroke he makes? As for the quantity, that's because my personal charm is too great; Professor Lockhart was crying and shouting, insisting on stuffing them into my hands. Believe it or not."
He tossed the photo back onto the table, leaned back, and crossed his arms, striking an extremely punchable pose.
"Buy it or don't. The door is over there; if you don't want to buy, don't block the light."
This extremely arrogant "Jiang Taigong style" of marketing completely stumped the Young Wizards present.
But one minute passed, five minutes passed; the stall was surrounded by people, but no one pulled out money.
After all, a hundred Galleons was a huge sum for most students. Even for children of Pure-blood families, their pocket money wasn't spent so recklessly.
"It looks like the commercial miracle is going to become a commercial joke." Astoria sighed, looking at the pile of ignored photos with some sympathy. "Sig, how about we pack up?"
Signas couldn't help but feel a bit of a toothache.
He had been too hasty.
He had overestimated the purchasing power of these Young Wizards; "leeks" weren't that easy to harvest.
Just as the situation was at a standstill and the Ravenclaw boy was about to mock him again, a commotion suddenly erupted at the entrance to the platform.
The crowd was pushed aside as if by an invisible giant hand, and a wide path was instantly formed.
The noisy discussions came to an abrupt halt, like a duck whose neck had been snapped.
Three figures were walking from the steam-filled entrance.
The leading man wore a well-tailored black velvet robe, with intricate silver patterns embroidered on the collar and cuffs. He held his signature Snake-head cane in his hand, his robes billowing as he walked, carrying a cold aura that warned others not to approach.
That head of platinum blonde hair was even more dazzling than Lockhart's teeth in the sunlight.
Lucius Malfoy.
Behind him followed Draco Malfoy, with the same platinum hair and his chin held high, as well as Lady Narcissa, who always had a faint expression and a noble temperament.
Lucius stopped in front of the stall.
His gray eyes first scanned the scrawled advertisement on the table—"One hundred Galleons each, no haggling"—and the corners of his mouth twitched imperceptibly.
Then, his gaze fell on the photos.
Finally, he looked at Signas, who was still sitting in his chair with no intention of standing up to pay his respects.
The air froze terrifyingly. The surrounding Young Wizards didn't even dare to breathe, for fear of missing the moment Mr. Malfoy lost his temper.
"Mr. Shalk," Lucius spoke, his characteristic, drawling, operatic voice echoing on the quiet platform. "Business... doesn't seem to be going well?"
"Highbrow music is hard to find an audience for," Signas shrugged. "Everyone is too rational; they lack a bit of courage to pay for their faith."
"Courage?" Lucius hummed softly, his fingers gently stroking the Snake-head cane. "Sometimes, courage does require a few Galleons to support it."
He turned his head and looked at Draco behind him.
Draco quietly winked at Sig.
"Draco admires Mr. Lockhart very much," Lucius suddenly raised his voice, ensuring everyone around could hear clearly. "He has always wanted to collect a set of photos with personal signatures, but unfortunately, Mr. Lockhart is simply too busy."
The onlookers were collectively bewildered.
Draco admires Lockhart?
Never heard of that!
The expression on Draco's face distorted for a moment, but under his father's stern gaze, he could only brace himself and squeeze a sentence through his teeth: "Yes... yes. I... I've dreamed of it."
Signas almost couldn't hold back a laugh. This acting was too over-the-top.
"In that case," Lucius turned back to Signas, a standard, aristocratic fake smile appearing on his face, "Mr. Shalk, the Malfoy Family will take all of these photos."
"All... all of them?" Astoria, acting as background scenery, stuttered.
"Indeed." Lucius nodded slightly, his posture as if he were discussing the nice weather today. "How many photos are here?"
"About... three hundred or so." Signas was also slightly stunned by this sudden display of wealth.
"Then let's count it as four hundred." Lucius waved his hand and nodded to Narcissa behind him.
Narcissa gracefully opened her handbag and took out a heavy money bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm, placing it gently on the shabby folding table.
"Forty thousand Galleons," Lucius's voice was horrifyingly flat. "Keep the change."
The entire place fell into a dead silence.
The Ravenclaw boy who had just confidently called it a "joke" had his glasses fall directly to the ground, shattering into pieces.
Chapter 171: Face Pressed Against Snape's Hooked Nose
For the vast majority of Young Wizard families present, the impact of this scene even surpassed the resurrection of Lord Voldemort.
Mr. Weasley would probably need to work overtime in that dim office for two hundred years without eating or drinking to perhaps save up even a fraction of what these photos cost. And now, this huge sum of money, enough to buy half of Knockturn Alley, was piled on a rickety folding table like discarded scrap paper.
All just for a few hundred pieces of cardstock printed with the same man's blindingly white teeth.
Lucius Malfoy's move was less like shopping and more like throwing money away in public.
"What? Not enough?" Lucius looked at the motionless Signas, his eyebrow arching slightly as his snake-headed cane tapped twice on the floor.
"No, Mr. Malfoy, you misunderstand." Signas reached out and pressed his hand onto the money bag cast with an Undetectable Extension Charm. It felt heavy—the unique texture of money, which brought a sense of peace.
The smile on his face instantly became much more sincere—the ultimate respect for a client. "Perhaps I could offer you a discount on the next batch of signed photos..."
"Very well." Lucius was clearly satisfied with the answer. Ignoring Signas's joke, he simply tilted his head slightly and commanded his son behind him, "Draco."
Draco Malfoy, the pampered young master who usually let his lackeys Goyle and Crabbe carry even his schoolbag, now had to step forward and start packing the stacks of photos into his trunk.
"Damn it..." Draco cursed under his breath as he packed. Holding several pounds of 'Lockhart' in his hands, he felt like he was carrying cursed tombstones rather than photos. "How can this guy's smile be so heavy?"
The surrounding crowd finally snapped out of their shock, erupting into even more intense chatter than before.
"Is the Malfoy Family... insane?"
"Forty thousand Galleons for a pile of photos? Merlin's beard! If that were spent on broomsticks, you could arm the entire Slytherin team to the teeth and even gold-plate every single broom!"
"Could there be some Gringotts treasure map hidden in those photos?"
"I told you they were real! How could the Malfoy Family buy fakes? Damn it, if I'd known, I would've bought one earlier; they're bound to appreciate in value!"
"I told you they were real! How could the Malfoy Family buy fakes? Damn it, if I'd known, I would've bought one earlier; they're bound to appreciate in value!"
"Even if they don't appreciate, hanging one at home would be a status symbol! It's something even a Malfoy collects!"
Public opinion was instantly swayed.
"Since the transaction is complete." Lucius watched his son finally stuff the last stack of photos away and straightened his cuffs. "Mr. Sharke, I hope you have a more... brilliant performance in the new term. As you know, the Malfoy Family has always supported the... development of Hogwarts. Give my regards to Headmaster Dumbledore!"
The words were laden with meaning.
"Of course." Signas picked up the money bag and, in an extremely tacky manner, hefted it in front of everyone, making a crisp clinking sound. "Mr. Malfoy's generosity will receive its due reward. I believe Professor Lockhart will also be very pleased to have such a fervent fan as yourself."
Lucius's lip twitched as if he wanted to refute the term 'fervent fan,' but in the end, he maintained his aristocratic aloofness and turned to leave.
"My goodness..." Astoria waited until the Malfoy Family was far away before letting out a long breath and plopping down on the chair Signas had just occupied. "Sold out just like that? Forty thousand Galleons? Sig, you really are a robber—and a legal one at that."
Though Daphne was a few years older, she was also somewhat dazed. She watched Signas casually toss the money bag—which was enough to buy half the Greengrass Family estate—into his spatial pocket as nonchalantly as if he were throwing away a bag of trash.
Signas tossed the money bag into his spatial pocket and clapped his hands, the movement as casual as if he were discarding trash. "Let's go, the train is about to leave."
At that moment, the whistle of the Hogwarts Express sounded a long blast, urging the students still lingering on the platform.
Signas and Daphne bid farewell to Astoria and boarded the train, finding an empty compartment to sit in.
As the train started with a chug-chug, the scenery outside the window began to slowly recede. Just then, Signas saw an extremely comical scene through the window.
In front of the solid wall at the ticket gate, two familiar figures were pushing trolleys, crashing into the wall with bewildered looks. They then tumbled to the ground in a mess, their trunks scattering everywhere, while the snowy owl, Hedwig, screeched angrily in her cage.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
"Oh dear," a playful smile curled at the corner of Signas's mouth. "It seems our Mr. Savior is going to be late this year."
"Who?" Daphne leaned toward the window, but the train had already accelerated, leaving the platform behind. "I can't see. Who's late?"
"Nothing, just two unlucky fellows." Signas withdrew his gaze.
Not long after, the compartment door was roughly pulled open. Draco entered with Goyle and Crabbe. The three of them were panting with exhaustion, especially Goyle and Crabbe, who were carrying trunks that Draco couldn't fit, filled to the brim with Lockhart's smiling faces.
The Hogwarts Express sped through the night in the Scottish Highlands. The scenery outside the window had changed from rolling hills to pitch-black forests and mountains. Rain began to drum against the glass with a pitter-patter.
The atmosphere in the compartment was quite harmonious.
Midway through, Sig generously bought snacks for everyone; after all, having just pocketed forty thousand Galleons, he could certainly afford to spend a little more.
The train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station.
Hagrid's massive frame held a dim lantern as he shouted in the rain, "First years! First years over here!"
Signas and the other "older students" headed toward the carriages pulled by Thestrals.
The carriages wobbled and swayed toward the Castle.
By the time they entered the brightly lit Great Hall, the Sorting Ceremony was about to begin.
Professor McGonagall's expression didn't look good; her eyes were constantly searching for something.
Dumbledore sat at the center of the staff table, his expression calm as ever, though a flicker of subtle worry passed through his sharp blue eyes as they swept over the two empty seats at the Gryffindor table.
At the other end of the staff table, Gilderoy Lockhart was wearing a blindingly turquoise robe, the color so vibrant he looked like a sentient peacock.
His entire body leaned exaggeratedly toward Snape, his face—maintained as smooth as a baby's bottom—nearly pressed against Snape's hooked nose, as he talked incessantly to the giant bat.
Chapter 172: Something Happened
"...Oh, Severus, this is truly just a matter of experience."
Lockhart waved the fork in his hand as if it were a conductor's baton, nearly poking Snape's nostril. "You should know, when I was dealing with that mutant werewolf in Ouagadougou, the situation was far more critical than this. At the time, I only used a simple Freezing Charm—of course, it required extremely precise timing and a powerful psychological fortitude like mine—bang! It behaved itself."
Snape's face was as dark as a Potion cauldron that had been used for ten years. Those hollow, deep black eyes stared fixedly at the void ahead, as if some profound Dark Arts that could instantly shut Lockhart up were written there.
The knuckles of his hand gripping the goblet turned white from excessive force, looking ready to crush the glass at any moment.
"Poor Dean!" Daphne shook her head sympathetically after sitting down. "He didn't get it—Professor Lockhart clearly doesn't know he snatched away the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class teaching position the Dean had been longing for. I bet the Dean is currently thinking of a hundred ways to boil Lockhart in a cauldron."
"More than that." Signas leaned lazily against the back of his chair, swirling a glass of chilled pumpkin juice in his hand.
The large sum of Galleons he had just received made him feel exceptionally pleasant. Even looking at Lockhart's face, he felt it had become much more handsome—after all, that was a walking vault.
He glanced at the staff table and added in a light tone, "Boiling him would be a waste of ingredients. In my opinion, what the Dean wants more is to pull out Lockhart's bones one by one to make specimens, without violating school rules, then strangle him with that tacky turquoise robe, and finally pull out all his teeth to study exactly what kind of spell can keep a smile so nauseating. Look, the veins on the Dean's forehead are doing a tap dance."
Draco Malfoy, sitting opposite, was about to stuff a chicken leg into his mouth and nearly choked upon hearing this.
But he took one look at the Dean he revered and ultimately didn't dare to comment, simply lowering his head silently to contend with the mashed potatoes on his plate.
Lockhart seemed completely oblivious to the murderous intent beside him, or rather, he was entirely immersed in the atmosphere of boasting about himself. He even reached out a hand, attempting to pat Snape's shoulder—that hand was adorned with several glittering rings.
"If you don't mind, Severus, I can give you some guidance on how to manage your hair when I have time. You know, image is vital for a Professor, especially if you want to gain the students' affection..."
Snape turned his head sharply, the movement as stiff as a rusty tin man. His lips twitched slightly, as if he were preparing to fire off a Killing Curse.
At this critical moment, the originally closed oak doors of the Great Hall were rudely pushed open.
A dull "thud" wasn't particularly noticeable in the noisy Great Hall, but the intruding figure that followed immediately caught many people's attention.
It was the caretaker, Filch.
Filch didn't even bother to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Dragging his somewhat clumsy leg, he almost jogged all the way to the center of the staff table.
He leaned into Dumbledore's ear, his bulging eyeballs spinning incessantly. Although his voice was kept very low, the sense of schadenfreude almost overflowed from between his teeth.
Dumbledore had been talking with Professor McGonagall, but after hearing Filch's words, the old Principal's movements paused slightly.
A hint of seriousness flashed through those blue eyes that always sparkled with wisdom, and then he nodded.
Before Dumbledore could speak, Snape, sitting nearby, seemed to have sensed something, or perhaps he simply found an excuse to escape Lockhart's magic voice.
He stood up abruptly, his voluminous black robes billowing violently; he looked like a giant bat enraged after being disturbed.
With a somber face, he walked outside with long, rapid strides.
"Oh? Has something happened?" Lockhart's eyes immediately lit up when he saw this.
For someone who desperately craved attention, any sudden situation was a stage for his performance.
"It seems our Potion Professor has run into some tricky trouble! Don't worry, I'm here!" Lockhartshouted to the bewildered Professors around him, his voice loud enough to reach the far end of the Ravenclaw table. "I must mobilize—after all, handling sudden crises is exactly my forte!"
Having said that, he also stood up like a proud rooster, heading after Snape's back with his head held high. That turquoise robe trailed behind him, forming a sharp contrast with Snape's billowing black waves.
Night fell as the cold wind of the Scottish Highlands whistled into the battered Ford Anglia flying car.
"Harry, don't rush me, we'll see the tops of the towers soon..." Ron gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white from overexertion.
He tried to make himself look like an experienced driver, but the dashboard of this old car was jumping wildly as if it were under a Dancing Curse.
The car body jolted suddenly, followed by a groan of overburdened metal, and then a thick cloud of white smoke billowed from under the hood.
"Ron!" Harry shouted, his whole body slamming hard against the car door due to inertia.
"I know! I know!" Ron floored the accelerator, trying to squeeze the last drop of fuel out of the tank.
Clang.
A sharp crack completely ended their hopes. The engine stalled, and gravity took over once more. The blue sedan, like a piece of abandoned scrap metal, spiraled down into the darkness below.
"In the Magical World, can a car fly without an engine?" Harry asked, his voice dry as he watched the ground rapidly enlarge.
"How should I know? I wanted to ask you how a Muggle car drives without an engine!"
"What?" Harry's eyes widened.
Ron panicked completely, pulled out his wand, and hammered at the dashboard. "Move! Move!"
It was useless.
The front of the car traced a desperate arc, brushing past the hard stone walls of the Castle and scraping off a large patch of ancient moss. Then, it veered out of control over the greenhouses, plunging straight toward the giant, flailing willow tree in the middle of the lawn.
"Hold on tight!"
Crash—Bang!
The windshield shattered into countless crystalline shards. The front of the car wedged deeply into the rough trunk. Before the two could recover from their dizziness, this tree—the Whomping Willow—woke up.
It clearly had no fondness for this metal hunk falling from the sky. A branch as thick as a python rose high, accompanied by the sound of piercing wind, and whipped heavily against the roof of the car.
A large section of the roof caved in instantly.
"Ah! It's hitting us!" Ron screamed in terror as the flying car was flipped over in mid-air by the immense force and slammed heavily back onto the ground.
Another branch swept across, directly smashing the side rearview mirror into powder.
Just then, two figures came rushing from the direction of the Castle gates.
Running in front was Snape. His pitch-black robes whipped in the night wind, looking much like a giant bat flying close to the ground.
A few paces behind him was Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in peacock-blue robes, still trying to protect his hairstyle even while running.
"Stand back! Such dangerous creatures must be handled by a professional!" Lockhart shouted before he had even come to a halt, his voice loud for fear that others wouldn't hear. "I've encountered even more vicious tree spirits in Ouagadougou; just one precise Freezing Charm..."
Snape didn't even look at him, nor did he slow down. He raised his wand and gave his wrist a sharp flick.
An invisible blade sliced through the air, accurately hitting a certain knot on the thickest main trunk of the Whomping Willow.
The violent willow tree seemed to have been hit by a pause button; the branches flying all over the sky instantly stiffened and then slumped down powerlessly.
Harry and Ron scrambled out from the heap of scrap metal, their faces and hands covered in bloody gashes, their whole bodies trembling.
Chapter 173: Do You Think You're One of the Deathly Hallows?
"It seems the famous Savior feels that taking the train is beneath him and had to stir up some big news before deigning to show his face."
Snape's voice was oily, every word sounding as if it had been fished out of an ice cellar.
"Professor! It's not like that, we—"
"Move aside!"
As soon as Lockhart saw that the tree had stopped moving, his eyes filled with immense chagrin.
Too late! How could that old bat's hands be so fast!
No, since I'm already here, I have to show off a move or two no matter what.
Lockhart's eyes darted around, and he immediately pulled out his expensive cherry wood wand, striking a textbook-perfect dueling stance and aiming at the still-smoking Ford: "Let me get it down!"
His movements were impeccable; he even elegantly flicked his hair before casting.
"Accio Flying Car!"
The tip of the wand didn't spray the expected powerful beam of light; instead, it squeezed out a few sparks no bigger than a fart, which went "pssh" and died out. It was like damp fireworks.
That negligible bit of magic hit the car door without even scuffing the paint.
The scene was momentarily very awkward.
Only the sound of the wind blowing through the grass remained.
Snape slowly turned his head, his hollow black eyes staring fixedly at Lockhart as if looking at a Trolltrying to do the backstroke in a Potion cauldron.
Lockhart's charming face stiffened for a second, then he put away his wand as if nothing had happened, giving a dry laugh: "Aha, clearly the mechanical structure of this car absorbed the magic... or perhaps this wand is a bit too tired today. You know, high-intensity magic is always accompanied by immense consumption, and I am always casting at high intensity. Since it's safe here now, I'll be heading back first; after all, I can't miss the Sorting Ceremony!"
He gave a couple of dry laughs, completely ignoring Snape's look as if he were staring at a simpleton.
With that, the fellow turned and left, his walking pace incredibly fast, his peacock-blue robes not even having time to flutter... Inside the Great Hall, the Sorting Ceremony had already ended, and the plates were piled high with food.
The oak doors were pushed open once again.
Lockhart strode in, his peacock-blue robes not having caught even a speck of dust.
With his signature butter-melting smile on his face, he walked straight back to the staff table.
A few seconds later, Snape followed him in with a dark face. Behind him followed two dejected, disheveled, and unlucky souls—Harry and Ron.
"Look! Professor Lockhart is back!"
Daphne put down her fork, her eyes shining. "Solved it so quickly? He must have used some powerful, advanced spell. I really wish I could have seen it with my own eyes."
Draco, sitting opposite her, had no time to worry about Lockhart; he was staring at the miserable-looking Harry with a face full of schadenfreude.
"Potter is dead meat this time." Draco lowered his voice, his tone full of irrepressible excitement. "Breaking school rules on the very first day of school, he'll definitely be given detention."
"Maybe even expelled directly," Goyle said muffle-voiced, his mouth stuffed with mashed potatoes.
Cygnus Sharke swallowed a piece of beef and leisurely dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin: "You're overthinking it. Even if the Savior tore the Castle down to burn as firewood, Dumbledore would still give him a'Special Contribution Award' and throw in fifty points for good measure."
Draco curled his lip, feeling a bit annoyed: "He'll still have to lose a layer of skin. Look at Dean Snape's face; he looks like he's about to turn Potter into Potion ingredients."
As he spoke, Draco's gaze shifted and he suddenly froze.
"Eh? What's Professor Lockhart doing?"
Cygnus's knife and fork paused as he looked over.
In the center of the staff table, the space in front of Lockhart was empty; he hadn't touched a bite of food.
The fellow was hunched over the table, clutching an extremely gaudy peacock quill, scribbling furiously.
He was writing with intense focus, occasionally stopping his pen with a look of racking his brains, then burying his head back into writing a moment later.
"So diligent," Daphne remarked. "Even recording things during dinner; no wonder he can write so many bestsellers."
On the staff table, the candlelight made the plates shine brightly.
Lockhart pushed the worn black notebook to the edge of his dinner plate, using the shadow of a golden goblet to block others' view.
His face still maintained that charming smile, and he even took a moment to blow a kiss toward the Hufflepuff table, but the hand holding that flamboyant peacock quill had white knuckles from excessive force.
The tip of the pen stabbed hard into the paper, the force almost tearing through to the back:
"Riddle! What the hell are you doing? What happened just now? Why couldn't I even squeeze out a spark the size of a fart?!"
The ink had just soaked into the yellowed pages when it was greedily swallowed by some invisible mouth, vanishing without a trace in an instant.
Two seconds later, a line of elegant, flowing, and neat cursive script slowly emerged from the paper, the words carrying a calm apology:
"My deepest apologies, Mr. Lockhart. It is not that I am unwilling to serve you and showcase your unparalleled brilliance. It is simply that my magic is currently insufficient... I am very weak!"
"Damn it!"
Lockhart's cheeks puffed out, nearly snapping the pen in his hand.
The reason he dared to take on the hot potato of being the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professorand dared to boast in the newspapers about starting a Dueling Club was entirely because of this magical item he had accidentally picked up at the Ministry of Magic.
If he couldn't even cast 'Expelliarmus' in Defense Against the Dark Arts Class... wouldn't he, Gilderoy Lockhart, be effectively streaking in front of the entire school?
The image was too vivid; he didn't dare think about it.
The pen tip fell again, scratching the paper this time:
"Don't give me that! I don't care what method you use, get moving for me!"
The cursive script vanished, and this time the pause was slightly longer.
"I wish to help you, sir. After all, it is my honor to serve a legendary Wizard such as yourself... but in my current state, I can hardly support even a simple Shield Charm. I need to replenish my magic, but not the... ordinary kind you understand."
This bit of flattery was precise and cunning.
Lockhart's tense shoulders instantly relaxed, and he even quite enjoyably smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle on his collar.
Even a notebook knows who the legend is.
He took a sip of red wine, calmed his mood slightly, and the pressure of his pen lightened considerably, his handwriting returning to its usual flashy style.
"At least you have good taste. Speak plainly, how do I replenish your energy? Eat magic stones? Or soak you in dragon blood? Money has never been an issue for me..."
The handwriting emerged again, appearing somewhat hesitant:
"I'm afraid it won't be easy, sir. At least as I look around now... I haven't sensed any high-quality source that could allow me to quickly recover my 'vitality'."
"Clang!"
The silver fork in Lockhart's other hand slipped, slamming heavily against the edge of the gold plate with a piercing clang.
Professor Flitwick, who was focused on cutting his steak, was startled and had to look at his new colleague in surprise from atop his high cushion.
Lockhart quickly forced an apologetic smile and even gave a playful wink, indicating his hand had just slipped.
However, when he lowered his head, using the motion of wiping his mouth with a napkin as cover, the expression on his face had become ugly to the extreme.
The pen tip scratched rustlingly on the paper, ink splattering, every letter screaming.
"Are you kidding me?!"
"This is Hogwarts! The place with the most abundant magic in all of Britain—no, perhaps even the whole world... even the cracks in the walls are stuffed with a thousand years of ancient magic, and even that old madman Dumbledore's office is piled with magical items that could blow up half of London."
"And yet you tell me there's nothing here to replenish your magic? Do you think you're one of the Deathly Hallows?"
Chapter 174: 'Auror-Level' Surprise
The morning sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling, casting a pleasant pale blue light across the Great Hall, with a few clouds drifting lazily.
But this leisurely scenery clearly failed to infect the students below; they were all fiddling with protective gear, the atmosphere so tense it felt like they were about to step into a dueling arena any second.
Cygnus leisurely spread jam on his crispy toast.
In contrast, Draco Malfoy opposite him appeared exceptionally stiff, sitting bolt upright as if his neck were welded in place, struggling even to glance at Pansy who had just walked by.
"Draco, what's wrong with you?" Cygnus took a bite of toast. "Did you sleep wrong last night? Or is it a Malfoy Family rule that you have to sit as straight as swallowing a broomstick while eating?"
Draco rolled his eyes, glancing left and right to ensure no one was eavesdropping, then mysteriously pulled his collar down an inch.
A faint dark red glow shimmered, revealing the texture of fine, hard scales.
"Hungarian Horntail hide, lined with Unicorn fleece," Draco whispered, his chin slightly raised in his signature show-off pose. "Top-tier defense, fire and spell resistant. My mother sent it overnight. She said since Professor Lockhart is training us to Auror standards, the lessons must be deadly dangerous. Sig, no one dares to take it lightly."
He added with grave sincerity: "Sig, you should also prepare some gear. That's a Ministry of Magicspecially appointed consultant's class, a tough character who cleaned up the Wagadou Werewolves. His lessons might be all practical. I bet there could be three Boggarts or a bunch of Red Caps as soon as we enter."
Cygnus's expression at that moment was like an old man looking at a phone; he froze briefly, completely failing to grasp just how perilous Auror training standards were.
He looked around. Indeed, the atmosphere at the Slytherin table today was quite solemn.
At this time of day, everyone would usually be discussing Quidditch or the latest gossip.
But now, many wore grave expressions. Goyle and Crabbe were struggling into some heavy protective gear that looked like a blacksmith's apron, and even Zabini had donned a pair of dragonhide gloves, clumsily trying to grip a slippery silver spoon with his gloved fingers.
Daphne sitting beside him was even more exaggerated.
Her plate held only two pitiful lettuce leaves, yet she had a thick, brick-like book titled 'Wanderings with Werewolves' spread open beside it.
She was rapidly flipping through pages while muttering to herself: "...use the Disarming Charm on werewolves, no, that's for ghosts...use garlic against Vampires..."
"Relax, Daphne," Cygnus couldn't take it anymore and pushed a glass of pumpkin juice toward her. "This isn't a mission to take on the Dark Lord. Besides, I've never heard of any Professor starting their first lesson with something like that."
"You don't understand," Daphne didn't look up, her fingers pressed firmly on the page. "He's a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts! His lessons can't possibly be simple. I have a feeling this semester's DADA class will be elimination-based... I'm sure of it."
Cygnus shrugged, quite understanding.
Because of the comparison with Quirrell, everyone generally had high expectations for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
Everyone thought this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts Class would be quite advanced.
Even if he taught everyone techniques to fight against the Dark Arts, nobody would be surprised.
At that moment, a dense flapping sound came from above.
A swarm of Owls, a thick gray wave, flooded into the Great Hall. They circled or dove, dropping letters and packages into the midst of the breakfast crowd.
A rather unobservant brown owl dropped a package squarely into Goyle's bowl of porridge. The hot mush splattered all over his face, making the big guy yelp.
In the commotion, his expensive dragonhide wrist guard fell into the porridge with a dull thud.
Before anyone could laugh at Goyle's misfortune, a sharp scream suddenly cut through the din of the hall.
All movement ceased; hundreds of eyes swiveled toward the Gryffindor table.
There, Ron Weasley was trying to curl into a ball, as if hoping to disappear into the floor.
On the plate in front of him, a scarlet envelope was trembling violently, even emitting wisps of smoke.
Then, it exploded.
"...STOLE THE CAR!!"
The enormous sound wave filled every corner of the Great Hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.
It was Mrs. Weasley's voice, but amplified a hundredfold, sounding like a furious Hungarian Horntailroaring in everyone's ears.
"...IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!!"
Daphne painfully covered her ears; even so, the noise felt like it was drilling into her skull.
Plates and spoons on the table rattled in the sonic blast.
"We heard you'd stolen a car last night from Mr. Dumbledore!"
The entire hall was silent.
Then, a burst of laughter erupted from the Slytherin table.
"That was brilliant!" Draco almost choked on his pumpkin juice, slapping the table as he laughed. "Did you hear that? 'If you put another toe out of line'! Oh, the Weasleys finally have some self-awareness!"
Cygnus didn't join in the mockery; he was more concerned about the content of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Class.
"Alright, enough of that."
Cygnus stood up, brushing off his robes. "Let's go see what kind of 'Auror-level' surprise our legendary Professor has prepared for us."
Chapter 175: Defense Against the Dark Arts Class
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was on the Fourth Floor.
As Signas followed the large group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws into the classroom, the first thing he saw wasn't some hideous specimen of a dark creature, nor was it a blackboard covered in spells.
It was photos.
Photos everywhere.
The four walls of the classroom were covered with various portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart.
There was one of him standing against the wind on a snowy mountain peak, one of him shaking hands with a Witch in the jungle, and his signature eight-toothed smile at a book signing.
At this moment, these hundreds of Lockharts were simultaneously winking, waving, and fixing their hair at the students walking in; the entire classroom shimmered with a dizzying glow of narcissism.
"This taste..." Signas felt a slight sting in his eyes. "In a sense, it really is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Looking at it for too long could easily cause mental derangement."
Daphne sat next to Signas, clutching her wand tightly in her hand, her knuckles turning white.
"What do you think he'll teach? Defense against Unforgivable Curses? Or the anatomical weaknesses of dark creatures?" she asked in a low voice.
"Maybe 'how to care for your teeth so you can keep smiling when facing a Dementor,'" Signas joked casually.
The class bell rang.
Lockhart strode out from the small door behind the podium. Today, he had changed into a lilac robe paired with a shiny pink tie, holding that wand which was used more for decoration than for casting spells.
"I'm so happy to see everyone here!" He walked to the front of the podium, opening with an exaggerated, theatrical tone. "I know what you're all expecting. And I know you're full of curiosity about my... little adventures."
He casually picked up a copy of "Voyages with Vampires" and waved it in his hand.
"I've also heard that everyone has prepared a lot for this class." Lockhart's gaze swept over the dragonhide armor Draco was wearing, a meaningful smile appearing on his face. "Very good, staying alert is the first rule of an Auror. But before we begin actual combat practice—"
He pulled a thick stack of parchment from under the podium.
"—I must first see how well you've read. Even when facing the most vicious enemies, knowledge is our most powerful weapon! Come, a little test."
The parchment automatically flew onto everyone's desks.
Daphne took a deep breath and grabbed her quill, her eyes as sharp as if she were facing a final exam. She was determined to get the highest grade in this class!
However, when she saw the first question clearly, her pen tip suddenly stopped, leaving an ink blot on the paper.
1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
3. What do you think is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
Three full pages, fifty-four questions.
Not one was about the Dark Arts. Not one was about Defense.
They were all about Gilderoy Lockhart.
The sound of paper flipping, extremely suppressed, echoed through the classroom.
Draco held the test paper, his expression a kaleidoscope of emotions. He had probably never been this confused in his life. His expensive set of dragonhide armor looked incredibly ridiculous right now. The solutions to Dark Curses he had spent all night memorizing were less useful here than "When is Lockhart's birthday?"
"Is this some kind of... code?" Draco turned his head and whispered to Signas in the back row. "Is it that only by answering these seemingly stupid questions can we unlock the real trial?"
"Of course," Signas wrote the answers quickly on the paper—thanks to selling hundreds of signed photos, he knew this junk information by heart. "This is to test your observation and intelligence-gathering skills. Essential qualities for an Auror, understand?"
Draco had a sudden realization and immediately buried his head in writing.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and flipped through them in front of the whole class.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, it seems many people haven't read my books carefully." He shook his head regretfully. "For example, question twelve: my favorite birthday gift is for all magical and non-magical people to live in harmony—though, of course, I wouldn't refuse a case of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"
He winked at Signas again.
"However, someone still answered perfectly." Lockhart pulled out Signas's paper. "Mr. Shalk! A perfect score! Ten points to Slytherin! I knew you had a meticulous heart."
Signas gave a fake smile from his seat, accepting the complicated looks from those around him.
"Alright, next..." Lockhart tossed the papers aside, his expression suddenly becoming serious. He walked to the side of the podium, where a large cage covered with a velvet cloth was placed.
He placed his hand on the cloth, his voice low as if a Dragon were trapped inside.
"Since you have proven your theoretical level, it is time to face real fear. I must warn you—what comes next is very dangerous. In this classroom, you may face your most terrifying nightmare."
The whole class held their breath.
Daphne gripped her wand again. Draco straightened his back, his dragonhide armor making a slight rubbing sound. Even the bookworms from Ravenclaw swallowed nervously.
"Please do not scream," Lockhart lowered his voice. "That will provoke them."
He whipped off the cover.
"Look!"
Inside the cage, several small, electric-blue creatures with pointed chins and thin wings like dragonflies were frantically banging against the bars, making faces at the students outside and letting out piercing shrieks.
"Freshly caught—Cornish Pixies!" Lockhart announced dramatically.
An awkward silence fell over the classroom.
A moment later, a boy from Ravenclaw couldn't help himself and let out a snort of laughter.
"What?" Lockhart seemed very dissatisfied with this reaction. "You think it's funny? Well, they certainly don't look as... intimidating as a Werewolf. But these little devils are incredibly cunning destroyers! If you're not careful..."
"Professor," Draco raised his hand, unable to hide his disappointment and the anger of being played. "This is what you call 'Auror-level'? A few blue... bugs?"
"Bugs?" Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "It seems our Mr. Malfoy is quite confident. Then let's see how you deal with them!"
Before anyone could react, Lockhart yanked open the cage door.
Chaos erupted almost instantly.
The electric-blue little monsters were like a pack of mad dogs that had been locked up for three years, rushing out of the cage with sharp screeches. Their speed was startling, leaving blue afterimages in the air.
Two Pixies headed straight for Draco, seemingly interested in his shiny dragonhide armor.
"Get away! Get away!" Draco waved his arms in panic, trying to drive them off. But the Pixies nimbly dodged his slaps; one grabbed his ear while the other began frantically pulling at the buttons of his armor.
"Damn it! My hair!" Daphne screamed and dove under the desk; a pixie was grabbing her carefully styled blonde curls, trying to use them as a swing.
The entire classroom instantly turned into a chaotic marketplace.
Books were shredded, ink bottles were smashed against the walls, and feathers and parchmentfragments flew everywhere.
The Ravenclaw students weren't doing any better; several were running around with their heads in their hands, trying to protect their textbooks from being torn to shreds.
Chapter 176: Professor Lockhart's On-site Guidance
"Don't panic! Don't panic!" Lockhart stood on the podium, waving his wand and shouting, "Catch them! They're just a few Pixies!"
Just as he finished speaking, a Pixie flew over, snatched his wand, and unceremoniously threw it out the window.
"Oh, dear..." The confidence on Lockhart's face finally crumbled. He frantically tried to catch the thief, only to have another Pixie knock the purple hat off his head.
"Come on! Show your courage!" Lockhart shouted to the class while pathetically shielding his head, "Round them up! Use that spell!"
"What spell? You haven't taught it yet!" Goyle roared. He was being lifted by his waistband by two Pixies, his feet off the ground, struggling desperately like a giant balloon suspended in mid-air.
Seeing the situation spiraling completely out of control, Lockhart seemed to finally remember he was a Wizard.
He took a deep breath, rolled up his sleeves, struck an extremely flamboyant pose, and roared a spell at the Pixies flying all over the place:
"Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"
A faint, slightly gray smoke emerged from his fingertips, and then... nothing happened.
Clearly, the wandless casting had failed.
The Pixies paused for a second, seemingly amused by this ridiculous spell. One even stuck its tongue out at Lockhart before grabbing the heavy iron cage from the podium and smashing it against the chandelier on the ceiling.
"Clang!"
The crystal chandelier swayed precariously.
Signas sighed.
He hadn't intended to take action.
Watching these self-righteous Pure-blood young masters suffer was quite enjoyable, especially seeing Draco's expensive armor being torn to shreds.
But that bottle of ink cost five Galleons.
He slowly raised his wand, his wrist giving an extremely slight flick.
There was no loud incantation, nor any exaggerated movements.
"Freezing Charm."
A cold blue light precisely struck the Pixie that was trying to cause mischief.
It even kept that hideous grimace, frozen in mid-air like a piece of stone, then fell onto the desk with a "thud," shattering into several pieces of ice.
Several nearby Pixies seemed to sense the danger in this corner and screeched as they tried to pounce.
"Oppugno."
With a wave of Signas's wand, several quills scattered on the desk instantly turned into sharp darts and shot out with a whistling sound.
Thud, thud, thud!
Three Pixies were precisely pinned to the bulletin board behind them—of course, only their clothes were pinned, but it was enough to leave them immobilized.
This smooth operation left Daphne, who was nearby, stunned. She had just poked her head out from under the desk, her hair as messy as a bird's nest.
"What are you staring for?" Signas glanced at her. "Use Petrificus Totalus if you don't want to go bald. Their flight paths are fast, but they follow a pattern: three to the left, two to the right."
Reminded of this, several top students from Slytherin and Ravenclaw finally reacted.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Daphne chanted through gritted teeth, knocking down a little monster that was about to tear her book.
"Stupefy!" Zabini also joined the fray.
Once the students stopped panicking, a mere few Pixies were indeed no fatal threat. After all, the students who could enter these two houses didn't have bad brains or magic.
Five minutes later.
The classroom finally quieted down.
Petrified, frozen, or stunned Pixies were scattered all over the floor. The students were all disheveled, their robes torn and faces scratched, but at least they had survived.
Although the chaos in the classroom had subsided, the characteristic sour stench of Cornish Pixies and the smell of scorched feathers had not yet dissipated.
Lockhart stood on the podium. His golden hair, which was originally fluffy and bouncy, had collapsed halfway, looking like a cream cake that had been sat on.
He was hurriedly stuffing a copy of Break with a Banshee into his robe pocket, while his other hand brushed the dust off himself with an extremely unnatural motion, trying to maintain his crumbling dignity.
"Alright, alright!" Lockhart cleared his throat, his voice carrying a clear sense of urgency. "Since everyone has seen the cruelty of actual combat—I think today's lesson has been very successful."
"This is what I want to teach you: always stay alert! Even a bug can topple a dragon! Class dismissed!"
After saying that, he grabbed his hat from the podium and was about to duck into that small door, moving so fast it was as if a pack of Hungarian Horntails was chasing him.
"Wait a moment, Professor."
A lazy voice, not loud, yet precisely piercing through the noise of chairs moving and bags being packed, pinned Lockhart's back.
Lockhart's steps stiffened just as his hand touched the doorknob. He turned around extremely slowly, the professional smile on his face looking somewhat forced and rigid: "Oh, Mr. Shalk? Is there anything else you don't understand? If it's for an autograph, perhaps we can wait until dinner time..."
Signas sat in the center of the second row, not getting up. He toyed with his yew wand, the tip rhythmically tapping the desk with a thud, thud, thud sound.
Signas leaned back, legs crossed, his scrutinizing gaze making Lockhart feel inexplicably cold. "I wanted to say, since the Professor mentioned 'Auror-level' training, just catching a few bugs that only pull hair is a bit too childish."
[resentment points from Gilderoy Lockhart +17!]
"Childish?" Lockhart's eyebrow twitched as he pointed at the chandelier still swaying on the ceiling. "That scene just now was quite thrilling! If one isn't careful..."
"It was thrilling because of the chaos, not the difficulty," Draco Malfoy suddenly interjected.
He had just straightened his crooked dragonhide armor, and the frustration in his heart had nowhere to go.
Being chased around the classroom by two blue-skinned monkeys was simply a humiliation in the House of Malfoy's history.
Seeing Signas start, he immediately followed up: "Professor, my father speaks very highly of your abilities. For that reason, I even prepared dragonhide armor..."
The atmosphere in the classroom changed. The students who were about to leave stopped in their tracks. The knowledge-hungry nerds of Ravenclaw pushed up their glasses, while the little snakes of Slytherin showed expressions of watching a good show.
Lockhart's hand pulled back from the doorknob.
He was a fraud, but he was an extremely vain and shrewd one. If he left now, it wouldn't be good once word got out.
[resentment points from Gilderoy Lockhart +19!]
"Hahahaha!" Lockhart suddenly burst into a dry laugh, slamming the podium and kicking up a cloud of chalk dust. "Good! Very good! I like this spirit of challenge! Young people today are truly full of vitality and... ambition!"
He walked back to the center of the podium, though his eyes were wandering, not daring to look into Signas's dark eyes.
"I originally intended to leave the advanced content for the next lesson. Since you're so impatient..." Lockhart's eyes darted around, his brain working frantically. That damn notebook had clearly said just now that his current magic was struggling even with a Lumos. If he demonstrated a duel in public, he probably wouldn't even be able to hold his wand steady.
He absolutely could not step onto the field himself.
"Then let's have something for real!"
Lockhart waved his hand suddenly, his robe sleeve knocking over an ink bottle. "However, as a responsible Professor, it is immoral and extremely dangerous to use powerful spells on you at this stage. What if I can't hold back and level this place?"
Someone below gasped.
"So!" Lockhart was very satisfied with that gasp and raised his voice, "We'll change the method. Since it's teaching, we must teach according to the student's aptitude. You come up and demonstrate, and I will critique! I will use my eyes, which have seen every dark corner of the world, to find every loophole and every blind spot in your spellcasting!"
Waiting for more chapters on WTR-Lab