The next day, Louis didn't bother waking up too early. He went to the Great Hall just in time for breakfast.
He was expecting a package to be delivered, and this was the perfect time for it. No need to risk receiving something like that in some uncertain setting.
Breakfast was simple—Louis made himself a sandwich and washed it down with milk.
For reasons of her own, Cassandra once again chose to sit beside Louis, with Blaise Zabini on his other side, the three of them lined up like sentinels. Given Cassandra's personality, it was easy enough to understand—blending into the group wasn't really her style.
Soon, the sound of wings flapping overhead filled the hall. Among the owls, the largest—Fafnir—was especially conspicuous, swooping down like a precision bomber and dropping a large parcel squarely toward Louis.
Louis caught it with practiced ease. The heavy thump in his hands left no doubt about its weight.
"What's that?" Blaise Zabini asked.
"Potion ingredients. I'm planning to study some advanced potion work lately," Louis replied casually.
That was half true. There were indeed potion ingredients inside, but most of it was for analyzing the Tara's Mask.
Blaise had just opened his mouth to praise Louis's diligence when a piercing shout made him jump.
"RON WEASLEY!"
Every head turned to look. A Howler, transformed into a gaping mouth full of fangs, was roaring furiously at a red-haired boy.
"Wow, a Howler. Sounds thrilling," Blaise said with a grin.
Most of the students were more than happy to watch Ron make a fool of himself—even the Gryffindors. Sure, they had celebrated his "brave stunt" last night, but that didn't stop them from laughing at his misery today.
"…If this gets your father sacked, I won't be surprised! If you ever pull such a reckless stunt again, pack your things and come home!"
The Howler finished its tirade and shredded itself into pieces, ending the noise.
The students chuckled among themselves, but Ron and his partner-in-crime Harry sat with dark faces, silently cursing their luck.
When breakfast was over, Louis slipped away and stashed his package inside the Room of Requirement. Just as he was heading to class, he ran into Snape.
"Mr. Wilson." Snape's face was grim, though not on Louis's account. "I hope this year you'll be a bit more… active."
"Professor, do you mean earning more House points?" Louis asked.
"Exactly." Snape nodded sharply, still brooding over last night's fiasco.
He'd missed a golden chance to deduct a massive haul of points from Gryffindor, and it gnawed at him. Last year's House Cup loss had nearly driven him up the wall.
"Alright, I'll try my best," Louis agreed.
Though, in truth, he didn't think it likely. Snape might lean outrageously toward Slytherin, but Dumbledore wasn't exactly impartial either.
"What's the point in fussing over daily points if they're all overturned with bonus points in the end?"
Shaking his head at Snape's retreating back, Louis sighed.
…
"Your stunt really is baffling. What made you think flying a car to school was a good idea?" Louis asked on the way to class.
"We didn't have a choice," Ron protested. "We couldn't get onto the platform, my parents couldn't get out, so what else could we do?"
Harry nodded earnestly, backing Ron up. "I even thought about sending Hedwig with a letter, but I was worried about that house-elf…"
"Wait, right! We could've just sent a letter!" Ron blurted, stunned.
Both Harry and Louis fell silent, staring at Ron with unreadable expressions.
"You two didn't need to drive the car at all. If you'd just waited by it, Mr. Weasley would've sorted things out for you. But now, with what you did, you've basically thrown Mr. Weasley into the fire. He's already under heavy scrutiny lately," Louis said.
"Oh, come on, Louis, give me a break. I've suffered enough this time," Ron groaned.
He clearly didn't understand what Louis meant. All he could do was sigh over his wand—snapped in two and held together by a fragile strip of wood.
Harry, unable to stand watching any longer, turned to Louis. "Louis, can you fix wands?"
"That's an honor of a question, Harry," Louis replied dryly. "But haven't you thought about it? I'm your age. Why would I know how to mend wands?"
He shrugged at the two of them, but still took Ron's wand and inspected it.
Normal repair charms wouldn't work on broken wands. Only something like the Elder Wand, with its unparalleled amplifying power, could restore one.
Of course, Louis could use the Horse Talisman's restorative power. That spell ranked higher than anything in the Harry Potter world. Fixing a wand would be child's play.
But Louis hesitated.
After all, this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would eventually be undone by this very wand—its backfiring spell would rebound, leaving him memory-wiped on the spot.
Fixing the wand meant saving Lockhart…
Hmm…
"Sorry, I can't," Louis said firmly.
Let Lockhart die.
"Figures." Ron hadn't held out much hope anyway. With a sigh, he took back his battered wand.
…
That day's lesson was Herbology, taught by Hufflepuff's Head of House, Professor Sprout.
She was a short, plump, kindly witch, though today she didn't look particularly cheerful. Considering Lockhart's constant chatter beside her and the bandaged arm she carried, the reason was obvious.
They'd just come from the Whomping Willow. Yesterday, two blockheads had flown a car straight into it.
Said blockheads hung their heads in shame.
As Sprout and Lockhart approached, Lockhart's booming voice carried to the waiting students.
"I've encountered no fewer than ten of these dangerous plants, and without fail I subdued every one of them—what I mean is, no one understands the Whomping Willow better than I do."
Sprout clearly had no patience for him. Turning to the students, she said, "Well then, children, what are you waiting for? Greenhouse Three. Today's lesson is repotting Mandrake seedlings. I hope you've all brought your dragon-hide gloves and earmuffs."
She expected that once class began, the braggart would finally shut up. But instead, he seized two students—Harry with his left hand, Louis with his right.
"Behold, two celebrities," Lockhart said proudly. "Forgive me, Professor Sprout, but I'll need to borrow your students for a moment."
He hadn't even finished speaking before his right hand burned as though scorched by fire. With a hiss of pain, he instinctively let go.
Staring at his palm, he wondered if he'd actually been burned. But there was no mark at all—no redness, no blistering. As if it had all been an illusion.
But could an illusion feel so real?
Lockhart stared in confusion at the second-year boy rumored to be a descendant of Merlin.
"Sorry, Professor Lockhart, but I'm not fond of physical contact with men," Louis said.
Polite, but only barely so. Altogether dismissive.
Then he stepped toward Professor Sprout, making his preference clear.
Sprout's expression softened with approval. She was very pleased with his attitude. If it wouldn't have seemed disrespectful to the "sacrifice"—ah, no, the professor—she would've awarded him ten points on the spot.
Harry wished he could be as smooth as Louis, but lacking his tricks, he struggled in vain to free himself.
"Well then," Lockhart said with a strained smile, though his eyes still flashed with irritation, "I'll just take Harry with me…"
Harry's helpless glance over his shoulder made his misery clear. Louis only shrugged in response—there was nothing he could do.
He couldn't very well haul off and punch Lockhart. The man was still a professor, after all.
---
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