Harry quickly got rid of Lockhart—or rather, Lockhart released him himself.
"This is awful," Harry muttered to Louis and Ron. "He seems to think I'm just like him and wants to pass down his 'wisdom' to me."
"That really is awful," Ron nodded in sympathy, but Louis saw it differently.
"Harry, set aside your bias. You might actually learn something useful from him," Louis said. "Gilderoy Lockhart may not be much as a person, but he knows how to market himself. He understands fame and how to wield it. In that regard, he's a master—enough to teach even Dumbledore a thing or two."
That was Louis's assessment of Lockhart. He didn't particularly like the fraud, but he had to admit—fame couldn't have been built on just a stack of books and a few Memory Charms. If Dumbledore had half of Lockhart's publicity tricks, the Ministry would never have been able to suppress him so easily later on.
Clearly, though, Harry wasn't listening. He kept grumbling under his breath.
Louis, on the other hand, was actually considering whether he should learn a thing or two from Lockhart…
Forget it. Too disgusting. Lockhart must have been clever before he became famous, but after gaining celebrity status and a Merlin Medal, he completely lost sight of who he was. He genuinely seemed to believe all those stories in his books were his own.
No sense of self-awareness at all.
Herbology went smoothly. Though Professor Sprout was a little injured, it didn't stop her from teaching perfectly well.
Repotting mandrakes was child's play for Louis. With clean, practiced movements, he yanked one out, dropped it in another pot, packed in the soil—done in less than thirty seconds.
Professor Sprout praised him warmly and generously awarded Slytherin twenty points.
The rest of the class was spent replanting the shrieking roots. Even Louis couldn't avoid getting dirt on himself, and by the end everyone was exhausted. Louis couldn't help suspecting that this lesson was really just free labor for the greenhouses.
When Herbology finished, the morning still had a second class. The sudden workload had Ron and Harry looking like wrecks.
"Blimey, next year will they pile on so many lessons we'll have to learn a duplication spell just to keep up?" Ron whined, still grimy since he hadn't bothered to wash or change.
"You don't need to worry about the future right now, Ron. Just think about Transfiguration. Do you think your wand can handle turning a bug into a button?" Louis had already changed into fresh clothes. "Hurry up, we're about to be late."
With that, he left the two behind and strode off.
Before long, Louis reached the Transfiguration classroom. Quite a few students were already seated.
And there, on the desk, sat Professor McGonagall—transformed once more into a tabby cat.
She hadn't taken her Animagus form in class since that very first demonstration last term. Was she planning to revive the old tradition of opening class with a transformation?
Louis paid it no mind at first—but then his heart skipped. That silly Merlin-template curse… it wouldn't affect Animagi too, would it?
The thought had barely formed when the cat's eyes suddenly sharpened. It bristled, fur standing on end, and locked Louis in its murderous gaze.
[Curse: High chance of being kicked when encountering felines.]
[Herald of Fear: Any hostile target will feel fear.]
The tabby sprang forward in a flying kick aimed square at Louis's face, hissing a furious "Mrrrrow!"
The entire class froze in shock.
They were second-years now—everyone knew that tabby cat was Professor McGonagall. But why—why on earth—had Professor Kitty just launched herself at a student with a dropkick?
What unforgivable sin could that student have committed?
Then they saw who it was. Louis Wilson.
Oh. Never mind then. Kick away.
Meanwhile Louis, though half-expecting it, still gaped inside.
Professor! Your dignity, Professor!
His mouth twitched as he stepped back, dodging the airborne strike. That seemed to snap McGonagall back to herself mid-pounce.
She transformed back into her human form before landing gracefully. But her face was… odd. After all, how could a professor possibly explain attacking her own student?
"Forgive me, Professor," Louis said quickly, stepping in to cover for her. "I suppose my holiday homework didn't quite meet your standards."
Quick, give her an out. The poor woman's face was already flushed red.
"Ahem… yes, quite right, Mr. Wilson. Your homework was acceptable, but it did fall short of my expectations. See that you do better next time."
McGonagall gave him a look of approval, as if to say, Good lad, you're very tactful.
The rest of the class, however, went pale.
Louis Wilson's homework wasn't up to standard? Oh no… would that mean each of them would be kicked by Professor Kitty in turn?
Well… maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing.
McGonagall's face remained strained, but she said nothing more and returned to the desk. This time she didn't dare transform again. When she'd been in her cat form, she'd felt an overwhelming urge to kick Louis—as if it were some solemn duty. She'd acted on it almost instinctively.
It was bizarre, and it left her unsettled. Worse still, during that strike, Louis had seemed terrifying—enough to spook a cat.
Fortunately, Ron and Harry's late arrival soon broke the tension. Once they'd settled in, McGonagall began the term's first test: to see whether her students had remembered they were wizards over the holidays.
The task: transform a beetle into a button.
Each student was given a lively, skittering beetle. It was no easy feat—harder to transfigure something so tiny and moving than something still. A perfect exercise in spell accuracy.
"Mr. Potter, focus your aim—and believe in yourself. Without confidence, even a hit won't change it," McGonagall instructed as she paced the room.
"Very good, Mr. Wilson. Slytherin earns ten points," she added, stopping by Louis's desk and admiring the perfectly still button. "Now, Louis, can you reverse it?"
It was a test to ensure no one was cheating—a little extra step.
"Of course," Louis tapped the button with his wand and lazily muttered, "Revert."
In the blink of an eye, the button turned back into a skittering beetle.
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