"See?!" Anthony tilted his head, shooting a sidelong glance at Michael. "Why would I make this up? It's just a shame I forgot to grab that newspaper—the whole issue sold out in a flash!"
"They say it wasn't just about the giant tree. On that same island, a wizarding ruin vanished and in its place, a Lethe Spring appeared."
Chris frowned. "There's a Lethe Spring in Sweden now? Guess the price of Lethe water will finally drop a bit, then?"
Michael shook his head. "Lethe water's never been that expensive anyway—at least, not compared to the price of Gilderoy Lockhart's books."
"Those books are daylight robbery! Five Galleons for one book! And it's not just one—they make you buy all seven at once!"
"Who would've thought Gilderoy Lockhart would end up as our professor..." Terry sighed. "You all heard, right? It's not like The Daily Prophet didn't cover it."
Anthony nodded. "Of course! Gilderoy Lockhart is a Ravenclaw alum, though he wasn't nearly so famous when he graduated."
Michael leaned forward, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "Oh? Did you pick up some inside scoop when you visited Mr. Scamander the other day?"
"They were just having a chat—I happened to overhear," Anthony shrugged. "Apparently, back at school, Lockhart wasn't all that impressive."
Chris piped up, "Who was talking to Mr. Scamander? How'd they know so much?"
Anthony replied, "He used to teach Potions at Hogwarts and actually taught Lockhart himself. Name's Horace Slughorn—ring any bells?"
Wyzett nodded. "Horace Slughorn is incredibly well-connected. When he was at Hogwarts, he started something called the Slug Club."
He'd learned that from Ollivander—who, as it turned out, was a friend of Slughorn. With Slughorn's help, Wyzett had managed to get his Junior Potioneer certificate in record time.
"Classic Wyzett," Anthony grinned, giving a thumbs-up. "You know the Holyhead Harpies? Their captain, Gwenog Jones, is a Slug Club member."
"And so is Barnabas Cuffe, editor-in-chief of The Daily Prophet. There are even Ministry officials in the club."
Hearing such impressive names, Michael and the others nodded in agreement. "Makes it all sound pretty credible!"
"Right, let me go on then!" Anthony cleared his throat. "When Gilderoy Lockhart was at Hogwarts, he set himself a whole list of grand ambitions."
He ticked them off on his fingers. "Like making the Philosopher's Stone before graduation, leading the England Quidditch team to a World Cup victory, becoming the youngest Minister for Magic—stuff like that."
Terry looked puzzled. "He sounds ambitious—so why'd you say he wasn't all that special?"
"Because his grades were just average," Anthony shrugged. "Slughorn said he misjudged him—never thought Lockhart would turn out so famous."
"What stuck with Slughorn most was Lockhart sending himself eight hundred Valentine's Day cards by owl—at once."
Michael grimaced. "Ugh... eight hundred owls at breakfast?"
Anthony nodded. "Yeah, breakfast was a disaster. People barely got a bite in before they were showered with feathers and..."
Chris quickly cut him off, "Spare us the details! I was planning to buy some pumpkin juice later."
"Anyway, breakfast was canceled..." Anthony scratched his head and coughed. "We'll just have to wait and see. Once we get our timetables, we'll know what his classes are like!"
"Fair enough..." Chris leaned back, letting his head rest against the seat. "I'm keeping an open mind—he has written a lot of famous books, after all."
Soon, with a long, mournful whooo-whooo, the Hogwarts Express finally lurched into motion.
Luna gazed out the window as the platform slid away, and all of London retreated behind them.
Gradually, city streets gave way to rolling fields and open pastures.
"The grass here isn't quite like the grass at home," Luna murmured, reaching out with slender, pale fingers to touch the glass.
Wyzett's reflection shimmered in the window, and her fingertip landed right on his cheek.
"When we get to Hogwarts, we'll write home," Wyzett said softly. "I'll write with you."
Luna turned toward him, leaning in just a little, her eyes closing like a cat curling up in a sunbeam.
"The grass is different, but really, we're not so far from home."
"Not far at all." Wyzett smiled gently. "I'll be right here with you."
"I know..." Luna nodded, covering a small yawn with her hand.
They bought a few snacks for lunch.
Plenty of people dropped by to say hello—Penelope, Cho Chang, and others all stopped in for a chat.
The gentle rocking of the Hogwarts Express was like a cradle, and before long, Luna drifted off to sleep.
Aside from the steady rumble of the train, the compartment was peaceful. Even the rowdy roommates had nodded off one by one.
Luna leaned her head on Wyzett's shoulder, the milk bottle slipping from her fingers.
With a flick of his finger, Wyzett made the bottle float up, transfiguring it into a small pillow.
He tucked it beneath Luna's neck, so she wouldn't wake up with a crick.
Wyzett wasn't tired. He balanced a copy of Travels with Trolls on his knees, flipping through the pages.
Compared to the official textbooks, Travels with Trolls was pure adventure—there were nuggets of knowledge, but you had to dig for them.
He especially admired the quick thinking the story's hero displayed.
When surrounded by enemies, the most important thing was to stay calm and figure out a way out.
At least, that's what Gilderoy Lockhart did in the book.
Even surrounded by trolls, he kept his wits, found a way to turn them against each other, and managed to escape—rescuing his troll companion in the process.
Wyzett took notes, marking out the difference between story and fact, highlighting useful knowledge and clever strategies—a bit of revision, really.
Before he realized it, afternoon had arrived. Footsteps hurried up and down the corridor, never really stopping.
Suddenly, the footsteps halted. There was a sharp rap at the compartment door.
A familiar voice called from outside—Hermione. "Excuse me—sorry to bother you!"
Michael jolted awake, rubbing his neck and groaning. "Ugh... my neck!"
The others stirred, echoing his complaint.
"Hermione?" Michael managed to slide the door open, blinking at her anxious face. "What's wrong?"
Hermione was nearly out of breath, words tumbling out in a rush. "Have you—have any of you seen Harry and Ron?"
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