Anthony reached out and poked the pixie, which was still croaking like a frog. "Professor Lockhart, we want to see it too!"
Noticing the look on Wyzett's face, Lockhart became even more animated.
He knew full well that his little display had succeeded—Wyzett was intrigued.
With an air of great importance, Lockhart straightened his hat and declared, "Aren't you all due for your next class? It must be nearly time!"
"Off you go, then… Mr. Lovegood, if you've got a spare moment, do drop by my office. I'll give you a private demonstration! You know where to find me, don't you?"
…
As they left the classroom, Anthony hurried ahead, planting himself in front of Wyzett.
He walked backward, giving Wyzett a thorough once-over.
Michael eyed Anthony's odd behavior and reached out to touch his forehead. "What's with you? Did that Memory Charm hit you too? Don't recognize Wyzett anymore?"
"It just feels… unfamiliar," Anthony said, batting away Michael's hand. "It's the first time I've ever seen Wyzett actually want to leave class on time."
"Now that you mention it, that's true!" Chris mused. "Except for History of Magic, I don't think he's ever left a lesson on time."
"Exactly! He's always staying behind to write reflections or grill the professor with questions…" Michael scratched his head. "History of Magic only ends on time because Professor Binns leaves before we do!"
That made Terry laugh. "It's easy for Professor Binns—he just floats through the wall and pops out the other side!"
"You lot are hopeless!" Anthony grinned, though he still managed to sound vaguely disapproving. "So, what do you think? Lockhart seems… better than I expected."
"Your cousin is Newt Scamander! And you know Slughorn! If even you're saying that, what chance do the rest of us have?" Michael shot back.
Terry nodded in agreement. "That Memory Charm was pretty wild! And some of his theories actually made sense…"
Anthony turned to Wyzett. "What about you, Wyzett?"
Wyzett was still mulling over that peculiar Memory Charm. After a thoughtful hum, he said, "Maybe he's better suited to adventure than teaching?"
"At the very least, the things he's shown in his books are worth studying… Anyway, let's see how things go. We'd better hurry to Charms class!"
…
Watching the group leave, Lockhart let out a long, satisfied breath.
He fished a small mirror from his pocket, admiring his reflection from every angle, a smug smile curling his lips.
"Such a masterful Memory Charm… there's no way he won't be impressed."
He produced a comb and carefully smoothed his hair, readying himself for the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Before long, another batch of students poured into the classroom, greeting Lockhart with eager excitement.
He waved back, beaming.
He quickly revised his lesson plan in his mind—no need for a whole cage of pixies; just one would do for the Memory Charm demonstration.
A quick survey, a display of how to control a pixie, and the lesson would be over in no time.
Perfect!
I really am a genius!
The bell rang. Lockhart flashed his signature smile—eight dazzling teeth on full display. "Good afternoon, everyone! I am—Lockhart! Order of Merlin, Third Class recipient…"
That afternoon, in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts Castle.
Dumbledore stood before the golden perch, a small box of berries in hand, feeding them one by one to Fawkes the phoenix.
Fawkes' once-fiery feathers had dulled, his brilliant eyes now clouded and weary, drooping with an exhaustion that made him seem far older than before.
Dumbledore gently pressed a berry into Fawkes' beak.
The phoenix leaned forward, nuzzling Dumbledore's cheek with his beak before glancing back at the desk, blinking slowly.
"All right… all right…" Dumbledore waved his hand, and the box of berries floated up to rest on the perch.
"You're just old for now… Soon you'll be young again. Must you rush me so? Can't you let me enjoy a little peace?"
Fawkes spread his wings, as if about to pat Dumbledore on the head.
"Fine, fine! I know you're getting on in years—I'll indulge you." Dumbledore walked to his desk, where paperwork was piled nearly to the ceiling, all awaiting his review.
It wasn't just school files—there were documents from the International Confederation of Wizards and the Wizengamot as well, all needing his approval.
Dumbledore sat and surveyed the mountain of paperwork.
He selected a small stack bearing the Hogwarts crest: a bold capital "H" encircled by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
With a snap of his fingers, a box of sweets soared from a cabinet. The wrapper depicted a Viking longship launching an attack on a mint leaf.
These were Swedish mint licorice candies—distinctive in flavor, they had replaced Cockroach Clusters as his favorite work snack.
"When I finish these, I'll have to ask Wyzett where he gets them…" Dumbledore popped a candy into his mouth, only to gasp as a wave of frost spread from his lips to his beard.
"Invigorating and delicious!" Dumbledore hummed a gentle tune through his nose, savoring the candy as he worked.
Outside, the sun dipped lower, painting the sky orange. Suddenly, the Sorting Hat split open with a jagged crack, bellowing at the top of its lungs. The whole hat scrunched up, as if straining with all its might.
"Under the moonlight, Hogwarts calls with magic! When faced with the bottomless Black Lake, we must have the courage to swim across!"
Its voice was raspier and harsher than ever, like nails on glass.
Fawkes, who had been dozing, startled awake, dropping several faded feathers.
The feathers didn't even touch the ground—they caught fire midair, burning to ash before they could fall.
After finishing the lyrics, the Sorting Hat's tip bobbed up and down as though gasping for breath. "Albus, what do you think of those lines? I've been working on them for days!"
"Hmm…" Dumbledore set aside his quill and looked up at the hat.
He pondered carefully before replying, "I'm no expert in that style, but the lyrics are excellent…"
"'When faced with the bottomless Black Lake, we must have the courage to swim across…'" He softly hummed the tune, giving it a folksy, country twist.
"What I mean is… I really do like those lyrics. They're quite good!"
"That's wonderful!" The Sorting Hat's tip quivered with delight. "But your singing is far too relaxed—it doesn't quite fit the mood of those words."
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