"Since this is such an obscure branch of magic…" Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed deeply. "Then Professor Lockhart—"
She flipped Wanderings with Werewolves back to the first page. "Armenia again? So this story is also…"
Dumbledore could only shrug, a hint of resignation in his eyes. "As far as I know, yes."
"Gilderoy Lockhart ought to be in Azkaban!" McGonagall's eyebrows shot up, her tone suddenly sharp.
"But we can't do that," Dumbledore replied, shrugging again. "That Armenian wizard—he's lost all memory…"
With another wave of his wand, he summoned the rest of Lockhart's published works.
At this, disbelief flickered in McGonagall's gaze. "Albus, you mean to say—"
"Exactly." Dumbledore nodded. "Most of the events in these books have real witnesses."
"I tried to track down two of them, only to find they'd also lost their memories… Even I couldn't restore them."
McGonagall pressed on, "Is there nothing we can do?"
Dumbledore exhaled slowly, returning the books to their shelf with a flick of his wand.
A mysterious smile played at his lips as he glanced at the box of mint licorice candies. "Not yet… But time has a way of revealing the truth."
McGonagall steadied herself, regaining her composure. "Is that why you allowed Lockhart… to join the staff?"
Dumbledore nodded. "If people can set aside their biases and see Lockhart for who he truly is, they'll find what they're looking for in those books."
"With Lockhart at Hogwarts, I believe the students will gradually learn to tell fact from fiction… and perhaps even find the courage to challenge authority."
"In that regard… Ravenclaw is doing rather well." McGonagall rubbed her temples, a trace of wry amusement in her voice. "I've noticed they've started studying his books these past few days."
"That's hardly a surprise." Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction. "I only hope Harry… can come to understand something more."
"Oh, that reminds me!" McGonagall suddenly remembered. "What you mentioned to me at the end of last term—that's starting this weekend."
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with interest. "Transfiguration… Animagus magic—a fascinating and ancient ritual. I wonder how much he'll learn from it?"
"He's shown real talent for Transfiguration. His very first lesson took me by surprise." McGonagall adjusted her glasses, clear pride in her tone and a small smile on her lips.
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. "Come to think of it… he used Transfiguration in Lockhart's first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, didn't he? And on quite a scale, too."
"These past few days, all the Gryffindors have been clamoring to learn how to transfigure iron cages…" There was a note of helplessness in McGonagall's voice.
"I've rarely seen them so enthusiastic. They're picking up this bit of Transfiguration faster than anything I've ever taught."
"After each success, they compare their cages—whose looks best, whose most closely matches Wyzett's creation…"
"It seems that, at least on the surface, Wyzett only used Transfiguration in that lesson…" Dumbledore smiled, his eyes narrowing with deep satisfaction.
He left the rest unsaid: if Wyzett had wanted to deal with those pixies, he certainly had more efficient methods—ones that didn't require any help from the other students.
But Wyzett chose not to. He rallied everyone, faced the pixies as a team, and together, they stopped the chaos.
Perhaps that's the difference between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, Dumbledore mused.
"Minerva, are you familiar with a magical creature from North America?" He lifted his teacup, taking a measured sip. "They get along well with Muggles—so much so, the local indigenous people revere them."
"Of course." McGonagall nodded. "Thunderbirds… though I imagine Newt knows them far better than I do."
Dumbledore coughed lightly, returning to the topic. "When Thunderbirds soar through the sky, they bring rain wherever they go—sometimes without even realizing it."
"In Arizona, that rain is vital, which is why they're so deeply revered. Of course, rain isn't their only gift…"
"Thunderbirds wield lightning as well. You really must see it for yourself—their lightning is absolutely magnificent… breathtakingly beautiful!"
"But it's a Thunderbird…" McGonagall's tone turned wistful. "If only it were a lion, that would be better still…"
Dumbledore smiled, shaking his head in gentle resignation. The two Gryffindors fell into a companionable silence.
"At the rate things are going, we'll be searching for a new professor again next year," McGonagall sighed, breaking the quiet.
"If we really can't find anyone suitable, could we ask the Ministry to assign us an Auror?"
"That's not so easy, either." Dumbledore rubbed his brow. "At least for now, Minister Fudge… doesn't seem to trust me much."
McGonagall adjusted her glasses, her gaze sharpening. "Because of that Wizengamot session before the holidays? You tried to push the Muggle Protection Act?"
"Perhaps…" Dumbledore replied, a trace of helplessness in his voice. "Fudge is far too close to the pure-blood families. If that law passes, they'll feel humiliated."
"But with me as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, they can't openly oppose me. So, they've set the law's drafters to digging up 'evidence'."
"Ah, that explains it!" McGonagall's eyes widened in realization. "No wonder Arthur brought a squad of Ministry officials to search Hogwarts over the holidays."
"They were trying to send me a message." Dumbledore smiled faintly, as if such things barely troubled him.
"I have enough on my plate as it is—every day brings a new crisis. I haven't the time or patience for baseless accusations."
"It'll be hard for Cornelius Fudge to see that," McGonagall sighed, a note of frustration in her voice. "He can't see beyond the end of his own nose."
"It hardly matters. As long as the wizarding world stays at peace, that's all I've ever wanted." Dumbledore picked up a macaron. "Perhaps this is as far as I can go…"
"The road ahead must be walked by someone else—but that person cannot be me. All I can do is give him time, guidance, and support…"
McGonagall looked at Dumbledore with a complicated expression, unsure what to say for a moment.
After all, they'd worked together for so long, visited Hogsmeade countless times, strolled past the Hog's Head… She understood why Dumbledore felt as he did.
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