These past few days, Arthur had been completely obsessed with 20 Minutes Till Dawn.
Honestly speaking, those "grind-and-repeat" roguelike games were seriously addictive.
He hadn't gone back to the Lands Between in days, couldn't be bothered to read, and spent all his time staring blankly at the screen, attention wholly consumed by the game.
Ranni had even asked Hermione what was wrong with him.
Hermione merely waved it off—she'd seen it before. Her cousin had gone through the same phase last semester, zoning out all the time.
But this time, it was lasting longer than she expected.
The main reason? The system's new task was brutal—Arthur had to unlock all the game's achievements.
Nine characters. Eight weapons. Fifteen difficulty levels. Twenty-four achievements.
Just clearing the hardest mode with every single character meant he had to play nine perfect runs.
And no failures allowed.
Thankfully, his mental fortitude and reflexes were much sharper than most people's—otherwise, who knew how many retries it would take.
The most ridiculous achievement of all required him to clear the game without firing a single shot.
And in the late stages, when the screen was flooded with monsters, there were times when Arthur couldn't even see where his own character was.
After several days of this, Arthur slapped his forehead and decided—why should he be the only one suffering?
So he materialized the game into reality. The system was moved to tears.
The sensation of burning energy for such a silly purpose was way too satisfying!
Everyone's "iPad" received a massive update.
And thus, the number of players suffering jumped from one to five.
The unlucky five: Arthur, Harry, Ron, and Ron's two brothers.
Hermione wasn't that into the game—she only played occasionally.
Most of her time was spent discussing Plants vs. Zombies with Ranni.
Arthur had given Ranni an "iPad" as well, and judging from her fascination with that game, she seemed to love it.
In truth, Ranni was mainly intrigued by how the sunlight in the game could be used to grow plants.
In her eyes, spending sunlight to plant things was the same as stimulating their growth—just skipping a few steps.
She even began to wonder if her moonlight could do the same thing.
Lately, she'd been experimenting in Arthur's "Zen Garden," testing her theory on the plants he'd grown there.
Arthur, thankfully, had the foresight to keep that golden marigold isolated.
Otherwise, if Ranni discovered it, his money-making flower would probably be doomed.
With the new semester came new changes.
Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, had acquired a new batch of Mandrakes.
During class, she instructed the young wizards to re-pot them.
Neville, as expected, promptly fainted.
Yes, still the same timid Neville.
But Harry, on the other hand, had gained himself a devoted little fanboy.
His name was Colin Creevey.
To this, Arthur remarked dryly that it was a good thing Colin liked portrait photography—if he'd chosen landscape photography, he'd probably never find a wife. (Just a joke, of course.)
Arthur soon realized Harry might not have just one fanboy.
There was another—an utterly deranged one: the Malfoy family's house-elf, Dobby.
That little lunatic had apparently heard some rumor from his master and became convinced that Harry was in danger at Hogwarts.
He was desperately trying to keep Harry away from school.
The first Defense Against the Dark Arts and Counterattack class of the semester.
Within five minutes of entering the classroom, Gilderoy Lockhart had made it abundantly clear to Arthur and the others that he was a narcissistic fraud.
His introduction was so long and self-congratulatory, it sounded more like an obituary being read at a funeral.
Third-Class Order of Merlin. Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League. Five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award.
Arthur nearly gagged.
This guy was even greasier than Brother Xiaoming. He shouldn't have come to class thinking he'd give Lockhart a shred of respect.
Wouldn't fishing by the Black Lake have been a better use of time?
He hadn't touched his fishing rod in ages—well, at least not the one by the lake. He still fished plenty inside the Zen Garden.
Looking at the massive, two-man-high portrait of Lockhart next to him, Arthur had to resist the urge to throw a "Bombarda" at it.
The four who knew he was a fraud—Arthur, Hermione, and Draco (yes, Draco, not far away)—all shared the same thought: toss this peacock out of the room.
Harry and Ron, though still unaware of the truth, were nauseated by Lockhart's endless self-praise.
But truth, as they say, is often known only to a few.
Most of the second-year girls were utterly entranced by Lockhart's "charming" smile, gazing at him as though he were casting a spell on them.
"Excellent," Lockhart beamed. "I see you've all bought my complete works!"
Ron was bewildered.
You're the one who made us buy them!
Those ridiculously expensive adventure memoirs had cost the Weasleys a fortune. If not for Harry's suggestion that the whole family share one set, they'd probably be eating dirt for months.
"Today's lesson will begin with a small quiz," Lockhart announced. "Simple enough—if you've read my books carefully, you'll get a high score."
He walked down the aisles, personally handing out test papers.
That was when Hermione realized—this author she used to admire was nothing but a decorative fool.
He didn't even know how to use a simple Levitation Charm to distribute the papers.
As they received the quizzes, Arthur found himself, for the first time, hating his own perfect memory.
During the summer, out of boredom, he'd read all of Lockhart's books. And truth be told, the man could write. The stories were polished and entertaining.
But because of his photographic memory, Arthur remembered every single detail—meaning he could easily ace the quiz.
And he hated that.
So he tossed his paper aside and refused to do it.
Ranni, equally unimpressed, pulled out her "iPad" and started playing Plants vs. Zombies.
Draco, in the back, followed suit—dropped his quill and started daydreaming.
Only Hermione, forcing down her disgust, filled out the test in full, determined to earn some points for the House.
Thirty minutes later, Lockhart was grading the papers.
"Tsk, tsk… almost no one remembered that my favorite color is lilac! Only Miss Hermione Granger…" he said, giving Hermione a wink.
For the first time in her life, Hermione understood what it felt like to have goosebumps crawling all over her skin.
Even earning House points didn't feel worth it anymore.
Meanwhile, Arthur picked up a curious detail.
So Lockhart also sold hair potions?
Interesting. Competing with the Potter family, was he?
Arthur remembered that Harry's grandfather had invented the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion—a conditioning formula that had made the Potter family rich.
Maybe this fraud wasn't just trying to bask in the Savior's fame—maybe he wanted that recipe.
"Oh? It seems a few of you turned in blank papers," Lockhart said, flipping to the back. "Not even a name written! Any explanation?"
The blank-paper culprits ignored him completely, leaving him awkwardly standing there.
It was clear that this man spent far more time grooming than teaching.
He didn't even have a proper attendance list. Now he couldn't even call out the culprits by name.
"Ah, well," Lockhart coughed to cover his embarrassment. "You can always write to me after class to explain your difficulties. Now then, on to the next part of our lesson!"
He strode to a covered cage beside the podium and spoke in a low, dramatic voice:
"My duty is to teach you how to face the most dangerous creatures known to wizardkind. Today, you'll confront your greatest fears…"
Then, raising his voice: "But fear not! As long as I am here, you are perfectly safe!"
With that, he whipped away the cloth covering the cage—
Revealing a group of mischievous Cornish Pixies.
Blue, impish, and barely as thick as an adult's arm.
The anticlimax sent the entire class into laughter.
"Laugh while you can, Seamus Finnigan!" Lockhart said, glaring. Then he opened the cage.
The pixies swarmed out immediately, turning the classroom into chaos.
Arthur calmly cast Protego around his friends and sat back to enjoy the show.
Pixies zoomed everywhere—books flying, hair yanked, robes torn.
Two of them even grabbed Neville by the ears and hung him from the chandelier.
Arthur whistled in admiration.
The kid was tougher than he looked—dangling by the ears and still intact. Wizard physiology was something else.
Lockhart, realizing he'd lost control, pulled out his wand to cast a spell—only for the pixies to snatch it right out of his hand.
Helpless, he bolted for the door, calling out over his shoulder,
"I'll leave the rest to you! Just pop them back into the cage when you're done!"
And then he was gone.
The class exchanged looks.
In the end, Hermione cast Petrificus Totalus, freezing all the pixies in place, and together they shoved them back into the cage.
Arthur briefly considered tossing a few into his Zen Garden—but decided his garden didn't need such unruly pests.
Thus ended the class—in complete farce. The teacher had vanished, and no one learned a thing.
As the five of them walked down the Hogwarts corridor afterward, Hermione complained, "That class was completely useless."
Arthur chuckled. "At least we didn't walk away empty-handed."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white wand.
"Wait—that's Lockhart's wand?" Hermione recognized it instantly.
"Of course not. It's an unclaimed wand," Arthur said, emphasizing the words.
The clever witch caught his meaning at once.
"You're not planning to give it back, are you?"
Harry and Ron both looked over, realizing what he meant.
Ron hesitated. "Er… isn't that… you know, kinda wrong?"
"Oh? Really?" Arthur drawled. "Because I was thinking of modifying it and giving it to you. Didn't your wand break?"
At that, Ron changed his tune immediately.
"Ahem! Well, when you put it that way—it makes perfect sense. I mean, Lockhart's rich from all those book sales. A new wand's nothing to him.
No, wait—this wand you found doesn't even have an owner. Which means… I can be the new owner!"
Everyone knew Arthur's alchemical skills were top-tier.
If he said he could merge two wands, no one doubted him.
Ron, whose wand had snapped against the Whomping Willow, was ecstatic. He'd been taping it together and could barely cast a proper Wingardium Leviosa.
Now, luck was finally turning his way.
Hermione and Harry, both thinking Lockhart deserved a bit of payback, agreed to the plan.
As for Ranni, the Moon Princess, she couldn't have cared less—she was too busy playing her game.
"Alright then," Arthur said, holding out his hand. "Give me your wand too. I'll merge them when I get back."
He might not know the intricate craft of wandmaking, but with his mastery of alchemy, combining the two was well within his reach.
Visit my patreon for more chapters
Advance 30+ Chapters Available
patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554