Hogwarts' Golden Glory

He glanced at Kane furtively and saw that the man was elegantly wielding a quill pen, his handwriting neat and fluent.

"My dearest Rita," Kane wrote, "your adoration for me shines like a blazing star, illuminating my path..."

He paused, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips, and continued writing, "I look forward to the day when I can share the enchanting moonlight of Hogwarts with you."

Harry was dumbfounded. Was this really the arrogant Malfoy he knew?

He gritted his teeth and began to write: "Thank you for your letter. I hope everything goes well for you in the magical world..."

As he wrote, he couldn't continue, so he secretly crumpled the letter into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket.

Kane's gold-rimmed glasses gleamed coldly in the candlelight.

He put down his quill pen, his long, slender fingers tapping lightly on the table, his gaze sweeping over the mountain of fan mail.

Harry was still struggling with the wording of the third letter, his quill hovering in mid-air, unable to fall.

"Professor," Kane suddenly spoke, his voice as smooth as silk, "how many of these letters do you handle every day?"

Lockhart, who was adjusting his wig in front of the mirror, turned around upon hearing this: "Oh, my dear child, at least two hundred! As a public figure, I have to be responsible to every fan..."

His gaze swept over Harry's progress of only two letters, and his lips twitched. "...Although time is indeed a problem."

He then flashed a smile, "So, I'll have to trouble you two gentlemen!"

"Perhaps we can try a different approach."

His voice was deep and composed.

Kane drew his wand, which gleamed with a dark red glow in the candlelight.

He flicked his wrist, drawing an elegant arc in the air.

"Epistula Rescribo (Letter Rewriting)"

A silver-blue mist burst forth from the tip of the wand, spreading out like a living ribbon.

The pile of letters floated into the air automatically, the envelopes were torn open as if by an invisible hand, and the letters unfolded with a rustling sound.

Harry's eyes widened. Ink rose from the bottle, transforming into hundreds of fine threads that precisely landed on each sheet of paper.

Even more astonishing is that these ink lines, as they danced on the paper, perfectly replicated Lockhart's exaggerated cursive handwriting—not even missing the distinctive spelling errors and grammatical problems.

"Merlin's beard!" Lockhart jumped up from his chair, his wig askew. "This...this is..."

"A variation of the basic copying spell," Kane said calmly, his wand continuing to guide the ink lines.

"The principles of advanced spells are discussed in detail in Chapter 7."

Harry noticed that the replies to each letter were different.

Love letters end with an extra little heart, while critical letters are delivered with just the right amount of humility.

Even the replies to letters asking for advice on defense against the dark magic cleverly avoided any substantive content.

Lockhart's face flushed red, his fingers nervously rubbing his fake antique ring. "This is so convenient!...It always takes me three hours..."

"Classification complete," Kane suddenly said.

The letters automatically split into three stacks and fell, the last one floating right in front of Lockhart—it was a letter from the editor of *The Witcher Weekly*, with an extra line of small print at the end: "Sincerely, Gilderoy Lockhart (ghostwriter)"

After the ink threads finished their work, they all flew back into the bottle.

The envelopes automatically sealed, and the sealing wax melted and solidified in the air, leaving a perfect "GL" letter combination on the opening of each envelope.

The whole process was smooth and efficient, and was completed in less than five minutes.

Lockhart's expression was as if he saw both a Galleon and a Hungarian wasp simultaneously: "My dear child! This spell... I mean, as your professor..."

"Here." Kane didn't answer the other person, but instead pushed a particularly thick stack of envelopes to Lockhart. "The editor of Witch Weekly and several publishers have sent letters that require your personal reply."

Lockhart looked like he'd swallowed a whole lemon.

He stared at the gold-embossed emblems on the envelopes, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times. "How...how did you know which ones needed..."

"Common sense," Kane said, having already processed the last stack. "The editor-in-chief of *The Magical Arts Review* won't want to stamp a reply."

He paused for a moment, "Unless you want to receive a submission for the next issue's 'Celebrity Stupidity' column."

"Genius! Absolutely a genius!"

Lockhart rubbed his hands together and paced around the office, his peacock-blue robe knocking over two ink bottles.

"I must learn this magic!"

Kane gracefully put away his wand: "I'm afraid that's not appropriate."

He stood up, his black robe flowing like water. "However, I suggest you consider another solution."

Harry was secretly stuffing the third, discarded letter into his sleeve when he heard this and looked up.

Kane's expression reminded him of the twins preparing to play a prank.

"The Weasley twins." Kane's voice carried just the right amount of sincerity.

"They're very knowledgeable about innovative products, and..." He glanced meaningfully at the pile of fan gifts on Lockhart's desk, "...and their prices are reasonable."

Lockhart's eyes lit up: "You mean those two red-haired kids who were with you last time...? But they weren't..."

"It just so happens that an automatic writing quill pen has been developed."

Kane interrupted him, "As far as I know, it's already possible to imitate specific handwriting with 99% similarity."

He lightly brushed away non-existent dust from his cuffs. "Of course, if you'd rather continue staying up all night replying to letters..."

"No! Of course not!" Lockhart rummaged through his address book like a drowning man grasping at a straw. "I remember they're... ah!"

He pulled out a piece of parchment covered in doodles. "They even tried to sell me a singing Valentine's Day card today!"

Harry almost choked on his own saliva.

He knew perfectly well what Fred and George were developing—those "automatic writing quills" that had just turned Seamus's potion thesis into a love poem yesterday.

Kane had already walked towards the door, his black robes billowing behind him like raven wings: "I believe they will give you an...unforgettable working experience."

He added a subtle emphasis to the word "unforgettable".

"Wait!" Lockhart suddenly called out to them, a forced smile plastered on his face. "Same time next week? I mean... your performance has been just too..."

"I'm afraid that won't work, Professor." Kane opened the oak door without turning around. "Next week we all have to help Professor Snape process a batch of... special potion ingredients."

Upon hearing Snape's name, Lockhart immediately deflated like a punctured balloon: "Ah! Right! That...that cold-faced professor's job is definitely not..."

His voice stopped abruptly because Kane had disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

Harry hurriedly followed, catching up with Kane at the top of the stairs: "Why did you recommend the twins? Their products seem to have some problems right now..."