Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"Lockhart wouldn't be stupid enough to buy something with a problem!"

"That's why they won't buy it if there's a problem!"

Harry quickly realized what Kane had said.

I hurried to catch up with the Slytherin, "But what if they really did improve..."

Kane suddenly stopped in front of the spiral staircase.

Moonlight streamed through the stained glass, casting dappled shadows on his pale face.

"Potter," he said slowly, his fingers tracing non-existent folds in his robe sleeves.

"Do you want to come back tomorrow to smell Lockhart's perfume again? To watch him adjust his wig in the mirror?"

The image immediately flashed into Harry's mind—the pungent perfume smell on Lockhart's peacock blue robes, and the bottle of hairspray studded with fake diamonds on his desk.

He couldn't help but shiver.

"So twins..."

"Just a suggestion." Kane's lips curled into a subtle smile.

"Just like I advised Crabbe not to try out new recipes in Potions class."

Harry suddenly understood something, and the corners of his mouth began to turn up.

It was Fred and George's "automatic writing quill" that turned Seamus's potion paper into a love letter to Professor Snape.

If Lockhart really buys...

"You're a devil, Malfoy," Harry blurted out, then realized what he'd said and quickly added, "I meant... uh..."

To his surprise, Kane chuckled softly, his voice like an undercurrent beneath the ice.

"Good night, Savior." With a rustling of his black robes, Slytherin's figure disappeared into the descending spiraling staircase.

The next morning, when Harry arrived at the Great Hall with dark circles under his eyes, Ron and Hermione were having a heated argument.

"That will definitely cause problems!"

Ron, with a mouthful of smoked meat, mumbled, "Who cares! That's the narcissist who went to Fred and the others to buy things... Hey Harry! Guess what good news Fred brought this morning?"

A Galleon was pushed in front of Harry.

"Merlin's stinky socks!" Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. "He really bought them?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fifty Galleons! George and Fred were showing off in the common room this morning. They even gave their brother a gold Galleon!"

She lowered her voice, "They say that pen will automatically write poetry at three in the morning..."

Their conversation was interrupted by the upcoming history of magic class.

Professor Older—no, now Professor Spencer—floated into the Great Hall, his robes more transparent than usual, as if they might vanish into thin air at any moment.

"Today we're talking about the Fairy Rebellion..." Professor Spencer's dry voice sounded like the rustling of withered leaves. "Please turn to... um... page..."

Harry struggled with sleepiness for the entire class period.

Professor Spencer's lectures were a hundred times more tedious than Alder's; he described the goblin rebellion like a Ministry of Magic tax report.

Neville was sleeping soundly in the front row, drooling, which slowed down even Hermione's note-taking.

"I'm actually starting to miss Professor Old..." Ron muttered, rubbing his red eyes. "Even though the exams were weird, at least his classes were a pleasure."

When the bell rang, Professor Spencer was still slowly reciting the goblin leader's name: "...Grenok...wait, I think I forgot one..."

In the corridor, Harry and Ron were discussing the afternoon's Quidditch practice plan when they were suddenly interrupted by a series of hurried footsteps.

"Harry! Harry!"

Colin Crevey charged at him like a cannonball, camera strap wrapped around his neck, waving a photograph in his hand.

"I've developed it! The photo of you and Professor Lockhart! Could you... I mean... sign it?"

Harry stood frozen in place.

The photo shows the horrific scene that took place yesterday in Lockhart's office—he was forced to stand next to that narcissist, Lockhart's arm constricting his shoulders like an iron band.

To make matters worse, Colin somehow managed to turn the photo into an old-fashioned black and white style, adding patterns to the edges, making it look like some kind of commemorative postcard.

"Uh... Colin..."

"I've already made twenty copies!" Colin said excitedly, pulling a stack of photos out of his bag.

"A fan column I'm preparing to send to The Daily Prophet! Look at this one, I deliberately increased the contrast..."

Ron made a strange sound that was somewhere between a cough and a laugh.

Hermione pretended to study the portrait on the wall, but Harry noticed her shoulders were shaking.

"Listen, Colin..." Harry tried to politely decline, "I feel that these kinds of private photos..."

"Oh! You're right!" Colin's eyes suddenly lit up. "It should be presented in a more artistic way!"

He quickly pulled a bottle of gold powder from his bag. "I can sprinkle this on the edges to increase the shine."

Harry looked to Ron for help in despair, only to find his red-haired friend had already retreated three meters away, making his famous "take care" gesture.

"Actually..." Harry quickly came up with a solution, "Professor Lockhart seems to forbid students from distributing his image... due to copyright issues..."

Colin's smile froze: "Really?"

"Absolutely true." Harry nodded solemnly, secretly grateful for Kane's earlier mention of the Daily Prophet's shareholding issue.

"Malfoy told me himself. You know, his family owns shares in the newspaper..."

This reason worked surprisingly well. Colin deflated like a punctured balloon: "Okay... then these..."

He looked at the stack of photos in his hand with frustration.

"It'll be nice to keep it as a souvenir," Harry said quickly, quietly taking two steps back. "I have to go to Potions class..."

After getting rid of Colin, Harry bumped into someone unexpected around the corner.

Kane was leaning against the stone beast statue, fiddling with a pair of glasses in his hand.

Sunlight streamed through the high window and shone on his gold-rimmed glasses, the light reflecting off the lenses falling precisely on the stack of photos Colin had just handed to Harry.

"Looks like the savior needs an agent," Kane said slowly, "or... a bodyguard?"

He looked meaningfully at Lockhart's gleaming teeth in the photo.

Harry suddenly had an idea: "Colin seems to idolize you." He handed over a photograph. "How about..."

Kane looked like he'd been given a lemon.

He tapped his wand lightly, and the photograph instantly turned into a pile of silver powder.

"I suggest you learn the Disillusionment Charm, Potter." He turned and headed toward the underground classroom. "Unless you want to see your face printed on a Chocolate Frog card in Hogsmeade."

The Potions class cellar was colder than usual.

Snape hovered around the classroom like a giant bat, and the students shrank back wherever his black robes swept across.

"Today I'm making a simple potion to treat boils," he hissed. "Foolish people will just drink their own potion later!"

Harry and Ron's cauldrons turned an eerie orange-red in the third minute.

Harry's old cheat codes are no longer useful.

Hermione's potion, on the other hand, was unbelievably perfect—a clear, pale blue liquid with a pearly sheen on its surface.

Snape's lips twitched as he walked past her.

"Miss Granger," he said ominously, "if you could spare half the energy you spend showing off your intelligence for those... students who are intellectually deficient..."

Just then, the door to the underground classroom was suddenly kicked open.