Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle

Lockhart arrived just a moment later.

As soon as he sat down at the guest of honor table, several perceptive professors noticed his changes.

Lockhart sat in his corner seat and ate alone. Normally, he would have sat in the main seat. He did not comment on their topic casually, but silently cut the steak with his knife and fork. He did not have his signature smile on his face, like a calm old professor.

The suspicious looks of several people caught Lockhart's attention. He raised his head slightly and gave them a questioning look.

Professor McGonagall obviously knew or guessed something. She suspected that there was something wrong with Lockhart's magic and asked tentatively, "Professor Lockhart... do you remember us?"

"Professor McGonagall is such a joke."

Lockhart smiled and greeted his colleagues in a gentle and appropriate tone: "There's a little problem with my wand. I was just wondering when to take it to Ollivander's to get it repaired, or just get a new one."

Then he continued eating without joining in their conversation.

"How strange..." Flitwick scratched his head.

Lockhart had made the Head of House the subject of much ridicule by his colleagues during his school days, and Flitwick still remembered the foolishness of it, like carving his own name all over the Quidditch pitch, projecting his own image into the sky like the Dark Mark, sending himself eight hundred Valentine's Day cards, and forcing him to cancel breakfast because so much owl droppings and feathers had fallen into his cereal.

It's been almost a semester since the start of school, and Lockhart's personality is still the same as when he was a student, but he suddenly changed today, which is really confusing.

Several professors were puzzled, but didn't say much. They spent the next few minutes quietly observing Lockhart, not knowing whether he had truly changed or was planning something big.

Melvin chewed the tender beef ribs, anticipating further changes in Lockhart.

In the field of memory magic, to which the Oblivion Charm belongs, Lockhart can be considered a technical expert. Melvin can only speculate on his actions. Which memories has this best-selling author sealed up of his own, and which memories of adventurers and warriors has he woven into his memory?

How long would the Oblivion Spell last, and would he deceive himself forever?

Flitwick, who was standing next to him, patted his arm. "Melvin, let's continue talking about the Ship of Theseus. If all the components of an object are replaced, is it still the same thing?"

……

The day's classes ended, the dinner was over, and Professor Lockhart returned to his office.

This office was furnished similarly to the others in the castle, with a desk, a comfortable chair, walnut bookshelves, and shelves for his personal collection. It was unremarkable, but his portraits and photos hung everywhere, covering almost every wall, ensuring that his perfect smile could be seen from every angle.

The bookshelves are filled with his own works, special collector's editions with gold-stamped titles and gorgeous covers. On the display cabinets are newspaper pages where he has appeared, trophies and medals he has won, all shining brightly in the candlelight.

For some reason, Lockhart looked around the room he had decorated and felt less satisfied than usual.

But he doesn't care about that.

Lockhart breathed a sigh of relief, took off his formal suit and hung it at the door, then sat down behind the desk and took out his wand to check it over and over again. From what he could see, there was nothing wrong with the wand, but several attempts to cast spells today had failed.

Simple little ice and snow magic, what went wrong?

Lockhart couldn't understand.

As far as he could remember, he hadn't made such a mistake for a long time. After graduation, he traveled around and collected many adventure stories. He adapted these stories into first-person novels and became a well-known best-selling author.

Inspired by these novels, Lockhart embarked on a real adventure himself, choosing a snowy village deep in the Himalayas.

Looking back, he clearly remembered how he spent those cold nights, how he dealt with the yeti, and how he fought with wits and courage... After nearly three months of hard fighting, with the help of the villagers, he finally managed to make the yeti catch a cold with his magic.

Lockhart dug into his memories, combined with the little remaining magical understanding from his student days, slowly waved his wand, and whispered the spell:

【Snowflakes Falling】

A few cold white flakes floated down, emitting a crystal light.

Lockhart couldn't help but smile. Just as the clock struck punctually, he looked up and saw himself in the mirror. He then froze in place, with many sealed things surging from the depths of his pupils.

Lockhart's smile froze on his face as he digested those sealed memories, re-recognized himself, or rather, found himself again. This shift in thinking brought him a strange feeling, a little dazed, a little stunned.

Looking back on today’s memories, a wonderful feeling fills my heart.

The students exclaimed in amazement, the little witches looked in awe, and the colleagues discussed in confusion...

This was what Lockhart had always dreamed of, honor and fame, as if all of it had been obtained through the replacement of memories. He waved his wand, and many ice crystals scattered out, like ribbons falling on the stage.

"I even learned magic..."

Lockhart looked at himself in the mirror and smiled his perfect, bright smile again.

……

As November approaches, the temperature in Hogwarts begins to drop.

It started to sleet.

The school hall began to serve more hot soups, and many young wizards could smell the aroma of cream of mushroom soup when they burped. Cold desserts were a little neglected, and could only be eaten when the stomach was almost full, accompanied by some chat.

Although Hermione doesn't have many friends, she is able to keep up with the trends and know the hot topics among her classmates, all thanks to her two roommates.

Lavender and Parvati took their meals, exchanged a few dishes, commented on them, and began to talk about Lockhart.

Professor Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts class does not differentiate between grades, and the class content is basically the same. In the past, this arrangement was criticized by many students, but as the Himalayan Yeti chapter gradually unfolded, the students really learned something, and Professor Lockhart's reputation began to change.

"The professor said that in the Himalayas, if you freeze your fingers, thaw them, and then freeze them again, over and over again, they become like French fries." Lavender's voice was shrill and slightly high-pitched, and could be heard by everyone around.

"..."

Parvati looked at her plate. "Could you please not say that while I'm eating fish and chips?"

“It’s even more like it with ketchup!”

"vomit……"

There was a commotion at the Hufflepuff table next door, and Hermione calmly reached out and pushed Harry's fries away.

"Professor Lockhart isn't that bad, actually. What do you think, Parvati?"

"But when school started, he really..."

"Maybe the wand isn't suitable. It got damaged during a previous adventure. Just like Neville and Ron in the past, he didn't need to replace it. He just fixed it."

"..."

The conversation also reached Harry's ears. He sprinkled ketchup on the French fries and stuffed them into his mouth one by one, with a thoughtful look in his eyes: "Could it be that Lockhart is really not a liar?"

I picked up the fried fish and was about to taste it when I suddenly felt a chill on my fingers.

He shuddered and realized that it was Nick's head that popped out from under the long table. He couldn't help but widen his eyes and said, "Nick! Will you ever come out from up there again? I thought my fingers were frozen into French fries!"

"..."

Nick turned his head, his expression dazed and his eyes dull.

"Nick, Nick?" Ron called twice.

"..."

Hermione called out tentatively, "Sir Mimsy Porpington?"

Nick gradually came back to his senses. Ignoring the puzzled expressions of the young wizards, he asked softly, "What if there is such a person who looks exactly like you and thinks the same way as you? He has all your memories, knows all your relatives and friends, and knows all your secrets. Do you think he is another you?"

Several people looked at each other, not knowing what was going on.

Ron scratched his head and said uncertainly, "Is... isn't it?"

Harry looked at him worriedly, "Nick, are you okay?"

"What Professor Lewynter said at the Deathday party and what was left in Ravenclaw Tower were all Muggle philosophical questions. There are no answers to these questions, so don't get too hung up on them," Hermione explained. "We all know that ghosts are the souls of wizards."

Nick's eyes lit up a little more: "If all these things change, will the ghost still be the same ghost?"

The three of them could not give an answer and could only watch the ghost gradually drift away and disappear into the wall.

"Ugh……"

Ron used his fork to stir the chops on his plate. "It's all Professor Lewynter's fault. These ghosts have been acting weird lately. I wonder if they can recover this winter."

Hermione opened her mouth, but no retort came out.

Throughout history, wise men who studied philosophical problems were either insane or depressed, and many even committed suicide. These ghosts have been suffering for too long, and their personalities are extreme and stubborn. It does seem a bit unethical for Professor Lewint to throw this kind of question to them.

……

With sleet, real heavy snow will soon arrive.

The cold wave in the Scottish Highlands came extremely quickly. The bare branches of the Whomping Willow were soon covered with frost. The howling north wind knocked on the castle walls and windows day and night. The other colleges were fine, but Slytherin College was located underground, and the fireplace had to be kept burning all night.

Many students had colds, and those who were weaker had to go to the school infirmary two or three times a week, keeping Madam Pomfrey busy.

On Thursday afternoon, Melvin was drafted again by Professor McGonagall, and the two went to Hogsmeade to buy supplies in preparation for the upcoming Christmas.

The shop owner was very enthusiastic and generous with his discounts and offers, but he asked in a roundabout way if there were any movies showing during the Christmas holidays, and Melvin could only deal with it.

Back at school, the greenhouse was crowded with second-year students. They were taking Herbology classes and tending to the cold-sensitive mandrakes. There were players on the Quidditch field riding brooms and having snowball fights. There was also a frozen Black Lake where a group of little wizards were skating. Mixed in with the noisy laughter were some sobbing voices, which were from people who had fallen and were crying about their sore butts.

Walking into the castle hall, I saw two figures standing in the courtyard from afar, one old and one young.

"It seems to be Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Ah."

Professor McGonagall was resentful. The vice-headmaster was running around outside in the snow, and the headmaster was idle and getting wet in the snow, which was annoying to see.

Dumbledore was wearing a gray and white wizard robe, the kind with thick velvet. His back was thin and slender, and his shoulders were covered with snow. Standing there, he looked like an old wizard with extraordinary temperament.

The man in the blue robe was of course Lockhart, with a snow-white mink hairband wrapped around his head. It was shiny and sleek, gorgeous and high-profile, attracting everyone's attention.

Melvin nodded slightly. It seemed that there was no Defense Against the Dark Arts class this afternoon. This was the Lockhart who had the perfect smile.

Professor McGonagall was going to the office to check the accounts. Melvin said goodbye to the Vice-Principal at the bottom of the stairs and came to the courtyard to greet them: "Look at the snow. The scenery is better over there in the Forbidden Forest."

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head: "I am old and afraid of the cold. I don't want to stay outdoors for too long."

"Going out with the Vice-Principal to enjoy the flattery of those merchants, huh?"

Lockhart nudged him with his arm, with the familiarity of a fellow traveler.

"..."

He didn't want to respond to either of these two people's words.

Melvin felt a little uncomfortable. He should have just gone upstairs with Professor McGonagall. Why did she come over to say hello?

"I'm talking to the principal about the club."

Lockhart, with his memory intact, showed a smug expression and spoke in that familiar tone, "I've come up with a brilliant idea. It's not enough to just teach theory in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Students need practice and need to learn how to fight in real combat."

"what do you mean?"

"Duel Club!"

Lockhart showed a notice: "I have decided to set up a dueling club. We will organize dueling practice every week to teach them real wizard dueling. Once they leave school, they will be able to resist the invasion of dark creatures and dark wizards."