Chapter 33: Severus's Potions Class
The Dark Lord's curse did not bring any trouble to Lockhart's school life.
Apart from daily classes, he tried to avoid wandering around the school unnecessarily to prevent triggering any events; after class, he either stayed alone in the library or his office reading, or he spent time with the students from the 'N.E.W.T. Enhancement Class' and the 'Duelling Club,' any one of whom was more powerful than him.
—He had always been like this.
Nothing had changed.
This afternoon could be said to be the most crowded day in Lockhart's office.
All the members of the Enhancement Class and the club were present.
The timetables for the upper years weren't packed from morning till night like the lower years, so they had enough time to come to the professor for training.
As for why the club members were also here, this had to do with Madam Hooch of the flying class. It was said that she had messed up the lesson again, and apart from the student who was injured and took all the blame, the other young wizards had another relaxed and pleasant afternoon.
Harry and his friends wouldn't have been so obedient as to run to the professor's office for detention during their hard-earned free time, but when they turned around and saw Draco and his friends coming straight over without stopping, well, how could they be outdone?
And so, over forty young wizards crammed into the office.
But surprisingly, it was quiet.
Harry and his friends were diligently searching for information and organizing notes, and the upper-year students in the Enhancement Class were also buried in writing, working on last year's exam questions that Lockhart had obtained from the Ministry of Magic.
The results of the N.E.W.T. exams concerned the future of these young wizards.
And it was almost decisive.
Not to mention the extremely strict grade requirements of various departments in the Ministry of Magic, other organizations and institutions in society also only wanted the top few.
For example, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries required healers they hired to have a minimum grade of 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher in at least five subjects.
This requirement was already as difficult as becoming an Auror in the Ministry of Magic!
Even the 'special talents' of the wizarding world—Quidditch players.
Besides requiring young wizards to have extremely strong talent, they also needed impressive achievements before graduation—at least standing out from the school team and entering the national Quidditch team.
In the Triwizard Tournament in the original story, Viktor Krum from Durmstrang Institute, before the competition, had already led the national team as a Seeker all the way to the Quidditch World Cup final.
There weren't that many proper jobs in the wizarding world, and not many in the private sector either. If one wanted to go into business, unless they had a unique skill like the Weasley twins, they could only go home to inherit a place like Hannah Abbott inheriting the Leaky Cauldron.
This was the cruel reality facing the upper-year students!
As long as they failed one subject, it could almost be said that they would be completely cut off from good jobs for the rest of their lives.
Of course, those with particularly good family backgrounds were an exception, like Draco and Pansy, or like Newt Scamander, who could still go to work at the Ministry of Magic even if they dropped out of school.
This was also why Voldemort's pure-blood supremacy could get such a widespread response. The resources in the wizarding world were too scarce, and they had to fight for them.
The vast majority of wizards could only struggle at the bottom for their entire lives.
Those who were inherently poor students were okay, like Snape's mother, who married a Muggle furniture dealer. Even when her family fell on hard times, she had no regrets about leaving the wizarding society.
There were too many such people; Lockhart's mother was also like this.
The most frightening were those in between, who, in order to compete for more social resources, naturally began to come into contact with simple, easy-to-learn, yet powerful dark magic.
In this way, there were far too many dark wizards in the strict sense, so much so that the Ministry of Magic had to turn a blind eye to places like Knockturn Alley. The situation was the same in every country.
Otherwise, if another ambitious big shot shouted "Dark Magic Supremacy," and people flocked to him like shadows, it would be another war sweeping across the entire wizarding world.
In such a social environment.
Lockhart's achievements, a low-level wizard from an ordinary mixed-blood family who mingled in the upper circles of the wizarding world by writing best-selling books, further highlighted the value of his personal brand.
In the eyes of the lower classes of wizarding society, people would think that Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel were very powerful, but they were too distant, too ethereal. People like Lockhart, however, could truly become their idols, worshiped madly.
Their obsession with Lockhart was less about being infatuated with him and more about being infatuated with a beautiful dream that seemed within reach.
And this!
This was the underlying logic for why Lockhart had topped the best-seller list for six consecutive years!
His writing was for the largest number of people at the bottom of wizarding society, and the knowledge points he selected to include in his books were the most practical for these lower-class individuals, rather than being reference books for professionals like school professors or Aurors.
Although the spending power of these fans seemed low, he was a globally renowned author, and the population base was too large, making it incredibly easy to maintain the top spot on the best-seller list.
"Unsurprisingly~"
Lockhart casually tossed aside the congratulatory card sent by his former schoolmate Rita Skeeter, not taking this achievement to heart.
See, he wasn't gloating; he just clearly knew why he could succeed, but in other people's eyes, it was exceptionally boastful.
Writing a letter to arrange a date for an on-campus exclusive interview with his former schoolmate and entrusting it to an owl, Lockhart once again focused his attention on the book in his hands.
Most Potent Potions, a forbidden book, all the potions in it were categorized by the Ministry of Magic as prohibited from production, trading, and use.
All the potions in the book had a very clear characteristic: someone stealing something from another person.
For example, Polyjuice Potion stole the appearance of another person.
And the "Mischievous Brain Elixir" he was currently reading was also like this.
Its effect was to extract the brain matter containing soul fragments from the skull of a deceased person. After brewing it into a potion and drinking it, one could know the last words of the deceased, hence its other name, "Last Words Potion."
Of course, one could also conveniently receive the deceased's inheritance, such as their bloodline abilities.
With such an evil potion effect, Harry Potter must have felt it deeply. He had a soul fragment of Voldemort in his head, which easily gave him the Parseltongue bloodline ability.
The book also cited a very heretical case—
A witch hysterically shouted: You have no idea what I want!
A wizard painfully pulled out his wand: I'll figure it out, I swear, Avada Kedavra!
Then, he extracted the brain matter, brewed the potion, drank it, and knowing that the witch loved him so deeply, he followed her in a suicide pact.
The author's intention in compiling this short story was almost directly stated—one could kill the other party first without being confined to the corpse.
Lockhart tsked, shook his head, and continued reading the detailed instructions that followed.
And then...
Then he tragically discovered that he seemed unable to understand what was being described inside.
Specialization in a field.
The original Lockhart was a poor student. Among the dozen or so powerful wizards in his memory, quite a few had the skill of brewing potions, but most were not from the academic school.
There were witches who traditionally brewed potions in large vats, and tribal witch doctors who fed magical creatures herbs to make potions, all sorts of strange folk methods.
There was a half-baked academic, but all the memories were about a half-baked apothecary professional businessman who sold watered-down low-quality love potions as perfume, these outrageous and embarrassing operations.
He felt the constraint of insufficient "memory" reserves in his brain for the first time.
Oh, no, he couldn't think in this direction.
Lockhart thought for a moment, then simply packed up his things and stood up. Professional matters should still be left to professionals, just like even someone as powerful as Professor McGonagall would seek his help when encountering difficulties in the field of Defence Against the Dark Arts.
He had to go find Senior Snape.
Lockhart looked around at the children, seeing that everyone was working hard and not disturbing him, he called out to the Wailing Widow and Crookshanks sitting on the branches high up in the dense foliage, overlooking the young wizards.
This had been agreed upon last night: to have them follow him whenever he went out in the future.
The Wailing Widow jumped down from the tree, and before she could pounce on him, she extended strands of pink tendrils like glowing jellyfish that pierced into his body and instantly disappeared into him.
She still couldn't control her abilities well and could only choose to hide.
Crookshanks was much more relaxed and stood directly on Lockhart's shoulder.
He waved his paw, and a wisp of black smoke emerged from the peach tree hollow by the fireplace, quickly circled the treetops, and then burrowed into the sleeve of Lockhart's wizard robes.
As for the Billywig, it had long been placed in the pocket of his wizard robes.
This was all of Lockhart's current combat power. Compared to the almost dispensable wand, these magical creatures gave him far too much security.
Going out.
Approaching Senior Snape's office again, a familiar smell of seafood hotpot wafted over.
This potion, brewed since the beginning of the school year, still wasn't ready.
The office door was open. Looking inside, Lockhart could see Snape seemingly buried in writing at the large long table at the far end.
Lockhart raised his hand and knocked on the door, a bright smile on his face. "Senior Snape!"
He called out several times, but the other party didn't respond, as if he were entranced.
Lockhart hesitated for a moment and simply walked in. Looking up, he saw the long table was messily filled with稿紙. The top sheet, in the format of a book cover, read: Severus's Potions Classroom by Severus Snape.
Yoho~
Senior, didn't you say you weren't interested in publishing a book?
Lockhart chuckled and surprisingly saw a pile of reference books filled with bookmarks and folded pages beside the table:
Breaking Up with a Banshee
A Stroll with a Ghoul
Vacationing with a Hag
Traveling with a Troll
Sailing with a Vampire
...
All of them were his own works.
"What should I write next..." Snape muttered, pinching his quill, looking very troubled with a furrowed brow as he stared at the稿紙.
Lockhart leaned over and glanced, very experiencedly immediately giving an answer, "Add a short story about the application of the potion scene to increase reading interest and also make it easier for readers to understand the effect of this potion..."
Snape suddenly understood and lowered his head to write again.
Writing... writing...
His hand froze.
Slowly raising his head, as if his neck weighed a thousand pounds, as if afraid to look at the person behind him, he turned his neck little by little.
What came into view was precisely the person he least wanted to see right now.
"Hi~"
Lockhart's smile was radiant. "Good afternoon~"
Boom~
The wordless, wandless "Incendio" instantly engulfed everything on the long table. Snape almost instinctively drew his wand and quickly waved it, aiming at Lockhart. "Obliviate!"
But unfortunately.
If he had intended to cast other spells, it would have been fine, but it was specifically the Memory Charm. Just as he started to make the gesture of waving his wand, Lockhart had already made a dodging motion.
He couldn't be more familiar with this magic.
No one was more familiar with it than him.
"Obliviate!"
"Obliviate!"
Three consecutive spells in an instant, none of them hitting.
"Hey, Senior Snape, don't be excited, don't be excited. There's nothing wrong with writing a book, calm down!" Lockhart shouted while dodging the spells.
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