Chapter 220: Guidance

Wade was taken aback when he was suddenly grabbed by Lockhart. He blinked, and before he could say anything, a photo frame was shoved into his hand.

Lockhart, dressed in a golden wizard's robe, strutted around in the picture, flashing his proud smile with his dazzlingly white teeth. 

His distinctive, flamboyant signature adorned the bottom-right corner of the frame, complete with a playful little flower doodle at the end.

"Take it. This is what you've always wanted." 

Lockhart declared confidently, draping an arm around Wade's shoulder without waiting for a response. Holding his own photo with him, he enthusiastically added, "Smile, Wade!"

With a sharp click, a black camera captured the moment.

As the faint white smoke cleared, Wade squinted toward the camera. When the bulky camera was lowered, the face behind it wasn't Gryffindor's Colin Creevey as he had expected, but Rolf Scamander.

The boy gave a subtle blink, and Wade responded with a genuine smile of his own.

"Thank you, Rolf!" Wade said.

Lockhart gave Rolf a hearty pat on the shoulder and said warmly, "Don't forget to send me a copy of the photo once it's developed. Here's your payment."

He handed Rolf one of his autographed photos.

"Of course, Professor! Thank you, Professor!" Rolf, with his camera hanging around his neck, accepted the signed photo with an expression of great delight.

"If you want another photo together, just let me know anytime, Wade!" Lockhart called back to Wade loudly. "You know you're one of my favorite students, and I'd never refuse such a small request!"

After ensuring the nearby students heard his proclamation and solidified the impression of a "close teacher-student bond," Lockhart noticed the faint smirk on Wade's face. 

Before Wade could reply, he quickly pushed past the surrounding students and left in haste.

A group of girls gathered their courage and rushed after him.

"Professor, can I get your autograph too?"

"Professor, I want a signed photo as well!"

Lockhart had barely walked a few steps before being surrounded by the girls. He happily pulled out his quill, beaming with pride as he began signing away.

Only then did Rolf approach Wade.

"When I saw Professor Lockhart asking Gryffindor's Creevey to be his photographer, I figured you wouldn't enjoy that kind of scene. So, I volunteered to step in," Rolf said.

Rolf explained in a low voice, "I'll destroy the film when I get back. If he asks, I'll just say it got exposed to light and ruined."

"No, give me the photo," Wade said with a smile.

Wade's calm yet meaningful smirk left Rolf a little puzzled, but he obediently nodded. "Alright."

…

By the afternoon, Wade had the photo in hand.

The magical photograph was in black and white. In it, Lockhart's messy hair stood out as he cowered in a corner, panting. Wade himself, however, was nowhere to be seen.

After carefully searching, Wade finally spotted a small sliver of fabric at the edge of the frame—it was the hem of his robe.

Compared to him, the other students in the photo were much more prominent. For instance, Fred was visibly shaking his money pouch with a sly grin, standing alongside George, who wore the same mischievous expression.

Holding this barely-passable "group photo" and camera slung over his shoulder, Wade made his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office.

Back when Quirrell was still teaching, Wade had avoided this area entirely. But since class required them to pass by regularly, he knew exactly where the office was.

This afternoon, there were no Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. Wade knocked on the door, and it was promptly opened.

Lockhart, likely expecting an adoring fan, had a quill poised for signing in his hand. When he saw Wade, a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"Oh, Wade... it's you…"

Faced with those calm, gray eyes, Lockhart instinctively avoided Wade's gaze and suddenly felt a bit uneasy.

"I've brought you the photo, Professor," Wade said, holding up the picture. Just as Lockhart began to sigh in relief, Wade added, "I'd also like to ask for your guidance on some Defense Against the Dark Arts techniques."

"Oh, oh, I see. Well, come in," Lockhart said, regaining his polished smile.

—After all, he is just a kid.

Feeling reassured, Lockhart invited Wade into the room.

Wade stepped inside and then slammed the door shut with a loud "clang."

Lockhart's heart skipped a beat. He turned around to see Wade already holding his wand.

"The Disarming Charm you demonstrated in the club—I'm still a little unclear on it. Could you guide me through it again?" the dark-haired boy asked softly.

"Ah… well… uh… of course," Lockhart stammered. His eyes flicked to the photo in Wade's hand, realizing the boy had no intention of handing it over yet. Reluctantly, he agreed.

Drawing his wand, Lockhart felt a twinge of apprehension. However, he reminded himself that the boy in front of him was just a young student—an alchemist, at that. That thought was oddly comforting.

—An alchemist... Even if he's mastered a couple of spells like Ignore, his overall magical abilities shouldn't be anything exceptional.

Lockhart reassured himself. 

After all, my own proficiency mostly lay in Memory Charms. And no matter how poor my Defense Against the Dark Arts skills are, there is no way a second-year student can outmatch me... surely?

…

Michael checked the time, bid his friends goodbye, and climbed the marble staircase to the third floor. He pressed his ear against the door to Lockhart's office but couldn't hear a thing.

He tried asking Wade a question in the Book of Friends, but there was no reply.

Sighing, Michael pulled out his wand, pointed it at the lock, and muttered, "Alohomora."

The lock clicked open.

Michael barely cracked the door ajar when a loud bang erupted, followed by the sound of crashing and breaking. Startled, he pulled back, bracing himself. Once the noise subsided, he cautiously peeked inside.

The office was a mess—broken jars, scattered picture frames, and shattered glass littered the floor. The magical photos showed Lockhart cowering in corners, his usually beaming image now quivering in fear.

Lockhart himself was slumped against the wall, eyes shut. His face was bruised and swollen, streaked with blood, and a large splatter of green ink stained his chest.

Michael's eyes widened. He hurried into the office, closed the door behind him, and whispered urgently, "Is he still alive?"

He rolled up his sleeves as if preparing to help cover up a crime and looked genuinely concerned.

Wade, who had intended to ask why Michael was sneaking around, couldn't help but laugh at the comment.

"Of course he is. I was just asking for guidance on the Disarming Charm. Professor Lockhart was... extremely dedicated to teaching." Wade spoke casually as he raised his camera and snapped a photo of Lockhart.

The flash went off, and Lockhart reflexively smiled for the picture before the reality of his condition hit him. He let out a low groan, clearly miserable.

Hearing this, Michael visibly relaxed.

"I thought you'd gone and killed our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor…" he muttered.

"How could I?" Wade replied with mock innocence. "It's not easy for Professor Dumbledore to find us a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Besides…"

He crouched down slightly. Lockhart, noticing the movement, scrambled back, trying to put distance between them.

Wade spoke politely, "I personally don't like my photograph appearing in any newspaper or magazine, nor do I wish to be associated with a celebrity of your stature. Can you understand how I feel?"

Lockhart, clutching the wound on his forehead, stared at Wade with fear. His gaze flitted between the camera, the photograph in Wade's hand, and the boy's calm demeanor before quickly nodding.

"Thank you for your understanding."

The "group photo" in Wade's hand suddenly ignited, and within seconds, it was reduced to a small pile of black ash that fluttered down to the cluttered floor.

"Well then, we'll take our leave… Dinner time is approaching. Thank you so much for your dedicated instruction today, Professor Lockhart," Wade said as he rose to his feet.

Looking at the disheveled professor sprawled on the floor, Wade added softly, "I hope you take care of yourself, Professor. If there's an opportunity, I'd love to learn more spells from you in the future."

Michael couldn't help but mentally remark, That's a threat, isn't it? That's definitely a threat! Look at Professor Lockhart—he looks like he's about to cry!

Though Michael thought these things, he didn't feel the slightest sympathy for Lockhart.

The two turned to leave. Michael stepped over a couple of broken frames and reached out to pull the door open. Wade, for some reason, was walking slower than usual.

Behind them, Lockhart's eyes flickered as he watched Wade casually wipe his wand and tuck it back into his pocket. Suppressing the searing pain that made it feel as though his bones were shattered, Lockhart stretched out a trembling hand and grasped his own wand.

He hesitated for a moment. Just as the two were about to step out of the room, he finally raised his wand and shouted:

"Obli—"

BANG!

Lockhart didn't even see how Wade moved. He only felt an impact as if a rhinoceros had slammed into his chest. The force sent him flying backward, slamming against the wall with a loud "smack" before he slid down slowly.

His nose felt like it had been broken, and the sharp, unbearable pain brought tears streaming down his face. Even so, he struggled to open his eyes and see—

Wade's hands were empty. His wand wasn't even in sight.

He pointed at Lockhart with one hand and his expression was seemingly unfazed, while Michael, standing beside him, looked both shocked and angry.

"No need to see us out, Professor."

Lockhart heard his student speak down to him: "You really caused trouble today."

The sound of footsteps echoed as the office door slammed shut with a bang.

"That's so despicable!"

As soon as Lockhart stepped outside, he heard Michael angrily say, "As a professor, he actually ambushed you! Using the Obliviate spell! That's illegal!"

Wade's voice was low, and he couldn't hear exactly what was said, it was followed by more of Michael's curses.

It was as if Michael was the one who had been wronged.

The voices quickly faded away, until they could no longer be heard.

Lockhart wiped the blood from his nose, for the first time not caring about maintaining his perfect image. His head was filled with a dull, buzzing sound.

He felt as if he might have suffered a concussion.

But more importantly—

The non-verbal wandless spell... Is this really the level of a twelve-year-old student?

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