Chapter 221: Photos and Crabs

When Monday arrived again, Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor took an unprecedented two-day leave, and even refused visits from concerned students.

Lockhart's admirers gathered outside his office, and they anxiously asked about his condition and offered various remedies and homemade treats.

Hermione was among them. Rejected at the door like the others, she brought back the latest news for everyone:

"Professor Lockhart injured himself while researching werewolf curses."

Frowning with worry, she said, "It's incredible! I mean—how many people care about minority groups as much as he does, sacrificing his own health for their welfare?"

She borrowed several books on potions, hoping to find something to help the professor recover faster.

Harry's mouth opened slightly as if to say something but closed again.

Harry had already concluded that Lockhart was a fraud, but Hermione had a different opinion.

Michael raised an eyebrow at Wade.

In private, he remarked incredulously, "Lockhart didn't report this to Dumbledore?"

"I guess—he doesn't want people to know he's no match even for a second-year student," Wade replied nonchalantly.

Michael nodded and added, "Taking that photo in the end was clever. For someone like Professor Lockhart, who cares so much about his image, he definitely wouldn't want that picture ending up in the papers, right?"

Despite his words, Michael felt a little uneasy about crossing the professor.

When Lockhart eventually returned to classes after recovering, Michael remained cautious. He silently observed him and felt tense during lessons, worried about potential retaliation.

If such a situation arose, Wade would likely challenge the professor to "demonstrate magic" again. But if Wade humiliated Lockhart in front of everyone like before, it would undoubtedly lead to trouble.

Surprisingly, Lockhart seemed disinclined to seek revenge. Instead, he avoided direct eye contact with the two of them, though at times he appeared as if he wanted to say something but held back.

Michael remained highly vigilant.

After all, this was someone who would use Memory Charms on students behind their backs. Even if his magical abilities were subpar, he was still dangerous.

"Why did Dumbledore hire him as a professor?"

Michael couldn't help but complain to Wade, "Our Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons are basically all self-study. A professor like him is worse than none at all!"

"You won't have to endure it much longer," Wade said. "He'll be leaving the school soon—and possibly heading to Azkaban."

Michael's eyes lit up. "What did you do?"

"What could I possibly do while still at school?" Wade replied.

Wade said helplessly, "It's Sirius… Do you remember the incident where Lockhart removed the bones from Harry's arm? Sirius was furious about it back then and has been holding a grudge ever since!"

This was something Lupin had told Wade a couple of days earlier.

The joint operation to capture dark wizards had predictably been ineffective, and Sirius had fallen into a melancholy mood over the situation with Regulus.

To cheer him up, Lupin brought up old topics. As soon as Lockhart was mentioned, Sirius's anger flared—

"He couldn't even perform a basic healing spell properly! There's no way someone with such a big reputation is legitimate! When I catch him red-handed, I'll make sure he gets a taste of Azkaban too!"

With that, Sirius stormed off to investigate Lockhart, and Lupin temporarily withdrew from the joint operation to accompany him.

"Won't this interfere with the main mission?" Michael couldn't help but ask.

"It won't," Wade replied with a shake of his head. 

"After weeks of effort without any useful leads, Lupin said most of the so-called elite task force from various countries has pretty much disbanded. What's left are mostly rookies and people just going through the motions."

Of course, there were also those politicians looking to score some easy achievements.

Almost every day, opening the Daily Prophet would reveal one or two familiar faces standing next to foreign Ministry of Magic officials, giving readers a rehearsed smile for the cameras.

Wade had started to feel sorry for Dumbledore—dealing with those kinds of people every day must feel like an eternity.

Compared to the bloated and sluggish "joint operation," Sirius and Lupin's investigation was progressing surprisingly smoothly.

Most of the leads came directly from Lockhart's own books. Dumbledore also seemed to "accidentally" provide some useful information, and Wade even allocated Lupin a generous "investigation budget."

"I gave Lockhart a beating," he told Lupin.

"For certain reasons, Lockhart has no choice but to swallow his pride for now. But in the future, he'll definitely come up with some scheme to retaliate. 

I don't want to wait until I suffer to strike back, so it's better to force him out of the school before he tries anything."

Lupin agreed with Wade's preemptive strategy but gently criticized him for resorting to violence against a professor.

In any case, they quickly gathered ample evidence proving that Lockhart had never fought dangerous creatures like werewolves, yetis, banshees, or ghouls as he claimed in his books.

Instead, he had stolen those stories from elderly heroes and used powerful Memory Charms to erase their memories.

Oblivious to the quiet tide rising against him, Lockhart had his pet dolphin keep watch for several days until he finally found an opportunity to corner Wade alone as he left the library.

"Professor?"

Wade politely spoke and lifted his eyes to look at the other person.

Meeting those eyes, Lockhart immediately felt his entire body ache and his scalp tingle slightly, as if reliving the moment he had witnessed Wade casting a silent, wandless spell.

Such a powerful spell, conjured out of thin air…

Lockhart had only ever dreamed of seeing himself perform such magic.

A shiver ran through him, and the words he was about to say came out in a much humbler tone—

"Mr. Grey, I… uh… I think I should apologize… for my reckless actions earlier..."

Stammering, Lockhart said, "I originally thought you wouldn't mind taking a picture together… Of course, I should have asked for your permission first… I-I'm very sorry…"

It seemed he was not used to apologizing; before he could finish his sentences, his face had already turned bright red.

Wade sighed softly.

"Alright, I accept your apology. Is there anything else, Professor?"

Hearing Wade speak so politely again gave Lockhart an overwhelming urge to flee.

That day, Wade had also addressed him as "Professor, Professor," all while slamming him against the wall like a ball, over and over again.

But just as his toes twitched in preparation to retreat, Lockhart remembered his purpose and forced himself to stay put. With hesitation, he said:

"Uh… about the photo you took that day…"

"It was just a joke," Wade said, and his tone was laced with irony. "I thought you wouldn't mind a photo…"

Those words sounded painfully familiar to Lockhart.

"Of course—"

The boy continued slowly, "If you have an issue, I could return it."

Seeing a glimmer of hope, Lockhart's voice lifted slightly: "Really? I mean—do you need something in return? Galleons? Or maybe I could write you in as a prominent character in my next book…"

"No, thank you. Just continue to ignore me, that's all I need."

Wade pulled out a prepared envelope and handed it to Lockhart.

The blond professor seemed unable to believe how simple this was turning out to be. He opened the envelope, glanced at its contents, and visibly relaxed.

"Wonderful! I thought you were going to blackmail me for something… ahem…"

Lockhart coughed awkwardly, nearly choking on his own spit.

"Professor Lockhart."

A sinister voice came from behind the blond professor, startling him. He turned around to see Filch hunched in the shadows, saying:

"There are a few girls… looking all over for you…"

Filch's tone was as lifeless as ever, but Lockhart appeared quite delighted.

"Is that so? Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Filch. Ah… the life of a celebrity is always this busy…"

He sighed in mock frustration, muttering a complaint before hurriedly taking the envelope and departing.

Even long after he left, he could still feel a chill running down his back.

"Strange students, strange caretaker... After all these years, Hogwarts is still so unappealing. They simply can't comprehend my greatness..."

Lockhart muttered to himself and rubbed the goosebumps on his arms.

Feeling the envelope in his pocket, he was suddenly much more at ease, as if he had endured great humiliation to resolve a major crisis in his life.

"Sigh… I've been too low-key lately. Life has become so dull… I need applause, attention, and the adoring gazes of young girls… Wait, isn't Valentine's Day coming up soon?"

A series of brilliant "ideas" suddenly popped into Lockhart's mind, and his steps grew lighter.

…

In the corridor, Wade was facing Filch.

Filch, who spent his days in a constant battle of wits with Gryffindors and Peeves, rarely interacted with Ravenclaws.

Yet every day, students could spot him lurking somewhere like a vulture, glaring at everyone with a dangerous, loathsome expression.

He seemed to equally despise all students, and the feeling was mutual.

But at this moment, Filch had surprisingly tidied himself up a bit. He looked a little uneasy, and tightly clutched a worn-out lizard-skin bag in his hands.

"Were you deliberately helping me out earlier, Mr. Filch?" Wade asked.

"Ah, yes!" Filch fidgeted with his cane and said, "Professor Lockhart seems to have been asking about your whereabouts a lot these past few days… When I saw him corner you just now, I thought… um… I'd step in to help…"

It seemed difficult for him to voluntarily show kindness, and Filch almost closed his eyes as he finished his sentence.

"Thank you for your help," Wade responded considerately.

"It's… it's nothing."

Filch glanced at Wade quickly and, feeling slightly more at ease due to his kind response, said:

"I've heard some students say… they said you invented a type of crab that can help clean… I went to Diagon Alley, but they weren't selling anything like it… I mean, if it's possible, could you… sell me a few? Of course, even just one would be fine..."

He raised the lizard-skin bag slightly, and the sound of metal clinking could be heard from within.

The old man looked at Wade with a hopeful expression.

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