The empty ink bottles scattered across the room floated back into place as if time itself were reversing, streams of spilled ink flowing neatly back into their containers.
The Repairing Charm, Reparo, was one of the most commonly used spells in the wizarding world. Yet, the more widespread a spell, the more it demanded precision in its execution. The more objects needed restoration, the more fragmented they were, the greater the challenge of casting it successfully.
Even though Harry performed the spell with the precision taught by Professor Flitwick, to the students watching, it was an extraordinary feat. Unlike those legendary spells they'd only heard about, Reparo was one every student had learned and attempted. Precisely because they'd tried it themselves, they understood just how difficult it was for Harry to restore the entire chaotic classroom to order.
Crawling out from under a desk, the students watched the house-elf—who moments ago had them ducking for cover—now writhing on the floor like a caterpillar, looking utterly ridiculous. Their torn books, which could have cost them a fortune in Galleons, were seamlessly whole again. Someone started clapping, and soon the classroom erupted in applause.
"Brilliant, Professor Potter!" Seamus shouted. "We need a hero like you!"
"Ahem! Well done, Harry," Lockhart said, emerging from under a table and hastily smoothing his disheveled hair. "Yes, just as I told you, that's how you handle house-elves."
Ignoring the students' mix of shock and disdain, Lockhart flashed a dazzling smile. He moved to clap Harry on the back but froze under Harry's warning glare. Unfazed, he turned to the students.
"Now, I trust you all see how vile these little devils are and how much destruction they can cause."
This time, even those who despised Lockhart's earlier performance couldn't deny his words. Though, to be fair, many found it humiliating to have been driven under desks by creatures barely taller than their shins.
"Is that so?" Ron muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "Funny, Harry seemed to handle it pretty easily."
"Lockhart's wand, Accio!" Harry, privately impressed by Lockhart's sheer audacity, waved his wand, summoning the man's wand from outside the window. He handed it back. "Try not to lose it again, Professor Lockhart."
As Harry's words landed, the students—especially the boys—snickered, relishing Lockhart's embarrassment.
"Oh, thank you, Harry," Lockhart said, his smile unwavering as he took the wand. "I was just about to summon it myself. Very proactive of you."
"As the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he continued, "I must say, Harry, you've exceeded my expectations. But you're still just a touch off—yes, you may not like hearing this, but—"
"Descendo!" Harry cut him off, not casting the spell on Lockhart but addressing the students loudly. "That's the spell I just used. It's simple: Descendo. You flick your wand downward sharply, mimicking the motion of something falling."
Lockhart's smile froze as Harry ignored him and began teaching the class. The students, eager to learn, pulled out their wands and practiced the wand movement and pronunciation as Harry instructed.
Some cast vengeful glances at the house-elves still wriggling on the desks or floor, itching for payback.
"Normally, this spell targets one object at a time, making it fall from a height," Harry explained, picking up a book from a nearby desk. "Like this—Descendo."
The book, which he'd tossed into the air, crashed onto the desk. No one spared a thought for the Lockhart photo on its cover.
"But, Professor Potter," Parvati raised her hand, "didn't you just use one spell to bring all the house-elves down at once?"
"That's an advanced application," Harry replied patiently. "You need to consciously target multiple objects, which takes more focus, mental effort, and, of course, magic. I don't recommend trying it at this stage—targeting multiple objects multiplies the magical energy required."
A chorus of "Ohh"s filled the room as understanding dawned.
Lockhart gritted his teeth at the harmonious scene. What was this? Why was Potter acting like the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?
"And since you asked a great question, Parvati, five points to Gryffindor."
"He's even awarding points to Gryffindor in my class!" Lockhart roared internally, his smile barely holding as his eyes reddened with envy. This should be his moment—defeating mischievous house-elves, earning the students' admiration, teaching a spell, and awarding points. It was just a simple Descendo! He could do that too! He just… hadn't thought of it in the moment.
That blasted Potter!
In Lockhart's mind, Harry had gone from enviable to irritating to downright detestable. A shadow crept over his heart, unnoticed even by himself.
Harry didn't need his shamanic Astral Vision to know Lockhart was fuming. But who cared?
He'd already shown remarkable restraint by not hexing this incompetent, unethical fraud who'd somehow wormed his way into Hogwarts. That was a job for the Headmaster or Professor McGonagall.
When the bell rang, Lockhart fled the classroom like a man reprieved. Behind him, the students cheered as if they'd won a battle, chanting Harry's name.
"That was my first and last time in Lockhart's class," Harry said, shaking his head as he walked out with his friends. "I'd rather spend my time rebuilding my office."
"You're right, Harry," Ron agreed. "Can you get us out of his classes too? I can't imagine Defense Against the Dark Arts without you."
"Er, probably like last week's lesson—reading his books aloud?" Neville suggested. "All those 'adventures' of Professor Lockhart."
"That's a nightmare," Ron groaned, his face darkening. "I'd rather break my leg than listen to those stories. Who knows if they're even true? So, Hermione, got nothing to say now, do you?"
Ron grinned, savoring a rare moment of outsmarting Hermione.
Hermione bit her lip, uncharacteristically silent, before hurrying off without a word.
"Hey! Where're you going?" Ron called after her, but she vanished down the corridor.
"She's fine," Harry said, stopping Ron and Neville from following. "She probably just needs some space to cool off. Let's go check on Hagrid—see if he's awake yet."
As Hermione had passed him, Harry noticed her ears were bright red. Best to let her have a moment alone.
Two weeks—fourteen days, minus four weekend days, left ten. But it didn't even take ten days for Lockhart's façade of wisdom, charm, and magical prowess to crumble.
Some female students still clung to the idea that Lockhart wasn't a fraud. They insisted he was just adjusting to his new role as a professor, or that he'd been off his game lately—excuses Lockhart himself echoed. Many, unwilling to believe a Hogwarts professor could be so incompetent, held onto their illusions until they saw the truth with their own eyes.
But for most students, especially with Harry's competence as a foil, Lockhart's mask was already shattered. And Lockhart was far older than Harry, making the contrast even starker.
After lunch in the Great Hall, Harry handed McGonagall a dossier of Lockhart's misdeeds. He watched with satisfaction as an furious McGonagall hauled Lockhart away.
Hogwarts cycled through Defense Against the Dark Arts professors yearly, but even among those short-lived tenures, Lockhart had flopped the fastest. Exposing him early was a service to the students.
If need be, Snape could cover the class. Harry knew his mother's old friend coveted the position. While he'd never let Snape take it permanently—out of respect for his mother's memory—filling in occasionally wouldn't hurt.
Grateful that Lockhart had drawn McGonagall's ire, Harry focused on his Shamanism class and office. A new course deserved a fresh start.
Magic's productivity was staggering, often producing miracles with near wish-like power. One morning, Hogwarts students awoke to find strange new structures near the castle—specifically, near Hagrid's hut, at the forest's edge by the Black Lake.
The first early riser to glance out a castle window froze, struck as if by lightning, ignoring his friends' calls.
"Owen? Owen?!"
"Quiet, mate," Owen finally said, swallowing his bread. He pointed out the window. "Look at that!"
In the direction he indicated stood a massive totem pole, rising from the earth.
After a year, Hogwarts students knew about the totems boasted by those lucky enough to train as shamans. They understood the concept—but why was this totem so enormous?
It dwarfed even the Gryffindor Tower, as thick as two or three towers combined, its height rivaling the castle's tallest spire. Like a colossal pillar, it bore massive bull horns extending from its peak. Even a first-year could guess this was the work of their Shamanism professor.
Though still rough, needing finer carving and lacking color, patterns, or elemental runes, the totem's raw, rugged beauty stunned everyone who saw it.
"Merlin's socks…" Owen trembled with excitement. "Come on, let's go see it up close!"
"I swear, this totem will go down in Hogwarts history—like the Muggle Eiffel Tower or Statue of Liberty! It's the biggest, most striking landmark Hogwarts has ever had!"
No one slept in that morning. The students who first spotted the totem raced back to their dorms, waking friends or bursting into other houses to shake people awake. As the first group sprinted out of the castle, the sky was still tinged with night. They ran toward the totem, and upon cresting the final hill, they saw a refined wooden cabin nestled at its base.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze