The train screeched to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, and the usual hustle and bustle began—robes were thrown over shoulders, trunks levitated down, and students jostled to exit.
Hermione and I stuck close together as we made our way outside. Harry and Ron had veered off toward Seamus and Dean, likely planning to catch up before reaching the castle. I didn't mind the split—it gave me the chance to breathe without monitoring Ron's homework-induced trauma or Harry's thousand-yard stare.
Just as we approached the carriages, I spotted Blaise Zabini waving us over, already seated in one of them.
"Room for one more?" I asked with a grin.
"Two, actually," Blaise said, nodding to the open space beside him. Neville had already claimed the other corner, looking both nervous and excited.
We climbed in. The carriage began its gentle, jostling roll toward the castle.
"You're not riding with Draco?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Blaise sighed, tilting his head back against the seat. "I lasted twenty minutes on the train before I started imagining how satisfying it would be to wring his ferret neck out. Whatever growth he had last year evaporated over the summer."
"Regression by exposure," Hermione muttered.
"My condolences," I offered solemnly.
"Accepted. I figured I'd rather enjoy the ride than test my self-restraint."
Neville chuckled faintly. "Sounds like you made the right call."
The conversation drifted toward lighter things as the castle loomed ahead, its windows glowing warmly through the early evening mist. Our carriage rolled to a stop, and we joined the steady stream of students entering through the large wooden doors.
The Great Hall was its usual majestic self: floating candles, the enchanted ceiling matching the dusky sky, and four long tables buzzing with returning students.
We found our seats as the new first-years were lined up near the front. I spotted Luna immediately—beaming like a lighthouse, one sock purple and the other green. Her robes looked like they'd been buttoned by a poltergeist.
"She's going to start a cult or a revolution," I whispered.
Hermione didn't look away. "Why not both?"
Professor McGonagall called out the names with her usual crisp efficiency. When she reached "Lovegood, Luna," the girl practically twirled up to the stool. The Sorting Hat barely landed on her head before shouting, "RAVENCLAW!"
"She'll be their favorite disaster," I said.
But the grin I wore didn't quite reach my eyes. I leaned in closer to Hermione and whispered, "I'm actually kind of worried for her. Ravenclaw's full of no-nonsense academic types—students who think creativity is something you study, not something you live. Half of them probably think reciting facts louder makes them smarter. They're like glorified parrots with library cards."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit harsh."
"Harsh? I'm being generous," I said, glancing over to where Luna had just joined the Ravenclaw table. "She's... vibrant. They're going to try and dull that."
Hermione frowned, following my gaze. "So what do we do? She's in a different house."
"Doesn't mean she has to be alone," I replied. "We could make sure she's included. Warehouse visits, group work, any project we can sneak her into."
Hermione nodded slowly. "I'll keep an eye out in class too for other Ravenclaws. Maybe we can get her some house friends with someone decent."
"She's going to need allies," I muttered. "The hat shouted 'Ravenclaw' so fast it probably didn't see her socks."
Hermione smiled. "Then let's make sure she knows she's got them."
We both turned our eyes back to the front just as Luna started clapping enthusiastically for no apparent reason. I smiled faintly. "Still think she's going to start a cult."
Hermione nodded.
Once the Sorting was done, Dumbledore rose with a flourish. "Welcome, students—new and old. As always, the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to all. And a personal request from Mr. Filch: bathing is not optional. Lastly, I'm pleased to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Gilderoy Lockhart!"
Glorious applause erupted across the hall. Students clapped enthusiastically, and a few of the younger girls looked positively enchanted. Gilderoy Lockhart's name still held significant weight, and the dazzling smile he flashed in return only seemed to validate every glowing rumor that preceded him.
Lockhart stood and gave the crowd a sparkling smile that could blind a hippogriff.
"He's got the shine of a newly minted coin," I muttered.
Hermione sighed. "Please behave."
"I am behaving. I haven't said a word about him being the magical version of a cologne ad."
Some of the female students surrounding us gave me a dirty glare.
"I said what I said. Not taking it back," I added with a huff, turning my head away.
As always, the food appeared magically before us—steaming roasts, golden potatoes, buttered rolls. I reached for a treacle tart when I noticed several professors exchanging glances my way.
I stood with a quiet nod to Hermione and made my way toward the staff table.
Professor Flitwick greeted me with a warm smile. "Mr. Kingston. We've reviewed your Neverending Guide proposal and agreed to lend our curriculum materials. Please return them unharmed."
"Of course," I said. "Treating books poorly is grounds for disinheritance in my household."
Lockhart, who had been chatting with Professor Sprout, practically lunged over. "Naturally, you'll want my books too. I daresay they'd be the highlight of your collection."
I gave him a polite but sad smile. "I did submit them. Griselda Marchbanks, however, rejected them on the grounds of factual inconsistency and... dramatic liberties."
His smile faltered. "She must be mistaken."
"She said your cure for the Transylvanian Hags used an extinct flower that only blooms under a lunar eclipse. Also, you were apparently in two places at once."
Snape didn't even bother hiding his smirk.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips so tightly they disappeared altogether.
Professor Sprout offered Lockhart a supportive smile that looked more like a wince.
Flitwick politely clapped, but his eyebrows furrowed just enough to suggest concern.
Trelawney adjusted her spectacles dramatically and murmured something about "a fog of delusion" surrounding the man.
Vector and Sinistra exchanged a single glance, the kind that spoke volumes without a word.
"I'm bound by contract to include only what's academically verified," I said with a slight bow. "Apologies, Professor."
Lockhart slunk back to his seat, expression twitching.
Before he could fully disappear behind his goblet of pumpkin juice, he blurted, "Some of the knowledge I've recorded is considered lost to time! Surely there's educational merit in reviving forgotten lore—it could greatly improve the minds of Hogwarts students!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps you can attain evidence of the factual integrity of your books and present it directly to Madam Marchbanks." My voice was calm, but carried a solemn weight. "I'd do it myself, but submitting faulty material to the Neverending Guide could risk my magic—or worse, my standing in the magical world."
Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared so sharply, it was a wonder she didn't take flight. "Are you suggesting," she said icily, "that Mr. Kingston jeopardize his future for your sake, Professor Lockhart?"
Lockhart paled and held up his hands. "No, no, of course not! I'll… I'll write to Madam Marchbanks personally."
There was, of course, no actual clause about magical ruin in the contract. But Lockhart didn't need to know that.
I simply nodded with polite indifference and returned to my seat. Hermione shot me a look from down the table, eyebrows raised. I gave a small shrug and mouthed, "Later."
That night, when the castle had settled and even the portraits had started snoring, I snuck down to the Black Lake.
In my hands, a cage. Inside, the diary Lucius Malfoy had gifted me like a sugar-coated bomb.
I bound the cage shut, weighed it with a flat stone, and lowered it into the lake. It began to bubble.
But the water wasn't dissolving—it was being absorbed.
I watched with morbid curiosity.
After thirty minutes, I reeled it in. The diary expelled the water in one loud, wet exhale.
"Gross," I muttered.
Then I frowned.
What was it doing? Drinking the lake?
I tucked it back into my inventory.
As I walked back to Gryffindor Tower, the bells rang softly through the night air.