A mischievous grin spread across Erwin's face. Was Lockhart fortunate or cursed? Fortunate, because from his observations over the past weeks, Erwin had confirmed one key detail: Zoe—or more precisely, the Alva family—didn't rely on traditional magic at all.
Cursed, because Erwin's best guess was that the Alvas could convert magical energy into a potent form of mental force. That's where all their power lay. And it was formidable—reminiscent of the telekinetic havoc from those Muggle films he'd once sneaked a peek at.
Erwin envied it, truth be told. If he weren't still piecing together the Alva secrets, he'd have siphoned Zoe's bloodline by now. But things had settled into an uneasy calm. Zoe, for her part, was thriving in captivity, even putting on a few pounds from the Slytherin common room feasts.
"You there—eat up!" Lockhart boomed, pointing at her. "Yes, you, child! Come on up to the stage!"
Zoe started to shake her head, a flicker of panic in her eyes. She knew she couldn't hold her own in a proper duel.
Erwin shot her a glance. "Zoe, the professor's offering a lesson. Take it."
She shot him a glare, her expression sour, but she bit back any protest. With a grudging "Fine," she bolted toward the arena stairs. In her haste—or perhaps nerves—she veered the wrong way, scrambling straight up to Lockhart's podium instead.
Laughter erupted from the crowd of young witches and wizards.
Zoe's cheeks burned as she ducked her head lower, reaching the professor in record time. "Sorry, sir!"
Lockhart's eyes gleamed. Perfect—he'd picked the softest target in the bunch. No one would question his flair now. He beamed down at her. "No harm done, child. Draw your wand, and let's bow, shall we?"
Zoe nodded stiffly, pulling a pristine wand from her belt. It looked barely touched, which made sense. From what Erwin had gathered, despite weeks at Hogwarts, she hadn't mastered a single spell. Mental force was her crutch, and the professors—aware of her ties to Erwin—had turned a blind eye, letting her coast.
Lockhart executed a theatrical bow. Then, creating a bit of distance, he launched into his countdown. "One... two... three!"
For once, he had the floor to unleash his signature sluggish Disarming Charm. "Expelliarmus!"
The red jet streaked from his wandtip. Lockhart's heart soared—he'd finally landed a spell without interference. It felt brilliant, liberating.
Zoe's eyes widened in alarm as the spell hurtled toward her. She squeezed them shut, breath catching.
Lockhart could already picture the applause, the adoring fans. But in the blink of an eye, a ripple of mental force burst from Zoe's outstretched palm. The Disarming Charm veered wildly, rebounding straight back at him.
Lockhart froze, mouth agape. Then, an invisible shove hurled him skyward. He crashed to the floor with a resounding thud, sprawled and staring blankly at the rafters.
Silence hung for a beat. Lockhart lay there, dazed, pondering the absurdity. What in Merlin's name had just happened? How had he ended up airborne?
Zoe's eyes remained clamped shut, her arms flailing wildly as if warding off phantoms.
Erwin stifled a chuckle. Poor Lockhart—talk about rotten luck. Even Erwin would struggle against Zoe's raw ability. The professor had dodged a worse fate only because Zoe had steadied her nerves since that chaotic prefect challenge. Back then, in full panic, she might've crushed him.
The students gawked, then exploded into chatter.
"What was that?"
"Did you see? Lockhart just flew!"
"No incantation—silent spell? But she's a first-year!"
"Wait, are all Slytherins this overpowered?"
"Why are they so tough? And why does everyone in that house pack such a punch?"
Erwin's smile widened. This was exactly why he'd shown up today: to showcase Slytherin's edge. Let the other houses stew in envy. Soon enough, they'd badger his housemates for tips, sparking the rivalry he craved. Competition would sharpen them all.
He caught Charlotte's eye. She nodded and stepped forward. "Zoe, that's enough. Down you come."
Zoe blinked open her eyes, spotting Lockhart flat on his back, lost in existential gloom. She gasped. "Professor, are you okay?!"
Charlotte waved her off. "He's fine—tough as nails, that one. Can't be hurt by a little tumble. Come on."
"Oh... good." Zoe scampered back to the Slytherin cluster, relief washing over her.
Erwin approached the platform's edge. "Professor Lockhart? Everything alright?"
Lockhart groaned, hauling himself up with gritted teeth. "Never better! As you all saw, that was a splendid show. The girl's got her own flair—brilliant form! Slytherins truly are a cut above."
Erwin nodded. "Glad you're unscathed. Time's up, though—dinner calls. We'll cheer you on at the next Duelling Club, Professor."
Lockhart's face fell. Next time? He'd sooner face a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Forcing a twitchy smile, he muttered, "Looking forward to it, Erwin. Cheers."
"No trouble at all." Erwin turned, scooping up Ebony, and led the way out.
The Slytherins shot Lockhart pitying—or scornful—looks before filing after him. Snape swept away with a derisive snort.
The rest of the students, having witnessed the professor's pratfall, dispersed with fresh skepticism about his credentials. Lockhart slumped alone on the stage, adrift in his bruised ego.
...
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