In Lockhart's eyes, the students were like fresh, unharvested wheat, waiting to be reaped.
He took a deep breath, his smile radiant. "My dear students, I'm sure you're wondering why the professors are here to greet you at the station."
"Unfortunately, I must inform you that Hogwarts may be facing a grave danger—one that requires my…"
"Professor Lockhart."
Professor McGonagall's stern tone cut him off like a blade. Her expression was frosty. "We mustn't delay the students' start-of-term feast."
"Now," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument, "all students, line up and prepare for inspection."
Professors McGonagall and Snape, both radiating authority, scanned the students with sharp eyes.
McGonagall's wand flicked, sending waves of unseen magic rippling over the students.
Snape carried an odd glass object resembling a spinning top. When he passed by a student, the top would flash and spin rapidly if it detected something suspicious.
Snape's face was inscrutable as he stared coldly at the students, sending chills down their spines.
Trembling, a few pulled out dark artifacts from their robes—most of which were relatively harmless but still forbidden.
While the two professors worked with grim efficiency, Lockhart stood to the side like a peacock, basking in the adoration of a cluster of young witches. The so-called charming wizard began giving them tips on magical beauty spells.
"Here's how to make your hair softer and shinier," he said with a theatrical flourish.
"Your skin? Smooth and radiant in seconds!"
"Even magical tips for perfect nails, teeth, and fresh breath…"
Hermione leaned forward, her curiosity piqued.
These spells sound so useful!
Meanwhile, Professors McGonagall and Snape finished their inspections. Unsurprisingly, most of the confiscated dark artifacts came from Slytherin students, with Ravenclaw having more than Gryffindor.
Shockingly, the Weasley twins were clean—no dark artifacts at all.
The Hufflepuffs, as expected, were the most well-behaved. Only one fourth-year girl had a dark artifact, a gift from her boyfriend at Durmstrang.
When Snape confiscated the charm with an icy glare, she burst into tears, sobbing hysterically:
"Why don't you go after Potter instead?!"
The first-years, confused and nervous, stood anxiously in line.
Harry's eyes scanned the group, landing on a small red-haired girl.
"Is that your sister?" he asked Ron.
"Yeah, that's Ginny," Ron said, smiling. "She really looks up to you, you know."
"She's been wanting to meet you forever, but…"
Hermione huffed.
Harry frowned. "She seems nervous."
"Well, it's her first year," Ron shrugged. "And this whole inspection thing doesn't help. Fred and George probably scared her half to death over the summer."
"You joined in, didn't you?" Harry asked knowingly.
Ron froze, then stammered, "I just... added a little flair. Told her how you pulled the Sword of Gryffindor to get sorted into the house."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "And now your poor sister is probably terrified she won't even get to attend Hogwarts."
Harry said nothing more, but his gaze lingered on Ginny. Her nervousness was different—it wasn't just first-day jitters. She was hiding something.
Could it be related to their encounter with the Malfoys at the bookstore?
But when McGonagall passed Ginny, her wand detected nothing unusual.
Even Snape's spinning top remained still.
Harry decided not to dwell on it.
Lockhart's incessant chatter and the occasional gasps of delight from his audience grew increasingly grating.
"Professor Lockhart," Snape interrupted, his tone dripping with disdain.
"The students have been inspected, and Professor McGonagall and I are done. We will now proceed to the castle."
Snape's cold glare swept over the group of witches surrounding Lockhart, and they reluctantly stepped back.
"Severus, you should be more…" Lockhart began, his tone regretful.
"We're not close enough to use first names," Snape cut him off icily.
"Well, Professor Snape," Lockhart said with no trace of shame. "You should try to be a bit more understanding toward the students."
"Perhaps," Snape replied coldly. "But I don't believe we should be lenient with a fully grown wizard either."
"Professor Lockhart," McGonagall added, her rare interjection bolstering Snape, "the castle requires our attention. We don't have time for you to bask in the attention of your fan club."
With that, the three professors swiftly departed, carrying a collection of confiscated dark artifacts.
"Y'know, Snape was kind of cool back there," Ron remarked.
"He washed his hair," Harry said simply.
Ron blinked. "What?"
"The smell of oil is much lighter now," Harry explained. "Though he didn't use the shampoo I gave him. Guess he didn't like it. I'll have to pick something better for Christmas."
Ron stared, at a loss for words.
Hermione and Harry, meanwhile, were already walking toward the carriages. Ron hurried after them, deciding it wasn't worth dwelling on Snape's hair care preferences.
At the end of the muddy path, the carriages waited.
"Looks like we're riding these," Hermione said excitedly. "I've never been in one before."
Ron climbed into a carriage. "Fred says they're pulled by invisible horses. You can actually feel them if you reach out."
Hermione tentatively extended her hand.
"They're Thestrals," Harry explained, his voice softening. "Magical creatures only visible to those who've witnessed death."
Ron and Hermione froze, their expressions clouding with sadness.
"Harry…" Hermione murmured. "Those things are behind you now…"
"It's a pity you can't see them," Harry said wistfully. "They're beautiful—just a bit too skinny."
A good horse is a witcher's best companion.
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.
Right. Harry's not exactly a normal person.
As the carriage began its bumpy journey, Harry's mind wandered. He wondered how he might persuade Dumbledore to let him take a Thestral. After all, a proper witcher needed a trusty steed.
The carriages arrived at the castle.
Students buzzed with excitement over the day's events. Inspections like this were unheard of, even with the occasional presence of dark artifacts among older students.
Was it because of last year's incident with Quirrell?
Theories flew as they waited in the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.
Once the ceremony concluded, Harry made his way to the Sorting Hat and picked it up.
"Harry!" the Hat exclaimed, delighted. "It's so good to see you again. I've been terribly bored—Dumbledore's always busy, and the portraits don't want to chat. Even Fawkes hasn't bullied me lately!"
Harry stuffed the Hat into his robes. "I'm only here for the Sword of Gryffindor."
"You could at least say something nice!" the Hat grumbled. "Flatter me a little, and maybe I'll help you with your trials…"
"Wait! What are you wearing? Why is it so stiff?"
Harry bit into a sausage. "It's armor. Made from troll hide."
"This is a school!" the Hat cried. "Not a battlefield! Even Gryffindor didn't wear armor here!"
"Yes," Harry replied, "and this is Hogwarts."
"The safest place in the world," the Hat huffed.
Harry swallowed his sausage. "You mean safe like last year, with the troll? Or the part-Voldemort-quasi-being that snuck in?"
The Hat fell silent.
That evening, Dumbledore addressed the students, introducing Lockhart as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
He then reiterated the school rules: no magic in the corridors and no entry to the Forbidden Forest.
Later that night, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and slipped into the Forbidden Forest.
He needed to check if the two-horned beast's movements had changed over the summer.
The good news: nothing had.
Now he could begin preparing to hunt this crucial magical creature.
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Powerstones?
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