The Return to Hogwarts

Oliver Wood, who had his head almost buried under the table, secretly made a vomiting face, and even the model student Percy didn't seem too happy.

"Hehe, thanks for your support too, Flint,"

Amosta didn't pursue Marcus Flint's petty scheme. He nodded and smiled, "As you said, Flint, I'm just a teaching assistant. Professor Lockhart is still in charge of your teaching plans."

Just then, Lockhart strode in, wearing a deep plum-colored robe. Amosta realized that in all the times he had met Professor Lockhart, he had never seen him wear a robe of the same color twice.

Is writing books really that lucrative?

As Amosta went to greet him, this thought flashed through his mind.

"It seems you've already introduced yourself, Professor Blaine?"

Lockhart smiled broadly and patted Amostella heavily on the shoulder, speaking as if he were talking to a junior he valued.

"Just a brief greeting, Professor Lockhart—"

Amostella casually moved aside, offering a friendly smile. "Like the young wizards, I'm eagerly anticipating your wonderful lesson!"

"Oh no, they look like they're all cut from the same cloth!"

Someone in the Gryffindor student group whispered something like that.

Amosta's expression twitched slightly. He was certain Lockhart had heard the words as well, because for a fleeting moment Lockhart's expression froze, but he immediately returned to normal.

"So."

Amosta, completely unaware of what was about to happen, stared blankly at the classroom, where the atmosphere had suddenly become deathly still.

"Where should we begin, Professor Lockhart?"

"Oh, don't worry, Blaine, the little ones know their way around!"

For the next two hours, Amosta finally witnessed Lohar's unique 'teaching method'. He called on each student by name, asking them to recite long passages from his storybooks, and demanding that the young wizards read with great expression.

Lockhart stood at the podium, pretending not to see the pained expressions on the young wizards' faces, looking quite pleased with himself. Of course, if the recitation wasn't emotionally rich enough, Lockhart would personally demonstrate for everyone. He would also deliberately make some exaggerated and comical gestures in an attempt to improve the classroom atmosphere, but in the end, no one paid any attention to him.

The only thing Amosta could do was help Lockhart maintain classroom discipline.

"Have you always taught them this way?"

While Lockhart was catching his breath after reading a long passage describing how he subdued the troll, Amostella casually strolled over to him, speaking in a very tactful tone.

"Ah, so eager to show off, aren't you!"

Lockhart tapped his nose with his finger, his eyes 'witty'. Ignoring Amostella's explanation, he directly stopped Percy, who was reading his textbook in a dull, lifeless voice. "The opportunity to become famous is right in front of you, Blaine. It's up to you whether you can seize it!"

He forcefully shoved the textbook into Amosta's hands and, beaming with pride, loudly announced to everyone,

"Let me show you how a true fanatic expresses his highest respect to Professor Lockhart with such passionate voice!"

chi chi-

Looking at the bewildered investigator standing next to Lockhart beside the podium, Wood chuckled.

Chapter 44 Lockhart's Teaching Methods (Part 2)

As he watched a group of cheering young wizards leave the classroom, Amosta was filled with confusion, bewilderment, and existential doubt. However, he finally understood one thing: why Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall could not tolerate Lockhart's teaching methods!

"This might just be an isolated case," Amosta thought absently as he walked back to his office, having been forced to read half a book.

However, in the following days, harsh reality proved to him that Lockhart's teaching methods were indeed absurd!

"How could Dumbledore have chosen such an oddball?"

On Thursday morning, Amosta, on his way to lunch in the Great Hall after leaving his first-year classroom, couldn't help but feel indignant for the young wizards. When he was in this school, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors changed every year and their levels varied, but at least those professors were dedicated to teaching, unlike Lohatta, who turned the class into a recitation and performance class.

Speaking of the performance, it happened yesterday afternoon. It was his first time teaching Potter's grade. He had some expectations beforehand, thinking that Lockhart would be more restrained in front of the 'protagonist', but the result surprised him greatly.

For two whole hours, Amosta played the role of a simple villager from the Himalayas who was extremely grateful to Lockhart, while Lockhart forced Potter to play the Yeti, and he himself played himself.

"Do something, Professor Blaine!"

When Defense Against the Dark Arts class ended, Harry, who had fallen off the table while being chased around by Lockhart, clutched his bruised and battered leg and looked at him in despair.

"I will be extremely grateful to you!"

Ron covered his mouth and tried to stifle his laughter, but soon he also bared his teeth and screamed, because Hermione, who was carrying several Lockhart books, stepped on his foot as she passed by.

"I thought your performance was brilliant, Professor Blaine!"

Hermione glared at Ron, then, her face flushed, said something to Amostella before running away quickly.

The performance was excellent? Is that the point, Miss Granger?

Amosta stared in surprise at the little girl who had run away, her face full of confusion.

“Her views differ from ours, Professor Blaine—”

Dean Thomas rationally told Amosta, "Hermione idolizes Professor Lockhart and has been trying to convince everyone that the absurd adventures he writes in his books are true. However, she has never been able to provide any evidence. But now, she has finally found a fan of Professor Lockhart—a 'influential' figure."

"Who is it?" Amosta asked, raising his eyebrows.

"It is you, Professor Blaine."

Harry discreetly observed Amosta's expression and said cautiously, "Hermione told me that she heard Professor Lockhart say that you are his biggest fan—"

Amosta rolled his eyes, seriously considering the suggestion Professor Snape had made last time.

During lunch, while Lockhart was engrossed in his endless chatter with the exasperated Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall leaned over and glared sternly at Amostella, speaking in an almost whispered voice...

“Professor Blaine, Hogwarts doesn’t pay you to read aloud to the young wizards. Show me your true abilities, Amosta, you promised me!”

Amostella put down his lemon meringue and looked at the crowded Great Hall. He saw Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table looking at him with a puzzled expression, while several girls on the Ravenclaw side were pointing at him and shaking their heads with smirks.

"Headmaster Dumbledore--"

Amosta blinked, his tone calm.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Amosta?"

It was as if Dumbledore, who had nothing to do with this, twitched his beard and snapped out of his serious state of dealing with the crucible-shaped cake.

"If I were to invite Professor Lockhart for a drink, and accidentally add something to his glass, causing him to have to rest in bed for a while, would you mind?"

Snape, who had been keeping his head down, finally stopped holding back his gaze. A slight smile appeared on his lips, and his empty eyes regained some sparkle.

"--Do you remember what my first lesson was when you were in first grade, Amosta?"

"Adding narcissus root powder to mugwort infusion will produce a very potent sleeping pill. It is a life-or-death potion that can keep a person in a daze in bed for a week under normal circumstances."

However, if taken with high concentrations of alcohol and without proper treatment, it can cause a persistent, confused state that makes it difficult to speak, lasting for up to two months.

Amosta nodded nonchalantly at Snape.

"You know, Professor Snape, my memory has always been very good. So what's your opinion, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"Ahem, Amosta—"

Dumbledore suddenly looked up and began to study the patterns on the chandeliers above the Great Hall. His once penetrating blue eyes now seemed distant and unfocused.

"I'm 112 years old this year. The power of time is truly terrifying. I've recently noticed that my legs aren't as nimble as they used to be, my eyesight is failing, and my hearing is getting a bit off. So, I didn't hear a word of what you were discussing with Severus and Minerva just now—"

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips tightly, glaring at him with a mixture of helplessness and annoyance.

But Dumbledore didn't give Professor McGonagall a chance to complain. He stood up and told the group, who were plotting to murder a famous author and Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, that he was feeling unwell and needed to go back to his office to rest. Then he left.

"I will deliver what you need to your office before nine o'clock tonight."

Professor Snape also stood up, his departing figure seemingly impatient.

"Bobby!"

Under Amostall's meaningful gaze, Professor McGonagall, somewhat ashamed and annoyed, turned to look at Mrs. Pomfrey, who was eating fish soup.

"If you're free tonight, could you come to my office? I'd like to discuss something with you privately."

"Oh, no problem, Minerva, I'll be on time!"

Mrs. Pomfrey, beaming with delight at the prospect of a pay raise, readily agreed.

"Ahem, Professor Lockhart--"

After Professor McGonagall left, the faculty and staff dining table, which had been full just moments before, was almost half empty. While Amosta was talking to Lockhart, Flitwick dashed away, his incredibly agile movements still showing glimpses of the former dueling champion!

"Ah, Amosta, you also want to receive my Valentine's Day card early, just like Felius? Oh! That really puts me in a difficult position, but..."

"Actually, it's like this,"

Amostella interrupted Lockhart's long-winded explanation abruptly.

"During the last second-year defense class, I learned from Miss Granger that your favorite birthday present is a case of Ogden Firewater whisky. Oh, how lucky I am, I happen to have a bottle over eighty years old that Headmaster Dumbledore gifted me. Would you have the honor of inviting me to Three Brooms for a drink this Saturday?"

"What do you two have to say now?"

At the Gryffindor dining table, Hermione, who was eavesdropping on the professors' conversation, glanced at Harry and Ron, who were exchanging bewildered glances, and haughtily raised her chin.

"He's his fan!"

Chapter 45 My Letter!