A certain Hogwarts professor of runes

A few hours ago, Ron experienced a thrilling stay in confinement.

At eight o'clock in the evening, he nervously knocked on Professor Lockhart's door and stammered that he had come to put him in solitary confinement.

"Is that so?" Lockhart looked sickly. "Oh, right, that's right! You little rascal..."

He dragged Ron into the office and shoved him into a chair.

"Hmm, the punishment... let me think, how can I make you sincerely repent and weep with gratitude for Gilderoy Lockhart's greatness?"

Ron stared at him in disbelief. Lockhart's arrogance had worsened again.

"I've got it!" Lockhart exclaimed, pulling a bulging stack of envelopes from a cabinet in the corner.

"Professor, what is this?" Ron swallowed hard, hoping it wouldn't be this way...

"These are letters from die-hard fans, and I've collected some of them—they're my absolute favorites! You need to copy them all down," Lockhart said with great enthusiasm.

Things have taken a turn for the worst.

Ron thought that these letters combined were thicker than the two large books Malfoy copied.

He opened an envelope, pulled out a letter, and read: "Dearest Gilderolo, I am your most adorable and loyal reader, Moria. I fall asleep every night with your book in my arms because it has your most charming picture. Oh, Gilderolo, your curls are simply irresistible. I can't wait to embark on a great adventure with you in my dreams..."

"Ugh~" Ron almost threw up.

"Are you sick?" Lockhart asked him.

"without--"

"If you don't have any, then start copying. This is your punishment for attacking the professor, no, it's your reward—to give you the privilege of experiencing my greatness alongside my readers."

Lockhart's words today were surprisingly blunt. Ron had originally thought he was like a peacock, at least hiding his backside when he spread his tail feathers.

But he had no choice; Ron had to force himself not to think at all, not to think about what the stuff he copied actually meant. But after writing just two lines, he felt nauseous again.

So he began to focus his attention on Lockhart, racking his brains to think of other things.

Two seats away from him, Lockhart also unfolded a piece of parchment, picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote lines of flamboyant calligraphy on it, muttering, "Merlin, I'm so unlucky, I even have to apologize to that fool Fudge..."

Ron had a terrifying night because Lockhart seemed like a different person, revealing many secrets to him without any restraint.

He either complained that Dumbledore had deceived him, or he grumbled that Professor Hyp had stolen his thunder.

He also mentioned his school days, during which he spent a lot of money buying himself a bunch of greeting cards for Valentine's Day, but it didn't make much of a splash, forcing him to endure two months of hardship because of it...

Midnight finally arrived, and Ron mustered his courage to ask to leave. Lockhart glanced at the clock on the wall. "Is it already this late? Go ahead, put the letter in the cupboard, and continue tomorrow."

Ron, carrying the stack of letters, huffed and puffed as he reached the large cabinet. He tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn't budge. "Professor Lockhart, the cabinet is locked!"

Lockhart muttered something, waved his wand, and on the third attempt, the cabinet door finally slammed open with a bang, nearly hitting Ron's nose.

Ron opened the cabinet, which contained more than a dozen small drawers. He didn't know where to put them, but he didn't dare to ask, so he could only pull out the drawers one by one to find the right space.

When he turned to a certain compartment, he saw a piece of parchment clipped together, and the top line of text made him stop looking.

"A Record of a Visit to an Old Wizard in Armenia (Note: A Werewolf Adventure)."

He glanced at it twice more—

"If you disregard the fact that the protagonist is an ugly, old Armenian sorcerer, the story itself is quite fascinating."

There's a short passage that seems to record someone's words: "Yes, the people in that village are miserable. They constantly face the threat of werewolves. The initial reason was that they killed a wolf cub that had attacked livestock. It's truly tragic."

Ron's heart pounded. He didn't know why, but he quietly pulled out a few pages from the middle of the document—he didn't dare take the top page.

Lockhart's voice came from afar, "What are you dawdling about?"

"Right away, Professor Lockhart." Ron stuffed the few pages of parchment he had pulled out into his pocket, then haphazardly scattered the readers' letters into three drawers before hurriedly closing the cabinet.

"Professor, I'm off." Ron quickly ran out of Lockhart's office.

His heart was still pounding all the way.

Back in the common room, where there were hardly any people, he hid in a corner and carefully read the three parchments he had taken out of his pocket.

After watching for a while, he was a little confused. Although the content of the story seemed familiar, it was just an ordinary interview.

Did Lockhart also work part-time as a journalist?

Ron returned to his dormitory and saw Harry already asleep. He casually stuffed the parchment into a book and went to bed.

The atmosphere at Hogwarts remained peaceful and serene for the next week.

Without the worry of attacks or exams, the young wizards enjoyed a fantastic weekend.

Hermione finally took off her mask. Now she only needs to wear a hat to cover her cat ears, and she looks no different from her normal self.

"Lavender thought I had some terminal illness." Hermione took deep breaths of fresh air, her face flushed from the cold, but she had no intention of putting on a scarf.

"Who is Lavender?" Ron asked.

"She's my roommate."

Ron thought for a moment, then asked uncertainly, "Is it that girl with the freckles?"

"Not her, Ron. I thought you would remember the Gryffindor wizard from your year," Hermione said sharply.

"I remember him, but I can't quite place his face. And do you know Dean Thomas?" Ron countered.

"certainly!"

"Have you spoken to him?"

Hermione kept her mouth tightly shut.

That evening, Felix guided Hermione through the upgrade plan for the beaded pouch.

Felix looked at the parchment in his hand with interest: "You plan to partition off some space inside? Is it for storing things? Not a bad attempt, but it also increases the difficulty accordingly."

"Professor, do you think I can complete this given my skill level?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm... If you want to do it yourself, at least—" Felix thought for a moment, "you also need to learn 21 practical runes, become proficient in inscribing some rune circuits, plus some basic alchemical theory."

"I can give you a reading list."

Felix quickly scribbled down a series of reference books, and Hermione's lips suddenly felt a little bitter...