In the candle-lit halls of Hogwarts, where magic stirs with every whisper, Harry Potter begins his first year - unaware that fate has woven another soul into his journey.
Elsa Scamander, silent as snowfall and powerful as a storm, arrives cloaked in...
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"I'm afraid no can do, queen"
☆☆☆☆☆☆
ELSA POV
“Professor,” Harry said, storming into Lockhart’s office, “we have information.”
The office was half-empty. Scrolls were strewn, shelves were cleared, and in the center, Lockhart stood hunched over a suitcase—frantically stuffing robes into it.
“I—well—yes, yes, urgent call, completely unavoidable,” Lockhart stammered, still shoving books into his bag.
“What about my sister?” Ron growled, taking a step forward.
Lockhart sighed, wiping fake sorrow across his face. “Ah yes, most unfortunate… no one regrets it more than I.”
“You’re the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” I said coldly. “You can’t just run away.”
“Well, I must say, when I took the job, there was nothing in the description about—”
“You’re running away?!” Harry cut in.
“All that stuff you wrote in your books?” I added sharply, heart pounding.
“Books can be misleading,” Lockhart said with a shrug.
“You wrote them,” Ron spat.
“My dear boy, use your common sense! The books wouldn’t have sold half as well if people didn’t think I’d done all those heroic things.”
“I knew it,” I hissed. “You’re a fraud.”
“You’ve just been stealing credit for what real wizards have done,” Harry snapped.
“Is there anything you can do?” Anna asked, more exasperated than surprised.
“Yes, yes! Now that you mention it—memory charms! Quite gifted in those. Why, if I hadn’t used them, you’d have dozens of wizards blabbering the truth. Wouldn’t have sold a single book!” Lockhart chuckled—and raised his wand. “In fact, I’ll need to use one now.”
But when he looked up—Harry, Ron, and Anna already had their wands pointed.
---
We dragged him to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom—her watery lament already echoing.
“Who's there?” she sniffled. Then brightened. “Oh… hello, Harry,” she said with a fluttery giggle.
“What do you want now?” she asked, eyes drifting to me with curiosity.
“To ask… how you died,” Harry said. Polite, yet grim.
“Oh, it was dreadful,” Myrtle sighed. “Happened right there. That cubicle. Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses, so I hid here… I was crying. Then I heard someone come in.”
