Ancient Magician (Severus x Reader)

Chapter 31:Potions and Quidditch

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𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 2 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 31: 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩

"𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?"

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Ever since the chaos with the Cornish Pixies, Professor Lockhart—whom I'd long since nicknamed Professor Goldilocks—had stopped bringing any live magical creatures to class. A shame, really. Not that I missed the shrieking or near-death experiences, but watching him flail around with a wand and screaming "Pesky Pixie Pesternomi!" had provided some decent entertainment. Now, instead, he simply read passages from his books in a syrupy voice and occasionally leapt into dramatic reenactments of his own "heroic" adventures.

It was honestly painful.

To make it worse, he insisted on involving Harry in nearly every single one of these absurd little plays. Poor Harry had been forced to play everything from a bewildered Transylvanian peasant cured of a Babbling Curse to a grunting yeti with a sinus infection. And once—a moment I'd never let Harry forget—he'd had to act as a vampire who could only eat lettuce after being "cured" by Lockhart's dazzling smile and a dose of garlic-free pesto.

Absolute nonsense.

That day, during Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry was again dragged to the front of the class. Lockhart enthusiastically announced they would be demonstrating the Homorphus Charm, and Harry was to pretend to be a werewolf. Of course.

"Now, class!" Lockhart exclaimed, spinning dramatically to face us. "Observe how the simplest of spells, when performed with confidence, can turn even the most savage beast back into a man!"

Harry crouched slightly, giving a token growl. I raised an eyebrow and mouthed really? at him. He chuckled.

Lockhart gave his wand a flamboyant twirl and shouted, "Homorphus!"

He pointed his wand straight at Harry's forehead. Nothing happened, naturally. Not that anyone expected it to.

"And thus," Lockhart continued, beaming, "the villagers of Wagga Wagga were spared from the terrible reign of the werewolf. They still sing my praises to this day. I expect your poem assignments on my victory by Monday!" He gave a little bow. "Best poem wins a signed copy of Magical Me!"

The bell rang, and we practically shot out of our seats.

"Please no," I groaned, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "If I have to write a poem about Lockhart and his imaginary werewolf-slaying, I'll hex myself."

Ron laughed. "What rhymes with 'fraud'?"

"Abroad?" Harry offered, snorting. "Where he definitely didn't do any of the things he says he did?"

Hermione frowned at us, then glanced at the front of the room. "Wait—hang on. Let's not leave just yet. Let everyone else go first."

We lingered at the back of the classroom as the rest of the students filed out. Hermione clutched a folded note tightly in her hand, her fingers visibly trembling. I raised an eyebrow.

"What's that?"

"It's for Lockhart," she whispered, glancing toward the front where he was tidying his quills. "I need him to sign it. It's for the Restricted Section."