Surrounded by Gribartto magic crystals, Dana leaned against the headboard, holding the book How to Bring the Dead Back to the Living World in his hand.
The ritual was incredibly complex, and the list of required materials was long—but these weren't problems. Dana observed that almost none of the items were extinct in the current market—except for Gribartto magic crystals.
However, there was one extremely crucial issue that Dana couldn't solve in the short term—
Avalon, the legendary island in the center of the Sea of the Dead.
Because in order to materialize the souls of the dead, the ritual had to take place on Avalon. The problem was, Dana didn't know how to get there.
This was the second time Avalon had appeared before him. The first was in the tapestry, which mentioned that Merlin's notebook was hidden there. And now this ritual book mentioned it again.
Dana felt a bit helpless. The descriptions in both sources made it seem like any wizard could simply walk to Avalon.
It was absurd. Wizards in this era—let alone finding Avalon—many even believed the place to be mythical.
Suppressing his irritation, Dana put away How to Bring the Dead Back to the Living World and pulled out War Magic instead.
Since he couldn't resurrect his mother in the short term, revenge became the first priority—and for that, he had to become as strong as possible.
Suddenly, the alarm spell he had left in the Hogwarts dormitory made his brow twitch—
Someone was knocking at the door!
Dana got up, opened the Spandim Gate, and returned the bed to the dormitory.
Tsk, what a hassle. Tomorrow, he would go back to Dentis Castle and bring a proper bed to his new sanctuary.
Dana adjusted his appearance to look sickly, as expected for someone who'd been "resting," and opened the door.
Outside stood the twins. As soon as they saw him, they asked with concern:
"Dana! We saw that you didn't eat dinner either—" (Fred)
"Harry said you were sick—" (George)
"So we brought you some food." (In unison)
Dana gave a weak smile.
"Thank you."
He took the food and staggered to the table.
"Dana, aren't you going to see Madam Pomfrey?" Fred asked.
Dana shook his head.
"I rested all afternoon. I feel better now. One more night of sleep and I'll be fine."
George slung an arm around his brother.
"In that case, we won't disturb you. Get some rest!"
The twins walked down the tower stairwell.
"George, what should we do tonight?"
"How about checking out Lockhart's office?"
"Why? That guy's all talk. I don't care to see a room full of his grinning portraits."
"Did you forget what Mokay Moran from fifth year said at dinner? Apparently Lockhart gave an actually decent lesson today. Shocked the whole class."
"You think...?"
"If he really had that kind of skill, why act like a clown all semester?"
"He must be hiding something!"
"That's awesome! Let's go, Fred!"
The next morning, Gryffindor's hourglass was short one hundred house points.
Lockhart sat triumphantly at the staff table during breakfast, smugly scanning the four House tables.
When the twins entered the Great Hall, he stood up and greeted them loudly:
"Good morning, Mr. Weasleys!"
He beamed.
"After last night, I'm sure you've learned a valuable lesson: never underestimate a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!
If I hadn't caught you in time, you might have ended up in the hospital wing!"
Fred and George glanced at each other, shrugged, and casually sat down at the Gryffindor table.
Ron leaned in.
"What happened last night?"
Fred grinned.
"Nothing much. We just triggered a few traps in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office."
Ron's jaw dropped.
"Magical traps? Lockhart's that good?"
Hermione, who had been fuming all morning, slammed her cutlery on the table.
"Is now the time to discuss whether Lockhart is powerful? We just lost a full hundred house points!"
George laughed.
"I thought that after losing fifty points last year, you'd be on our side by now!"
Hermione flushed.
"But I made up for those points later!"
Fred shook his head.
"Making up is one thing, losing them is another. They don't cancel each other out. Think about it—if you hadn't been caught and lost fifty, Gryffindor would've been way ahead!"
Just then, Dana entered the Great Hall.
He'd already overheard everything from the corridor. His gaze briefly swept across the staff table—and there it was.
A faint, almost imperceptible black line of magic snaked from Lockhart's neck to his temple.
Dana frowned.
Ginny had been in this state before.
With his knowledge of the plot, he immediately understood the situation.
He shook his head and made his way to his usual seat—surrounded, as always, by a group of wide-eyed first-years.
And who could blame them?
Dana Emrys was a Quidditch superstar, top of his class, undeniably handsome—and had a tragic past: framed, family ruined, tortured in Azkaban for four years.
Strong. Beautiful. Miserable. The perfect hero.
To first-years, there was no greater idol.
As for the older students—they may have accepted Dana by now, but after a year of treating him coldly, they didn't have the courage to suddenly act familiar.
Colin Creevey, recently "attacked," now looked totally fine. The professors had concealed the truth, saying it had just been a prank, but had quietly ramped up security across the castle. Portraits and ghosts were all on alert.
Colin leaned forward.
"Senior Dana, I heard you were sick yesterday?"
Dana smiled.
"Thanks for your concern, Colin. I've just been studying a bit too hard. Got a little tired."
Across the table, Hermione muttered:
"You should pace yourself. You've got six years left at Hogwarts!"
—If you keep this up, I won't be able to keep up with you.
Only she didn't know—at this point, no one would be catching up to Dana.
Suddenly, a pair of large hands landed on Dana's shoulders.
He didn't need to turn. That cologne said it all—Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Dana! I'm looking forward to this afternoon's class! I heard you missed Professor Flitwick's class yesterday. You're not going to skip mine too, are you?"
Dana smiled calmly.
"Of course not, Professor. I'm looking forward to it."
Tom Riddle's Defense Against the Dark Arts class? Oh, he was definitely looking forward to that.
Actually, he didn't even need to collect evidence anymore—Lockhart would destroy himself eventually.
Then again... better stick to the plan. If the diary drained Lockhart dry and killed him, Dana would have to puppeteer the man's corpse. What a pain that would be…
Tsk. Why was the Ashwinder Party so inefficient? How hard could it be to find Lockhart's victims using the clues in his own books?
End of the Chapter.
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