Just as Dumbledore had said, there was much to learn from Gilderoy Lockhart—and not all of it was magic.
The Weasley twins were living proof.
"Well, if we're bringing Harry in, we'll have to change the title," George mused. "What should we call it?"
Fred scrunched up his brow in thought. "How about The Chosen One's Guide to Skiving Off? What do you reckon?"
"Harry's fame outshines even Lockhart's, I'm telling you! That book would outsell Magical Me ten times over!"
The three of them were still laughing about it when Wyzett caught the faintest trace of a sound—a thin, shrill scream that sent a wave of dizziness through his mind.
He wasn't the only one—Fred and George both staggered, too.
The twins reacted even more dramatically: they instinctively leaned into each other, arms locked, forming a wobbly letter "A" in the corridor.
"That's odd..." Wyzett muttered, frowning. With a quick breath, he summoned the Custodis Meditatio—Guardian's Meditation—and clarity washed over him at once.
That sound, coupled with the strange lightheadedness... A suspicion sparked in his mind. "Could it be the Mandrake?"
He tore a sheet from his notebook, Transfigured it into three sets of earmuffs, and handed them out.
As soon as they slipped the earmuffs on, the daze faded.
Wyzett sprinted back to the office. The scene inside was chaos: soil scattered across the desk, a gaping hole in the flowerpot, and the collector's edition of Magical Me almost completely buried. The illustration of Lockhart on the cover was frozen in a melodramatic scream, arms thrown wide.
The Mandrake itself was sprawled on the floor, its roots twitching stiffly as if it were fiddling with something.
Wyzett knelt down. The Mandrake was using its roots to poke at the fertilizer, shrieking as it stuffed the dung into a hole in its tuber.
With a flick of his wand, Wyzett cast Basic Herbology Cultivation, grabbed the Mandrake by its leaves, and shoved it firmly back into the pot, piling the original fertilizer on top.
Once he was sure the Mandrake had settled, he removed his earmuffs and glanced over at the twins.
Fred and George had already taken theirs off. George wore a wicked grin. "Ha! Our dear Professor Lockhart... he's out cold!"
"Must've been the Mandrake's scream," Fred snickered. "Serves him right—it's hilarious!"
George suddenly put on a mock-serious face. "Hey, show some respect! He's our beloved adventurer, after all."
"Oh... right! Our dear professor," Fred echoed in a solemn tone. "I'm absolutely devastated. Heartbroken, really."
Wyzett cleared his throat. "We should get him to the hospital wing."
The letter paper from earlier was still on the desk. Wyzett Transfigured it into a makeshift stretcher, and with the twins' help, they hoisted Lockhart onto it.
"Your Transfiguration is brilliant!" Fred praised as they wheeled the cart along. "Professor McGonagall always uses you as an example in class, you know."
"Too bad it's so hard to find a good base of operations," George sighed. "Filch knows too much!"
"What are you lot up to?" Filch's voice rang out suddenly, sharp and accusing. Mrs. Norris slunk at his feet, yellow eyes glinting. "An unconscious professor!"
"Ha! I've finally caught you red-handed! Knocking out a professor—what a scandal! Absolutely disgraceful... and yet, somehow, delightful!"
"Mr. Filch, it was the Mandrake that did it," Wyzett explained, lifting the flowerpot for emphasis. "We were just passing by and got caught by the scream. These magical plants are dangerous—you ought to be careful yourself."
"You expect me to swallow that?" Filch's tone softened a fraction, but suspicion lingered in his eyes. "That golden-haired one... that's Lockhart, isn't it?"
He squinted, his face twisting in distaste. "Always misusing magic, sending out silly cards... Tsk! He's no saint, either!"
With one last venomous glare, Filch hobbled away, Mrs. Norris trotting at his heels.
Fred watched him go, clearly amused. "He seems to know a lot about Lockhart's skeletons, doesn't he?"
George nodded. "Of course! Filch was already the caretaker when Lockhart was a student. He's bound to know a few secrets."
Wyzett was still pondering Filch's glare. "He won't let this go, will he?"
George shot a look at Mrs. Norris, still trailing behind. "Definitely not! He'll run straight to Professor McGonagall. But what do we care?"
Fred grinned confidently. "With you as our witness, even if McGonagall shows up, we've got nothing to worry about."
He changed the subject. "By the way, should we lock Mrs. Norris up in a little iron cage? She keeps following us..."
"Next time—when we're out for a midnight stroll," George said, shaking his head. "We're doing good deeds right now. We'll save the mischief for later!"
Despite their love for pranks, the Weasley twins were well-liked in Gryffindor. Their cheerful personalities made them popular, and they never fell behind on their studies. Aside from the occasional lost point in Potions, their record was spotless.
That was part of why Filch hated them. The older and cleverer they got, the harder it became to catch them in the act—let alone punish them.
...
In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey greeted them with a rare smile. "No Baruffio's Brain Elixir accidents, no bizarre magical wounds—excellent work!"
She bent over to check on Lockhart. "Knocked out by a Mandrake's cry... nothing serious. He'll be right as rain after a nap."
"Hmm... no lingering effects..." She pressed her wand to Lockhart's temple. "Do you know how long he was exposed to the scream?"
"Not more than five minutes," Fred replied cheerfully. "That screech was something else! Even just a bit of it made us feel awful."
"All clear here... no memory damage. Just needs a good night's sleep," Madam Pomfrey concluded, levitating Lockhart onto a hospital bed.
George's prediction was spot on. Filch soon arrived with Professors McGonagall and Sprout in tow, Mrs. Norris leading the way.
Professor McGonagall immediately turned to Wyzett and the twins, her voice full of concern. "Are you all right? Did you wear your earmuffs?"
She only relaxed when all three nodded.
Professor Sprout eyed the flowerpot with a wry smile. "I did warn him... that Mandrake was a handful. I thought he'd have some clever way to handle it!"
She knew perfectly well how finicky Mandrakes could be, which was why she'd set this particular one aside, unsure what to do next.
Lockhart had simply appeared at the right moment, beating his chest and boasting, "No one understands Mandrakes better than I do!"
It was for that reason she'd handed the plant over, hoping he could manage it.
Now, seeing Lockhart safe, Sprout and McGonagall exchanged glances—both of them struggling to keep a straight face...
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