"Harry Potter- Ravenclaw"Chapter 30: The Contradictory Old Man
For British wizards, The Daily Prophet was the primary source of news—and its influence on the magical world was anything but small.
As the Christmas holidays drew to a close, the Hogwarts Express was abuzz with chatter. In every compartment, some students hunched over unfinished homework, while others animatedly discussed the latest scandalous headlines.
"The Daily Prophet has lost its mind! Who actually believes this rubbish?"
"My grandad does... He lives out on the Hebrides, and he swears up and down that dragon pox was invented by Headmaster Dumbledore."
"No offense, but the Hebrides... did a dragon kick him in the head? Dragon pox has been around since the fourteenth century—Dumbledore isn't that old!"
"He might really have been kicked by a dragon. He used to be a dragon keeper, and after a Hebridean Black went on a rampage and attacked him, well... he's never quite been the same..."
...
Conversations like these filled the train. Plenty of older relatives, especially those living in far-flung corners of the country, placed unshakable trust in The Daily Prophet—and were all too ready to believe Rita Skeeter's latest exposés.
It wasn't just the old reports stirring things up; even today's edition was a hot topic among the students.
"Did you see today's Daily Prophet?"
"Yeah! Lockhart actually brewed an antidote that cured the students who'd been knocked out!"
"I can't believe it either... He was beaten by Wyzett Lovegood's Disarming Charm, and now he's brewing antidotes?"
"Well, he's had so many adventures—maybe he picked up a thing or two?"
"Didn't Holidays with Hags mention it? Hag food is basically poison. Good thing he could brew antidotes, or that soup would've killed him!"
"But at the Dueling Club, he got flattened by a student... Adventuring and fighting—that's what real adventurers do, right?"
"Yeah, but still... it makes no sense!"
The debate continued all the way into the Great Hall. Perhaps to welcome everyone back—or to calm frayed nerves—a lavish feast was laid out.
Dumbledore presided over the meal in a resplendent robe of deep magenta, embroidered with intricate roses. He looked as lively as ever.
Yet, according to Penelope and the other prefects, Dumbledore had been under intense pressure lately, fielding several complaint letters each day. But to Wyzett's eyes, the headmaster's gaze remained as bright as ever—untouched by the storm. In fact, there was even a spark of anticipation and curiosity there.
Lockhart, who had kept a low profile since the Dueling Club debacle, had reappeared—looking remarkably well. What unsettled Wyzett was that Lockhart, instead of his usual wizard's hat, now wore a thick turban wound tightly around his head...
...just like Professor Quirrell once had.
...
After the feast, Wyzett walked Luna back to the Ravenclaw common room, then turned toward the headmaster's office.
The password at the gargoyle remained unchanged. He climbed the spiral staircase and knocked softly at the door.
"Come in!" called Dumbledore's cheerful voice from within.
Wyzett slipped inside, exchanged a brief greeting, and got straight to the point. "Headmaster Dumbledore, is there something wrong with Lockhart?"
Dumbledore popped a berry into the beak of Fawkes, his phoenix. The bird, now with a full coat of gleaming feathers, looked far healthier than after its last rebirth.
Once Fawkes was settled back on his perch, Dumbledore gestured for Wyzett to sit. "If you're asking whether he's possessed by Voldemort... there's no sign of that—at least not yet."
"His hair's all gone thanks to that 'wand backfire'... And between you and me, a turban is far safer than a hat—less likely to blow away."
Wyzett let out a quiet breath. "Headmaster, has Professor Lockhart slipped up at all?"
"So much has happened lately... In your message, you mentioned it had 'even saved me considerable effort'..."
"So, am I right to think Lockhart and the pure-blood families... have already struck some kind of deal?"
"Very sharp of you..." Dumbledore smiled, nodding. "Solving so many problems at once—wouldn't that save a lot of effort?"
"And about the Malfoys..." Wyzett hesitated, then continued, "Headmaster, Mr. Lucius Malfoy sent Dobby to me."
"Ah!" Dumbledore nodded, not the slightest bit surprised. "He's quite a remarkable house-elf."
"He really is... He wants freedom, but he also wants to work... so I signed a contract with him."
Dumbledore blinked, intrigued. "A contract?"
"I pay him a monthly wage and give him holidays—something like that," Wyzett explained. "But he didn't ask for much. He actually prefers working."
"That's wonderful!" Dumbledore's eyes shone with approval. "Truly wonderful! Perhaps I should try something similar with the Hogwarts house-elves..."
"Of course, that might just scare them senseless. They're not like Dobby..." Dumbledore sighed. "Wyzett, what do you make of these recent reports?"
"I see... open hostility from the Ministry," Wyzett replied bluntly, without hesitation. "At first I didn't think so, but now... I reckon Mr. Lovegood was right."
"I'm a bit surprised myself. I never expected Cornelius Fudge to turn out this way..." Dumbledore stood and released a long, weary sigh.
"He used to be so eager—always seeking my advice, forever anxious about getting things right... worried about this, worried about that..."
"Would you call that... betrayal?" Wyzett asked softly.
Dumbledore's smile turned odd, almost wistful. "Or perhaps he's simply rediscovered himself? In some ways, I suppose I understand him."
Wyzett looked puzzled. "Headmaster?"
"Power, my boy. It's a dreadful thing," Dumbledore murmured, gazing out at the night.
The window revealed only darkness—a starless abyss.
After a long pause, as if steeling himself, Dumbledore crossed the room and lifted the Pensieve from its cabinet.
"When you're old... you can't help but dwell on certain things," he said quietly. "Things from your youth..."
"You want to relive them, but you're afraid. You regret. You want to talk about them, but you don't want anyone to know... It's all terribly... conflicted."
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