The closer they got to winter, the earlier the dark came. After leaving the chocolate factory, they had only wandered for a short while before the twilight deepened around them.
They were supposed to have dinner during this free period, but all the students swore they weren't the slightest bit hungry. A few wanted to go rest near the river behind the factory, but Anthony flatly refused.
He made up some vague excuse when the students pressed for a reason. He knew the truth was his own problem. To him, rivers were things far closer to death than any wizard's Grim.
"Can we walk to the last bus stop, Professor?" Claire asked. "I remember there was a junk shop there. I'm curious."
"I want to see the junk shop too," a student beside her chimed in. "When the bus passed, I saw several people coming out with shopping bags."
So, they walked along the edge of the road, climbing a gentle slope. The students chattered excitedly about the factory they'd just toured, critiquing the dingy shopfronts and the council flats they passed. The scent of chocolate still hung in the air. Full dark had fallen now. A cold wind whistled through every corner, making the bin bags left by front doors rustle and flap.
"Are we there yet?" someone asked.
"No, it's just down this slope," Claire said, clearly remembering well. "Come on, we're at the top now." She was at the head of the group, standing outside a chemist's, waiting for her classmates.
Aside from the occasional car that swept past them, the street was empty. Students hunched their shoulders against the biting wind. They could still hear the sound of the river cutting through the town, accompanied by the clatter of dishes or the murmur of televisions from behind lit windows.
Looking back, the stark white lights of the chocolate factory were swallowed by the black shapes of trees. On the open ground before it, the vague shapes of visitors who had finished their tours could be seen climbing into private cars or waiting in small groups for the bus.
Suddenly, Thomas let out a pleased "Oh!"
Two lines of streetlamps flared to life in the distance. Then, the lamp above their heads clicked on, casting a warm, yellow glow. In an instant, the whole town was dotted with pinpricks of light.
"Is that electricity?" Zelma asked, tilting her head back to look at the lamp.
Anthony couldn't help but smile. "Yes. That's electricity."
…
When they finally reached the junk shop, they found it closed. A small wooden sign hung on the door: Gone for tea.
"I hope the owner hurries up," Claire said, unwrapping another chocolate. "Because I'm getting colder."
The students pressed their noses against the junk shop's grimy window, peering inside with difficulty. Anthony smiled as pleasantly as he could at passing cars, trying to project an aura of we are not about to burgle this establishment.
When he turned back, the students had given up on deciphering the inventory of a Muggle junk shop. They were all staring at their own distorted reflections in the uneven glass, giggling and poking fun at how strange their friends looked. So, he did a final headcount, raised his wand, and—amidst student groans and the ear-splitting screech of brakes—announced it was time to return to school.
"If I'm sick on the bus…" Thomas began.
His friend finished for him. "You'll just be ready for dinner. At the speed the Knight Bus goes, you'll probably make it in time for cold mash and lukewarm tomato soup."
…
What he hadn't accounted for was that, along with the mash and soup, they'd also make it back in time for the inaugural meeting of the "Lockhart Locks Your Heart" club.
The Great Hall was decked out in a pretty sky-blue, matching Lockhart's brilliant azure eyes perfectly. The house tables had been shoved to the sides. Most of the floating candles were clustered above Lockhart's head, making his blue silk hat and robes shimmer.
A fair number of students were gathered around the raised, heart-shaped podium. Anthony even spotted Percy Weasley. The other red-headed Weasley, Ron, was standing with Harry next to Hermione, whispering something in Harry's ear. Hermione turned and glared fiercely. The two boys, who'd been snickering, exchanged a look and put on identical expressions of rapt attention.
"It wasn't until I left Scandinavia that I understood my greatest talent lies in sincerity," Lockhart declared, radiant. "Mark my words, children, I can think of nothing that opens hearts like sincerity and a warm smile. I won't dwell on my vampire friend—I hear he's still insisting on eating turnips, and I believe he'll stick with it—but if you wish to know the full details of my Scandinavian exploits, you may refer to my latest autobiography…"
Thomas whispered, "Do we have to stand here? I want to go back to the dorm."
"Hey, this is good for us," Zelma hissed back. "Not everyone gets to hear Professor Lockhart's little tips up close like this. I sent Mum his autograph last week. She was thrilled."
"Trust me, Zelma," Claire said quietly. "I'd rather attend your mum's… um… Adult Witch Career Sharing Circle. I think that would help me more than listening to an adventure audiobook, especially since I got to play the vampire in class last week." She glanced at Anthony. "Have a lovely evening, Professor Anthony. The field trip today was brilliant."
She ducked, weaving effortlessly along the edge of the crowd towards the staircase leading to the Hufflepuff common room (and the kitchens), and vanished into the stairwell. A few students who wanted to join the "Lock Your Heart" club waved goodbye to Anthony and pushed into the throng. Others, clutching trophies from their trip, trotted off gleefully to find friends who were lurking in the shadows, sneaking food from the side tables, to show off.
"You said what? Oh, yes, my hair…" Lockhart was saying. "So glad you noticed! While my golden locks are completely and utterly natural, if you wish to ensure that lustrous sheen, I simply must mention my personal shampoo… Given its effects and the primary ingredient—Runespoor egg yolk—I wager most would find it a bargain…"
Anthony edged his way to the staircase, immensely relieved not to hear a sudden cry of "Henry!"
He tickled the pear, planning to ask the kitchen elves for some food. The students' stomachs might be full of chocolate and sweets, but he hadn't eaten nearly as many. Considering tomorrow's schedule (the Wraith Chicken experiment, the field trip summary report, and the discussion about the unicorn blood curse), he felt he deserved better than dry bread and cold water.
"Professor Anthony?" Professor Flitwick said, delighted. He was seated at a small, low table with a chicken and ham pie and a bowl of onion soup before him. His chair was proportionally shorter, allowing his feet to rest flat on the floor.
"Good evening, Professor Flitwick," Anthony said. "I didn't expect to find you here."
The kitchen was wonderfully warm. Anthony shrugged off his outer robe, nodding gratefully to the elf who helped him with a chair. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like a Cornish pasty, please. The kind they have on the High Table."
"How was the field trip today?" Professor Flitwick asked cheerfully.
Anthony sat. "Excellent. No injuries, no law-breaking, mission accomplished. And you, Professor Flitwick? Anything new at school?"
"Couldn't be better," Professor Flitwick said happily. "I've convinced a former student to visit tomorrow, so I have a perfectly legitimate reason to skip Gilderoy's little club."
Anthony laughed. "I was just listening in with the students for a bit. To be honest, Professor Lockhart's quite the orator."
"You're not attending, Professor Anthony?" Professor Flitwick asked, surprised, his fork pausing mid-air. "Pomona was worried that if no one showed up tomorrow, Gilderoy would be terribly embarrassed."
Anthony shook his head. "No, I have an academic discussion with Professor Snape."
"Ah, Severus." Professor Flitwick nodded, a muffled chuckle escaping him. "You won't believe this, Professor Anthony, but Severus very nearly became Gilderoy's assistant today."
Anthony stared. "What? Snape?"
He couldn't imagine Snape on that podium. What would he even say to the students below? My greatest talent lies in my sincere dislike for everyone? Listen, if you want to lock someone's heart, brew some Amortentia and pray you don't accidentally poison your beloved?
"During lunch, Gilderoy suddenly remembered his club needed an assistant to help demonstrate interpersonal techniques," Professor Flitwick explained, clearly amused. "But once Severus confirmed wands wouldn't be involved in the 'interpersonal' process, he said he had to prepare for a 'very important academic discussion tomorrow' and declined."
Just then, an excited shriek echoed from the Great Hall. Both Anthony and Flitwick instinctively looked towards the door.
"Do you know what's happening, Coco?" Anthony asked, curious about just how well-informed the house-elves were.
"Coco does not know," Coco said, wringing his rag, looking guilty. "Coco will know!"
With a very soft pop, Coco vanished. Another elf immediately took his place, enthusiastically wiping the already spotless countertop. Before the second wipe was done, Coco reappeared.
"Professor Lockhart has invited a student to be his assistant! To demonstrate how to interact with people!" Coco announced, beaming.
Professor Flitwick leaned in, interested. "And who accepted the invitation?"
"Miss Hermione Granger!" Coco said, swaying his head. "She is overjoyed!"
…
Professor Flitwick was fascinated by the chocolate factory. Even after he'd finished eating, he remained in the kitchen, asking countless questions about the assembly line.
"You see, Professor Anthony," Professor Flitwick said, "even a Doubling Charm cannot duplicate food. Aside from specific alchemical products or house-elves"—none of the working elves paused, but Anthony knew they were listening—"almost no one can mass-produce identical food items. I've always wondered how Muggles manage it without magic."
Anthony tried to explain workshops and production lines, but he was no expert himself. After promising to write down the factory's address for Flitwick, their conversation soon shifted to reminiscing about the interesting moments from the field trip.
"Oh, Professor Flitwick, you might find this interesting," Anthony said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a tightly stoppered glass vial.
Professor Flitwick peered at it. "What is it?"
"Reportedly, an extract from the venom of seven different snakes," Anthony said.
Flitwick took it, holding it up to the light to examine the liquid so dark it seemed both deep purple and deep green.
"Ah, this…" he said. "I've forgotten the name, but it has some reputation in Potions. It's a very dangerous concoction, made in an attempt to simulate Basilisk venom. Store it carefully, Professor Anthony." He handed the vial back.
"Simulate Basilisk venom?"
"Yes, but an unsuccessful imitation," Professor Flitwick said in his high voice. "As I recall, Basilisk venom possesses extraordinarily potent toxicity. Those who study Dark Magic claim it's a curse to end all curses, one that can even poison the soul directly." He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I can't recall the details. Severus would know far more than I. He acquired a Basilisk earlier this year, even gifted me a few of its scales."
Anthony took a bite of his pasty. "Wait, sorry… did you just say 'poison the soul,' Professor Flitwick?"
The learned Head of Ravenclaw explained, "It's merely a hypothesis. Some have proposed that the effect of meeting a Basilisk's gaze is identical to the Killing Curse. Therefore, it's speculated the Basilisk can attack the soul, leading to the theory that its venom is so difficult to cure precisely because it, too, can poison the soul."
Anthony said, surprised, "I've never come across that theory." He thought he'd skimmed most of the literature on souls.
"Oh, quite," Professor Flitwick added. "Don't mention it, Professor Anthony. The researcher hasn't published his findings yet. He works for St. Mungo's, specializing in injuries caused by magical creatures. I gave him one of the scales Severus sent me, which is how we discussed it."
Anthony nodded thoughtfully. He remembered being grazed by a Basilisk fang, but he'd just drained the poisoned blood and been fine soon after.
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