"Kids, what's going on here?"
Lockhart hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, his smile warm and inviting as he asked the young wizards, hoping one of them would fill him in.
Draco Malfoy was there, looking rather smug. When he saw Lockhart approaching, his expression flickered briefly, and he pursed his lips, staying silent.
Lately, Harry and Malfoy had been spending time in Professor Lockhart's office, practicing how to counter and defend against the Disarming Charm.
The proud young Malfoy was slowly starting to respect the professor, even feeling a sense of admiration. But now, caught in the act of doing something wrong, he avoided Lockhart's gaze and didn't dare speak.
"Professor, Draco Malfoy called Hermione a Mudblood!" George Weasley shouted angrily, pushing past a classmate who was trying to stop him from starting a fight.
"Yeah, it's absolutely vile!" Fred Weasley added, looking like he wanted to tear Malfoy apart.
Blood prejudice was a serious issue, even in the wizarding world, where lineage was often held in high regard. It was a deeply unacceptable stance in a society that valued political correctness.
Lockhart shook his head at Draco. "That was completely uncalled for. Slytherin House will lose 20 points for this, and I'll be informing your Head of House, Professor Snape, who will deal with your punishment…"
As he spoke, Ron suddenly gagged and spat out another slimy slug, causing several students to gasp in shock.
Lockhart turned to Ron. "The Slug-Vomiting Charm? Who hexed him?"
"It was him!" Draco seized the moment, shouting, "He tried to curse me, but he only hit himself!"
Lockhart raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised.
Not because Ron's spell had backfired—he already knew about this from the original story. He recalled how Ron, at the start of the school year, had crashed his father's enchanted flying car into the Whomping Willow, breaking his wand. In the book, Lockhart had tried to use Ron's broken wand to cast a Memory Charm, only for it to backfire on himself.
What surprised Lockhart was something he hadn't considered before: Ron, who didn't know any spells before coming to Hogwarts, had managed to cast a hex not taught at school by the start of his second year.
That was more shocking than Draco knowing the Serpentsortia spell.
The Slug-Vomiting Charm wasn't a simple hex. The massive slugs it produced could clog the throat, making it difficult to cast spells or, in severe cases, even causing suffocation.
It was a highly practical combat spell!
Ron clearly wasn't as weak or foolish as some might think.
He must have been working hard in private to improve himself.
"Professor Lockhart, is he going to be okay?" Harry and Hermione asked, clearly worried.
"No big deal. In most cases, wizards just have to wait until all the slugs are out. It's like a bit of a cleanse for the stomach, flushing out toxins," Lockhart said, examining Ron with an air of experience. "At this rate, he'll be fine by noon and won't miss lunch."
"But nothing's too tough for me to handle. He's lucky," Lockhart added with a grin.
He turned to the surrounding students, clapping his hands and seizing the teaching moment. "The counter-curse for the Slug-Vomiting Charm is something older students might have learned, but I bet few can cast it properly. It's not required for the Ordinary Wizarding Level or Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests."
In fact, many adult wizards didn't master it either. Those who deliberately practiced this spell and its counter-curse were often dark wizards, as the hex was incredibly useful in battle.
Imagine a powerful wizard casting a Slug-Vomiting Charm so strong that the slugs were too large to expel, clogging the throat until the victim slowly suffocated. That's how terrifying this spell could be.
"So, how do you fix it?"
"The answer is simple: eat some salt or even dirt. It interrupts the spell's effect by targeting the slugs' nature," Lockhart explained, bending down to scoop up some soil from the ground. "This doesn't mean the spell's magic is gone from your body—it's just paused, giving you a chance to cast the counter-curse. But you need to be careful of someone casting an Engorgement Charm on you, which could amplify the slugs still lingering inside."
With that, he shoved the handful of dirt into Ron's mouth.
Ron, still dazed from vomiting slugs, suddenly found his mouth full of soil. He frantically spat it out, coughing.
After spitting out the dirt, he paused, confused, touching his stomach and throat. Blinking, he said, "I'm… okay?"
"Whoa!" The surrounding students erupted in cheers, many clapping with admiration.
Everyone was thrilled.
"Calm down, just a basic trick," Lockhart said with his signature dazzling smile, waving for them to settle down. But the young wizards' excitement and adoration couldn't be contained.
Fanatic follower +1
Fanatic follower +1
Fanatic follower +1
…
Truth be told, Lockhart was quietly sweating. This unexpected situation was a bit of bad luck, and he'd been forced to step in since he was spotted. Thankfully, he knew this dirt trick.
Otherwise, actually casting a counter-curse with his wand?
He'd probably have better luck knocking Ron out with a stick.
Time to get out of here before the kids started asking for a counter-curse demonstration!
Lockhart, quick on his feet, gave a few encouraging words to the students, cleverly shutting down further questions, and prepared to leave.
As he turned, his gaze fell on Ron in the corner, glumly staring at his taped-up wand. An idea struck him, and he called out, "Come with me."
"Huh?" Ron blinked. "Where?"
To buy a wand, of course.
And to have an experienced young wizard guide him through using the Floo Network. Though Lockhart had the memories of his predecessor and other wizards, he'd never personally used it.
Floo travel wasn't without risks.
Mispronounce the destination, and you could end up somewhere entirely wrong, which would be a disaster.
If he brought Ron along, no one would think he was nervous—they'd just assume he was looking out for the kid.
Heh, perfect plan!
Besides…
Wands at Ollivanders were subsidized for students, costing only 7 Galleons. For an ordinary wizarding family, that might be a stretch (though not outrageous), but for Lockhart, a bestselling author with a dozen books, it was pocket change.
It was a small gesture.
As a professor, these young wizards were his future network. Spending a few Galleons was a cheap investment, and totally worth it.
Ron, however, didn't see it that way.
When Lockhart brought him to Professor Sprout to use her office's Floo fireplace to travel to Diagon Alley and Ollivanders Wand Shop, Ron finally snapped out of his daze.
He stared up at the shop's sign, his eyes filled with a longing he couldn't suppress, a dream he'd imagined so many times.
Feeling awkward and embarrassed, he tried to hide his nervousness and insecurity, swallowing hard to steady his voice. "Professor Lockhart, I forgot my money. I'll come back to buy one next time."
He tried not to grip his wand too tightly, attempting to seem casual as he waved it. "It's still pretty usable. That was just an accident earlier."
But his wand betrayed him. The tape didn't hold, and the broken half flopped down.
Ron yelped, quickly trying to shove the broken piece back into the tape, keeping his head down to avoid Lockhart's gaze.
A warm hand gently ruffled his hair. Looking up in surprise, Ron saw Lockhart's radiant, warm smile.
"This is a reward, Ron."
"Standing up so bravely for your friend when they were insulted, raising your wand without hesitation—you're a true Gryffindor and a courageous fighter!"
Poor Ron, always living in the shadow of his accomplished parents, five older brothers, and even his sister. Mediocre in so many ways, he'd never been praised like this.
These were the most wonderful words Ron had ever heard!
No one.
No one!
No one had ever affirmed him like this, praising him so openly.
"R-Really?" Ron's eyes shone with hope.
"Of course!" Lockhart gestured for him to enter the shop. "A warrior needs a proper wand. Ron, I'm looking forward to seeing what you achieve on your magical journey."
This kind of expectation was something Ron had never felt before, and his heart surged with warmth.
They stepped into the shop together, where Mr. Ollivander enthusiastically measured Ron's arm and asked a flurry of questions, making the experience unforgettable.
Ron felt like he was floating, the moment blending with countless daydreams, almost too surreal to believe.
He took the wand Mr. Ollivander handed him, watching eagerly as the wandmaker shook his head and swapped it for another, searching through the shelves. Ron's eyes were glued to the process, waiting for his wand.
A wand of his own!
Not his brother Charlie's old, worn-out one, with the unicorn hair poking out of the end!
"They can't expect me to do as well as my brothers at school with a broken, ill-fitting wand!" he'd sometimes thought to himself in secret.
He was so thrilled that he didn't even notice Professor Lockhart was also buying a wand.
Fourteen inches (35.56 cm), not perfectly straight, with a slight curve and a short, curled fork at the end—"A nimble wand favors an elegant caster," Mr. Ollivander explained.
The wand was made of apple wood. Mr. Ollivander rambled on about it: "Apple wood wand owners are often well-liked and long-lived. I've noticed those matched with apple wood wands tend to have great personal charm. Many are gifted at communicating with other species, like Dylan Marwood, author of Mermish: Language and Traditions Fully Explored."
The only downside was that apple wood wands resisted performing dark magic to some degree.
The core was unicorn tail hair, "which produces the most stable magic, least likely to fluctuate or block. Wands with unicorn hair cores are generally the least likely to turn to dark magic."
This wand was almost the complete opposite of Lockhart's original one.
Gifted in communicating with other species, casting stable rather than flashy spells, and both the wood and core resisting dark magic…
Mr. Ollivander gave Lockhart a curious look. "You seem quite different from before."
Lockhart didn't explain, simply admiring the wand in his hand, feeling a sudden spark of excitement within him. Smiling, he said, "It's nice, isn't it?"
"Indeed," Mr. Ollivander agreed firmly.
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