Harry Potter: Westeros's Plant Life

The glow of candlelight flickered across Professor Flitwick's face as he set down his teacup with a gentle clink against the saucer.

"When I first came to Hogwarts, I did the same thing," Professor Flitwick recalled, as he tapped the rim of his cup with one small finger. "We had a dueling club back then too, but it was discontinued for certain reasons. But this dueling club that Lockhart is organizing—honestly, I don't want to get involved. It definitely won't go smoothly. That man couldn't even organize a proper tea party, let alone oversee students using dangerous magic."

Adrian nodded thoughtfully, swirling the dregs of his own tea as he absorbed Flitwick's words.

It seemed Professor Flitwick had quite a prejudice against Lockhart—though calling it prejudice might be unfair when it was based on such plentiful evidence of incompetence.

Among the entire Hogwarts faculty, those who held any genuine fondness for this 'professor' could probably be counted on one hand, and even then, one might need to subtract a few fingers.

The number of people who would willingly get involved with Lockhart's dueling club would likely be few and far between, leaving the students to the mercies of a man whose greatest magical achievement seemed to be maintaining his unnaturally white smile.

Soon it was Monday, and the castle had settled into its familiar rhythm of early winter.

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning energy—the clatter of cutlery against plates, the rustle of turning newspaper pages, and the excited chatter of hundreds of voices echoing off the enchanted ceiling.

As Adrian was heading to his first class through the central courtyard, he unexpectedly encountered Lockhart again.

However, today's Lockhart looked radiant his golden hair was perfectly maintained, his robes were pressed to perfect crispness, and his smile was again blazing with vigor.

When he spotted Adrian crossing the flagstones, he didn't show any of the disgust or impatience during their recent interactions. This transformation was completely different from his cold attitude of the past few days, when he'd treated Adrian like an unwelcome reminder of his own shortcomings.

"Professor Westeros!" Lockhart called out, standing by a flower bed where the last remaining few flowers were. He waved at Adrian with dramatic enthusiasm. "What perfect timing to run into you!"

Seeing this rather dramatic show, Adrian raised his eyebrows slightly and slowed his pace, his mind immediately becoming suspicious of such a sudden change in demeanor.

What was Lockhart playing at now?

"What perfect timing to run into you, Professor Westeros," Lockhart repeated as he hurried forward with the eager steps of a man about to make a sale to its customer. "I was just planning to deliver this personally! Fate must have intervened to bring us together at this auspicious moment!"

"What's the matter?" Adrian asked, his voice coming disinterested.

Without missing a beat, Lockhart pulled out a small card with golden edges from his deep robe pocket like a stage magician, clearly having practiced this moment and handed it to Adrian.

"Take a look at this!" He exclaimed, his eyebrows dancing with excitement. "Hogwarts Dueling Club—initiated personally by me, an experienced duelist with years of practical combat experience, and I've invited several like-minded professors to provide guidance together! This is an excellent project to enhance students' magical abilities and prepare them for the dangerous world beyond these walls! You absolutely cannot miss such an opportunity!"

Adrian looked down and reluctantly accepted the card, immediately noting its ostentatious design. It was indeed a glittering golden creation, clearly expensive and entirely too flashy for a simple invitation.

Lockhart's own portrait was prominently displayed on the front, taking up nearly the entire surface.

The Lockhart on the card kept winking at him with exaggeration and showing off a row of unnaturally large white teeth. The tiny portrait even went so far as to run a hand through its golden hair and blow a kiss, causing Adrian to suppress a shudder of nausea.

At the bottom, in writing that probably cost more than most professors' monthly salaries, was a line of text: "Hogwarts Dueling Club cordially invites your esteemed guidance and expertise."

After examining the flashy invitation twice, Adrian returned the card to Lockhart with the same supressed expression he might use when handling something disgusting. "I hope your club goes smoothly, Professor Lockhart," He said with fake politeness. "I have some urgent matters to attend to."

Then Adrian nodded slightly and immediately turned to leave.

But he had only taken a few steps across the courtyard when Lockhart's urgent, almost desperate voice came from behind: "Wait, Professor Westeros! Please, just a moment of your time!"

Adrian stopped and sighed so softly that only he could hear it. He turned his head to look at that face still stretched in its trademark smile.

"I know you're incredibly busy, Professor Westeros," Lockhart hurried to catch up, his tone taking on the fawning quality. "But I sincerely invite you to attend our first demonstration this Saturday evening. Just watching would be perfectly fine—even if you simply appeared on stage as an honored guest, the students would be thrilled!"

Adrian frowned and asked, "Have you invited other professors?"

"Well... of course I have!" Lockhart's practiced smile weakened slightly, but he quickly recovered his composure. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape... I've sent personal invitations to all of them, naturally. This dueling club will definitely be tremendously useful for our students' development, Professor Westeros!"

However, Adrian didn't believe that the professors Lockhart had so confidently mentioned would never accept his invitation to participate in his dueling club.

Last weekend, when Professor Flitwick had been drinking with him, he had specifically mentioned that he wouldn't participate in Lockhart's dueling club under any circumstances.

So the question was: 'should I go and witness this inevitable disaster?'

After a moment of serious consideration, weighing the potential necessities against the certain annoyance, Adrian had to reach an unexpected decision.

After all, if there were no 'competent' professors present to watch over the students, allowing those young wizards to experiment with dangerous magic under Lockhart's questionable guidance would be irresponsible.

Someone needed to ensure that the evening didn't end in disaster.

"Alright," Adrian said finally, his voice carrying a note of resignation. "I agree to attend."

"Won't you reconsider your—ah, wait, you agreed?" Lockhart seemed momentarily stunned by this unexpected victory, his mouth actually falling open for a split second before he broke into an even more dazzling smile. "Excellent! Absolutely excellent! You won't regret this decision! You'll witness my incomparable dueling skills—a side of me that I rarely reveal to the general public due to its rather overwhelming nature. Please look forward to it with great anticipation!"

Even at this moment of triumph, Lockhart couldn't resist boasting about his supposed abilities, puffing up like a peacock displaying its feathers.

One had to admit, a leopard truly couldn't change its spots, no matter how much pomade it used.

"I'm so looking forward to it..." Adrian murmured under his breath, his tone so dry it could have started a fire.

"What?" Lockhart blinked, his perpetual smile wavering slightly. "What did you just say? I didn't quite catch that."

"I said—I'm so looking forward to it," Adrian repeated with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" Lockhart exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Then I'll list you as a special guest of honor! You can stand on stage with me, greet the eager students, and then—if you're willing to demonstrate your skills—we could even stage an exciting demonstration duel!"

"That won't be necessary..." Adrian waved his hand dismissively, already regretting his moment of responsibility.

He had no intention of playing along with Lockhart's stage schemes or accompanying him in what would undoubtedly be an exercise in public humiliation.

The dueling club had been scheduled for the evening of the first Saturday in December.

Time passed quickly, where days blended together in a comfortable routine of lessons, meals, and the constant background hum of magical education.

Soon enough, that Saturday had arrived.

In the early morning hours, Harry and Ron were dragging their exhausted feet through the first-floor corridor.

Ron rubbed his reddened, hazy eyes with the back of his hand, his voice dense with confusion and slight irritation: "What exactly are we doing, Harry? Why have we been wandering around this bloody castle like lost ghosts since three o'clock in the morning? My feet are killing me, and I'm fairly certain we've passed the same suit of armor at least six times."

At around three o'clock in the morning, Harry had suddenly bolted upright in his bed as if struck by lightning, immediately shaken Ron from his peaceful sleep, and dragged his bewildered best friend on this seemingly endless trek through Hogwarts' corridors and staircases.

Until now, when the first pale rays of dawn were beginning to creep through the tall windows, it was finally breakfast time though neither of them felt particularly hungry after their night or early morning 'adventure'.

"I heard a voice," Harry explained. "Just like the one I heard on Halloween—you remember what happened then. Ray was petrified at that time, and I suspect that the voice I heard has some connection to this incident."

Indeed, Harry had heard that chilling voice again in the early hours of this morning.

Hearing this explanation, Ron sighed deeply and rubbed his temples where a headache was beginning to come.

"But I didn't hear any disturbance at all, mate—not even a whisper. You must be hallucinating from stress or having some kind of nightmare. Honestly, I think you should go to the hospital wing and have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you. She's got potions there that can help you sleep more peacefully, without all these disturbing dreams."

Harry shook his head with the stubborn determination. "I definitely heard it, Ron. It wasn't a dream or my imagination playing tricks on me."

Although the sinister voice had only appeared for a few seconds, Harry ws certain he hadn't been mistaken.

At this moment, Ron yawned so widely his jaw cracked audibly, and tears began forming at the corners of his eyes. "If Hermione knew we were sneaking out for another one of our midnight wandering sessions, she would definitely lecture us severely for hours on end. And you know how thorough her lectures can be—she'd probably have charts prepared."

Harry glanced sideways at Ron with a smirk. "You seem very afraid of Hermione, Ron."

"Absolute nonsense!" Ron immediately widened his eyes, showing an incredulous expression. "What complete rubbish are you spouting? Why in Merlin's name would I be afraid of her? She's just a girl, isn't she? I simply think she can be somewhat... intensely annoying at times, you know. During the last Herbology class, she..."

"Speaking ill of others behind their backs isn't particularly gentlemanly behavior, Ronald."

A familiar voice came from behind them in the corridor.

Both Harry and Ron jumped as if they'd been struck by a Stinging Hex, spinning around to see Hermione Granger standing behind them.

Her bushy brown hair was already perfectly arranged despite the early hour, her school robes were spotless, and her arms crossed in a pose that had become legendarily intimidating.

The expression on her face was a half-smile.

"Her—Hermione!" Ron stammered, his voice cracking embarrassingly on her name as his face flushed red. "How—when—what are you doing here at this hour?"

"Oh, I was simply planning to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast," Hermione replied with a bright, cheerful tone, quickly walking to Ron's side. "You know perfectly well that I always get up early on weekends—it's the most productive time for studying. After breakfast, I need to spend several hours in the library working on my essay."

The current Hermione had long since stopped taking offense when she overheard Ron speaking critically about her various academic enthusiasms and organizational habits.

She knew that Ron was a good person who considered her one of his closest friends—he just had an unfortunate disease that made him speak before using his brain.

In short, she had grown accustomed to his verbal blunders and no longer took them as personal attacks on her character.

Seeing that Hermione completely ignored what he had said, Ron breathed a sigh of relief.

He still carried remembered that last term his careless words about her supposed lack of friends had driven Hermione to cry alone in an abandoned bathroom, leading to her dangerous encounter with a troll.