The time quickly reached eight o'clock, the time the notice board had listed for the club to begin.
Professor Lockhart strode in through the side door of the Great Hall, head held high.
He had a new hairstyle, with a few curls that covered his ears and partly obscured his left eye.
Professor Lockhart had also chosen a purplish-red robe that trailed all the way down to his shoes. It was covered in assorted ornaments, and its buttons had been replaced with jewels.
As for his shoes, Professor Lockhart seemed to have chosen a pair with lifts inside, because Harley could clearly tell he was a little taller than usual.
As Harley studied Professor Lockhart's outfit, a strange expression appeared on her face.
Professor Lockhart looked less like he was about to teach a duelling lesson and more like he was about to teach a dance class.
Back when Harley had taken ballroom dancing lessons, her teacher, a middle-aged woman, had dressed just like this when she acted as Harley's male partner.
Although Harley had never used the steps the teacher taught for the woman's part, she had repeatedly used the steps the teacher performed for the man's part.
So Harley remembered that teacher quite well.
A vivid memory was one thing, but unless Professor Lockhart was a Sealed Artifact, needed for some special ritual, or belonged to a special Sequence, he would be blasted to ash the moment he stepped onto a battlefield dressed like that.
After all, he looked far too flashy and conspicuous. He'd be the perfect target for concentrated fire, and they wouldn't even leave enough of him for a proper burial.
Professor Lockhart clearly didn't think so—or perhaps he simply had no idea.
He strode onto the stage, waving at everyone. "My dear students, good