When the Time Comes, We'll Throw the Match

"Very good, students, you've all done well."

Lockhart saw his three teammates out the door, flashing them a bright white grin, and reminded them, "Don't forget tomorrow's match. Oh, and by the way..."

He took a stack of autographed photos out of his pocket.

After drawing three cards, he handed them to three people in the line.

"This is an extra bonus, don't tell anyone!"

Lockhart winked smugly.

Neville and Ron exchanged a glance, casually stuffed the autographed photos into their robes, and turned to leave.

They have a meeting at the Room of Requirement today.

Another Ravenclaw student carefully put away the autographed photo.

Lockhart shouted some instructions to the three people as they walked away.

"Mr. Weasley, don't go easy on Harry during tomorrow's match."

"You are now rivals!"

"And Mr. Longbottom, although you haven't learned any new Spells, you've become more proficient with the ones you already knew. Don't be nervous."

"Michael, I have the highest hopes for you. Honestly, while you may not be as good as me, you're still a rare talent!"

The three of them walked further and further away amidst his rambling, and soon disappeared from sight.

Lockhart returned to his office.

There are no stars or moon tonight.

There was only one candle on the desk, its light flickering.

Lockhart settled comfortably in his chair, smacked his lips, and took out the old Diary, placing it on the table.

He wrote on it with a quill pen, "Tom, your suggestion is really good!"

"A friendly match, what a great idea! Once I win, they'll know what a wonderful mentor I am."

"Perhaps I should start a magic school?"

"If I were the headmaster, I would definitely make it better Hogwarts!"

Lockhart rambled on in his Diary.

The writing slowly disappeared after it was written.

Soon, a line of small print appeared on the old page.

[I merely offered some suggestions; the main advantage lies in your own intelligence and exceptional magical skills.]

Lockhart proudly brandished his extravagantly designed Peacock Quill, grinning to reveal a set of white teeth.

"Honestly, Tom, I really feel sorry for you."

"Your talent is quite good, but of course, it's not as good as mine."

"What I mean is, if you could meet me, and study with me for a few years, you too could become a powerful wizard. See, haven't I taught them very well?"

The Diary fell silent.

Lockhart waited a while, then saw a short line of text appear on the Diary before quickly disappearing.

It seemed the person on the other end was annoyed and roughly erased the writing.

Lockhart shook his head, thinking, "Tom must be shy."

Actually, you don't need to do that; we're already so familiar with each other.

Express your adoration for me freely; I can handle it.

A sentence appeared slowly in the Diary, written in messy, weak handwriting.

[You're right, Professor Lockhart.]

[You are a great wizard and a famous author. If you were to open a magic school, I'm sure many people would flock to enroll.]

The last few sentences seemed to be squeezed out from between teeth, appearing hastily written.

Lockhart, however, was completely oblivious and readily agreed with this obvious compliment.

He leaned back comfortably in his chair, stretching out his body freely, imagining himself as the headmaster of a magic school, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dumbledore.

"Alright, Tom, I have a game tomorrow, I'm going to rest now. Wait for my good news," Lockhart wrote before heading back to sleep.

A line of text quickly appeared on the Diary.

[Professor Lockhart, if you ask me, let's discuss the tactics for tomorrow's game.]

He had just endured nausea and said so many things against his conscience, so of course he wouldn't let Lockhart go.

"Alright."

Lockhart hesitated for a moment, then returned to his chair.

The flickering candlelight enveloped Lockhart's entire head.

A gust of wind blew, and the firelight flickered, almost leaping into Lockhart's head.

The Room of Requirement is very lively tonight.

The Rest Room was full of people.

George and Fred were sighing with regret.

Why are only second-year students selected for the friendly match?

"What a pity, what a real pity!"

"We've hoarded quite a few Dungbomb!" George and Fred sat together, shaking their heads comically.

Fred picked up where George left off. "If you choose us, you can fight alongside Silan, and the three of us can throw Dungbomb together!"

Imagining the scene, George and Fred burst into laughter.

"If we could do that, we'd be willing to serve Snape!"

Silan found it somewhat amusing.

The love these two have for Dungbomb is probably more than several Ron combined could match.

If they were to actually play those two, the match venue would probably turn into a cesspool...

As they were talking, Ron and Neville returned.

Hermione, who had been engrossed in devising a battle plan, suddenly looked up at Neville and Ron.

"Give me a report on today's situation."

Ron, the undercover agent, slipped through the gaps between the group and sat down next to Harry, shrugging. "Pretty much the same as before."

"Neville still hasn't learned any new Spells, but he's become more proficient at the ones he already knew. I've learned the Obliviate."

"How's that Ravenclaw student doing?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"He's doing well." Ron spilled all the information he had gathered. "And because he comes from Ravenclaw House like Lockhart has high hopes for him."

At this point, Ron paused, his tone becoming heavy.

"He's a tough opponent."

Hermione pulled her eyes away from the pile of notes, leaned back on the sofa, stared blankly at the ceiling, looking somewhat troubled.

Finally, she looked at Ron: "Looks like you'll have to play your role as an undercover agent."

Ron nodded very seriously. "Don't worry, I've already discussed it with Harry, we'll throw the match."

George and Fred, who were standing next to him, both turned to look at him.

"You went undercover at Lockhart's place just to fix the match?"

"Ron, you've really disappointed me!"

George looked at him with a disappointed expression.

Fred moved a little further away from Ron: "When you go out in the future, whatever you do, don't say you're my brother!"

Despite the disdainful looks from George and Fred, Ron proudly raised his head.

"Hermione gave me a Galleon!"

"Besides, do you expect me to become an enemy of my dear cousin?"

George abruptly turned to look at Ron, his mouth agape in astonishment, "A Galleon? My God!"

Fred pounded his chest in frustration, "I really hate that I'm not in second grade!"

"Otherwise, I wouldn't even need one Galleon. Give me five Sickle, and I'd be willing to throw the match! Ron really got lucky!"

George shook his head helplessly, "They really make a lot of money."

Ron was very pleased with himself.

Harry, somewhat embarrassed, muttered a remark to himself.

"I really don't want Lockhart to win, but I also don't want to play for Snape. So..."

He looked at Silan apologetically, "I'm so sorry, Silan."

"It's alright, Harry." Silan smiled and waved at him, indicating that she didn't mind.

After all, as long as Harry can breathe and play, that's enough.

"In that case, it's settled then."

After Hermione finished speaking, she frowned and began to arrange the next steps, "Listen to me."