Chapter 227: Sirius Black's Revenge
“What about our Defense Against the Dark Arts class?” Hermione asked, her voice tinged with worry.
“Professor Dumbledore will surely find a substitute teacher for you,” Professor Flitwick assured them. “There’s no need to worry—this has happened before. Just wait a few days, and you’ll have an excellent wizard teaching you.”
The students relaxed, but Flitwick knew better. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Over the years, Hogwarts had seen more professors in Defense Against the Dark Arts than in all other subjects combined. Finding a truly capable wizard—someone with both skill and a trustworthy reputation—was already rare. And now, with rumors of curses attached to the position, most wizards were hesitant to apply. Only Snape had consistently expressed interest, but Dumbledore had never accepted his request.
…
The media moved faster than Flitwick had expected. The next morning, students found Lockhart’s photos splashed across the front pages of the Daily Prophet. There he was—golden-haired, hands bound, being dragged into the Ministry of Magic. Rufus Scrimgeour, his face hard and furious, shoved aside the camera lenses as the shots were taken. The image replayed again and again, like a cruel loop.
“I told my dad!” a Slytherin student boasted to his peers. “When I saw an Auror arresting Lockhart, I knew this was a major incident. I sent him a message right away. He took this photo!”
“Smart move,” a prefect murmured, eyes half-lowered. “But why did you have to tell everyone?”
He gave a subtle signal to the side. Instantly, a group of girls—eyes red from crying—turned their furious stares toward the boy.
“Uh-oh,” Michael muttered with grim satisfaction. “He’s in trouble now.”
Wade turned to Harry. “If they find out you’re the one who started it all…”
Harry waved a hand, his face pinched with distress. “Please, don’t bring that up.”
Last night, in their Book of Friends, Sirius Black had gloated triumphantly, revealing that he and Remus Lupin had reported Lockhart to the Ministry.
Sirius Black: This is payback. Let him learn to respect other people’s arms.
The words had been scrawled with such force they seemed to still burn on the parchment, as if the anger had never faded.
Remus: Michael told us Lockhart kept giving you trouble, Harry. Sirius was furious.
There was a quiet reproach in Remus’s tone.
Harry: I didn’t think he was giving me trouble… He just wanted me to perform on stage, and kept pulling me into photos. He always acted like I was some kind of show-off, like him.
Remus: So you didn’t want to perform? Didn’t want to be in a photo with him?
Harry replied instantly:
Harry: Of course not!
A long silence followed. Then Remus’s reply came, slow and deliberate.
Sirius Black: Idiot. That’s exactly what it means.
Remus: Harry, even professors can’t force you to do things you don’t want to. You have the right to say no.
Their messages arrived almost simultaneously. Through the parchment, Wade could almost see their expressions—exhausted, concerned, and deeply distressed.
Harry remained silent for a long time, likely brooding in the dormitory bed.
Wade broke in:
Wade: Someone in the Inner Circle saw a few suspicious figures in Hogsmeade last weekend. They didn’t look like ordinary wizards. Can’t be you and those Aurors, could it?
Sirius Black: Haha, it was us.
Sirius Black: Scrimgeour wanted to arrest Lockhart right away, but I heard he was ordering Valentine’s Day flowers. So I convinced him to wait—until the big day. A dramatic twist in front of everyone? That’s exactly the kind of plot he’d love in his own books.
Wade suddenly realized: Sirius Black and Michael were cut from the same cloth. Their revenge was slow, precise, and merciless. In a way, they shared a certain Slytherin cunning.
…
On the third day after Lockhart’s arrest, reports came that the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic had been overwhelmed with letters. Rufus Scrimgeour himself received dozens of howling, furious missives.
Across Britain, witches who had once adored Lockhart now flooded the Ministry with desperate defenses. They wrote in droves, insisting he couldn’t be guilty, and raging at Scrimgeour for treating him so harshly.
The public outcry pushed the Ministry to speed up the trial. Evidence of Lockhart’s fraud was published in relentless detail across the newspapers.
Most ordinary people trusted the government by default. The opposition quickly faded. Aside from a few diehard fans still defending him, the majority of his followers turned on him—accusing him of deceiving them with lies and manipulation.
Back at Hogwarts, with the Defense Against the Dark Arts position vacant, other professors were forced to step in and teach the subject across different year groups. But once they opened the textbooks… they all fell silent.
All seven year groups were assigned Lockhart’s novels and autobiographies. Less than one in a thousand pages contained any actual magical knowledge.
“Alright… alright…” Professor Flitwick sighed, taking a deep breath. “Close the books, children. This isn’t what Defense Against the Dark Arts is about. You need to learn how to protect yourselves—and how to defend against dangerous creatures.”
The students, tired of theatrical performances, happily shoved the books into the desk cabinets and turned to Flitwick with eager eyes.
“Hmm…” The tiny professor stroked his white beard, frowning in thought. “According to the schedule, you should now be learning how to repel Dwarf Pig Beasts. Anyone know their characteristics?”
Several hands shot up.
“Miss Greengrass.”
Daphne Greengrass stood. “Dwarf Pig Beasts look like piglets. They sneak into pig pens, pretending to be ordinary farm animals, and spread disease.”
Terry Boot from Ravenclaw added, “They’re fast-moving—very hard to catch.”
“Good. One point for Slytherin, one for Ravenclaw.” Flitwick nodded approvingly. “Now, who knows how to deal with them?”
A silence fell.
After a few seconds, Malfoy’s voice cut through.
“Pure white dogs can drive them away. The Ministry’s Beast Management and Control Department even keeps a dozen albino guard dogs for this purpose.”
He glanced around lazily. “My father even donated funds last year to feed those picky little beasts.”
“Correct,” Flitwick said, ignoring the boast. “Dwarf Pig Beasts fear white dogs. Another point for Slytherin.”
He paused, then added, “There’s a simple spell that can help us detect them early—before they cause serious damage.”
(End of Chapter)
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