Chapter 418: The Wind Is Whistling

Allen and the others’ flower business was doing exceptionally well.

When Professor Lockhart finished his speech, countless enthusiastic listeners were quietly approached by mysterious classmates asking:

"Hey, mate... want a disc—uh, I mean, flowers?"

The final profit ended up being around a dozen Galleons per person.

That was a considerable fortune. Compared to Ron’s constant financial struggles—often unable to even produce a single Galleon—you could easily tell how significant this was.

This unexpected windfall even gave Allen a brief urge to send their dear professor back to the hospital again.

Fortunately, his remaining sense of reason stopped him.

More importantly—if someone just got discharged and ended up hospitalized again for no clear reason... even a fool would start questioning the situation.

After quickly packing up their stall, Allen asked his dormmates when their next Defense Against the Dark Arts class would be, hoping to salvage things one last time.

But the question quickly became irrelevant.

Professor Lockhart’s magnetic voice, amplified by a spell, echoed across the entire grounds. Even Allen, standing far from the stage, could hear it clearly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, at this moment of celebration, I—Gilderoy Lockhart—"

The long list of titles that followed was drowned out by Marshall’s yawn. Fortunately, the important part still came through.

"Although, as a professor, my duty is to teach my students, there are currently thousands of Muggle lives in danger, and dozens of wizarding families threatened by a sinister creature. I must apologize to all of you."

"However, this period of interaction has reassured me that your education will not suffer in my absence."

"From tomorrow onward... that creature will tremble!"

That statement immediately stunned the younger wizards who had been casually selling flowers. Even Allen himself froze.

What the hell? Is Lockhart going nuclear?

Did we mess him up too badly last time?

He instinctively turned to Shane.

Shane shrugged, equally confused. The others also shook their heads.

There was no way the school’s defense system would tolerate some unknown monster.

But Marshall quickly dug up information.

A creature had appeared in a distant wizarding village in Japan, causing disturbances. It hadn’t harmed anyone, but it would not leave wizarding or Muggle belongings alone, and had even disrupted concealment spells between the two worlds—almost causing a major incident.

Lockhart had reportedly received the request and made his decision immediately.

Japanese reporters, who had arrived to document the event, captured the moment and planned to publish it as tomorrow’s headline.

Naturally, Lockhart received a wave of cheers—and even approval from Dumbledore.

If they hadn’t already packed up, this could have been another profitable opportunity.

Marshall clicked his tongue in disappointment as he watched Lockhart bask in the crowd’s admiration.

Feels like a farewell ceremony...

Allen couldn’t help but think, feeling a strange chill in the wind.

The phrase "the wind sighs, the river chills" flashed through his mind.

Pah.

He quickly shook off the thought.

He’s our golden goose. Coming back injured is fine—but don’t say such unlucky things.

Besides, with Lockhart’s brain and information channels... there was no way he would recklessly walk into danger.

And so, regardless of everything, Professor Lockhart left that day.

Resolutely. Without hesitation.

======

Without Lockhart, school life became noticeably dull.

Regular professors didn’t bring nearly as many surprises.

Days passed peacefully—uneventful, even boring—until the weekend arrived.

In Saturday’s match, even with friendly support from all houses (and a reluctant blessing from Gryffindor), Slytherin still failed to win.

Despite having the newest Nimbus 2001 broom model, Draco Malfoy still dragged them down, missing the Golden Snitch by a single step.

Strangely, this victory brought Hogwarts and Mahoutokoro closer than ever.

After the match, students from both schools were even seen chatting and laughing together like old friends. Slytherin, meanwhile, looked like they had been sacrificed for the greater good.

By the next day, before Ilvermorny had even entered the field, they were already drowning in public hostility.

Mahoutokoro’s enthusiastic wizards even built cheering banners for Gryffindor, temporarily lending them their cheerleaders as well.

By the time Ilvermorny’s team entered the arena, their own cheers were completely drowned out.

And it wasn’t just students present—there were adult wizards as well.

Ilvermorny’s previous actions had already triggered a flood of owl-delivered complaints.

So today, even without a home team, the boos were deafening.

Gryffindor, by contrast, entered the field to cheers that rivaled a home stadium.

And then—

Allen spat out his drink.

BOOM—!

"What the hell?!"

Harry and the others looked like they had been starved. They had clearly lost weight—almost as if they had been put through some extreme training regime.

Thankfully, their spirits seemed intact. At least they didn’t look like they were about to lose.

Even though Allen tried to duck, soda still splashed onto Hermione.

She shot him a fierce glare, then reached for her wand—only for Allen to quickly tap her clean with a finger first.

She huffed, accepting a snack from Annie (who was thoroughly enjoying the chaos) before beginning her explanation.

"At first, to prevent anyone tampering with the food, Wood insisted on cooking everything himself and added intense training on top of that. Professor McGonagall actually approved his request for the team to take the week off!"

"But Gryffindor doesn’t even have anyone who can cook! And Quidditch is one thing, but studying is still more important!"

"They didn’t even provide proper meals. If Katie—one of the Chasers—hadn’t fainted from hunger during training, McGonagall might never have fixed the food situation. Whether they even had enough strength to compete was questionable!"

Hermione clearly didn’t understand at all.

After all, she couldn’t even lift a broom properly.

Allen, however, suddenly became very serious.

Flying was the romance of men.

Quidditch was romance within romance.

It was like the freshest rose at the peak of passion.

And catching the Snitch in victory? That was like a first kiss during the purest moment of love.

How could people who didn’t play Quidditch possibly understand this?

If Allen weren’t busy making money and chasing Slytherin for victories, he’d already be Gryffindor’s main player.

But he didn’t say that part out loud.

Still, his passionate "theory of Quidditch" earned nods of approval from many wizards—even several witches agreed with him.

As expected of a former player... his insight was impressive.

.....

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