Before long, Professor Sprout returned with a surprising amount of gold. She then stood by and watched, eyes wide, as Kane began to "hand-rub" the precious tal.
His hands moved with a blurring speed, physically kneading the gold into two components that looked remarkably like motor rotors.
Next, he fished a gear out of Little Pumpkin's stomach. Combining it with the motors and the remaining gold, he continued to display his "divine strength." Before Sprout's very eyes, a phonograph was forced into existence, piece by piece.
"If Professor McGonagall saw this, she would absolutely lose her mind," Sprout whispered, cradling the heavy device.
She still couldn't believe Kane had achieved this level of Transfiguration—no, was it even Transfiguration?—without so much as touching his wand.
"We just need to place this in the center of the greenhouse and play music for the plants," Kane explained.
"It should keep them happy. The little fruit fly can then take a break, only needing to care for the stray few plants that are 'hard of hearing' and didn't catch the tune."
Kane placed the phonograph on a stone pedestal in the center of the greenhouse and pressed the button, cranking the volu to its maximum.
Professor Sprout looked behind her. A Mandrake imdiately perked up, its leaves turning a vibrant green.
Strangely, it even seed to grow a bit larger—reaching the size of a mature Mandrake while oddly retaining the coloration and leaf patterns of a seedling.
"Hiss... sothing isn't right. This is eleven out of ten levels of weird," Sprout muttered. "Does the combination of music and the fruit fly make them so happy they're trying to outgrow their own lifecycle?"
She quickly transfigured two small warning signs and hung them nearby, reminding herself and anyone else: Sothing is wrong with these Mandrakes. Do not touch.
As Sprout hurried off to her office to grab her lesson plans, Kane stayed behind to perform so "cloud-seeding," using his Weather Charms to dampen the soil that had grown dry over the last twenty-four hours.
When Sprout returned, she looked at him curiously. "By the way, Kane, do you have a class this period?"
"No," Kane replied, suddenly feeling a familiar sense of impending "tasks."
"Then why don't you stay and be my assistant? It's the first-years' first Herbology lesson today. I'm worried so of them might be as... 'naughty' as you were. I need you to help keep an eye on them."
Kane agreed, albeit with an awkward smile. Was I really that morable? he wondered. I thought I was quite well-behaved.
Soon, the greenhouse buzzed with the arrival of the first-years—a combined class of Ravenclaws and Slytherins.
Professor Sprout's teaching style was less aggressive than McGonagall's or Flitwick's, who often paired Gryffindor and Slytherin to foster "competitive learning."
Nor was she like Snape, who paired those two houses specifically to enjoy the "double happiness" of awarding Slytherin points while deducting them from Gryffindor—a pasti that ranked right up there with brewing potions and ntally attacking Harry Potter in his list of hobbies.
Sprout preferred safer pairings. Gryffindors were usually paired with Hufflepuffs, as the Hufflepuffs' "dullness" balanced out the Gryffindor fire—and they knew the way to the kitchens.
Slytherins were paired with Ravenclaws; the "Study Kings" of Ravenclaw were the only ones who could make the Slytherins hide their sneers, while the Ravenclaws viewed the wealthy Slytherins as "the landlord's silly children" rather than total idiots. It was a stable, if elitist, equilibrium.
Kane stood in the corner, watching Sprout teach the basics. Eventually, he grew bored of standing and began to pace the periter like a painter observing a street scene.
The Slytherins mostly looked bored, though they listened out of fear of Snape. The Ravenclaws were diligent, save for a few who clearly had zero interest in plants.
Kane went around, tapping a few shoulders to keep them focused. Finally, he reached a Ravenclaw girl at the back.
Even from behind, the cow-horn hat gave her away.
Luna was "listening," but in her own abstract way. She was practicing how to use her left foot to kick her right shoe off with natural speed while simultaneously taking notes.
Kane grabbed the horns of her hat and wobbled them gently. "Focus on the lesson, Luna. No secret maneuvers."
Once he was sure she was behaving, he vanished back into the shadows of the corner, a silent guardian of academic integrity.
By the end of the lesson, he had not only kept the class in order but also caught several small Slytherins trying to pocket "Grass Bugs."
They thought they were being subtle, but Kane had spent enough ti with Harry and Ron to know every trick in the book.
He was like a student turned teacher; the "hiding comics behind the textbook" tricks never escaped him.
When he hauled them before Sprout, she looked conflicted. Usually, she didn't mind if a student took a small sprout or a common bug—it was like taking an onion from the campus garden. But Kane had caught them, and she had to uphold his authority.
"One point from Slytherin," she sighed. "Put the bugs back and go."
As the dejected first-years left, Kane felt the sky looked a little bluer. He really was a responsible wizard.
By Thursday evening, back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione was hovering near him with a look on her face that suggested a quest marker was hovering over her head.
Indeed, it was a task. Lockhart had finally compiled a list of spells the various years wanted to learn.
He had filtered them down to spells he once knew (but had "forgotten" or could no longer cast) and very low-difficulty charms. He had handed a ledger and a heavy bag of Galleons to Hermione to deliver to Kane.
"So, is this 'protection money'?" Hermione asked, looking at the bag.
She was already imagining a scene in a secret chamber where Lockhart was kneeling before Kane, kissing the sapphire ring Dumbledore had given him while whispering, "Godfather... I need your friendship."
Kane, of course, had no idea about Hermione's "Godfather" fantasies. He tossed the bag of Galleons into Little Pumpkin's mouth. "More like a 'consultation fee.' I suspect he's too afraid to face Dumbledore directly."
He took the list and headed straight for the Headmaster's office.
Inside, Dumbledore was looking in a mirror and painting a self-portrait.
"Hm, not bad," Kane remarked, peering at the canvas. "If you'd been born three or four hundred years earlier, I might have seen this hanging in the library."
"More likely on this wall," Dumbledore replied, gesturing to the portraits of past Headmasters. "I like to think that even three centuries ago, my talent would have led to this office, allowing to give the current Headmaster constructive advice."
At that, a sharp-faced portrait with a goatee—Phineas Nigellus Black—snorted. "So, Dumbledore, you're saying we aren't giving you any good advice?"
"Phineas, your interpretation is perfectly accurate. I still respect you for it," Dumbledore said smoothly. He turned to Kane. "Is there sothing I can help you with?"
Kane pulled out Lockhart's list. "Not for . For our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Dumbledore scanned the list. His eyes twinkled as he realized exactly what Lockhart was doing.
"It seems," Dumbledore mused, "that our dear Professor Lockhart has finally decided to... see the light?"
🌟 The story is already written… waiting to be unleashed. Claim early access on Patreon: Patreon/kazama677
🔓 You hold the keys to bonus chapters:💬 10 reviews ignite 1 bonus chapter🔷 200 Power Stones summon another
🔥 Your power determines how fast the tale unfolds.
User Comments
0 comments from readers