"...Did you three actually rob Gringotts?"
Hermione was completely bewildered. She had just co from the Great Hall, and the Daily Prophet certainly hadn't issued a special edition about a heist.
The corners of the mouths of Kane, Harry, and Ron twitched in unison. How were they supposed to explain this?
"Of course not! This is the money we made selling hats!" Ron, who had finally co into so real wealth only to be accused of being a criminal, defended himself indignantly.
"Hats... You don't an those things you made out of compost buckets?" Hermione asked, stunned.
"Mm-hmm," Kane nodded.
"So when you invited into a 'money-making sche,' you ant selling hats?"
Hermione spent the next several seconds awkwardly touching her nose, her chin, her forehead, and her lips—fidgeting as if her entire face were itching. It was pure, unadulterated embarrassnt.
"So, about this..." Kane held out the stack of checks totaling eleven hundred Galleons. He felt a bit bad about the uneven split and considered giving her another hundred just to round it off.
Hermione shook her head vigorously. "No, no way. I didn't help with the work; I can't take the money."
"Finder's fee? A hundred Galleons?" Kane thought she was just being polite, but Hermione turned and bolted out of the room before he could finish.
Kane tucked the money back into his pocket and shrugged at Harry and Ron. He didn't quite get what her deal was lately.
The next ti he saw Hermione was in Defense Against the Dark Arts the following day. It seed Lockhart and Dumbledore had been coordinating on lesson plans behind the scenes.
Although Lockhart's magical reserves were still lackluster, the actual quality of the teaching was steadily improving.
The only problem was that Lockhart couldn't handle praise. Whenever a lesson went well, he would "reward" himself with a "Fun Class"—which ant forcing the students to reenact scenes from his books.
He was like a frustrated theater director. Every ti a play ended, the students inevitably cursed his na under their breaths, Kane included.
This would usually humble Lockhart for a few days, leading him back to Dumbledore for more "tutoring," which led to another successful lesson, which led to another "reward" play. It was a vicious cycle.
Kane, anwhile, found himself saddled with strange new responsibilities—like grading howork for years one through three.
He'd asked about it one day and discovered he'd been appointed the "Class Representative" for the lower years.
It felt wrong, but considering he could use the title as a cover to scavenge "confiscated treasures" from Lockhart's office, he didn't complain.
There was another representative for the third years, though that person mostly spent their ti helping Lockhart write back to his fan club.
As for the fourth years and up... well, Lockhart was clever enough not to assign them howork. It was his way of maintaining a shred of dignity with the older students.
He knew he could fool the eleven-year-olds, but the seniors could often cast spells better than he could—with the sole exception of the mory Charm.
When it ca to Obliviate, Lockhart was a genius. Even the professors who didn't specialize in mory magic couldn't match his depth of knowledge.
Because of this, the older students didn't exactly respect him, but they didn't hate him either. At least he didn't waste their ti with useless assignnts.
If you asked him a direct question about mory Charms, he gave you high-quality, professional answers.
If last year's Quirrell was a piece of dung wrapped in chocolate—tempting until you got close—then Lockhart had made it clear from week one: for the seniors, he was a piece of dung that didn't sll too bad.
He didn't interfere with their self-study, and they didn't interfere with his ego.
Dumbledore had warned Lockhart that he lacked combat prowess. If he truly annoyed the seniors, they might beat him senseless and dump him in the Centaur camp in the Forbidden Forest.
Lockhart had taken that advice to heart.
Ti passed, and eventually, it was the day before Halloween. After dinner, Kane yawned and headed toward Lockhart's office.
He'd heard that the "Quick-Quotes Quill" he'd been eyeing had finally been confiscated. It was ti to pick up his "delivery."
He reached the office, gave a perfunctory knock, and walked in. Lockhart's favorite pasti was sitting at his desk reading fan mail, which is exactly what he was doing now.
Kane leaned over his shoulder. "Why do you enjoy those letters so much?"
"A writer's sickness, perhaps? Writing is a lonely profession. Before I was famous, my only social interaction was fan mail—praise, insults, or people pointing out typos. I treasure them all."
Lockhart set a letter aside and pulled a large cardboard box from under his desk. It was filled with recent "confiscations." He told Kane to take whatever he wanted—the whole box, if he liked.
Kane picked out the quill and grabbed a few other items to give to Harry and the others. He also found sothing unique: a ring set with a black-and-yellow cat's eye stone that could be "opened" or "closed" with a thought.
Kane had recently received a lifeti subscription to Advanced Alchemy as a reward for his paper. He'd seen this item in a recent issue—an Egyptian alchemical toy called the "dusa's Eye."
If an enemy looked at it for more than five seconds, they'd be petrified. It had ten "charges," marked by cracks that would eventually shatter the ring. This one appeared brand new.
The Ministry had only recently approved it after confirming the petrification wasn't irreversible.
Kane thought it would be perfect for Neville. It would turn him from a "punching bag" into a "cactus"—soone you could still hit, but you'd definitely get hurt doing it.
"Just those?" Lockhart asked. "What about this notebook? You might like it." He pulled a plain black diary from the box.
"Wait... that looks familiar," Kane said. "Isn't that Ginny Weasley's?"
"Ah, you're friends with the Weasleys. It's nothing personal, but Ginny used this to break another student's nose last month. I had to confiscate the 'weapon.' You can give it back to her if you like."
Kane took the diary and flicked the cover. "It's a second-hand diary worth maybe five Knuts. It's been a month; she's probably bought a new one by now. Giving this back would be more awkward than helpful."
He tossed the diary back onto Lockhart's desk. "You should use it. Write your lesson plans... or maybe draw a self-portrait."
"Oh! Would you like one?" Lockhart bead. "I could do an oil painting for you."
"Really... no. Not necessary. Seriously," Kane said, waving his hands dismissively.
"Well, alright. But I think a self-portrait is a grand idea. I wonder which fan I should send it to first..." Lockhart picked up a quill, flipped open the black diary, and began to sketch.
"Enjoy your art," Kane said, leaving the office.
He returned to the Gryffindor common room and distributed the gifts to Harry and Ron. But when he went to find Neville to give him the ring, he realized... Neville was missing.
"I hope nothing happened," Kane muttered, his brow furrowing. It wouldn't be the first ti Neville had been bullied and locked in a disused classroom.
Kane, Harry, and Ron were practically experts at finding him by now; most of their successful "night walks" had started with a search for a missing Longbottom.
Kane headed to their usual corner. It was ti to round up the squad and find poor Neville.
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