"..." A string of ellipses practically materialized over Kane's head.
"Wait, what? The frog rain from the Constant followed here?!"
This didn't make sense. If the Shadows from the Constant were hunting him, he could understand that.
He used Shadow magic every day, after all; it was only natural for that realm to exert influence over reality through him, manifesting as various inconveniences—like the occasional phantom hand trying to "touch" him.
But for a Frog Rain to cross over was illogical. Weren't those frogs part of the natural ecology of the Constant? If even the weather patterns could follow him, it ant the real world was gradually being reshaped into the Constant's image...
No, that's not right. It's too strange. I need to check...
Just as Kane was about to bolt upright, Ron—who had been watching his bizarre reaction for a long ti—finally realized what was going on.
He explained, "There's a pond nearby. It's full of frogs. Every ti it rains, they hop out and start croaking like mad."
"I see." Kane exhaled, his shoulders slumping in relief. Good, good. Reality isn't collapsing into the Constant just yet.
The al was a success, leaving both hosts and guests satisfied. Afterward, Kane followed Ron upstairs to tidy up the bedroom.
Since Ron had made several new friends this year, and because Hermione was a girl (making a shared room... complicated), Ron had slightly modified his bedroom layout to accommodate three sleepers comfortably.
Actually, there was enough space for a fourth bed, which would have ant the first thing they did upon waking was play mahjong.
But again—sharing a room with Hermione? Absolutely not! He was a "pure man"; he wasn't going to beco so sissy who slept in a girl's room!
Boys, however, were a different story. That night, Kane slept soundly in Ron's room. As for Lockhart? He had been forgotten entirely.
Well, not entirely. Kane had borrowed Ron's owl to send a letter to Lockhart, saying that when he decided to go get Harry, he'd "bring him along for the ride" so the author could... gather inspiration or whatever.
As for any future adventures beyond that, Kane told him not to bother contacting him again, lest Ron get the wrong idea.
Kane didn't expect Lockhart to wail in despair at the news; if anything, he suspected the man would be relieved.
After all, what if Lockhart actually died on an adventure? If Dumbledore's latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor died before his office chair even got warm, Dumbledore might get desperate and put Kane's na on the roster, forcing him to teach. That would make Kane the ultimate scapegoat.
Days passed during the holiday without a reply, further confirming Kane's theory: Lockhart wanted nothing to do with him. He probably saw the letter as so kind of cursed object and burned it with Fiendfyre—assuming he could even cast it.
However, halfway through the break—specifically on the thirty-first day since Harry had returned to the Dursleys—Lockhart finally replied.
He claid to have consulted Dumbledore about Harry's situation and had been waiting for the perfect timing. Today, he had found his "mont"—a chance to change the protagonist.
Lockhart planned to add a third protagonist to his book, turning it into a rare triple-protagonist novel.
The reason was simple: when he got ho and reviewed his notes, he realized that if he wrote the story as it actually happened, his editor would delete it instantly.
It was either too absurd—like a young wizard piloting a broomstick at nearly 300 mph—or too illogical, like the plot point where they randomly went to a marsh to fight tentacles.
Or, it was too bloody. Digging up graves to harvest brains? Is this even a story a human writes? I think your own brain was harvested! Go back and rewrite it! Either invent a new plot or go back to using your mory Charms to write fan fiction!!!
Those were the editor's exact words. Lockhart had to retreat, but since he had already set up Kane's "character," he couldn't just turn him gentle without scrapping the whole book. His clever solution? Add a "permanent external brain" to the plot to keep Kane from being too abstract.
That "external brain" was to be Harry. He had built-in popularity, and best of all, the plot ca with a ready-made final boss: Dumbledore! It was the ultimate labor-saving move.
To entice them, Lockhart even promised a reward of one hundred Gold Galleons upon completion.
For Kane, who only wanted Galleons to lt down into gold bars, it wasn't much. But for Ron, as he read the final line, the very parchnt seed to glow.
"So, what do you think? Should we sell Harry out?" Kane asked, handing the letter to his "brother" in the next bed.
"To be honest, I don't really want you to go," Ron said quietly. "If you do, the rest of my holiday is going to be incredibly boring."
Kane nodded. "Understood. Then we won't sell Harry. We'll stay here and keep you company."
He took the letter back, tossed it onto the desk, and didn't ntion it again. In short, Lockhart had been stood up—again.
"Wait! I was just being selfish! I didn't an to stop you from earning Galleons. You should go!" Ron waved his hands frantically.
He wasn't the type to be jealous of his friends' success; on the contrary, he wanted them to do well—no matter how well.
"There's no need. Adventuring with Lockhart is honestly quite dull," Kane dismissed the guilt with a wave.
Ron nodded. "That's true. Dad says Lockhart is just a hollow fraud, but we can't say that at ho. Mum would be genuinely furious." He sighed. "Terrible Lockhart... a heartless harvester of middle-aged won's hearts."
Ron continued to sigh until deep into the night, when both of them suddenly opened their eyes at the sa ti.
They didn't plan to tell anyone about the mission to "steal" Harry. They were going to do it quietly—no shouting—and give everyone a massive surprise.
"How are we getting there?" Ron asked in a low voice, pulling on his clothes in the dark and trying to straighten his crooked collar.
"By broomstick, obviously." Kane pulled on his raincoat over his pajamas and surreptitiously retrieved the broom from Little Pumpkin's mouth.
He floated halfway out the window, waited for Ron to climb on from the desk, and then they drifted out into the night.
"Ron, cover your mouth," Kane warned out of nowhere.
"Huh? Why?"
Though confused, Ron covered his mouth with both hands. Then, with a muffled whoosh, a black streak of light vanished from the Burrow in the blink of an eye.
Soon, they arrived at Privet Drive. They pulled up outside a small second-floor window. After confirming it was Harry inside, they tapped on the glass.
Tap, tap, tap!
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