"This place is weird," Draco Malfoy said, poking at the logs in the fireplace with tongs, his brow furrowed. "In your words, Professor, it's like there's too much magical energy around."
Lockhart listened while rummaging through the house, finally pulling an old picture frame from the depths of a cabinet. In the photo, he had his arm around Hermione's shoulders, standing behind an elderly woman. Someone else should've been there too, but their image had been neatly cut out.
"There's talk of werewolves in the town," Draco continued. "They say they attack at midnight, but we all know werewolves only transform on a full moon. So, someone's probably stirring up trouble behind the scenes."
Draco was visibly maturing, his analysis sharp and logical. "Out in the wild, there's supposedly an evil witch and a beast living in a castle. But I don't think we should go poking around with this witch right now. If we run into a dark wizard, who knows what could happen?"
Young Malfoy had been sheltered by Lucius and Narcissa, rarely exposed to dark wizards. Still, he'd been taught from a young age about their destructive, unpredictable cruelty. This cruelty often stemmed from practicing dark magic beyond one's control, twisting the mind and making behavior erratic. Even the Malfoy family steered clear of such people whenever possible.
"I talked to some hunters who came to the blacksmith's to buy weapons," Draco went on. "They say the beast in the castle can't stray too far from it and that it's enemies with the werewolves."
"Then there's the town's hunters. They live for the hunt, skilled with traps and tracking. They usually gather at the tavern to drink or at the Red Bramble Dance Hall. Tough but not exactly bright—easy to sway if someone knows how to manipulate them."
Lockhart grabbed a tin of tea, poured some into a kettle, added water, and set it on a rack over the fireplace to heat. Then he sank into the sofa in front of the hearth, letting his shoulders slump into the cushions.
It had been a long day, and exhaustion was creeping in.
Teaching Lyall Lupin all night, leading the group out, getting locked in a cell, and feeling his magical state shift—it was a lot.
"Hunters, werewolves, a witch, and a beast," Lockhart mused, tapping the armrest lightly. "Sounds like a delicate balance. If something's going to disrupt it, it might be an outside force."
Draco frowned. "You mean us?"
Lockhart shrugged. "Maybe. Or it could be whatever force from that city you mentioned getting involved."
He turned to look at Draco, suddenly noticing how much the young wizard had grown in such a short time. Draco had been through a lot: two of his closest friends petrified right beside him while he narrowly escaped, then learning that Voldemort was purging traitors—including his own father and his friends' fathers. And now, this adventure.
For Draco, this wasn't just an adventure. It was a mission to save his two best friends.
The world works like that—everyone's got their own story, their own starring role, depending on how you look at it.
Lockhart studied Draco's demeanor, nodded, and gestured for him to continue.
"I was going to talk to Ron and Hermione," Draco said. "Convince Ron to chip in some money so we could all leave this place and head to the city to avoid trouble. I even had a plan—say we were going to find Ron's twin brothers."
Life's tough, and young Malfoy sighed, glancing at Ron, who was snoring loudly nearby. "But then Hermione took off, and Ron's… well, like that."
For a second-year wizard to think this far ahead was impressive. Deserving of a hearty "Outstanding," really.
But hearing their situation, Lockhart found himself more intrigued by Hermione.
He smiled faintly. "I know what's up with Hermione. She's already off on her own adventure."
"Off? On what adventure?" Draco looked confused. "She didn't say anything."
"Or rather…" Lockhart poured the hot tea into a cup, set the kettle down, and gave Draco a meaningful look. "She's broken free from the roles and expectations society and her environment have placed on her. She's forging her own path."
That kind of adventure!
The kind of magical adventure Professor Lockhart always talked about.
Draco's eyes lit up with excitement. He knew that with Hermione gone, Ron wasn't going anywhere. The poor little blacksmith couldn't leave town on his own.
But that wasn't the point anymore.
Lockhart's words had struck a chord. Right—Draco needed to think about his own magical path in this adventure, just as the professor had emphasized before they set out.
"What should I do?" he asked, a hint of urgency in his voice.
Lockhart spread his hands. "Don't ask me. Ask yourself."
"I…" Draco opened his mouth, then froze, staring into the flickering flames of the fireplace.
Lockhart had taught them everything he could. He'd been thorough over the past six months, giving lessons and hands-on practice. But teaching didn't mean mastery. Knowing didn't mean applying. And applying didn't mean it suited their natural talents.
Whether they could truly find their own magical paths was always an open question.
Heck, half the folks at the Ministry couldn't even cast a proper Shield Charm. They'd practically handed all their knowledge back to their Hogwarts professors.
This was their journey.
No one else could walk it for them.
Lockhart wasn't their nanny. He was a professor—one who offered opportunities for growth and needed their help as assistants. That was it.
On the journey from that deformed werewolf castle to this town, he'd been attuning himself to his own magical power. Finally, he felt that familiar spark, the thrill of his magic singing within him again.
It wasn't hard—just took a bit of time.
And now, he could feel his wand again, along with his little crew of dark creatures.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
Sitting on the sofa, he felt himself sinking, as if he'd been poured out of a bottle and was now settling back into it, reconnecting with his body.
His senses, stretched to their limits, snapped back. He was back in the Białowieża Forest, at the Crabbe family's Puffskein breeding grounds.
He could see himself holding his wand, maintaining the Mind Connection Spell. A vibrant green light poured from the wand's tip, painting a warped, surreal world around themseparating the real from the imagined.
Harry, Draco, and the other young wizards stood by his side, while Snape kept watch nearby, all of them still as statues.
His companions—the Niffler, the Diricawl, the Boggart, and the Swooping Evil—guarded the group faithfully.
This was their true reality.
Their minds, linked through his magic, stretched into the unknown, connecting with the dark creature known as the "Sack Shroud."
And so, something extraordinary happened. The mental energies of everyone in the adventure merged with the Sack Shroud's essence, creating a bizarre, fantastical scene—they'd stepped into a whimsical fairy-tale world.
Calling it a shared dream wasn't quite right. This world was real to them but unreal to anyone outside it.
This was what Defense Against the Dark Arts called "non-existence."
You could say their memories, even their souls, had been pulled into a Pensieve alongside the Sack Shroud's, their thoughts colliding and sparking with magical energy.
Those sparks bloomed with the power of magic.
Maintaining the Mind Connection Spell wasn't difficult—it was like flipping a switch and letting the machine run. Lockhart checked his own state, then glanced at the others.
Several members of the adventure team were already radiating their own mental energies, their colors bleeding into the green-lit scene.
Snape's was the brightest, followed by Hermione, then Luna, George, Fred, and Harry.
Ha.
Lockhart watched with interest.
Snape, it seemed, had changed in some way. Lockhart had always said the "original story" wasn't set in stone—otherwise, what was the point of him being here? He was meant to shake things up.
Hermione was impressive too. She might lack a bit of natural flair, but once taught, she was bold and practical, diving in headfirst.
Luna and the Weasley twins had that spark of intuition, perfectly suited to the "fairy-tale adventure" path of discovering magical power.
As for Harry…
Lockhart couldn't quite tell what Harry was experiencing, but he could feel the boy radiating intense joy and positivity.
The power of his Patronus Charm was visibly growing, almost rivaling Snape's.
Impressive!
The Boy Who Lived was living up to his name.
Perfect!
Lockhart was pleased with the situation. He confirmed he could pull everyone out of the Mind Connection at any moment, then let his consciousness flow back along his wand into that other world.
The fire crackled in the hearth.
Ron's snores mingled with the chirping of crickets outside.
Draco stared silently into the flames, lost in thought, his expression flickering with new ideas.
Not bad, kid.
He was getting into the zone.
I set the stage, and you play the part. Go find your magical path, unleash your mental strength, and together, we'll take on the influence of the Sack Shroud.
Lockhart said nothing more, letting Draco figure it out. The path was his to walk, and Lockhart had his own work to do.
He needed to master the werewolf power within him.
Only with that strength could he fulfill the forest's request.
He didn't resist the forest's task. Its unique, natural power carried a profound mystique—not dark or sinister, but warm and nurturing, like a mother's embrace.
The earth, the forest, the moonlight, the sea, the sky—nature's forces always guided creatures to live in harmony with the world.
Perhaps this was already the forest's way of guiding him.