Ben took a fish off the fire and handed one to Dumbledore on a stick. "So… what's an old man doing out this late? Trouble with the Board of Magical Carpets or sothing?"
Dumbledore gave a small, amused hum. "Close. Board of Governors, actually. The eting went on longer than expected. The Board has been very talkative lately. It's always worrying when people who don't normally speak suddenly find their voices."
"What do they want?" Ben asked, biting into the still-steaming trout.
"An official board-led inquiry into the recent events," Dumbledore said, blowing slowly to cool his trout. "They would like to talk to you, Mr Brown, and they want the remains of the cursed object."
"Oh, how concerning." Ben took another bite.
"You don't look too concerned. Or surprised," Dumbledore observed.
"I figured that's what Lucius wanted with all those hit pieces he's having Rita print," Ben said, licking his fingers. "He's probably worried sick it's going to lead to him."
"Can it lead to him?" Dumbledore asked, eyeing him over his trout.
"You know it's destroyed, Headmaster. It can't lead to anything now."
"Yes—turned to chocolate coins, was it? Unfortunate," Dumbledore said with a small smile.
"That might have been a joke, Professor. But the diary really was destroyed."
"Ah. It was a bit funny, I agree," Dumbledore said, chewing. "And the chocolate was delicious, as well."
"So when do I have to be present before the Board?"
"You don't," Dumbledore replied. "The Board ultimately decided against any formal inquiry. Quite a few mbers were firmly against interference in school matters."
Ben gave a small nod. "Of course. No surprise you've got more pull than Lucius Malfoy. Thanks for saving the trouble."
Dumbledore wiped his hands on a napkin and gave him a smile. "Well, thank you for the sumptuous dinner, Mr Brown. But I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
He paused, glancing at the remaining trout.
"…Would you terribly mind if I had another? And perhaps the recipe? I can never quite get mine to taste like this."
Ben smirked, already grabbing another fish from the coals.
"Secret's in the marinade. I soak it in Alto Wine for a few hours—bit of salt, crushed garlic, whatever herbs are growing near the waterline. Then just before grilling, I rub in so juniper berries. Brings out that smoky-sweet edge, especially over alder wood."
Dumbledore took another bite, eyes briefly fluttering shut.
"Remarkable. I daresay I've had trout a hundred ways, but never quite like this. The juniper… that's what I was tasting. And you ntioned wine..."
Ben chuckled, pulling out a wine flask from behind him and uncorking it. "Alto Wine."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, a glimr of amusent in his eyes.
Ben handed him the flask, and Dumbledore took a swig, eyes closing for a mont. "Hmm, interesting. Tastes... magical."
He smiled knowingly, tapping the side of the flask.
"I'll be confiscating this, if you don't mind. Wine is not good for you, my boy."
Ben raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Take it, if you must, Headmaster. I'm more into ashfire ad myself," he said.
"Interesting, and you wouldn't happen to have so with you now, would you?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling.
Ben chuckled. "Maybe so other ti, Headmaster."
-
The next morning, when Ben walked into his DADA class, he briefly wondered if he was still dreaming or if he'd sohow managed to get drunk off wine-marinated fish.
Lockhart was back—and so, unfortunately, was his ego. The fact that Dumbledore still had him employed was both utterly bizarre and, sohow, not surprising at all.
Michael Corner leaned over. "I thought he'd lost his mory."
"He did," Ben muttered. "Now he's discovering it all over again. Just... wrong."
The man stood at the front of the room, reading Magical as though he'd just discovered the aning of life.
"…and then, with nothing but a wink and a wandless spell, I banished the Banshee back into the well," Lockhart recited dramatically, eyes wide with self-admiration. "Marvellous! Who writes like this?"
Michael gave Ben a look. "Probably so poor bloke who got Obliviated."
Lockhart paused, his smile widening. "Ah, apparently I do!"
He gave a self-satisfied chuckle, turning the page. "No mory of this, of course, but the author truly captures my tone."
"Because you are the author," soone muttered from the back.
Lockhart either didn't hear or pretended not to. "Right, class!" he bead. "Today, I thought we'd do sothing fun. A dramatic reenactnt of Chapter Seven: The Vampire's Ball. I'll need volunteers!"
Terry Boot mouthed, We're all going to fail, from the next row.
Ben leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. "Well, it's better than the 'What Lockhart Did Next' trivia he used to do."
Honestly, it was impressive. The man had sohow beco even more ridiculous without his mories. Still, Ben had to admit, Lockhart was slightly more tolerable now. Obnoxious, yes, like a walking, talking tribute to himself.
But at least he wasn't trying to erase anyone's mory this ti. So far.
Lockhart clapped his hands, bringing Ben out of his reverie. "Who's up for being the vampire?"
Ben couldn't help but raise his hand. He had to pass the ti sohow.
A lot of heads snapped towards him—they were all hoping that if no one entertained the notion, Lockhart might move on to reciting his next feat.
"What is wrong with you? You want to be the vampire?" Ron blurted out loud, incredulity in his voice. Things were still a bit salty with the trio—he had yet to apologise.
Ben smirked. "Sobody has to be, right? Might as well be ."
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes.
"Splendid! The handso boy, ever my biggest fan." Lockhart's face lit up. "Now, we just need a brave volunteer to play the poor, unsuspecting victim of the vampire's charms..."
Ben looked around, then pointed. "She looks the part."
Hermione, looking mortified, quickly tried hiding behind her desk.
"Ah, there's no need to be scared, little girl. I've done this before, you know," Lockhart said, pointing to the book in his hand. "It says right here that I once saved an entire village of young girls from a room full of vampires in Transylvania—they never saw it coming!" he added, cheerfully pulling Hermione from behind the desk and making her stand awkwardly in front of the class.
"What's the matter, Granger?" Ben said with a wink. "Afraid I'll bite?"
"Alright!" Lockhart clapped his hands together. "Let's begin our reenactnt! I'll direct, while this handso fella—the fearless vampire—demonstrates the, uh, charming elegance of his character."
Ben straightened, flashing a sly grin. "It's all in the delivery," he said, twirling his robe like a cape to hide his face.
When he reappeared, he was holding a wilted rose between his teeth, his eyes gleaming as he bared pretend fangs.
"Do not be frightened, my little plum," he said, his voice thick with an absurd Transylvanian accent. "I vant only… to dance!"
He stalked forward, slow and floaty, like he was gliding through fog. Hermione's eyes widened. Her ears turned a little pink.
"Very compelling, vampire, but now it's my turn," Lockhart declared, puffing out his chest.
"Stand back, young lady! I shall subdue this fiend with the most powerful charm known to wizardkind—my dazzling smile!"
He flashed a grin so wide it could crack mirrors.
Ben recoiled dramatically, shielding his eyes. "Ach! No! It is too strong! Hideous! Take it away!"
He staggered back, clutched his chest, and flopped onto the nearest desk with an over-the-top groan. "You... you villain," he wheezed. "You've... out-chard ."
Lockhart turned to the class, entirely missing the mockery, utterly pleased with himself. "And that, students, is how you vanquish a vampire."
Hermione, still a little pink, returned to her seat with dignity only slightly crumpled. "Honestly," she whispered to herself. "This school."
Ben raised his hand from the desk and gave her a weak thumbs-up. "You were very brave."
"Ten points to Gryffindor for not running screaming," Lockhart announced proudly. "And ten to Ravenclaw for that… dramatic death."
Ben gave him a small bow from the desk. "Always happy to perish for the cause."
-To be Continued..
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