Chapter 123: Owl Expo?
At 11:05, Harry was still surrounded by a crowd of curious students. Since most were Ravenclaws who normally went to class together, Ron couldn't simply push through to clear a path.
"George, Fred, why are you two blocking the door with this crowd? I don't recall either of you being that keen on Transfiguration," Professor McGonagall said as she opened the door, her voice sharp as ever. She promptly pulled Fred and George forward to disperse the group.
"And don't you want lunch? If you head to the Great Hall now, you might still get a good seat." Thanks to her intervention, Harry and the others finally broke through the throng and escaped the classroom.
But even upon reaching the Great Hall, they quickly realized this was only the beginning.
"Harry, let's eat fast and get back to the common room," Ron muttered, while Neville nodded beside him.
"Good idea—wait, what's that?" Harry asked, pointing up at the sky.
Ron looked up just in time to see a flock of owls descending—one after another. They swooped toward him and began landing all over the table, especially on the space in front of Ron's plate. Nearby students quickly shifted their food to avoid the birds.
In less than ten minutes, Ron's section of the table looked like the site of an owl exhibit: snowy owls, tawny owls, screech owls, even a rare red-horned owl and what looked suspiciously like a laughing owl—supposedly extinct since 1914. It was like an avian fairground. Oddly enough, the Slytherin table across the hall saw the same spectacle centered around Draco Malfoy.
"What the hell—" Ron exclaimed, picking up a letter from the smallest owl, a dainty flower-headed one. He unfolded it, then froze. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"What's wrong?" Harry asked as Ron fumed.
"This is—this is absolutely ridiculous!" Ron shoved the note at Harry.
The letter wasn't written by hand but crafted from clippings of Witch Weekly and The Daily Prophet, pasted together in ransom-letter style.
> You're a bad boy. Harry Potter deserves better girls. Go back to your Ottery St. Catchpole village.
"These are all like that!" Ron exclaimed, flipping through letter after letter with growing horror. "Harry Potter deserves someone a hundred times better than you… You should be stewed in a toad's egg… OUCH!"
He had just opened a final envelope when a foul-smelling yellow-green liquid splashed over his hands. Instantly, painful yellow blisters began to bubble on his skin.
"Undiluted Bubotuber pus," Fred said grimly. He had rushed over out of concern and sniffed the letter before carefully sealing it. "That one was booby-trapped."
On the Slytherin side, Draco Malfoy was handling things far more cautiously. He had Crabbe and Goyle don dragon-hide gloves and inspect every envelope. Even so, Draco couldn't quite suppress the triumphant blush rising on his pale face.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron cried, tears welling in his eyes. He tried wiping off the pus with a napkin, but the damage was done—his hands were now covered in grotesque blisters that looked like scaly gloves.
"Harry, I'll take Ron to the Hospital Wing," said George, drawing his wand. "You explain things to Professor Flitwick during Charms." With practiced ease, he petrified Ron to stop him from hurting himself further, then cast Mobilicorpus—a spell used to float unconscious or immobilized people.
Fred and Percy hurried to follow. As Prefect, Penelope Clearwater was also supposed to help, but she couldn't keep up with the twins. She glanced awkwardly at Alexander Smith before turning to Kate to strike up idle conversation, pretending nothing had happened.
But Kate wasn't in the mood for talk. She'd agreed to go on a date to Atlantis with Alexander last weekend, only to have it hijacked by Harry, Hermione, and the awkward tension between them. Her current chilly demeanor said it all.
Alexander could only sigh and pull out his mental puzzle game—his favorite fallback when emotions ran high. He prepared himself for another mentally taxing afternoon.
Harry and Neville exchanged uneasy glances. With whispers and stares buzzing around them, neither felt like eating. They grabbed what food they could carry and fled toward Ravenclaw Tower.
By the time 1:15 rolled around, Harry and Neville emerged from the dormitory, jogging toward the Charms classroom on the fourth floor. The other first-years had already braved the risk of Peeves and rushed ahead—no one wanted to be late.
As they stepped into the classroom, the bell rang overhead.
"Don't worry, I understand your lateness," said Professor Flitwick, echoing the exact words Professor McGonagall had used that morning.
Despite the leniency, neither Harry nor Neville smiled. Their faces remained tight with worry.
Especially Neville. As the sole heir of the Longbottom family, he had fully expected his formidable grandmother to storm into Hogwarts by lunchtime. What he didn't know was that Professor McGonagall, familiar with Augusta Longbottom's temperament, had sent a letter ahead to calm her down. It had worked—barely.
Still, Neville spent the entire week in quiet dread, constantly expecting her to show up at any moment. Alexander, glancing at him while munching on biscuits from multiple perspectives, felt a flicker of admiration. Neville was growing in resilience, even if he didn't realize it.
"I know about Ron," Professor Flitwick added, making Harry flinch in realization—he'd almost forgotten to mention it.
"Today, we'll be learning the Levioso charm," Flitwick continued. "But to understand it properly, we must first look at the Locomotor spell. These two, when combined, make up the basic structure of the Levitation Charm. Levioso allows you to raise objects, while Locomotor enables you to move them under control."
He paused, doing quick math in his head. "Today is the 11th of September, 1991. You'll need this charm well before Halloween."
"Earlier, one of the Weasley twins used Mobilicorpus, a spell used to move human bodies. It works whether the subject is conscious or not. But remember—never use it on someone unless absolutely necessary."
Flitwick wrote on the board:
> Spell: Mobilicorpus
Pronunciation: MOW-bill-ee-CORE-pus
Harry raised an eyebrow. "He says not to use it but teaches it anyway?" he whispered.
Alexander gave him a small nod. "Ravenclaw mindset. Knowledge isn't the enemy. Misuse is."
"Dumbledore probably wouldn't even mention it," Harry muttered.
Class began in earnest, but even then, whispers about owls and poison letters hummed through the room like an undercurrent.
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