The Chamber of Secrets was off-limits—or rather, it had to remain empty until the real culprit was caught. But Owen never imagined that the diary would end up in Lockhart's hands...
It seemed this best-selling author had seriously offended Dumbledore. Otherwise, the Headmaster wouldn't be tormenting him like this.
Lockhart's reputation at Hogwarts was already in tatters. Ever since he released a cage of Cornish Pixies in his first class and then abandoned the students to flee, his Defense Against the Dark Arts class existed in name only. During class, students ignored him completely. Those in fifth year and above treated him as invisible and practiced spells on their own.
First through third years treated his class like a study hall. They memorized spells or practiced silently, paying absolutely no attention to whether the professor was there or what nonsense he was spouting.
Hermione had actually wanted Lockhart to prove himself. She gave him a chance. But after he vanished the bones in Harry's arm and sent him to the Hospital Wing to drink Skele-Gro, she gave up hope entirely.
But fortunately... there was the Teaching Assistant!
That's right, our all-rounder assistant, Owen Corlett, was online. He didn't need to worry much about other subjects because the professors were genuinely competent. Even Professor Trelawney, who taught Divination, was respected. Though flaky, she had made correct prophecies and had a verifiable track record.
So, while he seemingly held multiple roles, the only class he actually needed to manage was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"I can't get you those Dark creatures for now, but we can start learning the spells..." In the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class, it wasn't Lockhart standing on the podium, but Owen. Sitting below were the first-year students from all four Houses.
With a wave of his hand, a blue diagram appeared in the air, followed by the incantation.
"The wand movement, the incantation, and the stress on each syllable are all here. Please copy them into your notebooks first. Then, take out your wands and practice the movement. In half an hour, we will begin practical exercises."
Magic does require foundational knowledge, but that wasn't for class time. That was homework—something to be done after class.
"Excellent, ladies and gentlemen. Now, please line up separately by gender..."
Owen waved his wand repeatedly. The classroom transformed. The desks vanished, replaced by rows of magical training dummies on the left and right.
"Alright everyone, please begin."
The students were a bit nervous. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Owen's expression was stern, bearing a fifty percent resemblance to Professor Snape in Potions.
"Raise your hand higher..."
"Yes, very good. Keep your wrist flexible..."
"Miss Greengrass, innovation is good, but right now, you don't need it. At least, not until you have fully mastered all the basic spells."
"Yes!"
The young witch nearly broke out in a cold sweat. She finally understood the weight behind the phrase "You'll understand once you get to school."
"Excellent. Just like that. Keep it up."
He praised what was done well and pointed out errors where they occurred. By the end of the class, eighty percent of the students had grasped the basics of the Petrification Charm.
"Everyone, your homework for this lesson is to write an essay on the Petrification Charm. I want to see your own understanding of this spell in the essay. Miss Greengrass, you are responsible for collecting the homework and handing it to me next Monday. Class dismissed!"
The young wizards left the classroom buzzing with excitement, chatting in groups about Assistant Professor Owen.
Lockhart, hiding nearby, looked absolutely wretched. He had intended to teach this class, but Owen had flatly refused him entry. Combined with Owen leaving his first class early, these actions challenged what little self-esteem Lockhart had left.
He had considered leaving in disgrace. It would hurt his reputation, but it was better than staying. He could just write another novel.
But now, he changed his mind. That diary... perhaps he should put a little more trust in it.
No one noticed Lockhart leaving, but Owen saw him. He didn't care. He couldn't say much about the outside world, but inside Hogwarts, he was absolutely safe. Even his information sources were guaranteed.
After class, Owen rushed to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall had mentioned wanting him to start Animagus training early, but Owen wasn't keen. An Animagus could only turn into a regular animal, and once transformed, lost the ability to cast spells. That didn't fit his philosophy of self-preservation.
But McGonagall's reasoning was compelling: transforming might suppress his magical growth, potentially solving the crisis of his magical outburst upon reaching adulthood.
So, he could learn it. He just wouldn't use it often.
After Transfiguration, Owen had to rush to the greenhouses. Professor Sprout needed to buy new seeds and wouldn't be back for a while. As the assistant, he had to cover a Herbology class for the second-years—a class that carried some risk.
"Repotting Mandrakes is dangerous. The cry of a mature Mandrake is fatal. While these are seedlings and not fatal, they can still damage your nerves—for instance, leaving half your face numb or causing uncontrollable drooling..."
"Now, everyone put on your earmuffs."
Seeing everyone had their earmuffs on, Owen prepared to demonstrate. But Hermione raised her hand and shouted, "Owen, you haven't put on your earmuffs!"
Owen smiled. Using a magical technique to project his voice through their earmuffs, he said, "I don't need them. Alright everyone, watch my actions closely... Remember, never pull it straight out. Clear the loose soil around the roots first. Be gentle. Use the brush to sweep the dirt away."
Owen's movements were tender. When he lifted the Mandrake out, the ugly root didn't scream. Instead, it wore a contented, sleepy expression.
He transferred it to another pot already prepared with fertilizer. The process was neither fast nor slow, and completely silent.
At that moment, Owen's voice rang out again. "If it were you, you wouldn't like someone pulling your hair, right? Mandrakes are the same. Yanking them out hurts their roots, just like pulling hair. That's why they scream. Alright, everyone, please begin. I need you to finish repotting all the Mandrakes before class ends."
This repotting method was proposed and refined by Owen. Professor Sprout, after watching him repot one without a sound, had made it the standard procedure.
Little Owen's talent meant he could become a Herbology master even without special guidance!
It was all Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape's fault for distracting little Owen with Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions. How annoying!