Harry Potter : Bloodraven-Chapter 129: A New Year Begins (CH - 149)

The sun blazed high above the towers of Hogwarts, casting sharp golden light across the lake and the stone walls of the castle. Inside, in a brightly lit office that blended sleek modernity with magical charm, green flames burst to life in a fireplace.

A young man stepped out of the Floo Network, brushing a faint trace of ash from his shoulder. He was tall, sharp-eyed, and dressed in elegant black robes with silver threading along the cuffs—a subtle blend of Muggle tailoring and wizarding style.

He cast a quick glance around the sleek, well-lit room. Everything was just as he had left it—tidy, modern, humming softly with faint magical energy. A small, satisfied nod later, he stepped out into the corridors.

The castle greeted him with silence. He moved beneath ancient stone arches and along staircases that shifted with sleepy reluctance, as if Hogwarts itself was still stretching off the last of summer. The hush was pleasant—familiar, almost comforting.

Before long, he reached the towering doors of the Great Hall and pushed them open.

Inside, the long tables were bare, but the staff table was fully occupied. Every professor sat in their usual place, murmuring quietly among themselves over steaming teacups and platters of breakfast.

"Professor Caesar," Dumbledore called warmly from the center of the table, "I thought you would be arriving with the students."

"I did last year," Maverick replied with a small smile, nodding politely to each of his colleagues as he made his way to an empty seat. "That old antique of a train runs slower than most Muggle ones these days... so once is enough for me."

A ripple of laughter passed down the table.

"Tradition, Professor," McGonagall said crisply, though there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Maverick only shrugged, buttered a slice of toast, and said no more on the matter. His eyes moved across the staff table again. McGonagall looked regal. Snape, brooding. Flitwick, cheerful. Trelawney, dazed. Sinistra, aloof. Hagrid, enormous. Rolanda, alert. And Filch—miserable, as always.

Hmm. Where's that moron? he thought, then turned to Dumbledore. "Headmaster, weren't we expecting a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? Lockhart, wasn't it? The one with the dazzling smile and an excessive number of qualifications... all... well-documented?"

"Ah yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Professor Lockhart informed me he'll be arriving this evening. Apparently, he's preparing a special entrance."

Of course he is. Does the old man truly not know, or is he pretending too? … Hmm. Doesn't matter, Maverick thought inwardly.

McGonagall leaned forward. "How was your holiday, Professor Caesar? I heard you took Mr. Potter under your wing."

"Not quite..." Maverick corrected her. "I haven't decided to take him on as a personal student just yet. I did teach him a few things over the summer—charms, exercises, and a bit of theory." He added a spoonful of eggs to his plate, then cast a sideways glance at the headmaster.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter benefited greatly," the wise old wizard said to him with a knowing, appreciative smile.

There was, of course, one more who had been eavesdropping from all the way down the staff table—the man-child Potions Master himself. The moment Harry's name came up, Snape's eyes twitched, ever so slightly, like someone had insulted his shampoo.

Maverick noticed. He just didn't care.

Breakfast passed like a meeting in disguise. Dumbledore and McGonagall led the conversation, posing questions and sharing updates. It was the last calm moment before the tide of students arrived.

After the meal, Maverick made his way to his office. He set to work at once—organizing, arranging timetables, and preparing his lesson materials. This year, he would be teaching two additional classes: second-years who had studied with him the year before, and a new batch of first-years just beginning Alchemy and Muggle Science.

Still, it was nothing compared to the grueling schedules of his colleagues, who juggled six or seven classes daily.

As he leaned back in his chair, a smile crept across his face. This year was going to be interesting.

The Quidditch tournament would be the major event, of course. The hosting school had been selected—Beauxbatons. The French school. And that French woman. Maverick shook his head. "I sound like my teacher Edward," he muttered with a smirk.

Team selection should go much more smoothly this year—perhaps with a few surprises as well. During the tournament, the Hogwarts team would need to travel to the hosting school, and it would be a valuable opportunity for them to learn, grow, and experience new culture.

Brushing Quidditch matters aside, his thoughts turned to the real chaos waiting behind the scenes.

First of all, Tom Riddle's diary had already been destroyed, so there shouldn't be any follow-up events tied to it.

"Now for the fraud…" Maverick's eyes narrowed. Lockhart would be dealt with soon. He had a few ideas in mind to expose the truth. Public humiliation would be a nice bonus, but he needed Lockhart's incompetence to be seen first. It would make it easier to propose the idea of a duelling club-slash-physical training class—an optional, new course. He's had this in mind for a while now—to implement something like P.E. of Muggle schools at Hogwarts. Of course, he wouldn't take charge of it, but might suggest a few names to hire.

Finally, there was the basilisk.

"The Chamber of Secrets," He spun his chair thoughtfully. "Let's see what you're hiding." ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Locating the entrance, exploring the chamber, and subduing or capturing the creature if necessary—he added it to the list of things to do.

Will it be dangerous? Of course... for students and perhaps teachers at the magus level. But for great mages, let alone for him, it would just mean a bigger snake. That's all.

Still, the question remained. Do I kill it... or not?

He didn't have an answer yet.

Maybe I'll ask that old man, Newt, see if he's interested... he thought.

Shrugging the thought away, he summarized his goals:

Room of Requirement—explore and destroy the Horcrux.

Chamber of Secrets—plunder whatever treasures it held, and deal with the basilisk.

Quidditch Tournament—guide the team, let them enjoy the experience.

Expose Lockhart—preferably with style.

Maverick stood and walked to the wide window of his office, gazing down over the grounds. The lake shimmered. The Forbidden Forest swayed gently in the wind.

"Yes," he said softly. "It's going to be an interesting year."

---

That evening, Lockhart arrived with great fanfare, his robes sparkling, teeth shining unnaturally bright, and arms outstretched as though he were about to embrace the whole castle.

Dumbledore hosted a small dinner to welcome him, introducing him with gracious warmth. Maverick observed quietly from the far end of the table, noting how the fraud conveniently avoided making eye contact with him.

Good, Maverick thought, sipping his drink. Saves me the trouble of pretending.

Time slipped by, and soon, it was the next evening.

The first of September.

The staff table was nearly full, save for Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, who were still outside greeting the first-years. The Great Hall buzzed with noise—a far cry from yesterday's quiet. Students from second to seventh year had already arrived, chatting, laughing, and catching up after a summer apart.

Maverick scanned the sea of students and quickly found the two he was looking for—Harry and Ron, chatting animatedly with their classmates and friends. Harry looked much better now compared to last year. The signs of malnourishment were gone entirely, and he even seemed a bit taller.

Could it be a side effect of the potions I gave him...? he wondered, before brushing the thought aside. No, I must be thinking of Redcliff.

In any case, it seemed they had managed to get through the enchanted wall and catch the train like everyone else.

And Dobby? Hm... I'll ask Lucius about that when I get the time.

Click. Dannnnng.

The massive doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Professor McGonagall stepped in, guiding this year's first-years behind her in a neat line. Maverick made a rough count—there were at least a hundred of them. It wouldn't change the overall numbers much, as last year's graduates had left in similar quantity.

The Sorting Ceremony lasted nearly forty-five minutes, the ancient hat crooning and muttering to itself before bellowing names and House placements. Maverick watched in quiet amusement, arms folded, leaning back in his chair while the staff clapped politely.

Once the last trembling first-year skipped off to their new table, Dumbledore stood, beaming with his usual theatrical warmth.

"And now," the Headmaster declared, "I am delighted to introduce our newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Gilderoy Lockhart!"

A round of applause followed, but Maverick raised an eyebrow. Contrary to his expectations, only about half the students reacted like swooning fans. The rest clapped with polite disinterest—or in some cases, open skepticism. Some students even squinted at Lockhart with narrowed eyes, and Maverick caught one Ravenclaw whispering to another behind a hand. So the tides were already turning. Perhaps the community had started to question the gaudy tales and self-congratulatory books, but without solid proof, no one had dared speak up.