As May bled into June, the hysteria gripping the castle began to dissipate.
The rumors swirling through the Daily Prophet were confirmed: the Chamber of Secrets had been found, the monster vanquished, and the Heir of Slytherin's plot foiled. With the crisis officially over, the students who had fled the castle in terror began to trickle back, luggage in tow.
However, peace brought its own form of torture. With only two weeks left until the summer holidays, the looming specter of final exams cast a pall over the student body.
The atmosphere in the castle was erratic. The students, still riding the adrenaline high of the Basilisk incident, found it impossible to focus on textbooks. The professors were equally exhausted.
Professor Lockhart, in particular, was no longer a concern. He had been transferred to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries—specifically, the pediatric ward.
The Healers were baffled. "There is little we can do," one had told the Headmaster. "His mind has regressed to that of a toddler. We can only let him play with children of a similar mental age and hope for reintegration."
The cause was a Backfiring Jinx. Lockhart had attempted to cast a powerful Memory Charm—Obliviate—using Ron Weasley's broken wand. The resulting magical backlash had been catastrophic. While memory loss is a common side effect of spell damage, a total personality wipe was medically fascinating.
The Healers at St. Mungo's found the case so novel they had invited specialists from abroad. Their conclusion was grim, though phrased politely: Gilderoy Lockhart had effectively been "reborn."
Dumbledore, with his usual inscrutable wisdom, merely sighed. But for the students, the lesson was clear: broken wands are dangerous, and irony is cruel.
With the Defense Against the Dark Arts post vacant yet again, Professor Snape had stepped in to cover the classes temporarily. This was a disaster for everyone's Grade Point Average.
Snape was in a foul mood. He seemed determined to punish the students for the incompetence of their previous teacher. His homework assignments were brutal, his grading curve merciless. He took special pleasure in targeting the "Heroes of the Chamber."
"Potter," Snape sneered during a particularly grueling session, "if I do not drill the basics into your thick skull, I assume your next stunt will involve wrestling a dragon? Review the lesson."
Consequently, Ted and Hermione's notes became the most valuable currency in Gryffindor Tower.
On the final evening of May, the staff organized a grand feast to celebrate the resilience of Hogwarts.
The Great Hall was transformed. The usual House tables were laden not just with the standard fare, but with a culinary spectacle. The House-elves, usually invisible laborers, had set up magical cooking stations at the head of the Hall, performing live gastronomic feats.
It was a display of pent-up creativity. Pans flared with controlled dragon-fire; knives chopped vegetables in mid-air with rhythmic precision. The menu was a fusion of classic British roast and exotic delicacies: foie gras, caviar, giant African snails, and Australian rock lobsters.
But the highlight was the "Alchemical Cuisine"—a collaborative project between the House-elves and Ted.
Drawing on his knowledge of potion-making and RPG buffs, Ted had introduced the concept of food that did more than fill the belly. These dishes incorporated magical herbs and minor potions, approved reluctantly by Professor Snape and enthusiastically by Professor Sprout.
The effects were tangible. One dish, a soup focused on "Yin and Yang" balance, stabilized the consumer's mana flow. Another, a spicy stir-fry, granted temporary resistance to cold and a minor boost to physical strength. There was even a dessert that allowed the eater to breathe harmless, decorative fire for a few minutes.
"Utterly foolish," Snape had sneered when Ted proposed the menu. "Wasting ingredients on gluttony."
However, even Snape had been silenced by the Vice-Headmaster. Professor McGonagall had insisted he attend. And, judging by the way Snape was covertly enjoying a plate of premium Salmon and Seafood Rice—a recipe Ted had specifically tuned for feline sensibilities—he wasn't hating it.
The dark cloud that had hung over the castle for months finally lifted. Laughter replaced fear.
Amidst the clatter of cutlery and the roar of magical cooking fires, a young Hufflepuff approached the Gryffindor table.
"Ted? Would you... give us a song? To liven things up?"
The request spread like wildfire. Soon, half the Hall was chanting his name.
Ted laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! Settle down. I'll do one song, but after that, the stage is open to anyone brave enough to perform. Deal?"
The students cheered. Ron, his mouth full of chicken, looked around excitedly. "Maybe I should go up? I could demonstrate how to eat a drumstick in two bites?"
Ted ignored him. With a casual wave of his wand, he Transfigured a nearby chair into a sturdy wooden platform. His movements were fluid, almost casual—a detail that made the older Ravenclaws and Slytherins narrow their eyes. To perform silent, wandless Transfiguration so effortlessly spoke of a frighteningly high magical attribute.
Ted reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, boxy device. It looked like a muggle music box but hummed with magical energy. He snapped his fingers, and a rhythmic, acoustic melody began to project from the device, amplified to fill the hall.
"This one is called 'New Soul'," Ted announced.
He tapped his foot to the beat, his voice clear and relaxed.
"I'm a new soul, I came to this strange world hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take..." "But since I came here, felt the joy and the fear, finding myself making every possible mistake..." "La-la-la-la, la-la-la-la..."
The melody was light, infectious, and undeniably modern. It washed over the students, easing the lingering tension of the exams and the monsters.
At the High Table, Professor Flitwick was beaming. He stood on his chair, using his wand to conduct the invisible orchestra, swaying to the rhythm. Professor McGonagall smiled softly, tapping her fingers against her goblet.
Even Snape, though he stubbornly turned his head away, had stopped chewing. He was listening.
In the center of the High Table, Albus Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles. His blue eyes were fixed on Ted, who stood bathed in the magical candlelight, surrounded by adoring peers.
Dumbledore felt a cold shiver of déjà vu.
'It is not Tom,' the Headmaster thought, analyzing the scene. 'Tom Riddle had a fatal flaw. He understood only power and intimidation. He ruled through fear. When his power broke, his followers scattered.'
Dumbledore watched a Hufflepuff girl sway to the music, her eyes fixed on Ted with pure admiration.
'This... this is different. This is charm. This is magnetism.'
The image overlayed with a memory from nearly a century ago. A golden-haired boy in Godric's Hollow, laughing, drawing people in not with fear, but with vision and charisma.
'Grindelwald,' Dumbledore thought, the name heavy in his heart. 'My old friend.'
The students looked at Ted the way they had once looked at Gellert. The way he had once looked at Gellert.
'I have lived for over a hundred years,' Dumbledore mused, his expression somber. 'I have achieved much, but I have made terrible mistakes. Perhaps... perhaps it is time for an honest conversation with young Ted. I cannot afford to be wrong this time.'
The song ended, and the Hall erupted in thunderous applause.
"Thank you!" Ted grinned, jumping off the transfigured stage. "Now, the stage is yours! This device—the Karaoke Box—will provide accompaniment for any song you know, provided you channel a bit of magic into it."
Hesitantly at first, then with enthusiasm, other students scrambled up. The "Portable Karaoke" machine Ted had tinkered with in his spare time was an instant hit. It solved the primary issue of wizarding entertainment: everyone liked to sing, but few knew how to play the lute or harpsichord.
As the party raged on, the Weasley twins cornered Ted.
"Ted! That box!" Fred (or perhaps George) gasped. "How much? We need the schematics!"
"I don't need the money," Ted said, waving them off. "I'll give you the blueprints. You two can manufacture and sell them. Call it a gift."
The twins looked at him with religious awe. They tackled him in a bear hug. "Ted! You are our favorite brother! Officially!"
Ron, standing nearby, looked affronted. "Hey! What about me?"
"You're adopted!" the twins chorused in unison.
Ron ignored the jibe, his eyes gleaming with Galleon signs. He grabbed Ted's arm. "Ted, do I have a chance? Can I make these too? Imagine the profits!"
Ted looked at his red-headed friend skeptically. "Ron, be honest with me. Do you know the Poly-Structural form of the Transfiguration Charm?"
Ron blinked. "Is... is that related to Harley?"
"Do you know the basics of Alchemy? Specifically, the thermal resonance of brass?"
Ron looked blank. "I know how to melt a cauldron?"
"Do you know any Sensory Charms? Or how to inscribe a Runic Array for mana storage?"
Ron shook his head rapidly. Ancient Runes was a third-year elective; he hadn't even signed up for it yet.
Ted patted Ron on the shoulder with genuine pity. "Ron, good luck with your chicken."
"I don't think we need to split hairs," Ron muttered, retreating to the food table. "I'll leave the business to Fred and George. I'll just stick to eating."
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Word count: 1556
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