Because too many people at Hogwarts wanted to buy flying swords, the Hogsmeade Flying Witch store rapidly launched a series of flying sword props.
Many wealthy students and parents at Hogwarts bought a flying sword.
For a time, many students were playing with flying swords on the Quidditch Pitch after class.
However, while the flying swords were fast and had a novel design, their problems were also obvious.
As a newly launched product, they were not as mature as brooms.
Brooms had fixed Spells on them, making it feel like sitting in a chair, very stable.
But flying swords were different; students could only stand on the blade, and a slight sharp turn could easily cause them to slip off.
Many students fell from their flying swords and broke their arms.
Madam Hooch, with a headache, posted a notice: "Flying with swords is forbidden! All students, please comply consciously!"
The students erupted.
"What? No flying?"
"I just bought a flying sword!"
Complaints rose and fell.
Charlie stood on the periphery of the crowd.
He looked at the notice, lost in thought.
It seems necessary to have the Flying Witch store add a fixed Spell to the flying swords... Principal's office.
Sunlight streamed in from the high windows, falling on the large oak table.
On the tabletop lay a black-covered diary.
Dumbledore sat in his chair, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles fixed on the diary.
His fingers tapped lightly on the table, rhythmically and slowly.
The Basilisk was still at Hogwarts; although it was too scared to approach the Castle by the Roosters all over it, it was still alive.
As long as it was still there, the danger was not resolved.
Dumbledore sighed; he needed to find the Basilisk's location and thoroughly resolve this hidden danger so the students could be safe.
But Tom would certainly not cooperate.
Dumbledore's gaze fell on the diary, his eyes deepening.
He had made a decision.
Just then, a knock came from outside the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Come in," Dumbledore said.
The door was pushed open.
Lockhart walked in.
He was wearing a light blue robe, his hair impeccably combed.
But the expression on his face was a bit unnatural.
His smile was a little stiff, and anxiety lurked in his eyes.
Ever since the last incident at the Duelling Club, Professor Lockhart's authority had been swept away.
Although his authority had long been swept away, he only now became aware of it.
He was worried Dumbledore would fire him.
If he were fired, what would his fans think?
Would his reputation be ruined?
The more Lockhart thought about it, the more flustered he became.
He walked to the desk, forcing a smile.
"Principal, did you need me for something?"
His voice trembled slightly.
Dumbledore looked up and smiled at him.
"Professor Lockhart, please sit."
He gestured to the chair opposite.
Lockhart sat down, his hands tightly clasped together.
His palms were slick with sweat.
Dumbledore pushed up his spectacles.
"I've recently been studying this diary that summoned the Basilisk."
He pointed to the diary on the table.
Lockhart's gaze fell on the diary.
It looked unremarkable.
"I had hoped to find the Basilisk through the diary, but I've encountered some difficulties," Dumbledore continued.
"There are some parts of this diary that I cannot understand."
Lockhart blinked.
Dumbledore was asking him for help?
This was truly rare.
"Professor Lockhart's adventures are so rich," Dumbledore said.
"I imagine you've seen many strange magical items."
"Do you have any ideas?"
Lockhart's eyes instantly lit up.
This was an opportunity!
If he could help, he might be able to salvage some of his reputation.
He immediately sat up straight.
"Oh, of course, of course!"
His voice grew louder.
"I've seen too many things like this."
He began to ramble, boasting that he had once dealt with 56 such diaries.
Dumbledore listened quietly, a benevolent smile on his face.
Lockhart grew more excited as he spoke, patting his chest.
"So, Principal, just hand the diary over to me."
"I guarantee I can find out its secrets."
Dumbledore nodded.
"That would be wonderful."
He picked up the diary and handed it to Lockhart.
"I'm counting on you, Professor Lockhart."
Lockhart took the diary, his smile even brighter.
"Don't worry, Principal."
"I definitely won't let you down."
He stood up, tucking the diary under his armpit.
"I'll go back and study it now."
"In three days at most, I'll have an answer for you."
Dumbledore smiled as he watched him leave.
The office door closed behind Lockhart.
Dumbledore sat in his chair, his fingers intertwined, resting under his chin.
His blue eyes were fixed on the door panel.
"What do you think he will do?"
He spoke, his voice very soft.
The air opposite the desk twisted slightly.
A fiery red Phoenix materialized from the void, landing on a shelf. Its feathers gleamed with a dark golden light in the sun.
Fawkes tilted its head and blinked.
Dumbledore smiled.
"I think so too."
He stood up and walked to the window.
The grounds of Hogwarts spread out below, the lake reflecting the sky, the edge of the Forbidden Forest a dark mass.
His fingers rested on the window frame.
"Tom won't communicate with me," Dumbledore said.
"When the diary was in my hands, he wouldn't reveal a single word."
"But Lockhart is different."
Dumbledore walked back to the desk and pulled open a drawer, inside which was a stack of parchment.
The top sheet was filled with Lockhart's personal information, recording how Lockhart stole others' lives to write his books.
"He is foolish enough and arrogant enough that Tom will look down on him."
"He will think he is easy to control, and that this is his only chance."
"The Basilisk is still in the school, and Tom needs it to complete his plan, but he is currently trapped in the diary and cannot act directly."
"Lockhart is his only tool."
Fawkes let out a low cry.
Dumbledore nodded.
"I will keep an eye on Lockhart, constantly noting the diary's location."
"As soon as Tom begins to act, he will reveal a weakness."
"Then we will be able to find the Basilisk's location."
The office fell silent, the sound of the wind coming from outside the window.
Dumbledore picked up a lemon drop from the table, peeled its wrapper, and put it in his mouth.
The sourness burst on his tongue, and he narrowed his eyes.
"This is an overt scheme, Tom."
"You will take the bait."
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