Chapter 44

Harry carefully read the article in the Daily Prophet, which stated that Gilderoy Lockhart had once been a best-selling author, but in reality all his works were plagiarized, and he was skilled in the Memory Charm, having erased the memories of many original authors. Recently, when invited to visit the United States, he attempted to steal a story from an American writer, failed, was caught, and imprisoned locally. The Ministry of Magic, based on testimony provided by American authorities, located several former victims and confirmed Lockhart’s crimes; both sides agreed to arrange his transfer as soon as possible, since British wizards must be tried under British law.

Harry glanced at the list of Lockhart’s former books and thought that magical readers truly had peculiar tastes.

The Quibbler, however, claimed Lockhart’s trip to America was a meticulously planned persecution—he had been deliberately framed. Although the magazine analyzed numerous inconsistencies in the incident in great detail, it offered no concrete evidence, everything being merely the editor’s speculation. Most importantly, regardless of whether Lockhart had been set up by someone, his past crimes could not be denied.

“Well, I see why it’s called The Quibbler,” Harry said diplomatically. “Perhaps Mr. Lovegood simply views things differently from us, but it’s hard for most people to understand someone like him.”

“Exactly!” Ron said. “People like Lockhart—”

His sentence was cut short by a pained wail.

“Oh, that’s our ghoul,” Ron said, slightly embarrassed. “My room is right below the attic.”

“Cool!” Harry used this word for many things at the Weasleys’, “Zhang Qiu has a spell to summon ghouls, but your family actually keeps one! Amazing!”

“By the way, Harry,” Ron mumbled, “what do you think of my room?”

Harry had already noticed on the way upstairs that the Weasleys had no guest room. He instantly guessed what Ron wanted to say and replied, “Great—I mean, it’s magical. Wizards should live in rooms like this. Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course!” Ron beamed. “That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”

At dinner, Harry noticed Ginny had become good friends with Ivy; they seemed very close.

He silently thought Ivy must be planning to stay in Ginny’s room.

Harry was somewhat puzzled: the Weasleys’ house looked spacious from the outside, with plenty of usable land, yet they had deliberately built it extremely cramped. Could crowded rooms strengthen familial bonds? Harry hadn’t studied psychology seriously, but Xiangbizhixia , he preferred to believe this was simply a wizarding quirk.

Even the great Dumbledore enjoyed Cockroach Clusters, those baffling snacks. If one accepted that, the Weasleys’ lifestyle didn’t seem so strange after all.

In the afternoon, Harry and Ron chased gnomes around the garden. Harry noticed Ron’s physical strength and reflexes were astonishing—he always caught the gnomes swiftly and accurately, then hurled them far away. When Harry began to pant, he realized Ron hadn’t even broken a sweat. Harry could sense that, at his age, Ron’s physical condition already rivaled that of his former PE teacher. Could this be knightly bloodline? Harry was deeply curious.

The next day, Harry finally met Donald Fontroy, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who had helped Ron build his muscles. Donald had slightly curly golden hair; he wore no wizard’s robe, only a suit with a red tie, looking very dashing.

When he took off his jacket, Harry could see through his shirt Donald’s muscular build and a faint scar running across his back. Harry remembered Donald’s identity as an American Auror and felt a flicker of respect for the profession.

With Donald came two children: a young boy who resembled him seven out of ten, and a pale-skinned girl who looked both startled and dazed.

“You must be Harry Potter,” Donald greeted. “Let me introduce you—this is my nephew Cui Ge, and this is Miss Luna Lovegood. They heard you were at the Burrow and insisted on coming to meet you.”

“Hello, Luna,” Harry said, noticing the two carrot-shaped earrings she wore. “Hello, Cui Ge.”

“My name is Cui Ge,” the boy said. “But I prefer my friends pronounce it ‘Trigga.’”

“Why?” Harry had never heard such a pronunciation.

“Because Luna and Trigger are Bestmatch, okay?”

Ron leaned over to Harry’s ear. “See? Totally nuts.”

Harry nodded in deep agreement.

After greeting them, Cui Ge and Luna vanished somewhere to play, while Harry decided to stay and join Donald’s private training.

Donald first had them run laps. Harry had done this before and kept up. As they ran, Donald recounted what he’d “read in an ancient text”: Ron was a descendant of the Knights of the Round Table, his magic deeply embedded in his body, fused tightly with his muscles. Thus, while Ron’s magical talent might seem unremarkable, once he began physical training, the results would be striking.

Just as powerful spells often required emotional intensity, this knightly training demanded adherence to knightly virtues to achieve maximum effect. That was why he advised Ron to swear fealty to Harry—knights needed a clear purpose. He also kept subtly mentioning that women could lure knights to ruin, and close relationships with female classmates would waste Ron’s potential.

Harry’s instinct told him these were nonsense, yet rationally he was willing to believe them—and Yinyin felt that if magic truly enhanced muscle growth, this discovery might bring him closer to the essence of magic itself.

The morning consisted of common track and field drills. After lunch, Donald began teaching Ron the foundation of Round Table knighthood: swordsmanship. They each took a wooden sword of identical size; Donald wielded his with one hand, while Ron had to use both. After an hour of chopping logs, they began sparring.

Harry couldn’t help himself. He pulled out his PPK pistol. “Ron, this thing’s way better than a sword!”

Donald saw the gun and noticed the curiosity in Ron’s eyes. He explained: “We train with swords because goblins forged magical blades. Only when infused with magic can they break through the Shield Charm. And the sword is the key to unlocking Avalon.”

“Shield Charm?” Harry thought of Quirrell—when he cast it, bullets couldn’t harm him.

“One of the most common defensive spells among wizards. It blocks nearly all physical damage—fists, cold weapons, even bullets. Only spells can break it. That’s why American Aurors use it as a standard to judge brawls: whoever casts the Shield Charm first bears primary responsibility.”

“So you mean, if Ron uses a magically infused sword, he can injure a wizard—even if the opponent uses a defensive charm?” Harry couldn’t help but be surprised.

“Exactly. If Ron performs well, I might even teach him my secret technique: infusing magic into his fists, so he retains combat ability even without his wand.”

“That’s incredible. I was wondering—could goblins forge a magically infused gun…?” Harry asked cautiously.

“That’s difficult. We can’t find goblins anymore,” Donald said.

“But aren’t there still many goblins at Gringotts?”

“Oh, you can’t say that,” Donald chuckled. “If you can work in finance, who’d go back to doing lowly blacksmithing?”

The working class is noble… Harry was about to retort, but remembered Donald was American, so he decided not to argue over trivialities. Instead, he said: “What a shame. By the way, what did you mean by this ‘realm’ you mentioned earlier?”

“The legend of Avalon,” Donald said confidently. “It’s said to appear in any lake at the right moment, seeking the heir of the Round Table—something like that.”

“But according to legend, Avalon should be waiting for King Arthur, right?” Harry asked.

“No one understands Avalon better than I do!” Donald snapped. “Just focus on your sword training, Ron. I’m counting on you to restore the Round Table to greatness!”

Seeing this, Harry tactfully took his leave. He could clearly sense Donald had ulterior motives, but since Ron was making progress, Harry saw no harm in letting it continue.

“Ron,” Harry asked as they went to bed, “do you really believe all that? Round Table knights, Avalon, and all that?”

“Maybe,” Ron said. “But more importantly, we’re going to face You-Know-Who and his followers. The more skills we master, the better our chances.”

“You’re right,” Harry agreed with the logic. “Even if we never find this so-called Avalon, your body’s still getting stronger. And who knows? Maybe we will find it.”

“You might not believe this,” Ron said, pointing to the scattered comic books. “Ever since I heard about the Round Table, I’ve read every single Merlin legend.”

“Did you find any clues?”

“At least I’m certain Merlin owned one very fat pair of triangle shorts.”