Chapter 8

The Stunning Spell left Gilderoy's wand clean and fast, aimed low at Flitwick's knees. It was a feint. The real attack came half a second later, a silent Impediment Jinx aimed chest-height at the spot where Flitwick would dodge to.

Flitwick did not dodge to that spot.

The tiny professor dropped flat to the ground, let the Stunner sail over him, and fired back from the floor with a Disarming Charm that Gilderoy barely caught on a shield. Before Gilderoy could press the advantage, Flitwick was already back on his feet and circling right, forcing Gilderoy to pivot and adjust.

They had been at it for twenty minutes. The old Charms classroom on the third floor had become their arena over the past week, and the padding charms on the walls were looking distinctly worn. Gilderoy's light purple robes, protected this time by a Stain-Repelling Charm he was rather proud of, were still immaculate, though the same could not be said for his hair, which had fallen out of its careful arrangement three exchanges ago.

A week of daily sessions had changed things considerably. Gilderoy no longer planted his feet like a man waiting for a portrait. He moved now, not with Flitwick's fluid grace, but with a serviceable awareness of where he was standing and why. The shoulder telegraph was mostly gone, beaten out of him through sheer repetition and several bruises he would rather not discuss. His combinations had improved too. He could chain three spells together without pausing, and he had developed a handful of feints that worked often enough to keep Flitwick honest.

The sessions had grown shorter over the past few days, not from exhaustion but from necessity. The start of term was tomorrow, and both of them had lesson plans to finalize. Gilderoy had spent his evenings hunched over his desk, mapping out the first week of classes for each year group, cross-referencing his textbook with the practical exercises he wanted to demonstrate. It was tedious and meticulous work that the old Gilderoy would have ignored entirely. In his previous life, his lesson planning had consisted of walking into the classroom, assigning a chapter of Voyages with Vampires, and then sitting at his desk to answer fan mail while the students read in bored silence. The fact that he was now genuinely agonising over whether to introduce Stunning before or after Shield Charms for the third-years would have been hilarious to anyone who knew the old him.

Flitwick had his own preparations to attend to, and so their hour-long sessions had shrunk to thirty-minute bouts. Enough to keep sharp, not enough to exhaust.

Right now, they were ten exchanges in and roughly even.

Gilderoy fired a Tripping Jinx at Flitwick's ankles, followed it with a Freezing Charm aimed high, and stepped left to cut off the angle. Flitwick shielded the Jinx, ducked the Charm, and sent back a Stinging Hex that caught Gilderoy on the wrist. He hissed but kept his wand up and returned fire with a Knockback Jinx that Flitwick deflected sideways into a desk.

"Better!" Flitwick squeaked, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Much better, Gilderoy. Your lateral movement has improved enormously. You are making it very difficult to pin you down."

Gilderoy allowed himself a grin. He was sweating, and his wrist stung where the hex had caught him, but he was still standing and still firing, and that felt like a victory in itself. A week ago, he would have been on his back by now.

"Shall we go again?" Gilderoy asked, rolling his wrist to ease the sting.

Flitwick tilted his head, and something shifted behind his eyes. The cheerful warmth was still there, but underneath it, a quiet focus settled into place that Gilderoy had not seen before. The tiny professor straightened his waistcoat, adjusted his grip on his wand, and gave a small nod.

"Yes," Flitwick said simply. "Let's."

The difference was immediate.

Gilderoy opened the same way he had been opening, a low Stunner followed by a mid-height jinx, but Flitwick was already gone before the first spell left his wand. The tiny professor did not just dodge, he moved in, closing the distance between them with three quick steps that ate up the dueling space Gilderoy relied on to aim. Gilderoy tried to back up, to re-establish range, but Flitwick flicked his wand at a desk pushed against the wall. It shot across the padded floor and slammed into Gilderoy's shins, throwing his balance off for half a second.

That half-second was all Flitwick needed. A Disarming Charm clipped Gilderoy's right hand and knocked the wand loose, and before he could use [Weak Attraction] to pull it back, a Body-Bind sailed in and locked his right arm to his side. Gilderoy snatched the falling wand out of the air with his left hand, turned slightly, and threw up a desperate shield, but it was shaky and off-centre with his off-hand, and Flitwick was not where he expected. The professor had circled behind him and fired a Tripping Jinx from an angle Gilderoy could not block without spinning completely around.

He hit the padded floor hard, his shield dissolving as his wand clattered to the ground beside him.

He lay there, breathing fast, staring at the ceiling. That entire sequence had lasted perhaps four seconds.

Gilderoy rolled onto his side and looked at Flitwick, who stood calmly with his wand lowered and his hands clasped behind his back. He was not even breathing hard.

"What," Gilderoy managed between breaths, "was that?"

"That was the difference between someone who knows spells and someone who knows dueling," Flitwick said, and his tone was gentle but completely honest. "You have become a very good caster, Gilderoy. Your spellwork is clean and fast and powerful. In a straight exchange, standing still and trading spells, you could match most wizards in Britain."

He walked over and offered a small hand. Gilderoy took it and hauled himself up, noting absently that Flitwick's grip was surprisingly strong.

"But dueling is not a straight exchange," Flitwick continued. "It is about controlling the space between you and your opponent. It is about forcing them to react to you instead of the other way around. You saw what I did with that desk?"

"I felt it," Gilderoy said, rubbing his shin.

"That was a Levitation Charm," Flitwick said, a hint of the teacher creeping into his voice. "First-year material, cast at the furniture rather than at you. It did no damage. All it did was put something between you and your footing for half a second. But that half a second let me strip your defences apart." He held up a finger. "The spell does not need to be powerful, Gilderoy. It needs to be creative. You need to use everything around you, the furniture, the walls, the floor, the light, even the sound of your footsteps, anything that forces your opponent to think about something other than the duel."

Gilderoy picked up his wand and turned it over in his hands. He understood what Flitwick was saying. The problem was not that his spells were weak or slow, the problem was that he thought about dueling in straight lines. Attack, defend, counter. Flitwick fought in circles. He controlled where Gilderoy stood, where Gilderoy looked, and when Gilderoy was off-balance, and then he struck at the gaps that Gilderoy did not even know he had left open.

"You have the ability," Flitwick said, and Gilderoy could hear that he meant it. "More than enough to hold your own. But ability alone is only the foundation. The instinct to use your surroundings, to think three moves ahead instead of one, that takes time. That takes real experience."

Gilderoy nodded slowly. He had known, in the back of his mind, that there was a ceiling he had not yet reached. The daily sessions had made him faster, sharper, and more mobile, and he had been pleased with his progress. He had even started to entertain the thought that he might give Snape a proper fight when the Dueling Club came around. But what Flitwick had just shown him in four seconds was that there was an entire dimension to combat that he had not even begun to explore.

It was humbling. He did not particularly enjoy being humbled, but he was learning to tolerate it.

"Same time tomorrow?" Gilderoy asked, straightening his robes and running a hand through his ruined hair.

Flitwick shook his head with a small smile. "Tomorrow is the first of September, Gilderoy. The students arrive in the evening. We will both have quite enough to worry about."

Right. Tomorrow the castle would fill with children, and he would have to stand in front of them and be the professor he had spent a month pretending he could become. The thought sent a jolt through his stomach that was equal parts excitement and dread.

"Then we pick it up again once things settle," Gilderoy said.

"We absolutely will," Flitwick agreed warmly, tucking his wand away. "And Gilderoy, for what it is worth, I think you are going to surprise a great many people tomorrow."

Gilderoy smiled. It was not his famous, blinding, award-winning smile. It was smaller and more honest than that.

"I plan to, Filius," he said quietly. "I very much plan to."

The Great Hall looked magnificent.

Gilderoy had seen it before, of course, both in his years as a student and in the month he had spent eating at the High Table with the other professors. But it was different tonight. The floating candles were lit by the thousands, casting the long house tables in a warm golden light. The enchanted ceiling showed a deep, clear sky full of stars. And the Hall was full, properly full, packed with students in their pointed hats, chattering and craning their necks toward the front where the first years would soon be sorted.

He sat in his seat at the staff table and ensured that he looked like he belonged there. He had done this before, in a previous life, but that version of him had been too busy enjoying the attention to notice what the evening actually felt like. This time, he noticed. The noise, the energy, the sheer number of children looking up at the High Table with curiosity and excitement. Several of the older girls were whispering and pointing in his direction. He gave them a practiced smile and a small wave, because he was still Gilderoy Lockhart and some things were sacred.

Flitwick caught his eye from a few seats down and gave him an encouraging nod. Gilderoy returned it.

The first years filed in behind McGonagall, a long line of small, terrified faces. Gilderoy watched them shuffle toward the front of the Hall and felt a surge of determination settle in his chest. Every student in this castle, from the trembling eleven-year-olds being sorted tonight to the seventh years who thought they knew everything, would sit in his classroom this year. By the time he was done with them, they would forget every Defense professor who had come before him. He would make sure of that.

He pushed the thought aside and focused on the Sorting. The Hat sang its song, the names were called, and one by one the first years were distributed into their houses. He clapped politely for each one, regardless of house, which earned him a bemused look from Snape, who clapped for nobody except Slytherins and did so with the enthusiasm of a man attending his own funeral.

Ginny Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor. The red-haired girl practically ran to the table, her face flushed, and was immediately engulfed by her brothers. Gilderoy noted the name. Weasley. He remembered clearly that this girl would be the one taken to the Chamber at the end of the year. He did not know how or why. He only knew that it happened.

He filed it away and kept smiling.

The Sorting was finished when McGonagall leaned over to Dumbledore and said something in a low voice. Gilderoy could not hear the words, but he saw the Headmaster's expression shift from pleasant calm to mild concern. A few of the other professors noticed too. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"It seems," Dumbledore said quietly, addressing the staff, "that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were not on the Hogwarts Express."

The words sent a small ripple through the table. Flitwick looked worried. Sprout frowned. Snape's expression did not change, but something sharpened behind his eyes.

"They may have found alternative transport," Dumbledore continued. "It might be prudent for someone to wait on the grounds, in case they arrive by Floo to Hogsmeade and make their way up on foot."

Nobody volunteered. It was a cold evening, and the feast was about to begin. Snape let out a slow breath through his nose, the quiet resignation of a man who knew the task was about to fall to him because it always did.

"I'll do it," Gilderoy said.

The staff turned to look at him. He kept his voice conversational, just a man offering to help, though he allowed a touch of his usual flair to colour the words.

"The students can wait until tomorrow to meet their new professor. It is the duty of an educator, after all, to keep an eye on those in his care, and I would be a rather poor one if I sat here enjoying the treacle tart while two of my future students were wandering the grounds in the dark."

Snape looked at him as though he had grown a second head. Minerva raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore studied him for a moment with those sharp blue eyes, and Gilderoy saw something flicker there, a quiet curiosity, the same look the Headmaster had worn when Gilderoy presented his textbook. He was being catalogued again.

"How kind of you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said mildly. "Do let us know if they turn up and bring them to my office."

Gilderoy rose from his chair, adjusted his robes, and walked the length of the Great Hall toward the doors. Several hundred pairs of eyes followed him, and he could hear the whispers breaking out at the house tables as students noticed the new professor leaving the feast. Under any other circumstances, he would have relished the attention. Tonight, his mind was elsewhere.

He knew the car was coming. He did not know exactly when, but he remembered this night from before, the two boys arriving in Arthur Weasley's enchanted Ford Anglia, the crash into the Whomping Willow, the mess that followed. In his previous life, he had sat at the staff table and not given it a second thought. Snape had dealt with them. Gilderoy had been too busy basking in the glow of being introduced to notice or care.

Not tonight. Tonight, being the one to handle this was an opportunity he was not about to waste. Two students rescued on his very first evening as professor, one of them Harry Potter. The story would spread through the school by breakfast. It was the kind of reputation that could not be bought, and he would be lying if he said that did not factor into his decision.

He stepped through the great oak doors and out onto the grounds. The night air was cool and sharp, and the castle's warmth faded behind him as he walked a short distance onto the lawn. The lake was a flat black mirror under the stars. The Forbidden Forest was a wall of dark trees to his left. And directly ahead, its thick trunk barely visible in the gloom, stood the Whomping Willow.

Gilderoy drew his wand and waited.

The minutes stretched. Inside, the feast would be underway. He could picture the golden plates filling with food, the noise and laughter, the students gorging themselves while their professors made conversation over roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. His stomach growled. He had skipped lunch to prepare for the duel with Flitwick, and now he was standing in the dark like a sentry while everyone else ate.

This had felt like a much better idea at the table.

He checked the sky every few seconds, scanning the darkness above the lake. Nothing. Just stars and the occasional bat. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and considered, briefly, the possibility that things had changed this time around and the boys were sitting somewhere comfortable with a cup of tea, perfectly safe and entirely unaware that their new professor was standing in the cold like an idiot on their behalf.

Then he heard it.

A distant whine, thin and mechanical, cutting through the stillness of the night like a mosquito. It grew louder. Gilderoy's grip tightened on his wand and he looked up.

A shape was descending over the far end of the lake. It wobbled, dropped, caught itself, then dropped again. The engine was sputtering in fits, coughing out power in short bursts before dying and restarting. As it drew closer, Gilderoy could make out the outline of a car, a boxy, old-fashioned thing, its headlights flickering weakly as it lost altitude over the water.

The car cleared the lake. The engine gave a final, ugly clunk and went silent. The nose dipped and it began to fall properly, gathering speed as it dropped toward the castle.

Gilderoy watched it arc over the greenhouses, skim the vegetable patch, and come barrelling down across the lawns straight toward the Whomping Willow. There were two small figures in the front seats, one of them pulling desperately at the steering wheel.

He raised his wand.

A week of dueling with Flitwick had taught him to think about timing and angles, to react to things moving fast toward him. The car was heavy and falling at speed, and Gilderoy knew he did not have enough time to stop it dead. But he did not need to stop it. He just needed to push.

He cast the Banishing Charm at the car's left side, putting everything he could behind it. The spell connected and the car jolted sideways in the air, its trajectory shifting just enough that instead of slamming head-on into the Willow's trunk, it clipped the tree at a sharp angle. Metal scraped against old bark with a grinding shriek, and the car spun to the side, its back wheels bouncing off the thick roots.

The Whomping Willow woke up.

A branch as thick as a man's torso swung down and caught the car's roof with a crack that echoed across the grounds. The car was launched sideways, skidding across the wet grass in a shower of sparks and torn metal, spinning as it went. It came to a stop thirty feet from the tree, its engine ticking and hissing, steam pouring from the crumpled hood.

Then the headlights blazed on.

The car lurched forward. Its wheels spun on the grass, caught traction, and it accelerated directly toward Gilderoy with the furious energy of a wounded animal. The engine screamed. The headlights blinded him.

He had perhaps five seconds.

The first thing he did was blow the doors open. A flick of his wand, both sides at once, the way Flitwick had taught him to cast at multiple targets in quick succession. The doors flew outward with a bang.

The second thing he did was get the boys out. He flicked his wand twice and pulled Harry and Ron through the open doors, catching them mid-air before they could hit the ground and holding them suspended twelve feet up, their arms and legs dangling. Their trunks followed a moment later, ejected as the car bucked and swerved. A cage clattered out and burst open on impact, and a white owl shot into the sky with an indignant screech, wings beating hard toward the castle.

The car kept coming.

Gilderoy cast the Banishing Charm again, harder this time, and the car's charge reversed. It flew backwards across the lawn, spinning as it went, straight back toward the Whomping Willow. The tree was waiting. A thick root caught the car's undercarriage as it passed, flipping it up and over in a tumbling arc that sent it crashing through the first line of trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Branches snapped and cracked, and then there was a final, distant thud, and the sound of an engine revving once, twice, and then fading into the forest.

Silence.

Gilderoy lowered his casting arm and let out a breath. His heart was slamming against his ribs, but he kept his face composed. That had been considerably closer than he would have liked.

He turned to the two boys, still hanging in the air where he had left them. Harry Potter's glasses were cracked and his robes were torn at the shoulder where the summoning spell had grabbed him. Ronald Weasley was rigid, his arms locked at his sides, his red hair pointing downward and his face the colour of old milk. Neither of them seemed to know what to do with the fact that they were floating six feet off the ground.

Gilderoy began to lower them. He eased the spell gently, bringing them down toward the grass, and then he saw it. Ron's wand, poking out of the boy's trouser pocket, the handle clearly visible against his hip.

The memory came fast and unwanted. A dark chamber. A wand in his hand that was not his own, snatched from a red-haired boy. Two children in front of him. The incantation on his lips, and then the flash, and then nothing at all for a very long time.

He released the spell at once.

They dropped the last few feet. Harry stumbled but caught himself. Ron hit the ground on his right side, hard, directly on the pocket where his wand sat. There was a sharp snap.

Gilderoy walked over, his composure already back in place, warm and assured and every inch the professor.

"Well," he said, looking down at them with a smile that did not betray the fact that his pulse was still hammering, "that was certainly an entrance."

Harry stared up at him from the ground, his green eyes wide behind his cracked glasses. Recognition flickered across his face. "Professor Lockhart!"

"The very one," Gilderoy said, extending a hand and pulling Harry to his feet. "Though I must say, Mr. Potter, if you wanted to make an impression on your first day, a simple handshake would have done the job."

He turned to Ron and offered the same hand. Ron took it and was hauled upright. The boy swayed for a moment, then his hand went to his pocket. He pulled out his wand, and even in the dim light, Gilderoy could see that it was snapped clean in two, the break sharp and total.

Ron was staring at the broken halves with an expression of quiet despair. "My wand," he said. His voice cracked.

Gilderoy kept his face sympathetic, and the sympathy was not entirely manufactured, because watching a twelve-year-old boy hold a snapped wand was a pitiful sight regardless of what that wand might have done in another timeline.

"My sincerest apologies," Gilderoy said smoothly. "I had to pull you out rather quickly, and I assumed you would have had your wand in your hand, not loose in your pocket. The landing must have caught it at a bad angle." He placed a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I will see to it that it is replaced. You have my word on that."

Ron looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and bewilderment. He clearly had no idea what to say.

"Now then," Gilderoy said, clapping his hands together and looking between them. "I believe the two of you owe someone an explanation, and I suspect that someone is going to be rather less charming about it than I am. Shall we?"

He flicked his wand at their scattered trunks. They rose off the ground and drifted behind him in a neat line. The owl cage, now empty, floated up to join them. Gilderoy set off across the lawn toward the castle with the two boys trailing behind him, and he could hear them whispering urgently to each other as they walked.

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office opened without Gilderoy needing to say a word. The spiral staircase carried them up, and Gilderoy pushed the door open and ushered Harry and Ron inside ahead of him.

The office was warm and circular, cluttered with silver instruments that whirred and clicked on spindly tables. Portraits of former headmasters lined the walls, most of them pretending to be asleep but clearly listening. Fawkes the phoenix sat on his perch near the door, his golden feathers catching the candlelight.

Dumbledore was behind his desk. McGonagall stood to his left, her mouth set in a line so thin it had nearly disappeared. Snape was to his right, his arms folded across his chest, his expression one of barely contained satisfaction. They had clearly been discussing the situation before Gilderoy arrived.

"Ah," said Dumbledore.

"Safe and mostly sound, Headmaster," Gilderoy said. He guided the boys forward with a light hand on each of their shoulders and positioned them in front of the desk. Their trunks settled gently onto the floor behind them. "They arrived by flying car. A Ford Anglia, if I'm not mistaken. I was able to intervene before serious injury occurred, though the Whomping Willow took a knock and the car has disappeared into the Forbidden Forest."

Dumbledore looked at the two boys over his half-moon spectacles. His expression was grave.

"Is this true?" he asked.

Harry nodded. He was staring hard at the floor, unable or unwilling to look up.

"The barrier at King's Cross," Ron blurted out. "It wouldn't let us through, Professor. It was sealed. We couldn't get on the train, so w-we took my dad's car." He swallowed hard. "We didn't know what else to do."

"You might have sent an owl," McGonagall said icily.

Neither boy had an answer for that.

Snape stepped forward. He had unrolled a copy of the Evening Prophet, and his thin lips were curled into something that was not quite a smile.

"They were seen," he said, holding up the front page. "A flying car, spotted by no fewer than seven Muggles across the length of the country." He read the headline with quiet relish. "Flying Ford Anglia Mystifies Muggles." His dark eyes moved from Harry to Ron. "I believe your father works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, Weasley? Dear me. His own son."

Ron looked like he might be sick.

"These boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry," Snape continued, turning to Dumbledore. "They have caused damage to a centuries-old tree on the school grounds. Surely acts of this nature warrant expulsion."

Gilderoy said nothing. This was not his fight, and he knew better than to insert himself into a disciplinary matter between Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape. He stood to the side and let the Headmaster handle it.

Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "Please explain why you did this."

He did not raise his voice. The disappointment in his tone was quiet and measured, and from where Gilderoy stood, he could see both boys shrink under it. Harry kept his eyes fixed on the ground and told the story from the beginning, the barrier that would not let them through, the empty platform, the car parked outside the station.

When Harry finished, Dumbledore merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

"We'll go and get our stuff," Ron said miserably.

"What are you talking about, Weasley?" McGonagall barked.

"You're expelling us, aren't you?"

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore. "But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you."

Snape looked as though Christmas had been cancelled. He opened his mouth to press the point, but Dumbledore cut him off with a raised hand.

"It will be for Professor McGonagall to decide on these boys' punishments, Severus. They are in her House and are therefore her responsibility." He rose from his desk. "I must attend to a few matters before the evening is done. Minerva, I trust you have things well in hand. Come, Severus."

Snape shot a look of pure venom at Harry and Ron as he swept toward the door. Dumbledore followed, pausing to give Gilderoy a brief nod. "Thank you for your quick thinking tonight, Gilderoy. Most fortunate that you were outside."

Gilderoy accepted the nod with a modest smile, though inside he felt a warm flush of satisfaction. A personal thank-you from Dumbledore on his first night. Not bad at all.

The door closed. Gilderoy was left with McGonagall and the two boys.

"I will not take any points from Gryffindor," McGonagall said, her voice clipped, "as term had not yet started when you committed this act of monumental stupidity. But you will both serve detention."

Harry and Ron sagged with relief.

McGonagall pointed her wand at a side table. A large plate of sandwiches, two goblets, and a jug of pumpkin juice appeared. "You will eat and then go directly to your dormitory. The password is wattlebird." She turned to Gilderoy. "Thank you, Professor Lockhart."

"Of course, Minerva," Gilderoy said pleasantly. He gave the two boys a final look. Harry was already reaching for a sandwich. Ron was turning the two halves of his broken wand over in his hands, his face miserable. "Do send me the bill for that wand, Mr. Weasley. It was my fault, and I intend to make it right."

Ron looked up. "You don't have to, Professor."

"I insist," Gilderoy said with a smile. "Good evening, gentlemen. I suspect we will be seeing a lot of each other this year with your detention."

He left the office and descended the spiral staircase. The castle was quiet, the feast long over, the corridors emptying as students made their way to their common rooms. Gilderoy walked alone through the torchlit hallways, his footsteps echoing on the stone.

He had missed the entire feast. He had missed his first opportunity to be introduced to the student body. His stomach was painfully empty.

None of that mattered. By breakfast tomorrow, every student in Hogwarts would know that Gilderoy Lockhart had pulled Harry Potter and Ron Weasley out of a crashing car on his first night as professor. He had simply been in the right place at the right time, and for once, that was the truth rather than a story he had stolen from someone else.

He returned to his chambers, called for the house-elf, and ate a plate of hot roast beef and pumpkin juice at his desk. It had been a good night, and tomorrow the real work would begin.

AN: If you enjoyed the chapter, then please, please drop a like on the chapter and comment your thoughts. It helps more than you can think. It helps me know that you like this story and want me to continue it. The more interest that I know you have, the easier it is for me to write and update a story.

Gilderoy would be well-aware of how Harry and  Ron arrive and him taking this opportunity to flex just makes sense. Plus, it was just a cool sequence for me to write. The entire point of the story is being a better person (This includes his past, by the way. I haven’t forgotten about the people that Gil stole from) and the most important thing, Aurafarming. Just imagine Gil, a speeding car coming at him with two scared kids as he takes them out, sends it back to the Willow, and it gets smacked straight inside the Forbidden Forest like a game of Volleyball.

As per the schedule: Next week is going to be a chapter of In Naruto With An Achievement System. After that, we'll have another chapter of Celestial Star. We're going to end the month off with a new story that I've been working on called Fang over Fang. It's going to be a Kiba self-insert with the Celestial Dojo at the end of the Sasuke retrieval arc.

Hope you all enjoyed it, this is Spider-Lite swinging away.