Before long, there was a knock at the door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.
"Professor Lockhart, are you in?" Hermione asked, having forced herself to calm down, greeting him like a shy young witch.
"Come in, my dear Miss Granger. I'm preparing the material for my next lesson," Lockhart said, holding a copy of Magical Me. Hermione was certain he'd rather clip his own hair than prepare anything for class.
"Professor, we've formed a small support club, just nearby. We were hoping you could come take a look…" Hermione said, following the plan.
"Ah, my excellent assistant." Lockhart flashed what he clearly believed was a charming smile, then pretended to think it over.
Hermione believed he would agree in the end—but she added:
"Professor, could you bring at least fifty signed photos…? I think everyone…"
Her words cut straight through his performative "consideration."
"Fifty… thank you for reminding me, my dear Miss Granger. Yes, that's an important matter. Honestly, it does sound a bit conceited—but one day you'll be like me: wherever you go, you'll need to carry a stack of photographs."
He gave a light chuckle.
"Everyone's really looking forward to seeing you," Hermione said, feeling nauseated inside but still putting on a shy tone.
"What a pity, my dear Miss Granger. You should have come earlier. Lately, I've been researching an ancient and powerful branch of magic.
It's extremely important, you know—after all, my mission is to teach you to defend yourselves against the most evil things known to the wizarding world."
Lockhart said it with theatrical warmth.
Hermione froze. Then cold sweat prickled at the back of her neck.
How could she forget?
Tomorrow was the weekend—Dueling Club day.
And Professor Snape, who'd been in a foul mood lately, had been making Lockhart's life miserable. Lockhart was looking for any excuse to dodge it!
And she'd just handed him the perfect opportunity.
"Oh… alright then. I'll explain it to the others. They'll understand…" Hermione said, acting disappointed while her insides went icy.
The plan would have to be delayed, she thought. But after the weekend, Lockhart would still agree.
Still—now she'd have to figure out how to preserve the Veritaserum. For that, she could only ask Sean for help.
"Tell him about that."
A very soft voice sounded. It was controlled by some special magic—only witches and wizards within a tiny radius could hear it.
Like now: only Hermione heard Sean.
"Are you sure, Sean?" Hermione muttered, still wearing her "disappointed" expression, asking him.
"Mm," Sean answered quietly.
"I understand," Hermione replied.
Lockhart smiled at her, and Hermione suddenly lifted her head, putting on an annoyed, regretful look.
"That's such a shame, Professor Lockhart. We finally managed to invite Mr. Hermes.
He's agreed to come because the International Alchemy Association wants him to publish an alchemy book, and he accepted our invitation.
He even wanted to ask you for advice on writing books—"
Hermione sighed, then sneaked a glance at Lockhart.
"What did you say?" Lockhart shot to his feet.
"That gentleman sent us a note. Look—this came with it, delivered by owl."
Hermione produced a small biscuit. The little owl head on it was purring softly.
"Oh, of course—goodness, of course he should come to me.
Six straight months at the top of the bestseller list—an unprecedented achievement. I have to go. I have to…"
Lockhart paced around the office.
Half a year ago, Dumbledore had come to him with a job at Hogwarts, hinting that he could teach Harry—then still only a second-year—and that being the teacher of "famous Harry" would earn him more popularity than anything else.
So he'd hesitated only briefly before accepting.
Now, too, he wouldn't let an opportunity slip by.
He'd thought becoming Harry Potter's teacher was enough to make his name ring out for a time—yet now he might even end up on a Chocolate Frog card.
Just imagine what title the wizarding world would give him once that book came out…
How thrilling.
"Of course I must guide him—without question—and only I can. So tell me, finest Miss Granger of the year: where is my Her—support club?"
Lockhart wore an exaggerated grin.
"I'll take you there right now!" Hermione said, her mouth twitching before she forced it back into place.
She'd always known he'd do anything for fame, but seeing him admit it so openly still made it hard not to show her contempt.
Lockhart followed her out of the office, excited—and faintly suspicious.
Inside the office, several Lockhart portraits were babbling praises.
"You'll be the most famous wizard of all!" said the portrait of Lockhart painting.
"Wise master and venerable teacher!" said the portrait of Lockhart watering plants.
"The greatest wizard!" said the portrait of Lockhart bowing.
Those words finished off what remained of the real Lockhart's judgment. His face flushed; his future seemed brilliant.
Evening, corridor.
Normally, only members of the Castle Spirit Cat Club were especially active here, but as they passed the black cat statue, they could see little witches and wizards offering dried fish as "blessings."
The dried fish always disappeared by the next day. Hermione had once noticed Mrs. Norris shamelessly enjoying it in a corner.
Mrs. Norris had grown a full size bigger—no longer bony and gaunt, now a normal weight… though she was starting to trend toward "fat cat."
Hannah, the ringleader of the offerings, didn't look annoyed at all. Her eyes shone as she declared:
"Mrs. Norris is the castle's administrator, and the true Hogwarts Castle is the Lucky Spirit Cat. How could we interrupt the feeding of its dear servant?"
Hermione decided it was probably a good deed in its own strange way.
So she let it be.
Past the spirit-cat statue, up a few more flights, and they reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being beaten by a troll.
Lockhart looked left and right, but saw no sign of any "club."
"Professor, please wait a few seconds," Hermione said quickly.
She walked back and forth along the corridor three times. A large door appeared in the wall.
When Hermione wrapped her fingers around the copper handle, her body was already trembling.
She was too nervous.
What if Justin's focus slipped?
What if Justin targeted the wrong person?
What if Lockhart realized what was happening?
In the end, her gaze hardened. They had sworn to trust their companions.
Her eyes sharpened—almost like Professor McGonagall's.
"Everyone's waiting for you. Mr. Hermes is inside too. Please go in, Professor Lockhart," she said.
~~~
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