Chapter 317: The Curse of the Defense Position
The morning after Halloween.
Hogwarts was never short on rumors, and with Hagrid around, there wasn't a spell in existence that could keep a secret truly locked down. Thus, as the first rays of sunlight hit the Great Hall, Hagrid's tongue began to slip once more.
"Hagrid? And where might you be off to?"
At the High Table, Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes. Hagrid was looking a bit too jolly for this early in the morning. He was cradling a massive pumpkin, which had been hollowed out and filled with steaming pumpkin juice mixed with soft oatmeal and bits of unidentified fruit.
His large frame occupied nearly three seats, and when he stood up with a beaming grin, the entire table rattled.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall, dear! Just off to throw a bit o' a party for me little heroes," Hagrid said. His beard was already flecked with bits of porridge. "Yeh wouldn't believe it—no, yeh couldn't imagine—ever since firs' year, Little Green has been..."
He trailed off, his beard twitching with emotion.
"Oh? Is that so?"
McGonagall's kind smile slowly vanished, her blue eyes fixing on the half-giant with a sharp, inquisitive look.
"Little Green is quite fond o' pumpkin juice, o' course..." Hagrid said, suddenly sensing a shift in the atmosphere. His survival instincts finally kicked in. "Gotta fly, Professor! This'll get cold if I don't move!"
Hagrid wiped his beard and beat a hasty retreat, his heavy boots thundering across the flagstones.
At the center of the table, Professor Dumbledore sat back with an amused expression, holding his goblet. He watched as Minerva McGonagall grew visibly irritable, clearly connecting a few dots of her own.
"The truth, when spoken by different people, often produces remarkably different effects," Dumbledore noted with a chuckle. He glanced over at Snape, but the Potions Master had already swept out of the hall in a fit of pique.
Dumbledore's smile only grew brighter.
The morning air was damp and biting. A group of students walked down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a light drizzle spattering against their faces. Despite the weather, the group was in high spirits.
"I hope Hagrid's got an extra pumpkin for the Room of Hope," Justin said. "I've got a brilliant design for a common room interior."
"If you saw the size of his patch, you wouldn't worry," Ron replied excitedly.
They were about twenty paces from the hut when the front door swung open. It wasn't Hagrid who stepped out, however, but Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of the palest lilac.
"Get down!" Harry hissed. He grabbed Sean, who was currently trying to read a book while walking, and pulled him behind a thick cluster of bushes.
Justin let out a muffled laugh, while Hermione and Ron rolled their eyes as they scrambled into hiding with a startled Neville.
"It's quite simple once you've got the knack!" Lockhart was shouting back toward the hut. "If you need any help, Hagrid, don't hesitate to ask. You know where I am! I'll send over a copy of my latest book—I'm staggered you haven't got one yet. I'll sign it for you tonight. Right, then! Goodbye!"
Lockhart set off toward the castle with long, confident strides.
Inside the hut's doorway, Hagrid stood clutching his massive pumpkin, looking as though he were fighting the urge to lob it at the back of Lockhart's head. He eventually remembered the contents were for Sean and slumped back inside, looking thoroughly vexed.
Only Hermione remained truly indignant. As Lockhart moved down the lawn, she puffed out her cheeks and gave her wand a sharp, surreptitious flick.
Lockhart suddenly tripped over his own feet and went tumbling down the grassy slope, robes fluttering behind him.
"I'm staggered that you don't look where you're going, Professor!" Hagrid bellowed from his doorway, roaring with laughter. "Watch yourself—don't want to leave before the year's up!"
"Splendid, Hermione! Absolutely legendary!"
Ron looked at Hermione with newfound respect. He remembered that just a year ago, she had been a staunch defender of every school rule. Now, she was jinxing professors in broad daylight. She really does belong in Gryffindor, Ron thought. That 'Sorting Hat' knew what it was doing.
"Hagrid—what did you mean about him not lasting the year?" Harry asked the moment they entered the hut. He desperately hoped Lockhart wouldn't be their teacher forever. Even if the man wasn't a dark wizard, he had proven beyond a doubt that he was a complete fraud.
"Harry! Sean! You're all here!" Hagrid beamed, his anger forgotten. He immediately began brewing tea, though he couldn't get Fang to stop leaning heavily against Sean's legs.
"Lockhart... well, he was the only one who applied for the job," Hagrid explained, setting the giant pumpkin on the table. "It's hard findin' a Defense teacher these days. Folks reckon the post is jinxed. None of 'em last very long."
Hagrid began recounting the history of the position as Sean helped himself to some pumpkin juice.
"The Defense job is a proper headache for the Headmaster. I remember one fellow whose cauldron exploded while he was brewin'—sent him straight to St. Mungo's. Another tried to use Dark Arts on a student and ended up in Azkaban. And then there was the one who tried to research some nasty ritual... Professor Dumbledore had to handle that one personally. It's a 'known problem' here at Hogwarts."
The group listened, enthralled.
"I wish they'd send Lockhart to Azkaban," Ron muttered darkly.
"Azkaban?" Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.
"It's the wizarding prison," Hermione explained, taking a sip of the sweet juice. "A fortress built in the 15th century. It's been the official prison for the British Wizarding World since 1718."
"If Lockhart is such a dunderhead, where did his stories come from?" Justin asked, posing the question that had been bothering him for weeks.
Hermione's expression shifted. The group began to debate: where had Lockhart stolen his exploits from? And how were the details so vivid if he hadn't been there?
Hagrid brought out more snacks, including a plate of treacle fudge. Sean, seeing the Green's Bookstore opening poster Justin had brought along, didn't join the debate. He was wondering how exactly the curse would manifest this time. With the Basilisk dealt with, what would be the catalyst for Lockhart's exit?
Would Voldemort's curse prove stronger than Sean's interference?
As for Azkaban... Sean knew that for Ravenclaws, the prison was a binary: half of them ended up there for their experiments, while the other half worked tirelessly to put them there.
"Harry," Hagrid said suddenly, a twinkle in his eye. "I've got a bone to pick with yeh. I hear yeh've been givin' out signed photos. How come I haven't got one?"
Harry turned beet-red with fury, trying to force his mouth open, but his jaw was already firmly glued shut by the treacle fudge.
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