While Lockhart was still lost in thought, Hermione set down the luggage and greeted the girl first. "Hi, Pandora—is it you who invited Professor Lockhart?"
"Ah, Hermione, hello! Yes, my grandfather invited Professor Lockhart. He's my favorite teacher!" the beautiful girl quickly stood up to greet them.
That jogged Lockhart's memory. If Hermione hadn't been there, it might've turned awkward. This girl was a Slytherin student—Pandora Fudge. In class, Lockhart usually focused on the main characters, and Pandora didn't dress up much at school, so he hadn't recognized her. Turns out, she was the Minister's granddaughter.
"Ah, Pandora, thank you for the invitation." Lockhart stepped forward and gave her a familiar hug. "Are you sharing this tent with me?"
"N-no, I'm in the one next door. I just came to tidy this one up," Pandora explained, a bit flustered.
"What a pity," Lockhart sighed dramatically. Pandora blushed slightly—perhaps because Hermione was there. "Professor, please don't tease me. See you tonight."
"Professor, are you close with the Fudge family?" Hermione asked, sounding slightly displeased as she set down his bag. "But Pandora really is beautiful."
"Honestly, I almost forgot her name. I barely remember her. After all, you're my favorite student."
Hermione looked a bit shy, though clearly pleased. "You're my favorite professor too."
After setting up the tent, Lockhart lay down comfortably. "Ah, this is nice. Only thing missing is a beauty in my arms. Hermione, how about you stay and keep me company?" he joked.
Hermione sat down, lightly smacking him in mock annoyance—then, unexpectedly, began massaging his shoulders. "Professor, without you, I really don't know how we would've handled everything at school."
"You mean the basilisk or Sirius Black? That's nothing—compared to my adventures, those are trivial," Lockhart said, slipping easily into his usual boasting. "But I'm nearly thirty now. I can't keep running around like before. I plan to stay at Hogwarts long-term as a professor."
"Really? Professor, I'd be honored to be taught by you until graduation!"
For once, Lockhart wasn't lying. After two years of teaching, he had genuinely fallen in love with the job. Teaching was strange—it had turned someone who once only cared about pleasure into a real professor. Even he hadn't fully noticed the change: he now carried natural authority in front of students; he genuinely wanted to teach them something, even if he wasn't truly a master of Defense Against the Dark Arts; he sincerely cared for his students. Even when some of the more beautiful girls admired him, he maintained a charming yet gentlemanly demeanor.
And in return, the students truly admired and respected him.
"Alright, Hermione, it's about to start. You should go find the Weasleys. See you at the match."
"Oh! Right—see you, Professor!" Hermione hurried off, realizing the time.
At the entrance, a young witch checking tickets suddenly widened her eyes and squealed, "Mr. Lockhart! VIP box—please, straight up!"
Only then did Lockhart realize his ticket was for the VIP section. As he climbed higher, the crowds thinned, until he reached the topmost private box. Below, a magnificent spectacle unfolded—a stadium holding a hundred thousand people, packed to the brim.
"Wow… Miss Pandora, you're sitting next to me?" Lockhart noticed how dressed up she was today. The usual youthful innocence was toned down, replaced with a striking mix of charm and allure. "You look beautiful today."
"Thank you, Professor. Please, have a seat," Pandora said softly.
Lockhart sat beside her and leaned forward to take in the view. The stands roared with excitement—Irish fans waving green shamrocks, Bulgarian supporters waving their tricolor flags, alongside the frequent flashing image of a young player's brooding face, frowning and blinking impatiently.
"Professor… actually, when I heard my grandfather was inviting you, I specifically asked him to arrange a seat next to yours. I've always admired you," Pandora admitted, blushing slightly.
"Oh…" Lockhart was about to continue the conversation when the Minister of Magic approached.
"Mr. Lockhart! You look fully recovered from that incident two years ago. Your presence at our final match is a great encouragement to both me and the Ministry, wouldn't you say, Barty?"
Barty Crouch Sr., impeccably dressed and rigid as ever, merely said, "A pleasure to see you," before excusing himself. "Cornelius, I must step away—there are matters to discuss with the Bulgarians."
Fudge, meanwhile, was loudly gesturing as he explained things to a foreign wizard in luxurious black velvet robes, who clearly didn't understand English. "This is Mr. Lockhart—a hero, a nat-u-ral war-ri-or!"
Wiping sweat from his face, Fudge added tiredly to Lockhart, "This is Minister Obonsk… well, he's just here for appearances. If only Crouch hadn't left—he's much better with languages."
The two nodded politely to each other. Truthfully, no introduction was needed—since becoming the second person to survive the Killing Curse, Lockhart was widely known.
Fudge soon spotted Harry Potter and eagerly dragged guests over to see "the Boy Who Lived." The Weasley family, along with Harry and Hermione, were introduced with great enthusiasm.
Even Lockhart was surprised—how had the Weasleys managed to get VIP tickets for so many people? Truly impressive.