Bab 43: Can’t Hold It Back Anymore!
Lockhart stood up and pushed through the crowd. "Make way, please, make way."
His excitement was palpable, his eagerness almost overwhelming as he made his way toward Harry.
The heat in his gaze—full of greed, admiration, and desire—was so intense it practically scorched the air around him.
He reached out to grab Harry's arm, intending to pull him into a dramatic embrace.
Harry stepped back, letting Lockhart's hand grasp at empty air.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked coldly, his eyes sharp.
Just as Professor Flitwick had said—Lockhart was all fluff.
The man reeked of cloying perfume, and his magical aura was laughably weak. He was barely any better than the petty wizard Harry had dealt with in Hogsmeade, the one who specialized in scamming younger wizards.
The icy glare in Harry's eyes doused Lockhart's enthusiasm like a bucket of cold water. Still, Lockhart quickly recovered, flashing a dazzling smile. "Great wizards are naturally drawn to one another, wouldn't you agree?"
"Come now, Harry, let's take a picture together! We must commemorate this grand moment brought about by destiny!"
Harry's expression remained frosty, his body language brimming with rejection. "By 'destiny,' do you mean how you've been holding book signings non-stop since Hogwarts sent out their letters?"
"And how you stationed people to tail me, so they could report back to you the moment I showed up?"
Lockhart's face stiffened, though he forced out an awkward laugh. "You Gryffindors—always such comedians!"
Harry stepped closer.
Lockhart mistook the gesture for reconciliation and gestured to the photographers behind him.
Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine.
Something sharp poked at his waist, sending a painful sting through his robes.
Lockhart looked down.
A kitchen knife gleamed in Harry's hand, its blade honed to a wicked edge.
"Professor Flitwick told me a few things about your past," Harry said evenly, his gaze unyielding. "Would you prefer we discuss this here?"
Lockhart froze, his voice trembling as he spoke in a low, panicked tone: "What… what are you doing?"
A knife?
What kind of young wizard carries something so dangerous around?
And it's pressed against my waist… Is he planning to kill me?
"We're here to buy textbooks. You can continue your book signing, but don't involve me. Understood?" Harry's voice was calm, but the slight pressure he applied with the knife was enough to tear through Lockhart's robes.
"Of course," Lockhart replied hastily, nodding.
Harry withdrew the knife.
Lockhart exhaled in relief, nearly collapsing as his legs buckled beneath him.
"He really was waiting for you," Hermione said, stunned, as she jogged to catch up with Harry. Lowering her voice, she added, "But why? It's not like he needs…"
Before she could finish, Lockhart bounced back to his earlier persona, addressing the crowd in his loud, theatrical tone:
"Our young savior is such a shy boy!"
"He doesn't like being in the spotlight, which is such a pity."
The crowd—especially the women—sighed wistfully. Many had noticed that the Boy Who Lived was quite handsome, with a rugged charm that Lockhart lacked.
If only he'd appear in the papers more often, they thought, so they could see more of his photos.
"But!" Lockhart's voice rose dramatically. "I do have some thrilling news for you all!"
"I, Gilderoy Lockhart, internationally renowned…" He launched into a pompous recitation of his titles, his teeth gleaming unnaturally white, "…am honored to have been invited by none other than Albus Dumbledore to serve as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts this year!"
"And I promise to teach our dear savior and young Gryffindor lion king how to become a proper, charming wizard!"
Inside the bookstore.
Harry couldn't hold it in anymore.
He drew his wand. "Expelliarmus!"
A jet of red light struck Lockhart squarely.
The man—whose list of titles was longer than Dumbledore's full name—collapsed to the floor with a thud, caught completely off guard.
Lockhart, not realizing it was a spell, assumed he'd been overcome with fear and quickly came up with an excuse to save face.
"Harry!" Hermione gasped, shocked by what she had just witnessed.
Harry, his face expressionless, pocketed his wand. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."
"He's… a bit much," Hermione admitted with a sigh. Seeing that the crowd outside was more concerned with fawning over Lockhart than confronting them, she relaxed. "Still, I didn't expect him to be like this."
"Like a celebrity in the Muggle world," Harry muttered.
Sighing again, he added, "Another year, another terrible Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I'm starting to think Professor Snape really did put a dungbomb in Dumbledore's head."
"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "You shouldn't say that about Professor Snape."
Though even she had to admit that Dumbledore's choices for this position were… questionable.
After purchasing their books, they stopped by the pet shop to buy the best owl treats for Hedwig.
Hedwig was unimpressed, finding the treats far inferior to Petunia's cooking.
She pecked at Hermione in protest before grudgingly accepting them.
They then sat outside an ice cream parlor, waiting for Ron.
As Harry flipped through one of Lockhart's books, he suddenly paused. "Maybe our dear professor isn't a complete idiot after all?"
Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Here, look at this part," Harry said, pointing to a passage and reading aloud:
"'Werewolves, under the full moon, lose all reason and attack anyone nearby.
"'But dear readers must remember that the Muggle myth of silver bullets is ineffective against them.'
"'The dashing and brilliant me…'" Harry skipped over the self-aggrandizing part, "'…discovered a method to temporarily subdue a werewolf: the Homorphus Charm, which can forcibly return a werewolf to human form.'
"'However, the caster's magical power must exceed the werewolf's, and the werewolf must not be exposed to the moon again afterward.'"
Hermione hesitated. After losing trust in Lockhart, it was hard to regain it. "That… sounds too good to be true."
"I'll ask Professor Flitwick about it when I get back," Harry said, closing the book.
Just then, he looked over his shoulder.
"Ron, your footsteps are too heavy. If you're planning to prank someone, take some tips from your brothers."
Behind him, Ron—who had been creeping up with a mischievous grin—startled and fell flat on his backside. "How'd you hear me? I was so quiet!"
Harry shut the book. "Why are you so late?"
"Harry, Hermione, you should've come to Flourish and Blotts with us!" Ron said, clearly excited as he plopped into a chair. "Dad got into a fight with Malfoy!"
"Mr. Weasley fights kids too?" Harry asked, surprised.
"Not Draco—Lucius Malfoy! Old Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "Dad punched him so hard—left hook and everything!"
Hermione sighed. "This day really has been something. Harry nearly hexed Lockhart into oblivion."
"Really?" Ron's eyes lit up. "Why just 'nearly'? That pompous git…"
"Actually, I did hex him," Harry corrected. "He just didn't realize it, so it didn't escalate."
"That guy…" Harry shook his head. "He's too flashy. All he wants is to ride on my fame—or rather, to get even more famous."
Hermione mimicked Lockhart in a mocking tone: "'I'll teach Harry how to become a proper charming wizard.'"
Ron gawked.
"He didn't seem to think about how to be a proper Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Hermione said, slamming the table lightly. "Five Galleons per book, all filled with self-praise. What a waste."
After an eventful day, they each returned home.
By the end of the month, Harry's new armor was ready. Crafted by the eccentric but skilled goblin smith Legnack, the troll-hide armor was reinforced with iron and silver, giving it a sleek, dark-gray finish with subtle, rippling patterns.
It fit perfectly.
Finally, September 1st arrived.
Hedwig had been working tirelessly, delivering letters to Ron and others while ferrying Harry's repayment—both money and the knife—to Vernon Dursley. She even managed to nag Petunia into preparing two pounds of owl treats.
When she returned, she perched proudly beside Harry, ready to board the train.
This year, however, the atmosphere at the station was different.
Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and a certain flamboyant figure in bright purple—none other than Gilderoy Lockhart—were all waiting at the platform.
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