Chapter 93: Gilderoy Lockhart

After everyone had entered the Great Hall, the doors closed, and students sat at their respective house tables, continuing conversations left unfinished on the train.

Then Professor McGonagall pushed the doors open again, leading in a group of nervous first-years; it was clear they were fascinated by everything around them, candlelight dancing in their wide eyes and turning into murmurs of awe.

Last year, Silven had been among those new students; this year, he was an observer, watching them walk toward the front of the hall.

The Sorting Hat’s song was as unpleasant as ever; Silven sat below, watching its brim open and close like a mouth, and squinted slightly.

So lively, isn’t it? I hope it stays this energetic even after it becomes a wand.

For some reason, the Sorting Hat felt a sudden chill down its back.

Strange—how could a hat feel cold? And it didn’t even have a back.

The Sorting Hat paid it no mind and finished the final notes of its song.

Amid applause, the Sorting began.

Professor McGonagall looked down at the parchment in her hands.

“Tix Alor.”

He was the wizard who had ridden the Knight Bus with Silven to the station—he was indeed a first-year.

“Hufflepuff!” cried the Sorting Hat.

…

One by one, the new students stepped forward, and applause in the hall never ceased.

The witch with the radish earrings, Luna Lovegood, was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Gryffindor had a first-year named Colin Creevey, apparently a fervent fan of Harry, who stared at him constantly from the moment of sorting.

And Ginny—well, she needed no mention.

When the Sorting Hat shouted “Gryffindor!”, Fred and George immediately stood on their benches and cheered.

“I knew it would be fine…”

“Ginny’s definitely a Gryffindor!”

Percy and Ron were more restrained, but still clapped vigorously, their hands turning red.

After Professor McGonagall called out three more names, the Sorting ended, and she carried the stool and the Sorting Hat out of the hall.

Silven felt slightly disappointed—if only Professor McGonagall had forgotten to take the Sorting Hat away.

Most were now ravenously hungry, but it was not yet time to eat; Dumbledore rose to his feet.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts. Before the feast begins, allow me a moment to announce several important matters.”

“First, we have found a new professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Dumbledore glanced sideways, but not toward the staff table. “Allow me to introduce—Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!”

As soon as he spoke, the hall erupted in deafening applause; though The Daily Prophet had already reported the news, Dumbledore’s own announcement sent Lockhart’s admirers into uncontrollable excitement.

Amid the applause, a side door to the staff table burst open, and Gilderoy Lockhart strode in. He wore a lavish violet robe, his golden curls gleaming.

He smiled as he walked toward the staff table, his white teeth shining in the candlelight, pausing occasionally to nod to students from each house.

The applause grew even louder, like a tidal wave crashing over them; witches were nearly hysterical. Silven noticed Hermione sit up straight, a flush of excitement rising on her cheeks; several older witches were so overcome they nearly fainted.

“Pfft…” Ron seemed about to say something, but seeing the witches around him, he wisely chose silence.

Lockhart took nearly five minutes to cross the hall, only approaching Dumbledore when the applause had faded and most could no longer shout.

“Thank you, thank you all,” Lockhart said in his rich, magnetic voice (so fake, Ron looked like he was about to vomit).

“I must say, returning to Hogwarts feels like coming home. Though I was once among Ravenclaw’s finest graduates, I never imagined I’d return as a professor.”

The Ravenclaw table erupted in cheers; their top students had never been so excited—the loudest applause moments ago had come from them.

“It is truly my honor…” Lockhart winked at the Ravenclaws. (Ugh…) (It was Ron again—he’d rather be riding the Knight Bus right now.)

“I am honored to have been personally invited by Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of our age, to assume this position.” Lockhart continued, giving Dumbledore a slight nod; the latter offered a polite smile.

“Some say this position is dangerous—but is it truly so?”

“I,” he pointed to himself, “am Gilderoy Lockhart, Member of the Order of Merlin, Third Class; Honorary Member of the Alliance for Defense Against the Dark Arts; five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award…”

“Of course, I mention these not to boast, but to show you that I have faced true dangers—and have walked alongside them. If any of you are curious, open your textbooks; the contents within will tell you the truth.”

“That is why I accepted the Headmaster’s invitation—to gather material for my next book…”

Lockhart’s inaugural speech was longer than the Sorting Ceremony itself. At first, most were excited, but soon the cheers grew fainter and fainter.

Everyone had spent the entire day on the train and was exhausted; even Hermione could no longer maintain her rigid posture, slumping slightly where she sat, dizzy with hunger.

Thud!

A puff of purple smoke suddenly burst forth, startling everyone; Silven then noticed that Lockhart had brought along a photographer from The Daily Prophet—the same short wizard who had been in Flourish and Blotts, now hiding behind the door.

Even the professors were startled by this sudden spectacle; Snape’s face darkened as he stared at Lockhart’s empty place setting, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Only Dumbledore remained standing beside him, occasionally smiling, nodding, or looking thoughtful…

“A photo? Of course.”

After another group photo, Dumbledore seized the moment and spoke before Lockhart could: “Let us welcome Professor Lockhart once more. Now, the feast begins—eat.”

“Finally saved,” Ron muttered, grabbing a mountain of boiled potatoes and roasted chicken legs and shoving them into his mouth. “Harry, Silven, I bet he’s a narcissist. What do you think?”

Silven shrugged, saying nothing.

“Don’t say that,” Hermione countered. “He’s done so many incredible things—his introduction should be long.”

“Ha…” Ron had no patience for this argument now; he gulped down a mouthful of pumpkin juice and returned to battling his roasted chicken.

…

(End of Chapter)