Chapter 344: Lockhart

Outside the greenhouse.

Snow covered a patch of lawn.

“Yes, Professor.”

Wizard Sean answered.

“Just over a month—that’s incredible—oh, may I see it, child?”

Professor Sprout shifted her patched hat slightly upward, as if afraid it might block her view.

Soon, as Professor Sprout walked through the snow, a jet-black cat perched on her shoulder.

The professor was delighted—she had never expected…

“I can’t even imagine how surprised Minerva will be.”

She murmured, watching the black cat leap and transform back into a small wizard in a black robe.

Professor Sprout seemed to have not seen anything so amusing in a long time; she uncommonly put down her hoe and ended her day’s work early.

And just minutes later, it was time for dinner at Hogwarts.

Wizard Sean had nothing to pack—he merely checked his small greenhouse one last time, closed the gate, and left behind a suspended camera—it would record the plants’ condition every half-day.

But when he joined Justin and the others with a bag of potion ingredients, Hermione was already furious:

“That damn fraud—we have to expose him!”

Justin and the others, who had just heard Bruce’s account, nodded in agreement.

Just now, Bruce, bound by Leon, had told them in detail about Lockhart’s deeds:

“Interesting. First, I must say we once tried to send him to Azkaban. But we failed…

He had good connections with every newspaper, and we were just students—no one wanted to listen to what we knew.

People always believe what they want to believe—even the witch he supposedly saved firmly insisted Lockhart was the one who saved her.

Oh, digression… I was just talking about his deeds. Of course, the deeds were real—but the protagonists were all replaced.

Obliviation. We suspect it’s this—through constant practice of this cunning spell, he likely succeeded in altering the memories of a dozen brave and accomplished wizards, stealing their heroic feats to build his own fame…”

Bruce’s words were logical and well-reasoned; his meticulous reasoning and bold, precise hypotheses stood in stark contrast to his wriggling form on the ground.

Hermione closed her eyes and felt she was listening to a wise wizard reconstruct the truth; when she opened them, she saw only the wriggling Bruce.

“Let me add a few more of my interesting findings—may not be useful, but as long as they make Lockhart suffer, that’s enough.

Professor Sprout told us:

Lockhart wasn’t without talent. On the contrary, the professors believed his intelligence and ability exceeded the norm—he could have achieved great things with effort.

Even if he never fulfilled the grand ambitions he bragged about to his classmates—

Lockhart told anyone who would listen that he would successfully create a Philosopher’s Stone before graduation, plan to lead the English Quidditch team to win the World Cup, and then strive to become Britain’s youngest Minister of Magic.

Later, you can guess, he naturally became unpopular.

But Lockhart still achieved his primary goal—making the whole school know him—through repeated, attention-grabbing stunts.

He used magic to carve his signature in twenty-foot-tall letters across the Quidditch pitch, and was put in detention for a week because of it.

He even managed to create a massive glowing projection, mimicking the Dark Mark, to project his face onto the sky.

One year he sent himself eight hundred Valentine’s Day cards; that day, the Great Hall was piled high with owls, and he had to skip breakfast because his porridge was full of feathers and droppings.

Stimulo! (Stinging Jinx!)”

As Bruce spoke, and Leon fell into thought, he suddenly launched a surprise attack on Leon.

He had no intention of freeing himself; instead, seeing Leon as miserable as he was, he grew cheerful.

At that moment, Hermione fully understood what “reliable yet unreliable” meant.

…

“We need to contact the newspapers.”

After leaving the greenhouse, Hermione frowned and said,

“The Hufflepuff seniors’ evidence is more than enough—I don’t know what the Ministry of Magic is doing, letting this fraud walk free when proof is so easy to gather!”

“Most newspapers won’t report it.”

Justin’s voice was low.

“Some will.”

Hermione pondered.

At this point, Harry had rushed off to Quidditch training, Ron followed him, and Neville had returned to the greenhouse to work.

Only the three of them remained in the snow.

“The Quibbler?”

Hermione reluctantly took the newspaper seriously; hearing her, Justin smiled gently:

“Hermione, my mother told me a wise person isn’t always strong themselves—sometimes, they’re better at ‘strategic use.’”

Watching the young wizards nearly expose Lockhart and send him to Azkaban, Wizard Sean now understood just how strong the Dark Arts Defense curse was.

And back in the Great Hall, Wizard Sean faced another difficulty.

He had to leave for Christmas, but his detention with Professor Snape wasn’t over yet…

Unsurprisingly, Uncle Marcus was still waiting for him at McGonagall’s cottage…

This Christmas would likely be far more unexpected than Wizard Sean imagined.

He looked toward the head table: Professor Sprout spoke warmly with Professor McGonagall, who laughed in full agreement, while Professor Snape sat scowling, as always, silent.

Christmas was coming.

The Great Hall was decorated magnificently: over a dozen Christmas trees dusted with silver frost, thick garlands of mistletoe and holly crisscrossing the ceiling, and enchanted snow—warm and dry—gently drifting down.

House-elves worked overtime on Christmas puddings; wizards anticipated the holiday, their faces alight with excitement.

This weekend.

Upperclassmen could naturally go to Hogsmeade.

Again this year, they gathered, gleefully shouting about what they’d do first in Hogsmeade, while younger students could only listen.

“But there’s the feast, isn’t there?”

In the Great Hall, Ron pretended not to care and said,

“You know—the Christmas feast.”

“Yeah,”

Harry was truly disappointed but still nodded along,

“Great.”

The Christmas feast was nice enough—but if they could spend the whole day in Hogsmeade like the upperclassmen before attending, it would be far better.

Finally, Harry and Ron still strained to listen until they caught one keyword:

“Wait—what’s Grawe’s Bookshop?!”

Harry exclaimed.

Five more chapters tomorrow