Seeing how happy Ron's parents looked, Harry felt a twinge of guilt for deceiving them.
But then he thought about what might've happened if Ginny had kept that notebook, and realized that by stopping it, he'd essentially saved her. That meant he'd done them a big favor—so that tiny bit of guilt? Gone.
After walking off with Hermione, Harry casually tossed the pile of old books into a corner.
"What are you doing? Why'd you throw them away? Didn't you say you'd return them?" Hermione puffed up angrily, not understanding Harry's actions.
"You really think they care about those books? I bet even if I returned them to Ron, he'd just toss them out."
Hermione fell silent. She couldn't deny that what Harry said sounded… very likely.
Shaking her head to clear the irrelevant thoughts, she finally remembered the main point.
"You did all that for this black book? What is it?" she asked, pointing to the single old book Harry still had—a thick, black notebook.
"This? See for yourself." Harry tossed it to her.
Hermione opened it with curiosity, flipping through it back and forth, but didn't see anything special. It was just an ordinary, wrinkled notebook—completely blank inside.
Frowning deeply, she wasn't ready to give up. She flipped through it again.
Harry took the book back from her and closed it. "I'll tell you later. Let's finish buying our books first."
The bookshop was packed. The already-cramped space was now overflowing with people.
Most of them were middle-aged witches, the same age as Ron's mum.
A clearly flustered male staff member stood at the door saying, "Please, ladies… let's not push… watch the books… now…"
A long line snaked all the way to the back of the store.
At the end of it, Gilderoy Lockhart was busy signing copies of his autobiography. Everyone was holding a copy of Break with a Banshee.
"Oh! What a coincidence, you're here too," the ladies chatted amongst themselves.
Though they were packed so tightly it was hard to breathe, they still found time to fix their hair.
"We'll get to see him soon…"
Gilderoy Lockhart walked in slowly and sat behind a desk plastered with posters of himself, all winking and flashing bright white teeth under the camera flashes.
He wore deep blue wizarding robes that perfectly matched his eye color. His pointed hat rested atop meticulously styled wavy blond hair.
As much as Harry despised the man, he had to admit—Lockhart did look the part.
A rather impatient man holding a black camera darted around, snapping pictures left and right. After every blinding flash, the camera would shoot out a puff of purple smoke.
"Move aside! Step back!" he shouted at the women blocking his view.
He leapt backward, looking for a better angle, muttering, "This is for the Daily Prophet!"
At the center of the crowd, Lockhart loosened his collar and smiled warmly. "Welcome, everyone, to my book signing…"
Harry didn't know whether to mock these housewives for being gullible or praise himself for his sharp eyes.
He could clearly see the irritation and disdain in Lockhart's eyes—emotions directed straight at the women fawning over him.
After finishing their book shopping, Harry said, "Let's go."
"Huh? You didn't buy Lockhart's books? But they're required for our Defense Against the Dark Arts class!"
"They're useless. But… as novels, they're not bad."
Noticing Lockhart scanning the crowd, Harry quickly turned his body to the side.
In his eyes, Lockhart was like a pile of dung—whether you stepped on it or not, it still stank. Best to stay far away.
Either way, once they got to Hogwarts, Harry was sure the other students and professors would give Lockhart a run for his money.
Dragging Hermione behind him, Harry exited Flourish and Blotts.
Lockhart gave a puzzled glance toward the two kids leaving the shop.
Was that Harry Potter?
If it really was him, Lockhart would've dragged him over for a photo op and claimed him as one of his biggest fans. Having the Boy Who Lived on his side would elevate Lockhart's status far beyond the admiration of a few housewives. Sadly, all he could do was dream… Lockhart sighed regretfully.
Still, it wasn't a total loss. Once he got to Hogwarts, not only would he have the title of Harry Potter's professor, but he'd add another layer of glory to his name.
…If only he could bluff his way through the school year. When he first got the Hogwarts offer, he'd been too excited about the fame and accepted without thinking. Now, he was getting nervous.
But Hogwarts was the oldest magic school in the world. Miss this chance, and he might never get another…
"Mr. Lockhart?" the Daily Prophet reporter called.
Lockhart snapped back to reality, quickly flashing his picture-perfect smile.
Click! Click! The camera sounded off once again.
Outside, Harry and Hermione were walking down Diagon Alley when a loud voice echoed behind them, loud enough for the whole alley to hear:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored and proud to announce that, at the invitation of the greatest wizard in history—Headmaster Albus Dumbledore—this September, I will be joining Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"
"What?!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked down at the stack of books she'd just bought—so all the Defense Against the Dark Arts books this year were Lockhart's?
"What do you think of our new teacher?" Harry asked.
Hermione thought for a moment. "He seems well-mannered, smiles kindly, but… I don't know. Something about him feels… off. Kind of annoying…"
She stuck out her tongue.
"Looks like spending time with me has boosted your intelligence," Harry said smugly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked.
Harry had no intention of hiding the truth. Aside from his own origin, he didn't mind telling her everything—if only there were someone suitable to hear it. Dumbledore didn't quite fit the bill.
Pointing to Lockhart's stack of supposedly heroic tales, Harry said, "These stories are real—but they have nothing to do with Lockhart. He stole other people's achievements."
"You're saying all these stories about werewolves and dark wizards—someone else did all that?" Hermione asked skeptically.
Then she realized a flaw. "But if that's true, why didn't those people come forward and expose him?"
"Yeah. Why indeed?"
"Because this fraud, Lockhart, is a master of Memory Charms—better even than Dumbledore. After hearing about these adventures, he'd erase the true hero's memories, turning them into half-wits, and claim their stories as his own."
Hermione stood in stunned silence for several minutes. "Then we should… tell Dumbledore—no, the Ministry! They should lock him in Azkaban!"
"No rush," Harry said. "He won't escape. Before the term ends, he'll be in prison."
Hermione paced anxiously before accepting what Harry had told her.
Then a thought struck her: "How do you know all this?"
Harry had expected this and answered calmly. "We'll be studying Divination later, right? I started teaching myself early and realized—I'm a genius. A rising star in the world of seers…"
"So I tried divining who our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be, and that's how I found out about Lockhart."
Hermione didn't suspect a thing. As a former Muggle, her understanding of Divination was something between astrology, prophecy, and mysterious wizardry. To her, it meant knowing the heavens and the earth, past and future—profound and powerful.
All she wanted now was to start learning Divination as soon as possible. It seemed so amazing and fascinating.
…Of course, once she actually started the subject, she'd realize Divination wasn't nearly that cool—more like a scam, even. The same reading could be interpreted in dozens of ways.
Watching her buy it without question, Harry couldn't help but sigh.
Divination really is all-powerful… You can use it to explain anything. Why didn't I think of this sooner?
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⚡🦉 THE REBIRTH OF HARRY POTTER 🦉⚡
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📢 MAGIC REBORN! 📢
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