Gryffindor Common Room.
"I can't believe Kate actually attacked us!" Ron clutched his stomach and groaned dramatically.
Harry was equally at a loss, sitting in an armchair with his broomstick hugged to his chest. "She wouldn't. Kate wouldn't attack us for no reason."
And besides — his broomstick had been a gift from Kate in the first place!
"What exactly did she say to you just now, Hermione?" he asked, unable to hide his anxiety.
Hermione had clearly been miles away. It wasn't until she heard the question that she snapped back to the present and looked over at Ron. "Does your stomach still hurt?"
Ron prodded himself experimentally and managed a strained smile. "It's not that bad, actually. Everything just happened so fast I didn't have time to react."
"I told you — she'd never do something like that."
Only then did Hermione let out a breath of relief, fishing his wand out of her pocket and handing it back to him.
"What Kate said to me just now was that given how worn down this wand is, if you'd tried to curse Malfoy with it, it almost certainly would have backfired on you."
It wasn't as though Kate had hit him with anything harmful — just a simple Disarming Charm. At worst, Kate's magic was so strong that a bit of the force had inevitably washed over Ron himself.
But compared to being hit by your own rebounding curse, a Disarming Charm was decidedly the gentler option.
Ron took back his wand. "So she was actually helping us? Just... with a lot of enthusiasm?"
"Better than being hit by your own curse," Harry pointed out.
"Exactly. I knew Kate wasn't that kind of person." The tension finally eased out of Hermione's expression, and she began pacing back and forth across the Common Room.
They'd been cold-warring for days now. Someone had to be the first to back down.
And if Kate had gone that far to help them — then why couldn't Hermione be the one to go make peace?
"She has detention with Professor Lockhart tonight. I'll go and meet her when it's over!" Hermione declared, making up her mind on the spot.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, and in each other's eyes they found nothing but pure, undisguised relief.
God only knew how much pressure the two of them had been under, spending this first week of term sitting next to Hermione in full cold-war mode.
...
That evening, after dinner, Kate made her way to Lockhart's office as agreed.
The room had been repaired after Quirrell's deliberate fire the previous year, so when Kate walked in and was met with an uncountable number of framed portraits of Lockhart covering every wall, at least she didn't get the unsettling feeling that Katherine's old room had been taken over.
That said, the frames all bore his signature, and a towering stack of his photographs sat on the desk — she still nearly buckled under the sheer weight of it all.
This man was, without question, the most self-obsessed person she had encountered across two lifetimes.
"Miss Shafiq, you've arrived." Lockhart was as flashy as ever, striking a pose as he fussed with his collar. "The next two hours will be the most unforgettable of your young life — after all, even during detention, you have me for company."
Kate pressed her lips together and forcibly suppressed the urge to deck him.
She was trying to cultivate the impression that the Horcrux was affecting her temper. But actually punching a professor would only invite far more trouble down the line.
Lockhart produced a thick stack of envelopes and instructed her to write replies to his fan mail.
"Professor, why not use a Self-Answering Quill?" she asked, staring at the mountain of correspondence in front of her.
Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "If I had something ghostwriting for me, how would that demonstrate my sincerity toward my fans?"
"Oh," Kate said, sliding the entire pile back toward him. "Then having me ghostwrite for you doesn't seem to demonstrate your sincerity either. I think you'd better handle these yourself, Professor."
Lockhart sputtered, then drew himself up into his best professorial posture. "Miss Shafiq, kindly remember that you are here for detention—"
"If I didn't want a private word with you, why would I have deliberately provoked you in class in the first place?"
Kate smiled faintly. "You do know my surname is Shafiq, don't you, Professor?"
"Of course, but what does that—" Lockhart stopped mid-sentence, his expression shifting ever so slightly.
Shafiq. Of course. One of the foremost families in the wizarding world, with business interests spread across every sector of Britain's magical community.
Even Flourish and Blotts, where he held his signing events, had Shafiq family investment behind it.
Which meant this little girl was, in a very real sense, one of his financial backers.
The easy smile dropped from his face, replaced at last by something genuinely serious. "Miss Shafiq," he said, correcting himself, "what exactly is it that you've come to discuss?"
"Money," Kate said, raising an eyebrow. "You have the writing and the stories. I have the distribution channels. It's a perfect partnership.
I can get your books into every wizarding bookshop in the world. Every wizard household with a copy. You get the fame — and I get more Gold Galleons in return."
For someone like Lockhart, who lived and breathed renown, the mere suggestion that every wizarding family in the world might own one of his books was enough to make his eyes light up on the spot.
He was quite certain Kate wouldn't lie to him. As the sole heir of the Shafiq family, she had no reason to.
He was wrong.
Kate was absolutely playing him.
It was quite simple, really. Knowing this man was a fraud — and that he would very likely be exposed before the year was out — signing any actual contract with him now would be taking on an extraordinary amount of risk.
She had no interest in, and no intention of, propping up the elaborate lie he was selling to the entire wizarding world.
But if their "contract" remained in the vague, endlessly-in-negotiation stage for the whole year, there was no risk at all.
If Lockhart was exposed, his books would tank along with his reputation, and she could walk away citing an incomplete contract — clean hands, no liability.
If he somehow muddled through like in the original story — amnesia notwithstanding, his fanbase of devoted women inexplicably intact — that was even easier. She could market books under the banner of the famously amnesiac-but-still-beloved Lockhart, invoke their discussed-but-unsigned contract, and pocket the profits without shouldering a single risk.
Yes, she was essentially gambling on the probability of Lockhart's downfall. That was fine.
She simply disliked the fraud. Whatever happened to him in the end had no bearing on her whatsoever.
One year, a contract full of fine print to drag things out — no problem.
Most importantly: having this man in her pocket meant he'd at least have the decency to be less insufferable to her face.
"Of course, there are conditions. Agree to them, and we can discuss the rest of the partnership quite easily."
She looked at Lockhart with an expression that was entirely too calculating for someone her age.
It gave him a momentary chill — until Kate slid the paper with her conditions across the desk, and he had to fight down a laugh as the tension drained out of him completely.
Internally, he was practically giddy. And here he'd been thinking this child had a rather imposing air about her. She was just a kid after all.
The business terms on the page — she'd actually included something as laughably childish as "stay away from Hermione Granger."
There were a few more items after that, but they all seemed much the same to him — nothing particularly weighty.
Clearly, this girl had been sent by her family, and whoever really saw commercial value in him was the adult behind her. The child herself was simply tacking on her own little demands while she had the chance.
No matter. If allying himself with the Shafiq family was on the table, his standing in the wizarding world would only rise further.
"You have my word," he said with a benevolent smile, in the tone of a man indulging a small child. "All of this is perfectly agreeable, Miss Shafiq."
Kate raised an eyebrow, rose to her feet. "An owl will deliver the contract to you tomorrow. If anything is unclear, feel free to come find me."
She glanced outside at the sky, which hadn't yet gone fully dark. "Professor, is my detention considered complete?"
Lockhart blinked, looked at the untouched mountain of envelopes still covering his desk, and his face twitched. "Of course it is," he said hastily. "Shall I walk you back to your dormitory?"
"No need." Kate gave him one last look of undisguised disdain and walked straight out of the office.
She'd been quietly pleased with herself for having played Lockhart so neatly — until she stepped out the door and found Hermione already waiting in the corridor.
This late, and she'd come to find Lockhart?
From a distance, Kate watched Hermione pacing anxiously back and forth in the hallway. She had stopped being angry with her ages ago — and yet, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, the sight of her standing there made something unpleasant stir in her chest.
Thinking back to the contemptuous look that idiot had given her — that smug, presumptuous look of a man who thought he understood her — Kate felt the urge to scoff. His ignorance was almost impressive.
But watching Hermione waiting here, she couldn't quite manage it.
At the sound of the door, Hermione's head snapped up. The moment she spotted Kate, her face broke into a delighted smile and she hurried over.
"Here to see the professor?" Kate stepped aside with a distinctly sour feeling in her chest. "My detention's finished. You can go in."
And with that, she turned to leave.
She'd barely taken two steps before a hand caught her by the arm.
"Kate..." Hermione hesitated, looking at her, clearly not knowing how to start. She struggled for a long moment before finally asking, in a small, careful voice, "Are you still angry with me?"
Who was angry at whom, exactly?
The accusation stung — it wasn't as though Kate had started this. She kept her eyes stubbornly averted, but at least she didn't shake off Hermione's hand. "I'm not," she said stiffly.
"You are." Hermione tugged at her arm in a plaintive little shake. "Kate, please stop being angry. Can I apologize? Let me apologize."
Kate said nothing.
"I know — at the Quidditch pitch, you were thinking of Ron. You care about us that much, so please, just stop being upset."
Honestly, Kate dearly wanted to ask Hermione where on earth she had learned to apologize, because by any academic standard, this was a solid failing grade.
Who in the world delivered a peace offering with this much righteous confidence? How was anyone supposed to graciously accept that?
"I told you, I'm not angry," Kate said, slowly peeling Hermione's hand off her arm. "And Hermione — don't you think your apology is just a tiny bit terrible?"
Hermione blinked. "Is it? I thought I was being extremely sincere."
As she said it, she repositioned herself squarely in front of Kate, reached out and took her hand, and looked up at her with wide, earnest eyes. "I shouldn't have argued with you over someone as inconsequential as Professor Lockhart.
To me, he's always been more of a symbol — a symbol of what strength looks like. I admire him because I want to become someone as powerful as that."
Kate frowned with open distaste. "Him? Powerful?"
Setting aside everything that had come before, they'd had several Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons this week now, and Lockhart's catastrophic lack of teaching ability was plain for anyone to see.
If he'd merely been a poor teacher, that might have been forgivable. But this man could barely manage a basic Freezing Charm in a practical setting — actual combat instruction was entirely beyond him.
And yet he remained insufferably, unshakeably pleased with himself. That was what Kate truly couldn't stand.
"Well, the professor is... actually..." Hermione instinctively moved to say something in his defence, then caught herself mid-sentence, clapped a hand over her own mouth, and stopped.
Kate planted her hands on her hips in exasperation. "You can still defend him after all that? Are you really sure you don't have a thing for that so-called dazzling smile of his?"
"Of course not!" Hermione grabbed her arm and retorted hotly. "I think you're far better-looking than he is!"
...What in the world was that comparison?
Seeing Kate's eyebrows begin to draw together in that familiar look of disdain, Hermione darted a quick glance behind them — then rose up on her toes and planted a firm kiss on the side of Kate's face.
"See? At least I don't want to go around kissing him!"
Her own face was burning scarlet as she said it, but she pushed through the embarrassment and got the words out anyway.
She wasn't alone — even Kate's usually fair complexion had gone distinctly pink.
"You—" Kate's pointing finger was trembling. "How can you just—"
How could anyone go around kissing people at random?!
Kate flustered away, turning her back and breathing deeply, willing her brain to function properly.
Calm down. This was just how young children expressed affection and goodwill — no different from all the hugging and hand-holding before. It meant nothing more than that.
Like hell it didn't.
Were straight girls really this terrifying? Going around kissing people at this age — what would she be like when she grew up?
Kate, who across two lifetimes had had precious few straight female friends, was completely at a loss — so flustered that when Hermione, red-faced and flustered herself, asked if she was forgiven, Kate could only manage a mechanical nod.
If she held out any longer, she genuinely didn't know what other surprises this particular specimen of British straight-girl might produce.
Hermione, for her part — the aggressor in this situation — was still visibly running warm herself, but at least she remained in possession of her faculties.
She absently traced the thin calluses on Kate's palm, watching her reaction with something close to apprehension.
Back at home, whenever her father got her mother upset, he'd always coax her back into a good mood with exactly this method.
And one kiss was never quite enough — it usually took two, three, four...
Perhaps she hadn't kissed her enough?
She wrestled with the idea for a brief moment. Well, she'd already done it once — a few more times shouldn't make much difference, should it?
She rose up on her toes again, inching closer — and saw Kate reflexively scramble backwards, one stumbling step after another.
"Kate—"
"Don't — don't kiss me again!"
Thoroughly panicked by a genuine straight girl, Kate's face and neck had gone the same deep red, and she could barely get the words out in a coherent sentence.
"I — I just remembered I have homework! I'm going back first!" She threw out the excuse and fled.
Hermione was left standing in the corridor, equal parts anxious and baffled.
So... did that count as a successful apology?
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