Lockhart paused deliberately, and the middle-aged witches responded with perfect coordination—no longer staring at Harry with that frenzied look after Lockhart revealed his identity.
Truth be told, their gazes made Harry feel… uneasy, to put it mildly. It was as if they might pounce and pull him into a suffocating hug at any moment. Truly terrifying.
On the other side, Lockhart, after a brief moment of suspense, continued, "In fact, Harry and his classmates will have the privilege of learning from a real, magical me—yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am thrilled and proud to announce that, come September, I will be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
"Damn Lockhart!"
The moment Lockhart finished, Harry heard Fred and George mutter in unison behind him. Their words earned a fierce glare from their mother, but the twins were too worked up to care.
Fury!
"No wonder—no wonder we need to buy seven books for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year! He's just here to sell his books!"
The crowd's applause and cheers drowned out Fred's indignant outburst. Even Mrs. Weasley, who had been about to twist the twins' ears, lowered her hand in embarrassment after hearing her son's words.
"I'd rather spend that money getting Ron a new wand! At least our brother would benefit from it," George added, not even needing to confer with Fred. Their twin connection was seamless—they'd already locked eyes and knew exactly what the other was thinking.
They had to prank Lockhart!
Nothing less would sate their grudge over those seven books!
"…I wouldn't mind a new wand, actually," Ron mumbled, but Fred and George ignored him.
"Now, now, boys," Mr. Weasley said with a chuckle, ever the optimist, placing a hand on the twins' shoulders. "He's your professor, after all."
"After all," Fred and George echoed mockingly.
Even Mrs. Weasley, a Lockhart fan, looked sheepish after the twins' blunt outburst. Hermione, who had only been curious about the intriguing magical world in Lockhart's books, was even more embarrassed.
"Harry? Dear Harry?" Lockhart called out again, his tone warm and teasing. "As your future professor, how about a photo together? We'd make the front page!"
His lighthearted words drew friendly laughter from the crowd, who saw it as proof of the new professor's charm and approachability.
As for Harry—
"Sorry, Harry, I'm afraid I need to borrow you for a moment."
With those words and a waft of strong perfume, an arm shot out from the crowd and grabbed Harry's arm. Surprisingly, Harry didn't shock the person this time—he already knew who it was.
Rita Skeeter.
Lockhart knew her, of course. He'd slipped her plenty of Galleons during his rise to fame. Now, he could only watch as Rita whisked Harry away from the crowd with that single sentence, while the boy who'd just claimed they weren't close followed her obediently.
Lockhart thought he'd been zapped by static.
"…Well, it seems Harry has other matters to attend to, but no worries—we'll carry on!" Lockhart said, holding up his book with a grin, flashing his dazzling white teeth at the Daily Prophet reporter.
Even the camera flashes struggled to outshine Lockhart's literally glowing teeth and presence… the man must've gargled with Gleaming Potion.
New book release + Hogwarts professor announcement = Daily Prophet front-page headline.
Lockhart had already calculated the perfect equation in his mind. Maintaining his radiant smile, he was practically trembling with excitement—but he had to hold it together!
How long had it been? Finally—finally!
Meanwhile, Harry's friends had no idea what Rita Skeeter was really like. If they did, they wouldn't have just watched curiously as Harry reassured them and left with this strange woman.
At the very least, they'd have glared daggers at her.
"It's been a while, Harry," Rita said cheerfully, settling into a quiet shop away from the bustling Flourish and Blotts.
She didn't spare Lockhart a second thought—which made sense. Having written stories about him before, Rita knew exactly what kind of man he was. She was confident he wouldn't dare cross her. That was the power of a seasoned journalist.
She knew too much.
"Been a while, ma'am," Harry replied, slipping back into the role of a shy, polite boy. "Thank you for speaking up for me in the papers."
"Ha! Speaking up? Yes, speaking up," Rita said, her mood brightening further. "No need to thank me, Harry. It's what I do—I'm Rita Skeeter, a journalist who tells the truth. You can always trust me."
For Rita, the past few months had felt like a dream—a gloriously comfortable, wonderful, marvelous dream. No amount of adjectives could capture her recent experiences.
She'd made a fortune, become the Daily Prophet's top reporter, and even the editor treated her with respect. It was exhilarating!
And it was all thanks to the treasure of a boy sitting across from her. Harry was her lucky star, her angel—a walking headline generator.
Perfect.
With that thought, Rita's smile grew even warmer.
"So, as we agreed, let's have a delightful interview," she said, sipping her drink and spreading out a sheet of parchment. She didn't even use her Quick-Quotes Quill, opting to write by hand… or rather, to edit by hand.
"Alright, ma'am," Harry nodded.
"First question: elemental magic. Do you admit you're its founder?" Rita asked.
"Yes, I do," Harry nodded again.
He glanced at the parchment across from him. Even before he answered, Rita was already scribbling furiously.
[From the Boy Who Lived to the inventor of new magic—is this the Ministry's secret backing or Dumbledore's handiwork? An anonymous Ministry official angrily claims that Harry Potter has been breaking too many rules since entering the wizarding world…]
Harry sighed softly.
Starting with a leading angle, huh?
Even in yesterday's Wizengamot trial, no one had questioned the authenticity of his elemental magic—especially not with Dumbledore's testimony backing him.
This was pure fabrication.
"Great, great, keep going, Harry," Rita said without looking up, her quill flying across the parchment. "How did you invent this elemental magic? What sparked it? What can it do?"
She and Harry weren't strangers anymore—actually, their relationship was oddly good—so Rita was relaxed during the interview.
Harry was equally cooperative, holding nothing back. He explained the origins of elemental magic (a wizarding-world-adapted version), how he stumbled upon the ancient concept of elements, the role and beliefs of a shaman, and the potential consequences of the elements' resurgence. He laid it all out for Rita.
As he spoke, Rita nodded, muttering to herself. By the time Harry finished, her parchment was nearly covered in ink.
"…Even the Wizengamot's wizards had to admit… a new… dawn of a new era," Rita mumbled, putting a temporary period on her article. She looked up. "Well done, Harry. I'll help you."
"Huh?" Harry blinked, confused.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure everyone knows you invented this new magic, not Dumbledore," Rita said with a flourish of her quill.
"Uh?" Harry hesitated, realizing what she meant.
Did she think Dumbledore was the true inventor of elemental magic, and Harry was just a kid trying to steal the credit?
Amusingly, Rita seemed to be on his side.
True to her reputation as Dumbledore's biggest critic.
"Er, thanks?" Harry said, scratching his head awkwardly. His eyes drifted to a specific section of the parchment.
[…A new kind of magic, undetectable even by the Trace. This means no oversight, no knowledge of its effects on the user. Memory disruption? Emotional instability? Perhaps even magical exhaustion? Clearly, the Boy Who Lived hasn't had the time or inclination to consider these questions…]
Was this really helping?
Harry couldn't help but wonder.
"Oh, you're worried about this?" Rita noticed his gaze and tapped the parchment with the end of her ornate quill. "Don't mind it, Harry."
"Er…" Harry started to speak but stopped.
"Alright, since you're so curious," Rita sighed, not wanting her golden goose to distrust her. In a rare moment of kindness, she explained, "You're young. You may know some magic, but you don't understand news, Harry."
She smirked smugly.
"To get people to accept something, you can't just tell them what to do. You oppose it—fiercely. The more you want them to accept it, the harder you push back. And you make them think they came to the conclusion themselves."
"So don't worry about this," Rita said, rolling up the parchment and tucking it into her bag. "I won't drop all this bombshell news at once. That'd be a waste."
"Just wait and see. At first, people might not say nice things about you, but once my follow-up reports come out, they'll flip. The harsher they criticize you now, the stronger they'll support you later—because they'll feel guilty," Rita said proudly. "That's how it works."
She wouldn't normally share these tricks with anyone, but Harry Potter was different. She was banking on him as her news-making cash cow.
Praise him to the skies for headlines, then tear him down for more… if played right, it could last years.
Not to mention, Harry generated news on his own.
Rita hadn't had this much fun with honest reporting in ages. It was like a drowning person clinging to a lifeline—she wasn't letting go.
"…Yes, ma'am, you really do understand news," Harry said after a pause, nodding. "So, if you want to oppose something, you fully support it, no questions allowed."
"Smart boy, Harry," Rita snapped her fingers and stood up. "Keep that in mind. I don't tell just anyone this stuff, so treasure it."
"Thanks," Harry said, genuinely grateful for the first time.
After all, this was a perspective he hadn't encountered in Azeroth—a new kind of knowledge that seemed… useful.
"No problem. If you've got any big news, you know who to call," Rita said, slinging her bag over her shoulder and preparing to leave. "I've got to get back and polish this series. See you!"
She was itching to refine her new batch of articles.
"See you."
Watching Rita Skeeter Disapparate with an excited grin, Harry shook his head slightly, downed his drink, and headed back toward Flourish and Blotts.
The air carried faint whispers of the wind element.
No, not whispers—noise.
He didn't even need to enter Flourish and Blotts to know something was wrong. People were running out of the shop, not to flee but to eagerly crowd around and peer inside.
Women's screams, men's roars, the shop clerk's desperate but futile attempts to intervene, and the cheers of onlookers—chaos.
Harry had to shove through the crowd to get inside. The moment he did, he saw Mr. Weasley and Lucius Malfoy locked in a brawl, rolling on the floor in their suits. As Harry entered, they crashed into a bookshelf, hardbound books tumbling onto them. It looked painful just to watch.
"Stop it, Arthur! Stop it!" Mrs. Weasley was screaming, frantic for her husband and children.
Yes, the kids were fighting too.
Draco Malfoy was holding his own against Fred, George, and Ron. Neville, trying to break it up, was sweating buckets, unsure where to start.
Draco's combat skills were astonishing. In a non-magical fight, he had surprising experience. Despite being two years younger than the twins, he dodged their punches with agility. Even when he couldn't avoid a hit, Draco gritted his teeth, took the pain, and returned it to the Weasley boys.
He was like a war god.
"Woo! Intense! Gentlemen, intense!"
Lockhart, at the back, was clenching his fists, practically cheering for the chaos to escalate.
"What's going on?!" Harry gaped, squeezing next to Hermione. "Why are they fighting?"
As founding members of the Shaman Club, Ron and Draco had grown somewhat amicable after a year of study—especially after Draco's stand against Slytherin's worst. They weren't friends, but they were on decent terms.
"It's all Malfoy's fault!" Hermione said, nearly in tears. "I mean, Lucius Malfoy! He mocked Mr. Weasley! Forget that—Harry, stop them!"
Unlike Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, who were frantic but unable to separate the brawlers amidst the scattered books, Harry's first thought was the orders he'd given Lucius.
Lucius was clearly following them to the letter, venting his overt and covert grudges against the Weasleys while biding his time to reconnect with former Death Eaters.
In good conscience, Harry couldn't exactly pretend ignorance and jump in to punch Lucius—not when he was, well, a kind-hearted tauren at heart.
"Merlin's socks! Please, everyone, make way!" a booming voice shouted. Hagrid barreled through the crowd, parting it like a force of nature.
Demonstrating the power of [Unspoken Authority], Hagrid separated Mr. Weasley and Lucius Malfoy in a flash, as if lifting two scurrying voles. The kids didn't stand a chance against Hagrid's ironclad belly.
"Just you wait, Weasley. Just you wait!"
With that, Lucius stormed off with Draco in tow, his acting flawless. He even shot Harry a venomous glare, as if they'd never met before.
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