The next few days, Hogwarts buzzed with talk about Azkaban prison.
Thanks to Ron's firsthand account, many students gained a vivid picture of the fearsome wizarding prison. Surrounded by sea, isolated by towering physical walls and enchanted with spells, Azkaban was a fortress of magic—Unplottable, warded against Apparition, with entry and exit possible only through specific means. But what truly made it a place spoken of in hushed, fearful tones was its role as a nest for Dementors, the ghastly creatures that served as guards. Under their chilling influence, most prisoners descended into madness, wasting away slowly.
Tonks' use of the Patronus Charm had been dug up by curious students.
It was an advanced spell, seemingly designed specifically to counter Dementors and Lethifolds. According to Professor Flitwick, no other defense existed against these creatures.
"Curiously, the Patronus Charm is quite ancient," Flitwick said during the final moments of a class, indulging a student's request. "Some say it was created by a devout believer, unable to tolerate the chaos of dark and tangled human relationships, who devised this spell to combat it. Or perhaps," he added with a twinkle, "it was the other way around."
"Only those with pure hearts can summon a Patronus. That's why the wizarding world holds a common belief: you can trust someone who can conjure a Patronus. They're natural leaders."
"Beyond Dementors and Lethifolds, the Patronus can broadly protect against anything that disrupts the mind—spells, alchemical artifacts, dark creatures, even certain potions. The exact mechanics remain unclear…"
The students gazed eagerly at their Charms professor on the podium.
"Can we learn it?" one asked.
"The spell is difficult—extremely difficult," Flitwick replied. "Many experienced witches and wizards struggle with it. You'll find the Patronus Charm operates on entirely different principles from other spells. It draws on emotion and willpower. Typically, the caster must recall their happiest memory. For this reason, some classify it as a form of memory magic…"
"But the incantation is simple: Expecto Patronum. Every one of you can give it a try."
The classroom erupted with excitement. Students scratched their heads, rummaging through memories for their happiest moments. Professor Flitwick, standing atop a stack of books, beamed at the chaos of attempts below. He didn't expect any student to succeed by sheer luck, but the practice itself was good for the soul.
Aside from Flying lessons, the second-year curriculum mirrored the first. Hodge Blackthorn figured the extra time for Flying had been carved out of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
This seemed to suggest that, by design, second-year students were expected to develop some practical skills.
Not that many students held out hope of learning anything useful from Gilderoy Lockhart.
Well—except for Hodge.
Surprisingly, he got along well with Lockhart. After Thursday's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Hodge lingered behind, much to the bewildered stares of Terry, Harry, and others. He told Lockhart that the group of bluish-gray imps had been temporarily rehomed and that he was coordinating with the school's Care of Magical Creatures professor.
"Professor Kettleburn is quite experienced with magical creatures," Hodge said. "Lost an arm and a leg to them, actually. And then there's Hagrid, the gamekeeper. If those imps can adapt to the Forbidden Forest, perhaps—"
"Hagrid?" Lockhart cut in, swiftly changing the subject. He had a lingering phobia of those wicked little creatures and hadn't held a practical lesson since. "The groundskeeper, yes, responsible for the school's lands and the safety of Hogwarts Castle."
"I know him," Lockhart said thoughtfully. "Didn't cross paths much when we were students, though. Too busy planning my future… Yes, even back then, I was determined to fight the forces of darkness."
"So, er, Professor Lockhart? About those imps—would you like to see them again…?"
"Leave it to you," Lockhart coughed. "I mean, I have complete faith in you. It'll be excellent practice."
Perfect. Hodge pressed his advantage, pulling a stack of elegant parchment from his pocket. "One more thing, Professor. While reading Break with a Banshee, I hit a few confusing bits. I'd like to reference some simpler materials. Here's a list of books—one's in the Restricted Section, so I was wondering…"
"Ah, a challenge!" Lockhart's face lit up. "I heard from Professor Flitwick you're top of your year, aren't you?"
Hodge looked sheepish.
"I'm always happy to give a bright student a leg up—especially one of my admirers." Lockhart squinted, tilting his head to study Hodge. "Say… weren't you at my book signing?"
Hodge's mind raced.
"I was," he said smoothly. "I bought the book, but the signing was still hours away, so I wandered around a bit. When I came back, the line stretched all the way to the back of the shop." He slumped his shoulders dramatically. "I'd had my eye on some particularly nice parchment, too…"
"This kind?" Lockhart held up a piece of the parchment, inspecting it closely. "It is rather special."
The next few minutes were a deep dive into the texture, grain, color, and origin of various parchments. Lockhart was an expert on the subject, rattling off a dozen examples with ease, leaving even Hodge scrambling to keep up.
"…One fan sent me watercolor paper—stunning with French cursive. I spent hours practicing my French signature. Always be prepared, you know! Imagine a signing in France…" He gave Hodge a knowing look.
"Absolutely agree," Hodge said.
Lockhart blinked.
"The 'always be prepared' bit, I mean. And, er, best of luck with the France signing, Professor."
Lockhart smiled, handing back the parchment.
"Oh, apologies—I got carried away and signed a few extra."
"Brilliant… I mean, no trouble at all."
Hodge flipped through the stack. Lockhart hadn't just signed a few extra—he'd filled half the booklet. But that suited Hodge perfectly. The Restricted Section of the library was now wide open to him. Ever since that mysterious ancient magic had surfaced in his mind, he'd been practicing in secret, though he'd never fully managed to wield it.
As Hodge left, his tone carried a touch more sincerity.
"Oh, Mr. Blackthorn," Lockhart called after him suddenly. "Do you know the answer to the final question on the quiz? My ideal birthday gift?"
Hodge hesitated for half a second. "Whiskey?"
Lockhart laughed. "In chapter twelve of Weekends with Werewolves, I clearly state my ideal gift is harmony between all magical and non-magical folk. But—spot on! I wouldn't say no to a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. You must've read my Witch Weekly interview from last year."
Thank Merlin for Hermione's hesitation on that final question.
She'd mentioned something about "whiskey," though Hodge had doubted it at the time—it didn't fit Lockhart's polished public image. Perhaps she'd mixed it up with the previous question, where Lockhart called himself a "Whiz Kid."
But was Lockhart suspicious of him?
Hodge pushed open the classroom door, deciding he was overthinking it. Lockhart was probably just hinting for a birthday gift.
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