Outside the greenhouses.
Snow blanketed the lawn like a giant quilt.
"Yes, Professor," Sean answered.
"Just over a month? That's unbelievable. Oh, can I see it, dear?"
Professor Sprout pushed her heavily patched hat up a little, like she was worried it might block the view.
A second later, a pitch-black cat was perched proudly on her shoulder as she trudged through the snow.
She was absolutely delighted. She really hadn't seen this coming.
"Minerva's going to lose her mind," she muttered to herself, watching the cat leap down and turn back into a black-robed little wizard.
Professor Sprout couldn't remember the last time something this fun had happened. She actually put her hoe away and called it a day early.
Dinner was only a few minutes away.
Sean didn't have much to pack up; he just double-checked his mini-greenhouse, locked the little gate, and left the rigged-up camera behind. It would snap a photo of the plants every twelve hours.
When he met up with Justin and the others carrying a bag of potion ingredients, Hermione was already fuming.
"That lying git. We have to expose him!"
Justin and the rest, who'd just heard the full story from Bruce, nodded like they were ready to march on the Ministry.
Moments earlier, Bruce (still tied up on the floor by Leon) had spilled everything about Lockhart:
"Okay, first things first: we tried to get him sent to Azkaban. We really did. Didn't work.
He's got cozy little deals with every newspaper going, and we were just students. Nobody wanted to listen.
People believe what they want to believe. Even the witch he supposedly saved still swears up and down that Lockhart was her hero.
Anyway… the stories in his books? Totally real. Just… the main character got swapped out.
Obliviation. That's our best guess. The guy practiced that slimy spell until he could rewrite the memories of a dozen genuinely brave, actually accomplished witches and wizards and then slapped his own grinning face on their adventures."
Bruce laid it all out logically, calmly, brilliantly, while wriggling around on the floor like a very eloquent worm.
Hermione kept closing her eyes because he sounded like a wise old wizard unveiling the truth, and then opening them to see… Bruce, still tied up and squirming.
"Bonus round," he added cheerfully. "Some fun facts that might not help but will definitely make Lockhart miserable.
Professor Sprout told us: the guy's not untalented. Teachers actually thought he was sharp, way above average. If he'd put in real work he could've been somebody.
He just… also told anyone who'd listen that before he graduated he was going to make a Philosopher's Stone, captain England to a Quidditch World Cup victory, and then become the youngest Minister for Magic in history.
You can probably guess how popular that made him.
But he still managed his number-one goal: making sure the entire school knew his name.
Spelled his signature in twenty-foot letters across the Quidditch pitch once. Got a week's worth of detentions.
Cast a giant glowing projection of his own face in the sky instead of the Dark Mark.
One Valentine's Day he sent himself eight hundred cards. The owl avalanche in the Great Hall was so bad he couldn't eat breakfast (too many feathers and owl poop in his porridge).
Stimulo!"
Mid-sentence, while Leon was deep in thought, Bruce suddenly whipped out his wand and stung him with a Stinging Hex. Then grinned like a maniac when Leon ended up just as tangled and miserable as he was.
Hermione finally understood what "reliable yet completely unreliable" really meant.
…
"We're contacting the press," Hermione declared the second they stepped out of the greenhouse, cheeks pink with cold and fury.
"The Hufflepuff seniors have more than enough proof. I can't believe the Ministry just lets him walk free when the evidence is this easy to find!"
"Most papers won't touch it," Justin said quietly.
"Someone will," Hermione insisted.
Harry had already run off to Quidditch practice, Ron trailing behind him. Neville had gone back to the greenhouses to fuss over plants.
That left just the three of them crunching through the snow.
"The Quibbler?" Sean offered.
Hermione sighed but actually considered it.
Justin smiled gently. "My mum always says a smart person doesn't have to be the strongest. Sometimes they just get really good at 'strategic borrowing.'"
Watching these kids get ready to drag Lockhart's name through the mud and (fingers crossed) straight into Azkaban, Sean had a pretty good idea just how strong the Defense Against the Dark Arts curse really was.
Back in the Great Hall, though, he had a different problem.
He needed to go out at Christmas… but he still had detentions with Snape.
And unless something wild happened, Uncle Marcus was probably waiting for him at Professor McGonagall's cottage right now.
This Christmas was shaping up to be way more interesting than he'd planned.
He glanced up at the staff table. Professor Sprout was chatting warmly with Professor McGonagall, who was actually laughing at every single thing she said. Snape sat on the end looking like he'd bitten into a lemon, silent as usual.
Christmas was almost here.
The Great Hall looked incredible: a dozen Christmas trees glittering with silver frost, huge criss-crossing garlands of mistletoe and holly strung across the enchanted ceiling, and warm, dry magical snow drifting down gently.
The house-elves were working overtime on Christmas puddings, and everyone was buzzing with holiday excitement.
This weekend the older students got Hogsmeade, as usual.
They huddled together, loudly planning their first stop in the village while the younger years could only listen and sulk.
"There's still the Christmas feast, right?" Ron said, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, clearly bummed. "It'll be great."
The feast was awesome and all, but it would've been a million times better if they got a full day in Hogsmeade first.
Eventually Harry and Ron just eavesdropped shamelessly until they caught one magical phrase:
"Wait, what the heck is Green's Books?!"
Harry whispered, eyes wide.