Gilderoy Lockhart was getting more and more intrigued—and more and more annoyed.
He picked up the latest Witch Weekly and flipped through it. His handsome face was gone from the cover, replaced by a single mysterious silhouette.
Jealousy and anticipation flickered across his face. He'd thought becoming Harry Potter's teacher would be quite enough to make him the talk of the age—he hadn't expected he might even be featured on a Chocolate Frog card.
Once they tracked down that little wizard, what would they call him, he wondered?
The Sage's Mentor?
He smiled faintly to himself.
Professor McGonagall watched this in icy silence. Only after she'd left the table did she catch up with Dumbledore.
"Albus, why must it be Lockhart as a teacher? What can students possibly learn from such a vain, fame-obsessed man?"
Minerva McGonagall's worry ran deep.
"Even from a bad teacher, students can learn a great deal,"
Dumbledore replied, smile deep and subtle, eyes lingering for a moment on Lockhart.
"For instance: what not to do, and what not to become."
Whatever was happening up at the staff table, it didn't much touch the students.
They were still looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Everyone except Harry.
A very small, skinny boy with greyish hair was staring at him like he was hypnotised. The boy clutched something in his hands that looked a lot like an ordinary Muggle camera.
As soon as Harry glanced at him, the boy's face went brick red.
"H–hi, Harry. I—I'm Colin Creevey."
He panted, taking a timid step closer.
"I'm in Gryffindor too. Do you think—maybe—could I take a picture of you?"
He held the camera up, eyes shining.
"A picture?"
Harry said blankly.
"Then I can prove I met you,"
Colin said earnestly, shuffling another step forward.
"I know everything about you. Everyone's told me. How you escaped You-Know-Who, how he vanished, and everything—and you still have the lightning scar on your forehead."
He sucked in a huge breath, actually trembling with excitement.
"This place is amazing, isn't it? Before I got my letter from Hogwarts, I didn't know all the weird things I could do were magic. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it. So I'm going to take loads of photos to send him. And if I had one with you—"
He looked up at Harry in pleading awe.
"—maybe I could stand beside you, and your friend could press the button? And then—could you sign it too?"
He turned those wide, hopeful eyes—and the camera—toward Sean.
"C–could you take the picture for us, sir?"
Sean, just about to leave, didn't refuse. He flicked his wand and the camera rose into the air of its own accord.
Colin hurried over and pressed himself close to Harry.
"Autographed photos, Potter? Handing out signed pictures now?"
Draco Malfoy's loud, cutting voice echoed across the courtyard.
He had stopped just behind Colin, Crabbe and Goyle looming on either side like ugly bookends.
"Don't make me laugh, Potter. The whole wizarding world is waiting for another photo, and you idiots let him be the one behind the camera—oh go on then, everyone line up!"
Malfoy raised his voice to the onlookers.
"Harry Potter's handing out signed photographs!"
"I am not!"
Harry snapped, furious.
"You're just jealous,"
Colin piped up. His entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.
"Jealous?"
Malfoy sneered. "Of you lot, with your eyes in the backs of your heads so you can't see who actually deserves to be on a card?"
His father had already told him that Green's origins were mysterious—and the Ministry had blocked anyone from digging into his records.
He had to be from an old pure-blood line, there was no other way to explain his family's reach inside the Ministry.
Everyone at Hogwarts had it wrong. They thought Green stood for Muggle-borns—how ridiculous.
In truth, he was the heir to the pure-blood elite, their future leader—beyond question.
No wonder Snape had been acting so strangely…
Draco Malfoy, for once, felt like the cleverest wizard in Hogwarts.
The cleverness, in his mind, lay in seeing that some great pure-bloods had larger ambitions, and so chose to walk among Muggle-borns as if it meant nothing.
Like, say, the far-off days of the Purist Party in that tall distant country, and their own beloved leader.
Thinking along those lines, he didn't resent Muggle-borns quite so much.
"Your eyes are the ones crooked, Weasley. Go eat some slugs, Malfoy."
Ron snapped back. Crabbe stopped laughing and started cracking his knuckles menacingly, sweeping his gaze over the little group.
When his eyes accidentally met Sean's, he immediately looked away and hummed tunelessly as if nothing had happened.
"Careful, Weasley,"
Draco drawled.
"Wouldn't want you getting into trouble again, or your mum will have to drag you back home."
He pitched his voice in a shrill, mocking falsetto:
"If you don't behave yourself—"
Several fifth-year Slytherins burst out laughing.
Harry and Malfoy had scenes like this all the time. But today, something in Draco's tone was… off, and it made Sean's thoughts tighten.
He glanced at Malfoy; Draco almost looked flattered by the attention.
Being identified was only a matter of time, but Malfoy's attitude was distinctly strange.
"Count yourselves lucky. Come on, let's go,"
Malfoy said, turning away.
Once he wasn't looking at Sean, the familiar mask of disdain slid back over his face.
He looked like he'd heard some unspoken signal. Under Harry and Ron's angry, baffled stares, he stalked off.
"Why're we leaving, Malfoy?"
Goyle asked, clueless.
"Goyle, that thick skull of yours couldn't possibly understand. Some people look like they're standing among Muggle-borns, but their noble blood means their true allies will never be those filthy little mud—"
He caught himself, smirking instead.
"In short, some leaders stand wherever they please. You'll see."
Back in the Great Hall, Harry was just as lost.
Malfoy had walked up, spat a few weird barbs, and left?
"'The whole wizarding world's waiting for another picture', 'letting him take it'…" It was obvious who that meant.
The problem was: how in Merlin's name did Malfoy know?
"Ron, do you think Malfoy… what's his deal?"
Harry muttered.
"I think he's trying to stir things up,"
Ron murmured back. "You don't think it's hard to guess who Sean is, do you? Honestly, no one at Hogwarts is more obvious."
The morning mist thinned over Hogwarts, but an odd tension lingered over the castle. Everywhere, witches and wizards were full of their own theories.
~~~
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