Although Flourish and Blotts was packed, Harry, saber in hand, pushed his way through. When the wizards turned and saw the lightning scar on his forehead, they cried out.
"Good heavens! It's Harry Potter!"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter! When did you get back?"
"Our respects, Mr. Savior!"
Harry's fame was known throughout the wizarding world. It wasn't just in the British Isles; if you crossed Europe to Germany or France, or crossed the Atlantic to America—anywhere there were wands and robes, who did not know the scarred lad?
Even if Lockhart had a thousand followers, they all turned to greet Harry.
The news spread, and everyone—from the dragon-parts seller to the tailor—stopped to pay their respects.
In moments, Harry was hopelessly mobbed. The wizards shook his hand and pulled his robes; he couldn't have escaped if he had wings.
As the verse says:
His fame is known from Asia to Europe,
The scar shines bright, known to all.
Even Apparition is not as fast,
As the wagging tongues of the street.
Ron and Hermione were pushed out of the circle. They wanted to rejoin Harry, but they couldn't get through the iron-hooped barrel of people.
Just then, a golden-haired wizard rushed out of the store, shouting:
"Is that Harry Potter?"
"Harry Potter has come to buy my book, Magical Me!"
This wizard seemed an extravagant sort. The crowd parted for him.
He strode toward Harry. "Come! Harry! Join me inside, we'll get some wonderful pictures. I'm sure we can make the front page of the Daily Prophet!"
Harry looked him over. The man was tall, perhaps in his late twenties. He wore wizard robes, though they were neither martial nor scholarly. His face was powdered white, and he smelled of perfume. He had twenty-eight perfect teeth and three thousand golden hairs. He looked less like an all-knowing sage and more like a catamite from a brothel.
Hearing him identify himself as Lockhart, Harry clasped his hands. "To hear a name is not as good as to see the face. This one is fortunate to meet such a scholar today."
Lockhart was startled by his strange speech.
That's right, why didn't I think of that? Using an archaic way of speaking as a marketing gimmick!
Unfortunately, that idea can't be copied...
He smiled. "Of course, Harry. I am honored to meet you, too."
"Let's get that picture."
He seized Harry's wrist, dragged him into the store, and motioned for a short man to start snapping photos.
The man jumped around, the flashbulb popping. Lockhart, used to it, called for a complete set of his books and handed them to Harry.
"Well, ladies and gentlemen! Young Harry has come to Flourish and Blotts today just to buy my books—which I will now gift to him, free of charge!"
"It is magic and destiny that have brought two such outstanding wizards together!"
Seeing him chatter on to the reporter, Harry grew suspicious. That Snape is a rare, oily scoundrel, but compared to this Lockhart, he seems refreshing.
This frivolous, showy fellow does not seem like an all-knowing man. This one must test him.
Harry clasped his hands. "This one has long heard of the scholar's vast knowledge. Today, I have a doubt in my heart. I wonder if you could enlighten me?"
"Oh! Our dear little Harry has a question for me!" Lockhart beamed. "Please, ask! I can answer anything."
"This one has heard that trolls are dim-witted by nature, relying only on height and strength. Is this true?"
Hearing the question was about trolls, Lockhart was confident. "Oh~ Harry, that depends on which troll you mean."
"The Mountain Troll is the largest and most dangerous. Forest trolls and river trolls are much smaller."
"My book, Travels with Trolls, was about a Mountain Troll. My goodness, he caused me a great deal of trouble..."
He spoke eloquently, and many of the witches in the crowd swooned.
Harry, having slain a troll, knew Lockhart's words were correct, but he was still skeptical.
He reached for his waist, suddenly drew his saber, and slammed it on the table. "Can the scholar identify this blade for me?"
Lockhart saw the saber, and a wave of cold air hit him, snapping his mind to attention.
"Ahem, Harry, you use a saber?"
"Heh heh, do not be alarmed, scholar. This one just has a nature that enjoys cutting and chopping."
Lockhart cursed inwardly.
With a hundred wizards watching, I can't leave. I can't escape. He hesitated, then gingerly touched the blade. "This is no ordinary saber."
"It is..."
Lockhart was about to bluff when he spotted the bracer on Harry's wrist. It was plain, but covered in runes. It was clearly no ordinary item.
An idea struck him. "This must be a magical weapon, forged by goblins!"
Seeing him hit the mark, Harry clasped his hands. "The scholar has sharp eyes. This saber has seen many great scenes, but no one has ever known its origin."
Lockhart smiled, though he was groaning internally.
It really is goblin-made? How much must that have cost?
Tsk! Knowing those greedy goblins, at least ten thousand Galleons, right?
He was a shrewd man. He saw Harry's probing questions and knew this was a test.
His eyes darted. He feigned offense. "I think you have no need to test me further, do you, Mr. Potter?"
"Knowledge is not free. If you have more questions, please speak to my assistant."
Harry was an old hand of the Jianghu. How could he not understand the meaning? He passed a bag containing one hundred Galleons under the table.
Lockhart took it, felt the weight, and shouted, "My dear fans, the signing is over for today! You don't need to wait!"
With that, he invited Harry to the second floor.
Ron and Hermione hurried up after them to protect Harry. Lockhart, seeing them, said warmly, "Do you want autographs? Where are your pen and paper?"
"Oh~ Or would you like me to sign your robes in lumos ink?"
Ron and Hermione blinked. "Sorry, sir, we're here for Harry."
Lockhart, realizing his mistake, was embarrassed. "Well, my dear little wizards... I didn't really want to sign any more anyway. My hand is quite sore."
"Ahem, Harry. I thought this was a private conversation."
Seeing him suspect a breach of protocol, Harry clasfped his hands. "Scholar, forgive me. These two are my sworn siblings. They are family. Not a word will be leaked."
"If it is, this one will cut off his own hand in apology!"
Harry drew his saber and slammed it into the table. Lockhart felt a chill on his neck.
Is... is this right?
And so it was, Lockhart invited him for a secret talk, but the sworn siblings insisted on protection. Lockhart asked for paper and pen, but Ron and Hermione just rolled their eyes. The scholar, embarrassed, was full of doubt, until Harry slammed his saber down, vowing to cut off his hand if a word was leaked. Gilderoy was terrified; not even the dark wizards of Knockturn Alley were as half as mad as Harry. If you wish to know what happened next, you must listen to the next chapter.
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