"Did a nargle get into your head earlier?"
Malfoy was doing his best to pretend to listen to Lockhart's speech with a respectful expression when that airy, wandering voice drifted into his ear.
"Miss Luna," he sighed, turning, "I think we should at least show some courtesy to the man who supposedly defeated the basilisk for us. He's giving a speech up there. Basic manners."
Behind him stood the dreamy Ravenclaw girl—Luna Lovegood—balanced lightly on the bench above Malfoy as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her voice was still that same distant, gentle murmur tinged with uncertainty… strangely pleasant, in a way that made people lower their guard.
Apparently no one noticed a Ravenclaw standing on top of a Slytherin.
"Hm…" Luna tilted her head, glancing at Lockhart—still rambling on and on at the podium—then looked back at Malfoy. She pursed her lips.
"I think he's the one being harassed by flies."
Malfoy had no idea what expression he was supposed to make in response to this girl's terrifying intuition.
"Luna! What are you doing here?"
A senior girl hurried over—long curls, refined features, the calm elegance characteristic of Ravenclaw's best. Penelope Clearwater, the prefect.
She immediately pulled Luna back to a safer distance from Malfoy, then stepped politely between them.
"I'm so sorry Luna disturbed you. I'll take her back where she belongs. Please forgive her."
With that, she began tugging Luna away, trying her best to fulfill her duty to care for her younger schoolmates.
"He doesn't have a bug in his head. He's a good person," Luna muttered angrily under her breath, still staring back at Malfoy. She had been so close to extracting something useful from her intuition.
Penelope could only shake her head, pitying her.
Truthfully, she still didn't understand why Luna had ever been sorted into Ravenclaw. Wisdom was supposed to be their hallmark—and this girl seemed completely detached from anything resembling it.
Even if Penelope had grown used to Luna's odd behavior, she could not allow her to stand that close to him, even if he was young.
"He's not even as good as his two younger brothers…" Penelope murmured under her breath—and instantly her cheeks flushed pink, spreading from her ears downward. A woman in love inevitably connected everything to her beloved.
"Why is your face red?" Luna asked, blinking.
"Is it?" Penelope touched her face quickly, then straightened, regaining her composure.
"Don't change the topic. Stay away from that boy. Who knows what sort of creature he'll create next time? If he ever remembers you, you might be the first to suffer."
"But if what you said is true," Luna replied calmly, "then it's already too late."
Penelope froze. "What do you mean?"
"When school started, I sat with him on the train. He even taught me several interesting games." Luna fiddled idly with her radish earrings.
"…What?"
Penelope felt her soul leave her body for a moment. This child was going to give her a heart attack.
"In short," she said stiffly, "stay away from him from now on. Otherwise—even as Ravenclaw prefect—I'll deduct points."
"The prefect doesn't have the authority to deduct points," Luna replied serenely, hitting the truth dead-on.
Penelope fell silent.
Thankfully, the crisis was interrupted by a wave of thunderous applause, mercifully cutting through the awkward moment.
Lockhart's flamboyant voice echoed across the hall:
"I will cherish forever my experience here at Hogwarts! Teaching here has been the highlight of my illustrious career—a source of inspiration and wisdom I will treasure for life!"
"Finally over," Malfoy muttered with relief. He hated long, pointless ceremonies—and Lockhart's speech had all the nutritional value of stale parchment.
Of course, he was the only one unimpressed. The rest of the students hung onto every word, eyes fixed on the stage.
Malfoy stood, ready to pretend to clap and "send off" the fake hero—
—but the so-called closing remarks stretched on.
"I know everyone hopes to hear more about my heroic battle with the basilisk! Time is limited, so I've written all the thrilling details in my latest book!"
He dramatically pulled a brand-new book from his robes. Even from below the podium, Malfoy could see the glowing cover: Lockhart beaming brilliantly as if mid-lecture, surrounded by magical sparkles.
"The title," Lockhart declared proudly, "is Lockhart: My Days as a Teacher at Hogwarts! It isn't even officially released yet, but I—your beloved author—have secured a few advance copies for you lucky fans! And every copy comes with my personal autograph!"
"I should never have saved you, you useless peacock," Malfoy thought darkly, sinking back into his seat. He mentally braced for however long this sales pitch would last.
"First of all, Miss Hermione Granger should receive the first autographed copy! Because she bravely attracted the basilisk's attention, I was able to cast my spell successfully!"
He pulled Hermione onto the stage as if she were a trophy.
She felt entirely exposed. Last time she'd received praise, she'd been surrounded by classmates—but now she stood alone beside Lockhart, her emotions a tangle of embarrassment, discomfort, and something else she couldn't name. Dumbledore's earlier hint, her own conflicted feelings, and her instinctive dislike of Lockhart made her skin crawl.
Still, she forced a smile.
A soft cough sounded behind her.
Lockhart stiffened instantly.
Hermione glanced sideways—Dumbledore was still smiling graciously, as though nothing had happened.
"There's an old Eastern saying," Lockhart announced quickly, "that all good things must come to an end!"
His tone had changed completely—humble, respectful, careful. A single cough from Dumbledore was enough to pull him back to reality.
Lockhart knew perfectly well that the cheerful, twinkly-eyed headmaster was also the man holding every incriminating detail of his life.
Time to stop before he dug his own grave.
"Students who didn't receive a copy shouldn't worry! You'll soon find it on display at Flourish and Blotts. Now, I gladly return the stage to Professor Dumbledore for the final conclusion!"
"Ahem." Dumbledore took the podium.
Malfoy assumed the headmaster would deliver a short message.
He was wrong.
Dumbledore had collected piles of Howlers over the past weeks—and he chose now to open them all at once.
The Great Hall erupted in an explosion of wails, screeches, bellows, growls, and squawks—like the entire Muggle zoo had broken loose.
Dumbledore's only explanation was:
"Let's consider this a farewell performance. Hopefully, we won't receive any more of these next semester."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. The old man was far too amused with himself.
After everyone survived the sonic assault, the ceremony finally ended. Students poured onto the Hogwarts Express, heading home toward cheerful—or chaotic—holidays.