---
Chapter Twenty-Three: Finding Seats to Watch the Match
Lockhart was still lost in thought when Hermione put her things down and greeted the girl,
"Hi, Pandora. Is Professor Lockhart the one you invited?"
"Ah—Granger! Hello! This is Professor Lockhart, invited by my grandfather. He's my favourite teacher!"
The pretty girl stood up quickly to greet him.
Now that she'd said it, Lockhart remembered… If Hermione hadn't been present, he very likely would have mistaken her entirely. This pretty girl was Pandora Fudge, a Slytherin student. Lockhart had always focused on the main characters during lessons, and Pandora never dressed up much at school, so he hadn't recognised her. And she was the Minister for Magic's granddaughter.
"Ah, Pandora, thank you very much for your grandfather's invitation."
Lockhart stepped forward and gave her a warm, familiar hug.
"Are you sharing a tent with me?"
"Ah—no, I'm next door. I just finished setting up this tent and wanted to tidy it." Pandora explained, flustered.
"Oh, what a pity." Lockhart sighed. Pandora flushed slightly, perhaps because Hermione was standing there.
"Professor, please don't tease me. See you tonight."
"Professor," Hermione asked, sounding a little displeased as she set down Lockhart's bag, "are you very close with the Fudge family? But… Pandora is very pretty."
"Actually, I almost forgot her name. I barely remember her. After all—you are my favourite student."
Hermione looked embarrassed, but she was clearly pleased.
"You're also my favourite professor."
After the tent was set up, Lockhart sprawled comfortably on the camp bed.
"Ah, this is wonderful. Shame I'm missing a beauty in my arms. Hermione, why don't you stay and keep me company?" he joked.
Hermione sat beside him, gave him a light, playful pat, then—to Lockhart's surprise—began massaging his shoulders.
"Professor, without you… I honestly can't imagine what would have happened with everything going on at school."
"Oh, you mean the Basilisk or Sirius? That's nothing. Compared with my adventures, those are hardly worth mentioning."
Lockhart boasted out of habit.
"But I'm thirty now, and I can't keep chasing excitement. I'm thinking of staying at Hogwarts long-term as a professor."
"Really? Professor, I'm so honoured to be taught by you until I graduate!"
Lockhart wasn't lying. After two years, he had truly fallen in love with teaching. It was a profession with a magic of its own—transforming him, a man who once only cared for leisure and applause, into a real professor. Perhaps he didn't even notice it himself, but he had begun to speak with natural authority; he had begun to genuinely want to teach his students—despite not being an actual master of defensive magic; he had begun, sincerely and from the heart, to care for them. Even when some beautiful girls admired him, he always remained witty and gentlemanly.
In turn, the students had begun to genuinely respect and admire him.
"All right, Hermione, it's about to begin. You should go and find the Weasleys. See you at the match."
"Oh—good heavens—see you at the match, Professor."
Hermione finally realised how late it was.
A young witch checking tickets widened her eyes and squealed,
"Mr Lockhart! The VIP section—straight up!"
Only then did Lockhart realise his ticket was for the VIP box. As he climbed the stairs, the crowd gradually thinned, everyone filtering into their respective stands. When he reached the highest level, he saw a spectacular view of the entire stadium—a sight rarely matched in the wizarding world—above just two rows of more than twenty luxurious cushioned chairs.
"Wow! Miss Pandora, you're sitting right beside me."
Lockhart noticed Pandora was beautifully dressed today, her usual school-girl innocence replaced with youthful charm and poise.
"You look lovely today."
"Thank you, Professor. Please have a seat," Pandora said softly.
Lockhart sat next to her and leaned forward to look. The stands—large enough for 100,000—were absolutely packed.
Irish fans whistled and waved green four-leaf-clover charms, while Bulgarian supporters brandished their tricolour flags. A young Seeker's sombre face flashed repeatedly on the screens, frowning and blinking impatiently.
"Well, Professor… actually…" Pandora said shyly. "I heard from my grandfather that he was inviting you, so I specifically asked him to place me beside you. I've always admired you, Professor…"
Her cheeks flushed pink.
"Oh…" Lockhart was about to chat pleasantly and build a teacher-student rapport when the Minister for Magic approached.
"Mr Lockhart, judging from your appearance, you seem to have fully recovered from the accident two years ago. Your presence at our final match is a tremendous encouragement to me and to the Ministry. Wouldn't you say so, Barty?"
Old Barty—ever the perfectly disciplined gentleman—was immaculate in suit and tie.
He merely replied, "It's a pleasure to meet you," then excused himself:
"Connelly, do pardon me. I must discuss something with the Bulgarians."
Fudge turned to a foreign wizard in magnificent black velvet, completely unaware the man didn't understand English at all.
"This is Mr Lockhart—a hero, a natural-born hero!"
Then, mopping sweat from his plump face, he added wearily,
"This is… Minister Obronsco. He's only here to show his face—if Crouch hadn't rushed off, he'd be fluent in every language."
The wizard and Lockhart simply nodded to one another. Lockhart hardly needed an introduction; after surviving the Killing Curse, fame had followed him across the wizarding world.
Fudge then spotted Harry Potter and eagerly invited the guests over to see The Boy Who Lived.
The Weasleys received Fudge's long-winded introduction with polite enthusiasm.
Good heavens—Lockhart hadn't expected the whole Weasley clan, plus Harry and Hermione, to receive VIP tickets.
It seemed the Weasleys weren't quite as disregarded by the upper-class wizarding world as people assumed.
---