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Chapter Fifty-Five: Hermione's Desired Nightlife
"That's right." Lockhart nodded in satisfaction. "Now, how shall we get to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix? Side-Along Apparition might be too much for you, so let's take the Knight Bus."
"No, no, no," Hermione shook her head so fast she looked like a rattling toy. "I finally escaped from home today. Professor, you have to stay with me the whole day. I've always wanted to experience nightlife, but my parents refuse to let me go anywhere alone—they're terrified I'll meet bad people."
"Nightlife?" Lockhart immediately thought of entirely inappropriate things. "You're still underage. How can you even think of something like that—much less ask your professor to accompany you?"
"Professor is a good person. You'll keep me safe." Hermione shook his arm insistently.
"Stop!" Lockhart took a deep breath and resigned himself—he was in a good mood today, so he might as well humour her. "Hermione, didn't Ron and Harry ever tell you that a girl like you is absolutely hopeless at acting coquettish?"
"They're both children. Of course I won't whine to them." Hermione huffed. "Fine, then I'll simply ask properly. Professor Lockhart, please come with me!"
"Yes, Miss Granger," Lockhart bowed theatrically, "with pleasure."
Hermione giggled at his over-the-top manners.
Lockhart wasn't very familiar with British Muggle life, so he simply followed Hermione everywhere. She dragged him through clothing shops and supermarkets—things Lockhart had stopped doing since transmigrating. Surprisingly, it was rather refreshing.
Later, the two sat on a bench at a crossroads, each holding an ice cream cone—Hermione had paid for them.
"Muggle life is quite interesting," Lockhart remarked, recalling his past-life memories.
"Of course! When it comes to enjoying life, wizards are nowhere near as good as Muggles," Hermione said proudly. "Professor, want to try a candlelit dinner later? I bet you've never had one."
"A candlelit dinner? Isn't that a bit too romantic? Pandora and I have never tried it!"
Hermione blinked, delighted. "Really? Wonderful! Then your first candlelit dinner is with me!"
Lockhart had only said he hadn't tried one with Pandora, not that he'd never had one at all. But he didn't bother correcting her. He was not exactly a paragon of gentlemanly virtue; refusing a girl's genuine excitement felt unnecessarily cruel. He'd simply take Pandora next time anyway.
So the teacher and his student sat in a small restaurant and enjoyed a candlelit dinner.
"Isn't it romantic?" Hermione teased, raising an eyebrow. "Your first time and my first time—shared with each other."
"First time my foot." Lockhart flicked her lightly on the head. "Are you satisfied now? We can head to the Order of the Phoenix."
"No!" Hermione scratched her head excitedly. "Nightlife is only beginning. There's somewhere fun I want to go next!"
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"This is your fun place?" Lockhart pressed his palm against his temple, feeling as if his Occlumency shields were cracking. "It's horrendously loud. I hate it."
"I've always wanted to come to a nightclub, but my parents wouldn't allow it," Hermione said, her eyes glittering. "Professor, you sit here. I'm going to dance!"
Lockhart cast a Muffliato around his ears to block the noise. He sat at a small table and sipped the drink Hermione had pushed at him. He disliked places like this—too loud, too chaotic, too full of temptation.
Hermione, however, was in ecstasy. She swayed on the dance floor, beaming, and even shot Lockhart cheeky glances. She wasn't a skilled dancer, but nobody in such a place cared.
Lockhart watched her. She really had grown up—strikingly pretty, slim, and graceful. The awkward girl from a few years ago was gone. That idiot Ron Weasley was far luckier than he realised.
Naturally, a pretty girl alone attracted attention. Several men approached Hermione, trying to talk to her. She waved them off politely at first, but soon they grew impatient. They cornered her near the wall and even started touching her.
Lockhart frowned. Why wasn't Hermione fighting back? Did she forget her wand? Or was she hoping he'd come rescue her? Or was she simply panicking because she'd never faced something like this?
When the men grew bolder, Lockhart couldn't pretend anymore. He pushed through the crowd and shielded Hermione.
"What're you doing, mate? First come, first served," one man protested. "Go chat up someone else."
Lockhart blinked. At least these Muggles were polite—not like the thugs in cheap power-fantasy novels. "Sorry, gentlemen, we're leaving. Please enjoy the rest of your evening." He pulled Hermione away.
One man reached out angrily. "Oi, you—"
Lockhart had no interest in arguing with Muggles. He released the smallest flick of wandless magic. The man flew back several metres. The onlookers gasped and backed off.
Back at the table, Hermione didn't look frightened at all. Instead, her face was flushed with excitement. "It's real! It's actually possible to meet hooligans! I thought Mum was exaggerating!"
Lockhart stared at her. "Are you quite done? Can we leave?"
"No! It's too early. Let's have another drink. I love it here!"
"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, you're supposed to be a good girl. Don't get attached to this place—it's not good for you."
"Being a good girl is exhausting! I just want to have fun. And with you here, Professor, nothing will happen." She gulped down more alcohol. "Let's drink! The books say drinking is part of nightlife."
Lockhart nearly choked. "You've been misled by Muggle books. Hermione, not everything printed is correct. You must learn to judge quality."
"I know, I know. But let me experience it once!" Hermione slurred slightly. "And I have to go to a hotel with a man… Professor, that'll be you."
"What absolute rubbish book have you been reading?" Lockhart muttered. "Corrupting children…" He scooped Hermione up and carried her outside to flag the Knight Bus.
"Are we going to get a hotel room?" she mumbled.
"Stop talking nonsense. We're going to Grimmauld Place."
"Nooo!" Hermione's drunken strength was impressive—Lockhart nearly dropped her. "We need a hotel! Otherwise nightlife isn't complete! Take me to a hotel!"
"All right. All right. Fine." Lockhart gave up. If he returned to the Order of the Phoenix like this, those old geezers would definitely think he'd seduced Hermione. Better let her sleep it off in a hotel.
Lockhart dragged Hermione into a nearby hotel. "Two rooms, please."
"No! One room!" Hermione protested.
"How many rooms?" the receptionist asked, eyeing them both. Hermione wanted two rooms, the man wanted one—apparently the "normal" pattern—so he looked very confused.
Lockhart slapped his hand gently over Hermione's mouth. "Two rooms. Thank you."
"May I see your ID?"
"Er—right—one moment." Lockhart had no ID. He really should get one. But for now—he raised his wand discreetly.
"Confundus."
"Rooms 304 and 305," the receptionist said dreamily. "Here are your keys."
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