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Gilderoy Lockhart dragged Harry Potter onto the stage and freely used the convenient and easy-to-handle "Harry card" prop however he pleased.
"Harry, that's it. Now shout it out. Yes, yes, a little louder. More expression—excellent."
"And then, all his fur and fangs disappeared. He became an ordinary man again. I saved him. I saved the village. That village will forever remember me as the hero who rescued them. They were finally freed from the terrible fate of suffering werewolf attacks every month."
At long last, halfway through one of the most exhausting lessons of Harry's life, the school bell finally rang.
Lockhart continued, "But that required tremendous power. Only a wizard as strong as myself could accomplish such a feat. Don't try to imitate it."
"And now it's time for homework. You are to write an ode praising my victory over Wagga the Werewolf. The best one will receive a personally signed copy of Magical Me! Ah, yes, thank you for your generosity—you're getting a bargain."
Gilderoy Lockhart flashed his trademark dazzling smile, his white teeth gleaming brightly.
The students all left. Harry walked toward the back of the classroom, where Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were waiting for him.
"Right," Harry whispered encouragingly to Hermione.
Hermione glanced around nervously. "Wait until everyone's farther away," she muttered. Then she gathered her courage. "Okay."
She walked up to Lockhart, clutching a slip of paper in her trembling hand.
"Professor Lockhart," Hermione stammered, "I'd like to borrow a book from the library for some background reading."
She held up the note, trying desperately to steady her shaking fingers.
"But this book is kept in the Restricted Section, and it requires a teacher's signature before it can be borrowed. I believe this book would help me better understand the hidden poisons you described in Gadding with Ghouls."
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" Lockhart took the note from Hermione with great enthusiasm, his brilliant white smile flashing once more. "That may very well be my finest work. Have you read it? Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh, absolutely," Hermione replied eagerly, her smile growing even brighter. "The way you trapped the last ghoul using that filter was incredible."
Hearing Hermione praise him and quote passages from his book, Lockhart's smile widened even more.
"Well then, I see no reason to refuse. I'm always willing to give a little extra guidance to my best students."
He drew out an elegant peacock-feather quill and signed his name in a flourish.
"Yes, beautiful, very good," Lockhart said proudly. "I usually only use this pen at autograph signings."
Hermione hurriedly folded the slip of paper and stuffed it into her bag.
Lockhart turned to Harry and continued:
"Harry, tomorrow is the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor House versus Slytherin House. I hear you're quite talented. Excellent at Quidditch—just like I was when I was young."
"At the time, I was the finest Seeker around. They even wanted me for the national team. But I declined. I preferred to dedicate my life experience to eradicating evil. Still, if you ever need guidance from a national-level master, I could always arrange a private class for you. Feel free to come see me. I'd be delighted to pass my expertise on to the younger generation. It would benefit you immensely."
Harry gave a vague grunt and hurried out of the classroom together with Hermione and Ron.
"I can't believe it," Harry said incredulously as the three of them carefully examined the signed slip of paper. "He didn't even look at which book we wanted to borrow."
"That's because he's an idiot with no brains at all," Ron said irritably. He would rather not borrow the book in the first place. After all, they all had wands—why worry about the Basilisk?
"It worked because I used the right approach," Hermione said smugly, all the earlier panic and nervousness completely gone.
"Flatter him and he'll hand over anything."
Ron still looked unconvinced as they headed toward the library.
As soon as they entered the silent, stuffy library, all three of them instinctively lowered their voices. Madam Pince was not an easy person to deal with.
More precisely, she was a sharp-eyed, bad-tempered, skeletal woman who resembled a starved vulture, always watching students like prey.
"Moste Potente Potions?" she asked suspiciously, snatching the note from Hermione's hand.
Madam Pince held the note up to the light and inspected it carefully before finally deciding it was genuine.
She marched toward a towering bookshelf, and several minutes later returned carrying a thick, moldy-smelling book.
Hermione carefully tucked the book into her bag and silently counted her steps, making sure not to walk too quickly and reveal her anxiety.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the abandoned bathroom haunted by Moaning Myrtle.
Because Myrtle constantly tormented any girls who tried to use the bathroom, hardly anyone ever came there.
Ron absolutely did not want to enter a girls' bathroom, but his protests were useless. Hermione naturally pointed out that precisely because no normal person wanted to come there, it was the safest possible place.
That way, nobody would discover what they were doing.
As for Moaning Myrtle—if she started crying and wailing, they could simply ignore her. They wouldn't be staying long anyway.
Hermione cautiously opened Moste Potente Potions. The three of them leaned together shoulder to shoulder, staring at the dense text and disturbing illustrations.
No wonder the book was kept in the Restricted Section. Some of the potion recipes inside were horrifying. Hermione could hardly imagine how any wizard had come up with such concoctions.
One terrifying illustration showed a human body turned completely inside out, every organ exposed in a grotesque and nauseating manner. Another depicted a witch sprouting countless arms from her head, looking less like a person and more like a monster.
Hermione quickly avoided looking at the horrifying potion pages. She rapidly found the section they were searching for and whispered excitedly:
"Polyjuice Potion—it's here!"
She pointed at the complicated brewing instructions with excitement.
Harry, however, felt no excitement at all.
Following Hermione's finger, he looked at the tiny figures in the illustration. They were transforming into other people—but the expressions on their faces were twisted with terrible agony.
Harry had the unsettling feeling that those expressions weren't simply there for decoration.
(To be continued.)