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Chapter 133
Gilderoy Lockhart pulled Harry Potter onto the stage, happily treating him like a convenient prop for his performance.
"Harry, that's it! Now shout it out. Yes, yes, louder! More emotion—excellent!"
"And then, all his fur and fangs vanished. 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 dreadful fate of suffering monthly werewolf attacks."
At last, halfway through one of the longest lessons of Harry's life, the bell finally rang.
Lockhart continued proudly, "But that required extraordinary power. Only a wizard as mighty as myself could accomplish such a feat. Don't even think about trying to imitate it."
"And now, homework! You are to compose a poem praising my victory over Wagga the Werewolf. The best submission will receive a personally autographed copy of Magical Me! Ah, yes, your generosity is appreciated—you're getting an incredible bargain."
Gilderoy Lockhart flashed his signature dazzling smile, his white teeth sparkling brilliantly.
The students quickly filed out of the classroom. Harry headed toward the back, where Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were waiting.
"Go on," Harry whispered encouragingly to Hermione.
Hermione glanced around nervously. "Wait until everyone's farther away," she muttered. Then, taking a deep breath, she steeled herself.
"Okay."
She approached 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 additional reading."
She held up the note, trying her best to steady her shaking hand.
"But the book is kept in the Restricted Section, so I need a teacher's signature to borrow it. I believe it would help me better understand the hidden poisons you described in Gadding with Ghouls."
"Ah, Gadding with Ghouls!" Lockhart exclaimed as he accepted the note, grinning broadly once again. "That may well be my finest work. Have you read it? Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh, absolutely," Hermione replied enthusiastically, smiling even more brightly. "The way you captured that final ghoul using the filter was simply incredible."
Hearing Hermione quote passages from his book and shower him with praise, Lockhart's smile widened even further.
"Well then, I see no reason to refuse. I'm always willing to offer a little extra guidance to my best students."
He pulled out an elegant peacock-feather quill and signed his name with a dramatic flourish.
"Yes, beautiful, excellent," Lockhart said proudly. "I normally only use this pen during book signings."
Hermione hurriedly folded the note and stuffed it into her bag.
Lockhart then turned toward Harry.
"Harry, tomorrow is the first Quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor House versus Slytherin House. I hear you're quite talented. An excellent Seeker—very much like I was in my youth."
"At the time, I was the finest Seeker around. They even wanted me to join the national team. But I refused. I preferred to dedicate my life to fighting evil instead. Still, if you ever need guidance from a master-level player, I could arrange some private lessons for you. Feel free to come to me anytime. I'd be delighted to pass my experience on to the younger generation. It would benefit you tremendously."
Harry gave a vague grunt and hurried out of the classroom with Hermione and Ron.
"I can't believe it," Harry said incredulously as they examined the signed permission slip. "He didn't even check which book we wanted."
"That's because he's a complete idiot," Ron said irritably. He would rather not borrow the book at all. After all, they already had wands—why should they worry about the Basilisk?
"It worked because I used the proper approach," Hermione said smugly, all her earlier nervousness gone. "Just flatter him. He'll hand over anything."
Ron still looked unconvinced as they headed toward the library.
The moment they stepped into the silent, stuffy library, they instinctively lowered their voices. Madam Pince was not someone students wanted to provoke.
Thin, sharp-eyed, and bad-tempered, she resembled a starving vulture forever circling its prey.
"Moste Potente Potions?" she asked suspiciously, snatching the note from Hermione's hand.
Madam Pince held the note up to the light, inspecting it carefully until she was finally convinced it wasn't forged.
She marched off toward the towering bookshelves and returned several minutes later carrying a thick book that smelled strongly of mildew.
Hermione carefully tucked the book into her bag and deliberately slowed her pace, afraid that hurrying would betray her anxiety.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at the abandoned bathroom haunted by Moaning Myrtle.
Because Myrtle constantly harassed anyone who tried to use the bathroom, almost nobody ever came there.
Ron absolutely refused to enter a girls' bathroom, but Hermione ignored his complaints. In her view, the fact that no normal person wanted to come there made it the perfect hiding 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 stay long anyway.
Hermione cautiously opened Moste Potente Potions. The three of them leaned together shoulder to shoulder, staring at the dense text and unsettling 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 could invent such terrible concoctions.
One grotesque illustration showed a human body turned completely inside out, every organ exposed in a nauseating display. Another depicted a witch with countless arms sprouting from her head, making her look more like a monster than a human being.
Hermione quickly looked away from the disturbing pages and hurriedly searched through the book.
"There! Polyjuice Potion!"
She pointed excitedly at the complicated brewing instructions.
Harry, however, felt no excitement at all.
Following Hermione's finger, he noticed the tiny figures in the illustration transforming into other people. But their faces were twisted in unbearable agony.
Harry had the uneasy feeling that those expressions weren't just drawn there for dramatic effect.
(To be continued.)