At eight in the evening, Lockhart was in his office, replying to fan letters.
A knock came at the door. It should be Harry Potter reporting for detention.
"Come in, my boy—you're finally here."
"Hi, Professor. Is there anything I can help with?"
Lockhart looked up—only to find Hermione instead.
"Where's Harry? It was supposed to be him. Trying to slack off, is he?"
"No, Professor. Harry went to help Ron with cleaning. I volunteered to come."
"Oh no, Miss Granger. If you haven't done anything wrong, I don't require your help. I can manage these myself." Lockhart had originally planned to build rapport with the Boy Who Lived. Hermione's arrival was… unexpected. Besides, at thirteen, she held no particular appeal for him. "You should go back. I appreciate the thought."
"Professor…" Hermione's eyes reddened, tears welling up. "I just wanted to help…"
"Alright, alright—perhaps you can help me write a few replies."
Considering she'd grow into quite the beauty someday, Lockhart relented.
"Okay, Professor!" Hermione brightened instantly, her earlier grievance clearly an act. She skipped over and plopped into a chair.
"Ahem—start with a reply to Madam Winton."
"These envelopes smell so nice, Professor," Hermione said as she picked up her quill.
The envelopes had been lightly sprayed with a perfume containing trace amounts of a love potion—harmless, but enhancing the fragrance. It was a common trick among high society to maintain charm and enthusiasm among admirers. Naturally, Lockhart wasn't about to explain that to a child.
"Any difficulties with your studies? How are the books I lent you?" Since things had turned out this way, he might as well build goodwill with the heroine's teammate.
"They're very good… but not as good as your adventure stories."
"Haha, is that so? I'm honored to receive such praise from Miss Granger. Now, reply to Sir William next. Your handwriting is quite nice."
"My parents taught me from a young age. My teachers always praise my writing too."
"What do your parents do, Miss Granger?"
"They're both dentists. Professor, do you know what dentists are?"
"Of course—Muggles who treat teeth. I've visited one before as a child. Not exactly a pleasant memory."
"You lived in the Muggle world too? I thought a powerful wizard like you would have grown up entirely among witches and wizards."
Lockhart smiled. "I'm a half-blood. My father was a Muggle noble, my mother a witch. When I first showed magical talent, my mother was overjoyed. But I didn't learn I was a wizard until I was eleven. Before that, I thought I had superpowers—that I was destined to save the world."
"Haha! So even someone as amazing as you was like me when you were young." Hermione immediately felt closer to him.
"In truth, even those so-called 'noble' pure-bloods lived like Muggles as children. Young wizards can't control their magic—teaching them spells too early could be dangerous."
"Hmph, no wonder those Slytherins act so arrogant. They're not that impressive in class either," Hermione said disdainfully.
"Exactly. Compared to blood status, I prefer capable students."
"Professor, I'll definitely study hard!" Hermione said eagerly.
"No need to rush—I believe you," Lockhart replied with an amused look.
The voluntary "detention" continued in a warm and friendly atmosphere. Hermione subtly shifted her chair closer several times, trying to sit nearer to her idol.
When Lockhart looked up, he caught her sneaking glances at him. He smiled, and she immediately blushed and turned away.
Now it was his turn to observe her openly.
Leaning back in his chair, he studied her—fair skin, long straight brows, a small nose, flushed cheeks. Her messy hair detracted from her appearance somewhat, but from an adult's perspective, she was clearly a beauty in the making.
For now, though, she was still just a slightly chubby, adorable young girl.
Lockhart suddenly thought of his previous life—dating someone under fourteen would be a serious crime there.
What am I even thinking? he mocked himself.
Too relaxed, he accidentally let out a chuckle.
Hermione, noticing, became nervous. "Professor… is something wrong? Do I look funny?"
"No, no—I just remembered my first love from school. She was as cute as you."
"Really?" Instead of embarrassment, Hermione looked delighted. "Professor, I'm willing to be your girlfriend."
Lockhart was stunned.
Confessed to… by a thirteen-year-old? Wasn't she supposed to like Ron? Would this mess up the plot?
Just as he scrambled to respond, Hermione burst into laughter.
"Just kidding, Professor!"
The atmosphere turned slightly awkward.
So young, yet already teasing people—this insufferable know-it-all.
"Ahem, Hermione—my first girlfriend didn't have hair as messy as yours. Don't you take care of it?"
"I try, but every time I wake up it's like this again. I've thought about cutting it," she said, tugging at her hair in frustration.
"I have a personal hair-smoothing potion. One moment." Lockhart rummaged through his bag and took out a bottle. He had once considered making a fortune selling conditioner, but the version made with Occamy egg yolk was too expensive and unstable. Still, he used it himself.
"As thanks for helping me with the letters—this is for you. Try to come to class with neater hair next time."
"Wow, thank you, Professor!"
As Lockhart watched her delighted expression, a thought suddenly struck him.
Wait… wasn't Harry supposed to be here tonight? And on his way back, he hears the Basilisk…
Now that Hermione had intervened—would something happen to Harry?
"What's wrong, Professor?"
"Hermione, it's late. I'll walk you back. You can come help me again another time."
"What? It's already eleven?!" Hermione was startled. It was curfew. "No need, Professor—I can go myself."
But Lockhart, worried about Harry, grabbed her hand and hurried out.
In the corridor, they ran into Harry and Ron.
"Good evening, Professor—uh…" Ron froze when he saw Lockhart holding Hermione's hand. She quickly pulled away.
"Ah, Harry, Ron—good, you're both alright. Hermione, head back to your dorm with them."
"What do you mean 'we're alright'? Was he hoping something would happen to us?" Ron grumbled on the way back.
"It's late—Professor was worried about you!" Hermione snapped.
"Hermione, why were you holding Lockhart's hand? Be careful—he might be some kind of creep who likes young girls."
"Don't you dare say that about Professor!" Hermione's face flushed with anger.
Meanwhile, Harry was lost in thought, recalling the mysterious voice he had heard earlier. Was it real… or a warning?
"Shut up, Ron," he said impatiently. "Lockhart's our professor. Show some respect."