It wasn't long before the heavy door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office was answered.
"Professor Lockhart, are you in?"
Hermione forced her nerves into submission, adopting the persona of a shy, adoring young witch as she offered her greeting.
"Co in, my dear Miss Granger! I was just in the middle of preparing the curriculum for our next lesson."
Lockhart was clutching a copy of Magical . Hermione was certain he would sooner spend the afternoon in hair-rollers than actually prepare a lesson plan.
"Professor, we've ford a small... er, 'support group' just a short distance away. We were hoping you might deign to pay us a visit?" Hermione said, following the script perfectly.
"Ah, my star pupil!" Lockhart offered what he clearly believed was a dazzling smile, before adopting a look of deep, performative contemplation.
Hermione was sure he was about to agree, but she added a final lure: "And Professor... could you perhaps bring at least fifty signed photos? I suspect the group... well, they're quite eager."
The ntion of the photos broke his feigned hesitation instantly.
"Fifty? Thank you for the reminder, my dear Miss Granger. Yes, quite right. A matter of great importance. To be honest, it feels a tad conceited to carry so many, but one day, you'll find yourself in my position—unable to walk ten yards without a stack of glossies." He let out a light, oily chuckle.
"Everyone is so looking forward to seeing you," Hermione added, feeling a wave of nausea that she masked with a bashful look.
"A sha, dear Granger. You really should have co sooner. I'm currently imrsed in the study of an ancient and formidable branch of magic. It is a vital pursuit; after all, my task is to teach you all to defend against the foulest things known to the Wizarding World."
Lockhart offered a theatrical sigh. Hermione felt a prickle of cold sweat on the back of her neck.
How could I have forgotten? she thought frantically.
Tomorrow was the weekend—the day of the Duelling Club. Professor Snape's temper had been legendary lately, and he had been making Lockhart's life a living hell during the demonstrations. Lockhart was clearly looking for any excuse to hide! She had practically handed him the perfect "urgent research" alibi on a silver platter.
"Oh... I see. Well, I'll explain it to the others. I'm sure they'll understand..." Hermione said, her voice dripping with feigned disappointnt while her heart sank into her boots.
The plan was going to be delayed. She knew Lockhart would agree eventually after the weekend, but they had to find a way to preserve the Veritaserum. She'd have to ask Sean for help.
"Tell him about the book."
A voice, low and controlled by a localized silencing charm, whispered in her ear. It was so focused that only she could hear it.
Are you sure, Sean? Hermione thought, whispering the question under the guise of a disappointed sigh.
"Mmm," ca the faint reply.
"I understand," Hermione murmured.
As Lockhart watched her with a patronizing look, Hermione suddenly looked up, her expression one of acute regret.
"That truly is a tragedy, Professor. We went through so much trouble to invite Mr. Hers to the eting."
"Mr. who?" Lockhart asked, blinking.
"Mr. Hers. The International Alchemical Association has requested that he publish a definitive text on his research, and he finally agreed to our invitation because he wanted to ask your advice on how to write a bestseller. He was quite looking forward to learning from a master of the craft—"
Hermione let out a heavy sigh and watched Lockhart out of the corner of her eye.
"What did you say?"
Lockhart was on his feet in an instant.
"The gentleman sent us an owl this morning. See? He even included these." Hermione produced a small tin of biscuits; the cat-shaped treats on the lid were letting out a series of rhythmic, enticing purrs.
"Oh, well—naturally! Of course he should consult ! Six months at the top of the bestseller list! An unprecedented achievent! I must go, I must go..."
Lockhart began pacing the Defense classroom. Six months ago, Dumbledore had approached him with the job offer, hinting that teaching Harry Potter would boost his popularity to even greater heights. He had taken the job without looking back. Now, another opportunity had manifested.
He had thought being Harry's teacher was his ticket to eternal fa, but the chance to ntor the mysterious "Mr. Hers"? To potentially be featured on a Chocolate Frog card as "ntor to the Sage"?
I can see the headlines already, he thought, a grandiose smile spreading across his face.
"Naturally, I must offer him my guidance. It is my duty. Only I possess the necessary experience. Now, my brilliant Miss Granger, lead the way! Where is my... er, 'support group' waiting?"
The corridors were quiet in the deepening twilight. Usually, the only activity at this hour ca from the Hogwarts Kneazle Society. As they passed the "Lucky Statue," they saw several younger students leaving offerings of dried fish and whispering prayers.
Hermione noted that the offerings always vanished by the next morning. She had once spotted Mrs. Norris in a nearby alcove, unashadly feasting on the jerky. Filch's cat had grown noticeably rounder over the last month, shifting from skeletal to a very healthy, nearly plump weight.
Hannah Abbott, the driving force behind the feedings, didn't seem to mind at all. "Mrs. Norris is a servant of the castle," she had told Hermione with shining eyes. "And the castle is the Guardian. We shouldn't interrupt the creature's holy al."
Hermione figured the students were at least performing a daily act of kindness, so she didn't interfere.
They climbed several flights of stairs until they reached the tapestry of Barnaby the Barmy being clubbed by trolls. Lockhart looked left and right, his brow furrowed.
"I don't see any gathering, Hermione."
"One mont, Professor," Hermione said quickly.
She walked past the stretch of blank wall three tis, her heart beginning to hamr against her ribs. As the smooth wooden door manifested in the stone, she felt her hands begin to shake.
What if Justin isn't ready?
What if he misses the target?
What if Lockhart is faster than he looks?
She took a long, steadying breath, her gaze sharpening until she looked remarkably like Professor McGonagall.
"Everyone is waiting inside, Mr. Hers included. Please, Professor—after you."
[End of Chapter 423]
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