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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 167 - Christmas
🕑 Added 2025-05-19 22:49:13 +0000 UTCNews of Lockhart’s arrest spread like a rogue Howler, echoing through the wizarding world as other publications quickly picked up the story and began digging into the Daily Prophet’s exposé, uncovering even more about the fraud behind the fame.
Lockhart may have been a fraud, but he was a popular one—his books had fans across Europe and beyond. So when the truth came out, that his fame was built on stolen achievements and memory charms, the reaction was nothing short of explosive.
His most loyal admirers—those who had never witnessed his bumbling incompetence firsthand like the students of Hogwarts—rushed to defend him. At the same time, there were many who accepted the revelations.
The Daily Prophet’s article hadn’t been based on just mere speculation. Apparently, an anonymous source had sent the newspaper a set of memory vials—drawn directly from Lockhart himself—that revealed exactly how he committed the crimes, using formerly classified and banned spells to attack his many victims.
Though it wasn’t possible to show the memories to the public, the editor did a brilliant job describing—vividly and convincingly—how Lockhart had pulled off the greatest con in modern magical history.
The article also included an interview with a Hogwarts student that further cemented Lockhart’s reputation as the biggest fraud in recent magical memory.
The student, who chose to remain anonymous, claimed the man was a complete amateur—his skills not even on par with a sixth or seventh-year student. Apparently, he couldn’t cast three spells without botching two of them, and even the one that worked fell short of the standard expected from a professor.
From the student's interview, it was clear that the man had no business teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at one of the world’s most prestigious schools, and it begged the question—how could such a renowned institution have such sloppy recruitment protocols?
And finally, the article included testimonies from those close to the victims of Lockhart’s most heinous crimes—victims who were now, tragically, either dead because of him or left with minds shattered beyond repair.
The cases he had claimed as his own weren’t exactly minor, and the journalists managed to track down several individuals who knew, at least in part, what had truly happened. It seemed even Lockhart hadn’t been foolish enough to Obliviate an entire group of people from the same area.
And it wasn’t as if all of them had stayed silent, either. Further investigation revealed that some had, in fact, tried to raise their concerns with the relevant magical authorities—but for some reason, they had been completely ignored and not taken seriously.
This sparked another public uproar over corruption within the magical authorities, and Lockhart’s case quickly became a top priority, forcing the Ministry to handle it far more transparently than most of their other investigations.
And the mastermind behind it all—uncovering Lockhart’s crimes and bringing them to light—was soon revealed to be a pureblood lord from one of the most ancient and noble houses of magical Britain.
Lord Jamison Greengrass’s name became renowned throughout Britain for his great contribution in exposing decades of serial crimes and paving the way to bring justice to all who had suffered, whether greatly or slightly, under Lockhart’s schemes.
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While the magical world buzzed with news of the scandal, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry continued as usual. More than a week had passed since the incident, and although Lockhart’s arrest took place within the very walls of the castle, it did not disrupt the school’s daily schedule in the slightest.
The midterm exams were conducted right on time, with the only exception being changes to the Defence Against the Dark Arts assessment. For that, Dumbledore personally oversaw the evaluations to determine what the students had actually learned over the semester.
Suffice it to say, it was nothing short of an embarrassment. Not for the students, of course, but for Headmaster Dumbledore himself, as he came to the grim realization that, whether inadvertently or due to his own negligence, he had allowed half a year to pass in which the young witches and wizards learned absolutely nothing.
The old wizard could do little to change what had already happened, but he was determined to make it up to the students in the coming semester.
To that end, he personally assured the parents of every witch and wizard at Hogwarts that he would take over as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor himself for the rest of the term.
He had little choice. Finding a competent replacement within just a few weeks was a tall order—and given the position’s infamous reputation for being cursed, even those qualified would likely refuse the offer.
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At last, the term officially ended in the third week of December, and a silence as deep as the snow blanketing the grounds settled over the school. The students—save for a few who chose to remain over the holidays—boarded the Hogwarts Express to spend Christmas with their families and loved ones.
Among the few who stayed behind were the trio of Gryffindors, though not for any reckless mission involving Polyjuice Potion or infiltrating Slytherin. There had been no basilisk attacks this year, no whispers of the “Heir of Slytherin,” and as a result, events had taken a very different course compared to the original story.
Their reason for staying was simple. To practice magic. With the castle nearly empty, they had free reign over the Room of Requirement — dueling, casting spells, and training without the usual stress of classes or crowded corridors.
Over the past couple of weeks, they had followed Maverick’s training routines with steady dedication, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that each of them could now take on their former selves in a one-on-one duel without breaking a sweat.
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Christmas morning arrived, wrapped in a blanket of snow. The castle stood silent and still under the grey sky, and its turrets were frosted while the grounds glistened with fresh powder.
Gryffindor dormitory.
Harry and Ron, the only ones left, were suddenly jolted awake by Hermione, who burst in fully dressed and carrying an armful of presents.
“Wake up!” she said cheerily, pulling the curtains open.
“Hermione... what in Merlin’s name are you doing in the boys’ dormitory?” Ron groaned, shielding his eyes from the light.
“Oh, stop fussing, Ronald. It’s just us here. And Merry Christmas to both of you,” she said, tossing presents onto their beds.
“I also did you the favour of bringing Professor Caesar’s gifts... he sent one for each of us.”
Harry sat up, suddenly alert. “Really?”
“Yes... well, two for you, apparently,” Hermione said with a hint of envy as she moved Scabbers to make room at the foot of Ron’s four-poster. She pulled four neatly wrapped boxes from her enchanted pouch and handed one to Ron and two to Harry.
Ron’s gift was the largest: a flat box roughly a foot square and about ten centimetres tall.
As for Harry, the second package—wrapped in soft paper with a pinkish ribbon—was clearly not from Maverick.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, glancing between Harry and the present. “Harry… are you sure that’s from Professor Caesar?”
“Hmm?” Harry looked up, still staring at the parcel. “Oh—no, that one’s from Sarah... Professor Caesar’s little sister. She’s our age, but she’s not magical.” He paused, debating whether to tell his friends about her unique abilities, then finally decided it was best not to.
“Well, let’s open them together,” he said quickly.
Hermione tilted her head. She was indeed envious, though not in a bitter way. Harry was close to Professor Caesar and his family—something she quietly wished she could share. But she smiled and nodded.
The trio began unwrapping their presents.
Hermione let out a small gasp of delight when she saw her gift: a signed copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander himself.
Ron opened his box to find an exquisite magical chess set, crafted with such detail and polish that it clearly cost a fortune. His jaw dropped.
Harry’s gift from Maverick was also a book. The cover read The Art of Defending One’s Mind.
“Let me see!” Hermione snatched it from him before he could even open it. She flipped to the introduction, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
“This is incredible. I’ve never seen this in the library or in any bookshop.” She looked at Harry with shining eyes. “Can I borrow it for a while?”
Harry scratched the back of his head. “Uh… sure. But let me read it first. You know I’d skip my homework before skipping a book Professor Caesar asks me to read.”
He sighed, though not unhappily. A book again, even as a present. But then his eyes landed on Sarah’s gift, and his mood lifted. He picked it up, feeling the soft shape beneath the wrapping.
“It’s most likely a robe,” Hermione said, poking it with her finger.
“Well, let’s find out.” Harry tore the paper off—and she wasn’t far off.
“A coat?” he murmured, holding it up. It was matte black, simple but stylish, perfectly tailored to his size.
“Well, try it on,” Hermione said.
“Now?” Harry blinked.
Both she and Ron nodded eagerly.
Harry sighed and walked over to the mirror. As soon as he slipped it on, his eyes widened—the coat shimmered and began transforming, morphing as if it were alive.
His pajamas completely vanished, replaced—or rather enveloped—by a sleek black shirt, slim-fitting trousers, and the long coat over it all. One moment he looked like he needed a morning shower, and the next he looked like he belonged in a modern dueling arena.
“Bloody hell, that’s awesome!” Ron shouted, rushing over.
Hermione stepped beside him, her eyes wide. “I must admit, that looks... amazing, Harry.”
“I thought you said she wasn’t magical?” she asked, clearly noting the heavy magical enchantments at work.
Harry shrugged. “She’s not. But Professor Caesar is... and he’s a master alchemist. I guess she asked her brother to enchant it.”
Which, of course, was exactly what had happened.
They spent a few minutes admiring the outfit until Harry suddenly thought of something and tilted his head.
“Uh… can you check the parcel to see if there’s a note where Professor Caesar mentioned how I’m supposed to take this off?”
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Meanwhile, the person in question was currently halfway across the Atlantic, in America, on his way to meet a very special individual.
