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Chapter 63: The Perils of Fame
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 13:33:28 +0000 UTC"Harry! Hermione!"
Molly Weasley's voice, sharp with a frantic relief, cut through the bustling noise of Diagon Alley. The moment she saw them emerge from the shadowed entrance to Knockturn Alley, she was upon them, her warm, maternal presence a whirlwind of fussing and fretting.
"Oh, thank heavens! We were so worried! I thought we'd lost you both!"
"We found him, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said calmly.
Harry, who had just witnessed his best friend effortlessly blackmail a purveyor of dark artifacts, just nodded dumbly.
Molly's attention, however, was now laser-focused on Hermione. "And you, young lady!" she said, pulling Hermione into a tight, suffocating hug. "Going into a place like that all by yourself! A sweet little girl like you, all alone in that den of thieves and dark wizards! You must have been terrified! You poor, brave little dear."
Harry and Ron exchanged a look over Molly's shoulder, a silent, mutual understanding passing between them. Terrified? Harry thought. I think the dark wizards were the ones who should have been terrified. Borgin and Burkes, he was certain, would have a very different opinion on who the real predator in Knockturn Alley was.
But Molly, it seemed, had a permanent filter when it came to Hermione. She saw a small, pretty, and brilliant girl, and her mind simply refused to compute the cold, ruthless, and terrifyingly powerful reality that lay beneath.
After Molly had thoroughly tortured Hermione with affection, she finally released her. On the way to the bookstore, Hermione noticed Ginny's face was still smudged with soot from their chaotic trip through the Floo Network. She pulled out a clean handkerchief.
"Aguamenti," she whispered, and a small, clean stream of water flowed from the tip of her wand, soaking the cloth. She gently began to wipe the grime from Ginny's cheeks.
Ginny started, surprised by the sudden, kind gesture, but stood perfectly still, a light blush on her face.
"There," Hermione said, finishing her work. "Much better. You looked like you'd just come out of a coal mine."
The small act of kindness seemed to break the last of Ginny's shyness. The two girls, the quiet, star-struck fan and the strange, otherworldly genius, had found a small patch of common ground.
When they arrived at Flourish and Blotts, the bookstore was a madhouse. The air was hot, stuffy, and thick with the scent of old paper and cheap perfume. A massive crowd was packed inside, all pushing and shoving to get a better view of a large stage set up at the back of the shop.
"What's all this about?" Harry asked, trying to see over the heads of the crowd.
"Gilderoy Lockhart!" Molly squealed, her eyes shining with the light of a true fangirl. "It's his book signing!"
Harry and Ron exchanged a blank look. Who?
On the cover of a stack of books near the entrance was the smiling, impossibly handsome face of a man with wavy blond hair and teeth that gleamed with a magical, toothpaste-ad perfection. The title of the book was Magical Me.
On the stage, the man himself was preening for the cameras, his robes a garish shade of forget-me-not blue. He flashed his signature, thousand-watt smile, occasionally striking a dramatic pose for the furiously flashing cameras of the press.
Suddenly, his eyes scanned the crowd and lit up as if he'd just discovered a Galleon on the floor. "It can't be," he boomed, his voice magically amplified. "Is that… Harry Potter?"
Before Harry could react, before he could dive for cover, Lockhart had leaped from the stage, plunged into the crowd, and grabbed him by the arm. He was dragged through the throng of people and forcibly pulled up onto the stage, the sudden volley of flashbulbs blinding him.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lockhart announced grandly, his arm clamped firmly around Harry's shoulders. "What a moment! The famous Harry Potter, come to buy my autobiography!" He leaned in and whispered in Harry's ear, his breath smelling of mint and self-satisfaction. "Smile, Harry. Together, you and I are worth the front page."
Harry, trapped and humiliated, could only manage an awkward, painful grimace.
"And in a spot of other news," Lockhart boomed, "it is my distinct pleasure to announce that, at the special request of Headmaster Dumbledore, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts this year!"
A horrified groan went through Ron. "No way," he muttered. "He's our new teacher? Hermione, did you hear… where'd she go?" He looked around, but Hermione had vanished.
Lockhart, however, had excellent hearing. "Hermione? Did you say Hermione Granger?" His eyes scanned the crowd again, and a look of pure, ecstatic joy spread across his face. This was a publicity goldmine. "The girl who defeated Quirinus Quirrell? The genius of her generation? Is she here?"
Following Ron's gaze, he spotted her, trying to hide behind a towering stack of Advanced Potion-Making.
"Miss Granger!" he called out, waving her over. "Don't be shy! Come, come! A photo of the three of us! It will be a picture for the ages!"
Hermione stepped out from behind the books, her expression unreadable. "My apologies, Professor," she said, her voice calm and clear. "But I am… camera-phobic. I have a severe, violent, and magically unstable reaction to flash photography." She leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "The last time someone surprised me with a flash, I accidentally transfigured their camera into a rather aggressive badger. It was a terrible mess. I wouldn't want to disrupt your book signing."
The veiled threat, delivered with a sweet, apologetic smile, was a masterpiece. Lockhart, seeing the potential for a badger-related incident to derail his perfect day, immediately backtracked. "Ah, a pity," he said, though for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of what looked like profound pity in her eyes as she looked at him.
After what felt like an eternity, Lockhart finally released Harry. Exhausted and disoriented, Harry stumbled off the stage and, in his haste to escape, ran directly into Draco Malfoy.
"You must love this, don't you, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, his voice dripping with a familiar, envious venom. "Can't even go into a bookstore without making the front page."
"Leave him alone!" a fierce voice suddenly shouted. Ginny Weasley had stepped forward, her shyness completely gone, replaced by a fiery, protective glare.
Malfoy was about to retort with a sneer of his own when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. He froze. He knew that touch. A cold, primal terror, a memory of darkness and gunfire and a grinning, merciless face, seized him. He turned his head with the stiff, slow movement of a man facing his own executioner.
Hermione was standing right behind him, a pleasant, friendly smile on her face.
"Dra-co," she said, her voice soft and gentle. He flinched as if she had screamed. His heart hammered against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat.
Oh, no, he thought, his mind a whirlwind of panic. It's a flashback. The forest. The monster. The gun. Her kind smile was, at that moment, the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.
Hermione, however, was completely oblivious to his internal crisis. Poor boy, she thought, seeing his pale face and wide, terrified eyes. He's just jealous of Harry. He wants to be famous, too. It was a rare, and spectacular, misreading of the situation.
"Don't be so upset," she said, her voice full of a gentle, misplaced kindness. "If you want a picture with Professor Lockhart, I can arrange it for you. He's a very important man. It would be a great honor."
Malfoy just stared at her, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. Her kindness felt like a threat. A terrifying, sadistic game that he didn't understand.
"Wait right here," she said, and before he could protest, she had walked over to Lockhart and was whispering something in his ear. Lockhart's eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly.
She returned to the still-frozen Malfoy. "It's all set," she said cheerfully. "The moment he heard you were the heir to the noble Malfoy family, he was thrilled to take a photo with you." She gestured to the stage.
Malfoy didn't move.
Hermione frowned, genuinely confused now. "Well?" she asked. "Are you going, or not?"
