windkaze
patreon
HRA# CHAPTER 159
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 01:13:35 +0000 UTC“Look at Ginny now!” Ron couldn’t help but laugh as he scanned the crowd for his younger sister. “Haha, she looks so nervous!”
“Oh, our dear little Ronnie, there’s no need to mock our sister,” George said, slinging an arm over Ron’s shoulder with mock sincerity. “If we’re being honest, you looked way more nervous than Ginny when you stood up there last year.”
Ron’s laughter died instantly.
What did that mean?
Just like he was chuckling at the new students this year, had the older students been laughing at him last year?
To the disappointment of many upperclassmen hoping for a spectacle, this year’s first-years caused no major commotion, unlike the previous year. There was nothing remotely as thrilling as the infamous train brawl that had set the tone for last term.
For many students, even after graduating from Hogwarts, they’d never forget the chaotic glory of that year when nearly every member of the four houses was hauled off to detention en masse. For several nights, the common rooms were eerily empty, and those who hadn’t been punished felt oddly out of place, like they didn’t belong.
Red-haired Ginny was, unsurprisingly, sorted into Gryffindor. Thanks to the goodwill her older brothers had built up, she received a warm welcome—though, to be fair, Ginny’s own charm as an adorable young witch certainly helped.
Another moment during the Sorting Ceremony that was impossible to ignore was the girl with dark golden-brown hair. It wasn’t her eccentric appearance, which screamed Ravenclaw from a mile away, that drew attention—though the Sorting Hat barely touched her head before bellowing her house’s name. No, it was the pair of horns on her forehead, etched with intricate runes, that made her stand out.
By now, who at Hogwarts didn’t recognize those horns? They were practically synonymous with the Shaman Club and Harry’s apprentice status. So, this new first-year was already Harry’s apprentice before even stepping foot in the castle?
But why Ravenclaw?
Why not Gryffindor?
To wizards accustomed to the rigid house divisions, this felt odd. Harry, however, didn’t think much of it. He waved at Luna in congratulations, and she returned a cheerful wave before settling at the Ravenclaw table.
With Penelope, a fellow shaman apprentice and Ravenclaw prefect, looking after her, Harry wasn’t worried about Luna’s adjustment.
Once the final first-year took their seat at their respective house table, Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the Great Hall fell silent.
“Welcome—and now, eat!” Dumbledore said with his characteristic warm smile, wasting no time on unnecessary speeches. Instantly, the four long tables groaned under the weight of a lavish feast.
Roast beef, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pasties, sausages… the house-elves’ culinary skills were, as always, impeccable. If there was anything to nitpick, it’d be the handful of quintessentially British dishes on the table.
As everyone knew, British food was, frankly, rubbish—even the British themselves avoided it.
Harry polished off four fried sausages before pausing to glance at the staff table. Professor Flitwick seemed to have cracked a joke, making Dumbledore laugh heartily. Even Professor McGonagall, sitting nearby, pressed her lips together in a faint, reluctant smile.
The students weren’t exactly eating quietly. Every so often, someone from one of the four houses would sneak a glance at the staff table—or, more accurately, at Lockhart, who sat at the far end.
The restlessness came mostly from the girls. Not just the second-years and above, who were already familiar with the wizarding world, but even some starry-eyed first-years were buzzing with excitement, whispering about Lockhart to their neighbors. They’d likely read his books and were now brimming with curiosity and admiration for the man.
To be fair, Harry had skimmed a few of Lockhart’s books himself recently—ones the professor had shamelessly pushed on students using his new authority. To his mild surprise, beneath the self-aggrandizing drivel, there was some practical knowledge.
For instance, the books detailed subtle tells that vampires unwittingly revealed, how to deal with a banshee, or how to track a yeti in a snowstorm. These nuggets of wisdom were buried in Lockhart’s swashbuckling tales of adventure.
After realizing this, Harry grudgingly admitted that, setting aside Lockhart’s profiteering, the books could serve as decent textbooks. They covered ways to handle dark magical creatures that posed threats—or even mortal danger—to wizards.
Best of all, the lessons were framed as adventure stories, which young witches and wizards found far more engaging and thought-provoking than dry textbooks.
Even now, during dinner, Harry overheard upperclassmen debating whether Lockhart’s methods for dealing with dark creatures were truly effective or if there were better alternatives.
Well, to be honest, it wasn’t so much a debate about knowledge as it was a clash between genders. Many girls openly admired Lockhart, which sparked resentment among the teenage boys. Unable to openly express their disdain in front of the girls, the boys instead nitpicked flaws in Lockhart’s books.
“They’re just kids,” Harry thought, shaking his head slightly.
To teenagers, catching the attention of the opposite sex was clearly a priority.
Harry didn’t care much about that. What annoyed him was Lockhart’s tendency to gloss over certain details in his books. Each book focused on a specific creature—werewolves, yetis, banshees, ghouls, and so on—and Lockhart described his encounters with them meticulously: how he spotted their weaknesses, confirmed their identities, and ultimately defeated them.
But outside those central narratives, the books were frustratingly vague, especially about the practical details of traveling or adventuring in the wizarding world—details Harry was particularly curious about.
Still, given the books contained valuable knowledge, Harry didn’t share the twins’ outright hostility toward Lockhart. Which brought up a question: why did Lockhart seem to have it out for him?
Despite Lockhart’s cheerful, humorous facade and the fact that he never openly glanced Harry’s way, Harry was certain he felt the man’s gaze flicker toward him repeatedly. It wasn’t his imagination—there was definite hostility.
But why?
Harry couldn’t wrap his head around it.
What had he done to earn such animosity?
He and Lockhart had no bad blood, as far as he knew.
“Hm, I see your knives and forks are back on your plates. Looks like we’re all full,” Dumbledore said, eliciting a ripple of laughter. He clapped his hands again, and the tables instantly cleared, leaving them spotless. The first-years gasped in awe.
“I’m sure you’ve all guessed by now, but yes, we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year,” Dumbledore began, keeping it brief. The students burst into laughter.
Fred and George laughed the loudest, almost as if they wanted Lockhart to hear them.
Lockhart’s face darkened momentarily. As a Hogwarts alumnus himself, he was well aware of the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. How could he not be?
But the expression vanished quickly. Following Dumbledore’s cue, Lockhart rose from the staff table and gave a slight nod to the four house tables in greeting.
“Thank you, Professor Dumbledore, for inviting me to return to my alma mater as a professor after all these years,” Lockhart said brightly. “Allow me to take a moment of your time—after all, it’s not every day you meet a living legend!”
“I, Gilderoy Lockhart, honorary member of the Anti-Dark Magic League, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award—don’t worry, though. Here, I’m simply your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”
He paused deliberately, basking in the gasps of awe—mostly from the girls. The sounds of admiration noticeably lifted his mood. His plan, at least, was proceeding smoothly.
Yes, his plan.
Become a Hogwarts professor—or, more precisely, the professor of the Harry Potter, the boy whose fame was currently unmatched. Survive the year unscathed, leave Hogwarts triumphantly at term’s end, and pen a new book, tentatively titled My Year at Hogwarts Defying the Curse.
Such an achievement would catapult his fame to new heights. But Lockhart was acutely aware of the risks. The curse on the Defense position was growing stronger.
He still vaguely recalled the rumors about the curse from his own Hogwarts days. Back then, the school cycled through Defense professors annually, but those who left merely suffered minor mishaps—a fall, a small accident—that prevented them from continuing. Nothing like now.
Last year’s professor, Quirrell, had been a Death Eater. Worse, he’d died—without even the chance to be carted off to Azkaban!
It was madness.
If he’d had any other choice, Lockhart wouldn’t have touched this job with a ten-foot pole. But he was out of options.
Harry Potter had backed him into a corner.
Fame was a fleeting thing—if you didn’t ride the wave to its peak, you’d be forgotten like a worm in the dirt. Worse, Lockhart had caught wind of someone sniffing around the places he’d visited in the past. Damn it!
He needed more fame, enough to secure a position in the Ministry and turn that fame into tangible power. Only then could he protect himself. But what happened?
He’d pulled strings at the Daily Prophet, risked his life to take the Hogwarts job, and paid a steep price—all to land a front-page headline as the new professor, to maintain his relevance and boost his name. And the result?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
The next day’s headline wasn’t about the great Gilderoy Lockhart becoming a Hogwarts professor. Instead, it was about The Mystery of Magic publishing a new issue after years of silence, solemnly endorsing the existence of elemental magic and championing Harry Potter’s new magical theories.
Even the second page didn’t mention him. It was about the Ministry rushing out a new decree to prevent underage wizards from casting elemental magic during the holidays. What was this nonsense?!
Lockhart had nearly fainted from rage.
No, he had fainted, slumping in his chair for half an hour before recovering.
Clinging to disbelief, he’d donned his robes and visited Diagon Alley and a few well-known wizarding pubs. Everywhere he went, people were arguing and debating Potter’s new magic—elemental magic. Not a single soul mentioned Lockhart, the soon-to-be professor!
They might as well have debated whether Lockhart was qualified for the job. At least that kind of criticism would’ve meant people were paying attention to him, which would’ve been far more bearable.
Lockhart barely remembered sitting back down. The sight of the boy at the Gryffindor table—the one with the scar and the rune-etched horns—made his chest tighten.
Suddenly, Lockhart shivered and whipped his head around to find Snape, dressed in his black robes, staring at him coldly.
“Ah, Snape!” Lockhart forced a cheerful smile. “Are you curious about that exclusive potion recipe I mentioned earlier? No need to be shy—I just happen to know a bit more about Potions than you. If you’d like—”
He trailed off. Snape wasn’t listening. The man stood abruptly, his robes snapping with the motion, nearly whipping Lockhart in the face.
“Well, not everyone’s as generous with their knowledge as I am,” Lockhart said, unfazed, turning to Professor McGonagall with the same easy demeanor.
“Thank you for your kindness, Professor Lockhart,” McGonagall replied icily. “But the feast is over.”
With that, she stood and left the Great Hall without a backward glance.
The students were already filing out, led by their prefects to their respective common rooms. As Lockhart watched the crowd disperse, no matter how many fond memories he’d once had in this castle, returning to Hogwarts now felt anything but pleasant.
By the time the feast ended and Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, he still hadn’t figured out the source of Lockhart’s hostility. It was beyond his understanding of the.
But no matter. If the professor stepped out of line, Harry was confident Dumbledore would have his back.
A new term, new classes, new magic—Harry relished the thrill of learning and growth, and Though he’d already studied far beyond what a second-year should know, Hogwarts’ professors often wove in extra insights not found in textbooks, so he listened attentively.
In their first Charms lesson of the term, Professor Flitwick didn’t introduce anything new. Instead, he checked the students’ summer homework, then announced with a pained expression that the lesson would be spent reviewing last year’s material.
The reason? Most students had spent the summer playing, only cobbling together their assignments at the last minute, forgetting everything they’d learned.
To be fair, Harry thought it wasn’t entirely their fault. Students weren’t allowed to use magic during the holidays, so how were they supposed to practice charms?
Still, rules were rules. After pacing the classroom, Flitwick only smiled at students like Hermione and Harry, who’d retained their knowledge, and beckoned Harry over.
“What’s up, Professor Flitwick?” Harry asked, curious.
Flitwick, a cheerful and approachable wizard, had helped Harry immensely with spellwork, and the two got along well.
“Oh, Harry, still playing humble?” Flitwick said, patting his back (he couldn’t reach higher) with a grin. “Dumbledore’s told us everything and even asked for our opinions.”
“Huh?” Harry was genuinely baffled.
“Huh?” Flitwick mimicked, his grin widening. “Elemental magic, shamanism—before long, I might have to call you Professor Potter.”
Not “Professor Potter” as a playful jab, but a formal title.
“Dumbledore told you?” Harry asked, stunned.
“Not quite,” Flitwick said with a shrug. “He just asked if we’d mind working with a twelve-year-old colleague. That’s all.”
“He didn’t mention your name,” Flitwick added, rolling his eyes. “But who couldn’t guess? From what I’ve heard, the school board approved it—seven votes for, five against. The opposition was fierce, but it passed.”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
