Professor Lockhart's Little Secret

Because Professor Lockhart was lying in the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey's "careful" treatment, none of the many absurd and ridiculous events from the original story took place on Valentine's Day, February 14.

Still, the school made a bit of an effort. Early that morning, the young wizards and witches entering the Great Hall for breakfast were surprised to find pale gold ribbons arranged around the hall by the professors. Colorful confetti drifted slowly down from the light blue ceiling, while little Cupids with pure white wings stood at the castle entrance, smiling as they gave every person coming and going a bright red rose.

When Harry and Ron pretended nothing was amiss and presented the roses in their hands to Hermione together, Hermione, who had been gloomy all night, finally broke into a smile.

There was not much to say about this day. No topic could draw more attention on Valentine's Day than innocent, youthful love. Hermione did not mention anything about studying, and even when Wood came toward them from the courtyard and saw Harry, he said nothing about matches or training plans.

Most of the third-years and above had gone to Hogsmeade, leaving only first- and second-year students on the flat lawn prepared for flying lessons.

Basking in the gentle sunlight, the three of them played Wizard Chess on the lawn all morning. After lunch, Harry and Ron decided to visit Hagrid, while Hermione tucked the card she had made herself into her pocket and went alone to the Hospital Wing.

At two in the afternoon, as previously agreed, Hermione hurried to the third floor of the castle and knocked on a professor's office door.

"Come in—"

The voice from behind the door sounded tired. Hermione did not think much of it and pushed the door open.

In Professor Lockhart's office, the portraits and photographs that had originally covered the walls had been gathered up and piled in a corner. Professor Breen sat in Lockhart's seat, turned sideways toward the window, sighing at the owls that occasionally flew in to deliver letters. In the middle of the office floor lay perhaps one or two thousand such letters!

"I never knew Professor Lockhart had so many fans!"

Amosta sat behind the desk with an expression as though he had a toothache.

"If I'd known earlier, I would rather have helped Professor Snape deal with frog guts and slug mucus than agree to write replies for him!"

"But aren't you Professor Lockhart's fan, Professor Breen? You should know how influential Professor Lockhart is!"

Hermione's eyes were still a little red from her visit to the Hospital Wing, but when she saw Professor Breen sitting there with such a melancholy expression, she could not help pressing her lips together in secret.

"Don't mention it, Miss Granger!"

Amosta suddenly flicked his wand. The thousands of letters on the floor rose into the air and formed a white tornado, then restacked themselves neatly on the floor one by one. When the final letter found its place, a "pillar of letters" as high as the ceiling stood in the office!

"I don't want to take advantage of you, Miss Granger. Half each. Let's hope we can finish by dinner tomorrow."

Amosta, who had spent nearly the entire night in the library's Restricted Section, rubbed his swollen red eyes and said with a yawn.

And so the most arduous work began. Amosta and Hermione leaned over opposite sides of the desk and started dealing with the "pillar of letters." To be honest, replying to Lockhart's letters was among the most boring things Amosta had encountered in years. The contents were all much the same—either nauseating flattery, requests for signed photographs, or demands for the next book.

In short, writing replies to Professor Lockhart's fans was terribly tedious. Amosta barely wrote more than ten words in each letter, but even so, after an hour, he could not take it anymore.

Hermione, seated opposite him, had a completely different attitude. She seemed to think that helping Professor Lockhart write replies was a rare honor, so she carefully read every letter and wrote each response with equal care.

Time slowly passed. Two hours later, Hermione looked back at the "pillar of letters," which had shrunk by no more than a third, and rubbed her aching wrist. Then she looked at Professor Breen and found that he was not replying to any letters at all. Instead, he was leaning back in his armchair, staring blankly at the ceiling in utter boredom.

"Professor Breen, we promised Professor Lockhart we would help!"

With her lips pressed together, Hermione looked exactly like Professor McGonagall as she called out in dissatisfaction.

Thus, under Hermione's supervision, Amosta began dealing with the fan letters again with a deadened expression. This time, Miss Granger lifted her head every so often to check whether he was working seriously, leaving Amosta no chance to slack off.

Amosta and Hermione had dinner in the office. If he wanted to save time, Breen could simply have ordered the House-elves to bring it over, but in order to rest a little longer, he chose to make the trip to the Great Hall himself to fetch the food.

"Professor Breen—"

While they ate, Hermione was no longer reading the letters. She chewed her steak slowly, secretly studying Professor Breen beneath the lamplight out of the corner of her eye. His light violet eyes seemed to conceal unfathomable magic, and for some reason, her heart suddenly skipped a few beats.

"About what you said to me in the library last week—"

"Hm?"

Amosta kept his head lowered as he dealt with the food on his plate, responding only with a nasal sound. After swallowing, he looked at Hermione, whose cheeks were slightly flushed.

"Did it give you some insight, Miss Granger?"

Hermione did not speak, because she did not know how to describe the faint loneliness in her heart. After a long while, under Amosta's gentle gaze, she nodded hesitantly.

"The strong are always lonely, Miss Granger. But life itself is ultimately lonely as well. Other than ideals and conviction, every person and thing we encounter on the road toward our end can only accompany us for a time. Once you understand that, there is nothing to feel lost over."

Amosta's calm words not only failed to answer the little witch's confusion, but instead plunged her into even greater unease.

After dinner, Amosta entered a state of complete idleness. No matter how angrily Miss Granger glared at him, he sprawled in his chair as though he did not care, his bored gaze wandering everywhere.

Lockhart's desk was filled with his books published by various publishers. Beneath several autobiographies in the upper left corner lay the Ancient Wizard Research Manuscripts on Memory Magic that Amosta had happened to glimpse during his last visit. To be honest, they were extremely precious items. If they had been Amosta's, he would certainly have kept them close at hand rather than tossing them about carelessly as Lockhart did.

Though he dearly wanted to take them out and study them, his most basic moral standards forced Amosta to abandon the thought.

On the right side of the desk was another thick stack of manuscripts. When he had first entered the office, Amosta had glanced at them twice. They seemed to be Professor Lockhart's unpublished new book, titled A Year Living with the Somerset Giant.

"Tsk, tsk. Quite the heavy taste."

Out of boredom, Amosta picked up the manuscript. Compared to the Ancient Wizard Research Manuscripts, this was far less taboo.

Candlelight flickered as the faintly cool evening breeze softly tapped against the glass. The office was quiet, filled only with the rustling of a quill rapidly scraping across parchment and the sound of pages turning.

After an unknown amount of time, Hermione, who had been working with her head down, suddenly frowned. For no apparent reason, she sensed a trace of chill. She looked up abruptly and searched around, only to discover that the source of the icy feeling was the cold smile at the corner of Amosta's mouth as he focused on reading the manuscript.

"Professor—"

After hesitating for a moment, Hermione finally opened her mouth and asked carefully, "What are you reading?"

"Professor Lockhart's manuscript for his new book. It records how he 'unearthed' this story. I have to say, it's very interesting—"

Didn't Professor Lockhart's books all record his own personal experiences? Why had Professor Breen used the word "unearthed"?

And besides, wasn't it improper for a professor to read Professor Lockhart's private manuscript without permission?

Before Hermione could ask, Amosta slapped the manuscript onto the desk. His calm voice carried an authority that brooked no refusal.

"We'll stop here for today, Miss Granger. Go back and rest."

Watching Hermione leave through the closed door, still looking utterly confused, Amosta's eyes flashed with sympathy. When Professor Lockhart's reputation was ruined one day, Miss Granger would probably be mortified that she had once admired such human scum.

Amosta rose to his feet and sharply swung his wand. The closed drawers beneath the desk and the suitcases arranged along the wall all flew open at once. Hidden stacks of manuscripts flew in from every direction to Amosta's side. They stood upright in midair, their pages slowly turning one by one to reveal the unknown secrets they recorded—secrets so heinous they could never be forgiven.

"Hmph—"

After swiftly reading through all the manuscripts, Amosta gave a cold snort. He looked toward the framed picture on the tea table. The wizard in the frame no longer wore his radiant smile. Instead, he cowered in one corner of the frame, staring at Amosta in terror and trembling from head to toe.

"You've got some nerve, Professor Lockhart. I'm impressed—"

Standing alone in the office, Amosta murmured with a soft laugh.