The Man Who Had Been Waiting for Half a Month (Please Follow)

Professor Flitwick sat down and beckoned Harry over. "You rely too much on your sword."

"Your tactics were quite clever, and they had some effect, but... you saw the result."

"I didn't even need to think. I didn't have to wonder what you'd do."

"I only had to make sure you couldn't get close to me."

Harry sat down too and nodded in agreement.

Although he'd only taken a potion to change his age and hadn't put on the magic-blocking armor...

Even if he were in his thirties, he'd probably still have a hard time dealing with Flitwick.

Among people who wielded magic, wizards were much harder to deal with than sorcerers. Their unpredictable spells, incredibly fast casting, and combinations of multiple spells made it difficult for him to even get started in a fight—to do what Flitwick had said and get close.

"That's not a bad thing," Flitwick continued. "Lots of wizards can't fight at close quarters, including Dumbledore."

"If you do get close, we're just lambs waiting to be slaughtered."

Harry's expression remained blank. "Then I should hope Professor Snape stuffs a few Bezoars into your heads."

"Snape might be capable of that," Flitwick joked, "but he'd never help you."

"So, Harry, do you know what you should do now?"

Harry looked down at the sword in his hand. "I should get familiar with how wizards fight."

Flitwick clapped his hands. "Exactly!"

"You have an advantage over us."

"In a complicated battle, we have to seize that fleeting opportunity and end things with a single spell!"

"But you're different. As long as you can get close to your opponent, you win."

Harry stood up. "Come on, Professor!"

Flitwick stared at him. "Don't you need to rest first?"

"I'm rested." Harry looked serious.

Flitwick stood as well. "All right, then. Let's continue. This time, we'll try fighting like wizards."

This time, Harry lasted even less long than he had the first.

One Transfiguration Charm turned into a stone statue that seized him and held him fast.

Five minutes later.

"Professor, again!"

Another five minutes later.

"Professor, again!"

"Again!"

"I'm rested. Again!"

They kept going until nightfall.

Harry was still raring to go, full of energy, and making obvious progress. He could now last more than twenty minutes against Flitwick. At their closest, his fist had even swung past Flitwick's nose by a hair.

Flitwick was utterly exhausted.

He looked at Harry, baffled. How could a twelve-year-old wizard have so much energy?

"Professor, let's go again. One last time." Harry reviewed what he'd learned from their last bout and looked at Flitwick, eager to try again. "It really will be the last time."

Flitwick waved a tired hand. "Harry, it's dark already. Let's rest."

This was the seventh time he'd heard Harry say "one last time." He was numb to it by now.

He really couldn't go on.

Harry reluctantly agreed. "Oh, all right."

When Flitwick saw him give in, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Wonderful. I mean... you're only twelve. You need to take care of yourself. Young wizards are still growing."

"Professor, I think I can grow to at least six feet," Harry replied.

Flitwick immediately kicked at him. "You little brat, where are you looking?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Flitwick kicked him again, indignant. "From now on, we'll have a practical lesson like this once a week. The rest of the time, I'll teach you some spells."

"Only once a week?" Harry asked. "Could we do more? At least every other day?"

Flitwick flatly refused. "No. Once a week."

"Every other day, and I'd fall apart."

He'd originally planned to have practical lessons with Harry every other day, just as Harry had. Every expert duelist improved through countless bouts of practice.

But he'd badly underestimated how ravenous Harry was for it.

He couldn't take it. He really couldn't.

Harry agreed reluctantly.

Unlike Professor Flitwick in class, he seemed a little more endearing in private, and not quite so reserved. He didn't teach spells in order, the way Professor McGonagall did, starting with second year and then moving on to third.

His lessons seemed to leap all over the place.

Often, one spell led to a whole string of others.

Aguamenti, for instance, went hand in hand with the Freezing Charm, the Fire-Making Spell, and a whole series of other spells that could form a tactical combination.

Flitwick wasn't just teaching Harry spells. He was also passing on his experience in dueling.

Harry was like a sponge, greedily soaking up all this knowledge. He grew more and more capable, while Professor Flitwick grew more and more haggard.

On the first day of August.

A letter arrived from Hogwarts.

The same old message: school would start on September first, along with the list of books required for second year.

What Harry cared about most was Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd already experienced how much a good professor could help him improve.

Hopefully it wouldn't be someone like Quirrell...

He opened the booklist.

When he saw the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks, he couldn't help staring. There were seven of them—seven books, all by the same author.

Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Lockhart?" Harry furrowed his brow. "Who's he?"

"An ostentatious, arrogant blowhard. I wish I could toss him into Gryffindor," Flitwick said through gritted teeth, gripping his fork and stabbing it hard into a sausage on his plate.

"Professor, Gryffindor doesn't welcome just anyone," Harry said, waving a hand. "Is he that bad?"

Flitwick sighed. "No, his personality is that bad."

"He was a Ravenclaw student. You know how well-behaved the little eagles usually are, but Lockhart was an exception."

"From his first year, he used his good looks to trick third-year girls into doing his homework for him."

"In fifth year, I don't know what excuse he used to persuade the Prefect at the time to beg me to make Lockhart a Prefect."

"He was always bragging about how brilliant he was, but in his O.W.L.s, Charms was the only subject where he scraped an E. He got a P or a D in everything else."

"That was his actual ability! But everyone believed his nonsense about having an upset stomach and performing poorly."

"After he graduated, I thought he'd end up as an ordinary Ministry of Magic employee, or find a job in the Muggle world. He got an O in Muggle Studies, after all."

"But who could've guessed that after graduation, he'd suddenly find his calling? He became a famous author and a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class. I don't even have one!"

"He became a star adored by everyone."

"He did have the right face for it..."

Flitwick went on and on, complaining.

"But Dumbledore invited him to teach," Harry said, tracing a finger along the booklist. "He must have some ability, right?"

"I've never seen him in action," Flitwick said cautiously. "If he really has the skills he describes in his books, then he'd certainly be qualified."

"Books?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Flitwick nodded. "Yes, books. Those seven are all stinkers about how amazing he is. And Harry, you need to be careful around him."

"Me?" Harry asked in surprise. "Another Quirrell?"

"Believe me, you'd rather face Quirrell than Lockhart," Flitwick said, spreading his hands. "He's an ostentatious man."

"And you..."

"Are the brightest star in the entire wizarding world."

The first person who came to Harry's mind was Dandelion—a friend of Geralt's, a bard who'd taken him to the Pink Flamingo to broaden his horizons and, in the process, swindled him out of sixty crowns. He was the biggest womanizer in the city, and possibly the whole country.

By his own boast, he'd had just as many girlfriends as Geralt.

He'd even wanted to tell Harry all about Geralt's love life—the stories of the dozens of girlfriends he'd had besides Triss and Yennefer.

Geralt had ended the conversation by punching Dandelion's head into a mug.

"Maybe people like that aren't bad," Harry said with a shrug. He quite liked Dandelion.

"Maybe," Flitwick said, looking at Harry with pity. "When are you planning to buy your books?"

"In a few days, with Hermione," Harry replied.

Flitwick nodded.

At last, he'd get a day to rest.

"So today, Professor, I'll have to trouble you to work a little harder and teach me more. Make up for the day we missed," Harry said immediately.

Flitwick reluctantly nodded.

August sixteenth.

Diagon Alley.

Hermione was waiting for Harry outside the ice cream shop. When she saw him, she handed him a cup. "How's it going at Professor Flitwick's? You said he was teaching you to duel."

Hedwig flew off Harry's shoulder and landed on Hermione's head, pecking at her.

"Oh, no, Hedwig, spare me! I'll buy you some food in a bit," Hermione pleaded.

Hedwig stamped hard on her head, then tucked in her legs and settled down.

"I've learned a lot," Harry said, licking his ice cream. A chilly sensation spread through his whole body. "Some of it's hard to explain in a letter. We can talk about it at school."

"That's wonderful!" Hermione cheered, carefully rocking her head. "Let's hurry and buy the books. While you were away, I already asked around."

"Professor Lockhart is signing books today. You can get a discount if you buy his."

Harry paused. "A book signing? What a coincidence."

"Don't worry, Professor Lockhart definitely isn't Quirrell. He'll be holding signings at Flourish and Blotts every day from this month until the end of the month. He's actually been doing it for half a month already." Hermione spoke with complete confidence, vouching for Lockhart.

"Since the day we got our owls," Harry said, his suspicion growing stronger.

Hermione froze, sensing that something was off too.

"Come on. Maybe he's waiting for me." Harry set off toward the bookshop.

Hermione followed close behind like a little tail.

Lockhart was very popular. A long line stretched outside the bookshop, and a few Daily Prophet reporters were crowding around him, taking pictures nonstop.

Suddenly—

Harry felt two pairs of eyes settle on him. They weren't hostile; they seemed excited.

They passed the word to those around them, and the message eventually reached Lockhart, who was signing books at the entrance.

The handsome wizard, with a pair of sapphire-blue eyes, immediately looked up and exclaimed, "I can feel the attraction between two outstanding wizards!"

"Is that Harry Potter?"

"Harry Potter, have you come to my book signing too?"