As a man with a refined lifestyle, Gilderoy Lockhart, even as a professor at Hogwarts, refused to use the items left behind by his predecessors. Instead, he brought his own furniture—everything from carpets to chandeliers was personally selected by him.
As for the cabinets and miscellaneous junk left by previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors... Lockhart found many of them so repulsive they gave him goosebumps. He didn't bother examining them closely and had them piled up in a corner, never suspecting he might have overlooked such an exquisite piece of jewelry.
"It does look quite valuable," Harry remarked, appraising the headpiece. If nothing else, the massive gem in the center was impressive.
Last year, when Quirrell was still around, Harry had seen this headpiece a few times in this very office. It showed no traces of dark magic, which made sense—Dumbledore himself had inspected Quirrell's belongings. Anything left behind and passed on to the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was, by that fact alone, deemed safe.
"Hahahahaha!" Lockhart laughed heartily, posing in front of a mirror, adjusting angles to find the perfect stance for a photograph with the headpiece.
Utterly exasperated by the man's narcissism, Harry lowered his gaze to the lesson plan in his hands.
At first glance—no, first sniff—he was hit by an overpowering wave of men's cologne. Even more absurdly, the parchment's edges were adorned with silhouettes of Lockhart's profile.
Imagining Professor McGonagall's perspective, Harry was certain the stern professor wouldn't approve of this flamboyant parchment.
"The Adorable Threat of Cornish Pixies"
"...Objective: Master Gilderoy Lockhart's 'Dangerous Creature Taming Technique' as taught in Magical Me..."
"...Experience the mischievous psychology of pixies firsthand (accompanied by a photograph of Lockhart smiling, surrounded by a gaggle of hideous pixies)..."
"...Practice transcribing Lockhart's Anti-Pixie Charm with a quill..."
"..."
Harry silently placed the lesson plan back on the desk.
He couldn't fathom it—he genuinely couldn't!
Especially that so-called Anti-Pixie Charm. Wasn't it just Lockhart's florid signature in disguise?
Honestly, Harry felt a pang of sympathy for Professor McGonagall. Though Lockhart had expressed dissatisfaction with the lesson plan Harry had just seen, Harry was certain, even without thinking too hard, that whatever Lockhart submitted wouldn't meet McGonagall's standards.
No wonder the venerable professor seemed to hold her breath whenever Lockhart's name came up.
Harry was already regretting his decision to seek Lockhart's advice.
"Thank you for the lesson plan, Professor Lockhart," Harry said flatly, heading for the door. "I know what to do now. Goodbye."
"Like that? Glad I could help, Harry!" Lockhart called after him cheerfully. "Don't forget what I said—if you have any questions, come straight to me!"
To Harry's surprise, Lockhart didn't follow him or continue spouting thinly veiled self-praise as he left. The door closed behind him, and Harry felt a wave of relief, as if he'd just navigated a goblin den and managed to keep his wallet intact.
No further mishaps occurred, and Harry made it back to the Gryffindor common room smoothly. Hermione was reading by the fireplace, while Ron and Neville were engrossed in a game of wizard chess.
"You're back, Harry?" Neville's face, previously a bit glum, lit up when he spotted Harry. He swept the chess pieces off the board, stood, and dragged a chair over for Harry. "Come, sit!"
"Hey, Neville?!" Ron gaped at the scattered chess pieces. "You can't do that! That's cheating!"
"Ch-cheating? How's that cheating?" Neville stammered, his face reddening. "I conceded! Besides, Harry's back—aren't you curious about what the professor said?"
"So, Harry, what did Professor McGonagall say?" Hermione asked eagerly, setting her book aside. "The schedules are out already. When's your class slotted?"
"There'll probably be a new schedule soon," Harry replied. "But that's not the main issue. I need your help, Hermione."
"What kind of help?" Hermione said, rubbing her hands together confidently. "Leave it all to me!"
"Remember the notes you took during the club lessons?" Harry explained. "The shaman class needs its own textbook. I'd like you to help organize them into a beginner-friendly book, sorted by difficulty."
"Ron, Neville, you two need to pitch in as well. The book should cover the duties, mission, and tenets of a shaman, plus your personal experiences and feelings when you first connected with the earth element."
"No problem!" Ron thumped his chest. "I may be new to being a shaman, but after drinking Spirit Bond potion so many times, no one knows better than me what it feels like to connect with the elements!"
It was a bit like slaughtering a pig with a dull knife—painfully clear and meticulously felt.
"Don't worry, Harry. We'll ask the other apprentices for their input too," Hermione said, her curiosity piqued. "But will the book only cover connecting with the earth element?"
"For a beginner's textbook, yes. It's about introducing what a shaman is. Connecting with the earth element is just an appetizer for novices," Harry said.
"So, this is for first-years?" Hermione nodded. "What about the other six years?"
"That's the thing…" Harry hesitated. "Given the unique requirements for becoming a shaman, I'm not dividing classes by year."
"What's that mean?" Ron asked, puzzled.
"I mean I'll divide them by learning stage," Harry clarified. "This beginner's textbook will be used for everyone—first-years to seventh-years—who hasn't yet connected with a second element. They'll all be in one class."
"Then, those who've mastered all four elements will be in another class. Those beginning to explore the truth of the elements or the spirits will be in a third class. I plan to offer only these three courses, and I'll write the corresponding textbooks as soon as I can."
At the thought, Harry felt a headache brewing.
The beginner's textbook could at least be adapted from Hermione's notes on his lessons, but the other two? They didn't even exist yet. Hermione couldn't help with those—Harry would have to write them himself.
He hadn't realized how troublesome being a professor in this world would be. Back in Azeroth, he'd seen elder shamans train apprentices. There were no formal classes—just apprentices following their mentors, learning by observation. At most, the mentor taught a few spells or answered questions. The rest? The elements and spirits spoke for themselves.
Unfortunately, the elements and spirits of this world weren't so talkative.
"So, three books in total," Ron said, counting on his fingers. "Does that mean future students will have to buy these three books at Flourish and Blotts?"
The idea that a textbook for new students would be co-authored by him made Ron giddy with excitement. He could already imagine bragging to Fred and George.
"Not just three," Harry sighed heavily. "I also need to write two manuals—one for Elemental Tongue and one for Taur-ahe. Ugh."
"Pfft!" Hermione burst out laughing at Harry's rare look of misery. "So, future shaman students will need to buy at least five books?"
"Yeah!" Ron's eyes widened in realization. "Lockhart makes everyone buy seven books, but Harry's only at five. Still got a ways to go!"
Harry: "…"
Hold on a second.
Hermione was no longer just suppressing a smile—she was biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud.
"It's not the same, Ron," Neville said, scratching his head. "Lockhart's selling seven books to every student in every year. Harry doesn't have that many apprentices."
Harry: "…"
Neville, you're not helping.
"Pfft, hahahahaha!"
Hermione couldn't hold it in anymore. She doubled over, clutching her stomach, laughing so hard she buried her face in the table, her shoulders shaking. Every now and then, a stifled giggle escaped.
"…Go on, laugh it up," Harry sighed, half-mocking himself. "I was poking fun at Lockhart before, and now I'm no better than him."
"Hahahahaha!"
This time, it wasn't just Hermione. Ron and Neville joined in, roaring with laughter.
Having stayed at the Burrow, they all knew Fred and George's vendetta against Lockhart—especially over those seven books. The twins had found the perfect shield: whenever Mrs. Weasley mentioned Lockhart with reverence, Fred and George would chime in with "seven books" or "that professor," and soon enough, Mrs. Weasley dropped the subject.
Even the copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests on the Burrow's mantel had vanished. No one knew where it went—probably not thrown out, since the methods in it were actually useful.
"I can't—hahaha!" Ron gasped between laughs. "I can't wait to see Fred and George's faces when they hear this—hahahaha!"
The twins had been plotting against Lockhart since the opening feast, seeking revenge for the seven books. Quite a few others were eager to join in. For the first day of term to see students conspiring to prank a professor? That was a first.
But none of that concerned Harry. He could already tell this week was going to be hectic.
The next day, Harry delivered his written list and lesson plan to Professor McGonagall's office. The list was modest, requesting only a plot of land, and he explained his unique student division, distinct from other professors.
"…There shouldn't be any issues. Professor Dumbledore won't object to such a minor matter," McGonagall said after a thoughtful pause, her brow furrowed. "But, Harry, have you considered the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams?"
The Ordinary Wizarding Level (O.W.L.) exams, taken by fifth-years, were administered by the Wizarding Examinations Authority. Passing students earned a certificate. The Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests (N.E.W.T.s), taken by seventh-years, were more specialized and demanding.
These exams directly impacted graduates' job prospects. Higher scores and more subjects passed meant better opportunities.
"If I recall correctly, becoming a shaman requires connecting with the elements?" McGonagall asked.
"Yes, and that's another thing I wanted to request. Like last year, I'd like students interested in becoming shamans to try again," Harry said. "As the elements in the environment grow stronger, connecting with them will become easier."
"So, even a seventh-year who's never seen an element could become a shaman after drinking—what's it called, Earth Spirit Bond potion?" McGonagall asked.
"Yes," Harry admitted, a bit helplessly.
"And how do you plan to handle that?" McGonagall's tone grew stern. "If a seventh-year starts learning now, what about their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s? And what are the career prospects for this course? The Ministry, Gringotts—many jobs require specific exam results."
"You're a professor now, Harry. The leniency afforded to students no longer applies. As deputy headmistress, I'll hold you to a professor's standards and expect you to act accordingly," she continued. "You need to plan for these things. This weekend, the heads of houses will guide fifth-years on career paths, and we know little about shamans."
"…I understand," Harry nodded. "My current plan is that seventh-years who connect with an element and wish to pursue the shaman path will have to live in Hogsmeade, covering their own expenses, and study with me daily."
Graduated students couldn't stay at Hogwarts.
"As for employment, there's no need to worry. You know my goals, Professor. These shaman apprentices will have plenty to do. I plan to establish an organization called the Earthen Ring, dedicated to restoring the elements. They'll be paid salaries."
Salaries. Galleons. Another headache for Harry. The Potter family fortune he'd inherited wasn't enough to sustain an organization, even with his share of the Glimmering Potion profits.
"The Earthen Ring?" McGonagall said, surprised. "You'll pay them?"
"Only shamans I deem strong enough to independently contribute to elemental restoration," Harry clarified.
"That's quite promising," McGonagall said reassuringly.
"And elemental magic is unlike traditional magic. As the elements grow stronger, the Ministry will likely create a new department to address it. Graduates could work there," Harry added. "As for exams, I'll discuss with Madam Marchbanks at the Wizarding Examinations Authority to see if we can arrange separate tests."
"Madam Marchbanks?" McGonagall nodded. "That's reasonable. Since this is a new course, exams can wait—but don't forget, Harry. This affects students' futures."
"I understand," Harry said gravely.
Hogwarts professors enjoyed legal privileges and benefits, but their responsibilities were immense. As deputy headmistress, McGonagall's concerns were understandable.
As Harry left the Transfiguration office, he glimpsed a parchment under McGonagall's desk. A faint outline of Lockhart waved cheerily from it. Clearly, that lesson plan had found its most fitting use.
A small victory.
Though it was only the first week of term, to the other Gryffindors, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville seemed to be in the frantic state of the week before final exams. It was a grind.
Even Ron, usually a gossip, kept quiet this time. Until Thursday morning at breakfast, when owls swooped into the Great Hall.
"Harry Potter, Hogwarts' youngest professor?!"
No one needed to turn to know the incredulous shout came from the Slytherin table.
Almost instantly, every pair of eyes in the hall locked onto Harry. Ron, meanwhile, was grinning so widely his smile nearly split his face, looking prouder than Harry himself.
That morning's Daily Prophet front page announced Hogwarts' hiring of Harry Potter as a professor.
Thanks to recent Daily Prophet articles, the wizarding public was now familiar with elements as a fundamental substance. Today's issue, penned by Rita Skeeter, emphasized the necessity of Hogwarts updating its curriculum. She'd written at length.
No one had the appetite for breakfast anymore. The hall buzzed with whispers as students discussed, occasionally glancing at Harry and pointing.
Gryffindors were far less subtle. Fred and George Weasley had already flanked Harry, one on each side, accusing him of keeping such a big secret from them.
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