Summer was ending, and for once, Harry was excited. Not just because he was going back to Hogwarts, but because he had made a huge discovery—he could kill the space between himself and an object, effectively teleporting. No incantations, no wand movements, no reliance on wizarding magic. It was his ability, and he could use it anywhere, even at Hogwarts, where normal teleportation was restricted.
He had tested it throughout the summer, first with small jumps around his room, then across the entire house, and finally, he teleported straight from his bed to the backyard without even thinking about it. It was instantaneous and effortless, and the best part? No one could track it. No pop of Apparition, no distortion of magic—it just was.
"Man, I love being me," Harry muttered with a grin as he packed for his second year.
His trunk, already full of new books and supplies, was too bulky to carry around, but a simple solution presented itself—shrink it all down and store it in a necklace. The sleek silver chain hung around his neck, a simple pendant holding everything he needed for the year.
With that done, he set off to Diagon Alley.
Flourish and Blotts was packed when he arrived. Crowds swarmed the bookstore, excited whispers filling the air. At first, Harry thought there was some special event—until he saw the reason.
A large sign read:
MEET GILDEROY LOCKHART, FIVE-TIME WINNER OF WITCH WEEKLY'S MOST CHARMING SMILE AWARD!
Harry barely had time to process it before a swarm of people suddenly turned towards him. A blur of blue robes and golden hair materialized, and before Harry could react, he was yanked forward, cameras flashing wildly.
"Ah-ha! There he is! The one and only, Harry Potter!"
Harry blinked, caught off guard as the man wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"What a momentous occasion! The world's most famous young wizard and Britain's most celebrated magical hero, together at last!" Lockhart declared, beaming like he'd just won the lottery.
Harry had never met someone more annoying in his life.
Scratch that—he'd never met someone so shamelessly self-obsessed.
He could practically hear the clicks of the cameras as Lockhart grinned, holding up a full set of his books.
"Ladies and gentlemen! In honor of this spectacular meeting, I shall personally gift young Harry here my entire collected works!"
The crowd oohed and ahhed at the performance.
Harry, on the other hand, felt his eye twitch. This dude wasn't trying to use him for politics—he was way too stupid for that—but he was absolutely trying to leech off his fame.
Yeah, no.
Before Lockhart could keep the charade going, Harry subtly twisted reality—just a little bit—and made Lockhart think that Harry had come up to him for a picture. The effect was immediate.
The way the man's face lit up, the smugness in his eyes—it was priceless.
Harry almost burst out laughing, but he kept his expression neutral. To everyone else, it looked the same—Lockhart was playing the hero, and Harry was just another starstruck fan. But Harry knew the truth, and that made it hilarious.
With a quiet Notice-Me-Not charm, he slipped away, leaving Lockhart basking in his own delusion.
Finally, with all his shopping done, he arrived at the station, casually teleporting past the crowd before stepping onto the Hogwarts Express.
Moments later, he found his usual compartment, and before long, Hermione arrived, looking excited as always.
"Harry!" she greeted brightly, sitting across from him. "How was your summer?"
"Not bad," he grinned. "Found out I can teleport."
She blinked. "...What?"
Before she could demand an explanation, Ron barged in, flopping onto the seat beside them.
"Blimey, it's packed out there," Ron grumbled, stuffing a Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "Almost couldn't find you guys—" He paused, squinting at Harry. "Wait, did you just say you can teleport?"
"Yeah, it's a whole thing," Harry said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll show you later."
Hermione still looked like she wanted to interrogate him, but before she could start, Harry smirked.
"Anyway, you won't believe who I met today."
That got their attention.
"Who?" Hermione asked curiously.
"Gilderoy Lockhart."
The reaction was immediate.
Hermione gasped, eyes lighting up. "No way!"
Ron groaned. "Ugh, that guy? Mum loves him. She made me read one of his books—absolute rubbish."
Harry chuckled. "Oh, it gets better. He tried to use me for fame, dragged me into a photoshoot, and gave me his entire book set—as if I asked for it."
At first, Hermione looked starstruck, but as Harry continued, explaining Lockhart's ridiculous antics, her awe quickly faded into horror and then disgust.
By the end of his retelling, she looked downright offended.
"...You're telling me he faked all his stories?" she asked, sounding betrayed.
"Yup. He's a fraud, and a really bad one at that."
Hermione was quiet for a moment, then, to Harry's surprise, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
"Thanks for telling me," she murmured.
Harry, ever the smooth operator, barely blinked before smirking and returning the gesture.
"I'll give you the second one back later," he teased.
Her face exploded into red.
For a second, she was completely still, before quickly turning to face the window, pretending to be very interested in the passing scenery.
Ron, meanwhile, blinked, looked between the two of them, and then—
"Ohhh, I see what's happening here," he said, grinning.
"Shut up, Ron," Hermione muttered, still red.
Harry just smirked.
And so, the ride continued—full of laughter, teasing, and the occasional chocolate frog theft.
Hogwarts, here they come.