Honestly, Lockhart always found a way to surprise everyone—no matter the circumstances.
Harold never thought he'd one day see a pink Great Hall.
Large pink blossoms covered all four walls. The enchanted ceiling, which normally reflected the sky outside, had been painted bright blue. And every time someone walked underneath it, colorful heart-shaped confetti would drift down from above.
Lockhart stood there, wearing matching pink robes, proudly announcing this as his special Valentine's Day surprise.
"Because of my unfortunate absence, you've all had to endure a number of dreadfully boring Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. As an apology, I've taken the liberty of organizing this surprise... Of course, this is only the beginning!"
As he finished speaking, twelve very grumpy-looking dwarfs marched into the Hall from the other side. Lockhart declared that they would be delivering Valentine's cards around the school—and that anyone too shy to confess their feelings could speak to them instead.
"I will absolutely not say a single word to one of those dwarfs!" Harry said through gritted teeth. Ever since Lockhart stood up, he'd been stabbing his steak relentlessly. It now resembled a plate of ground beef.
"Someone might send you a card," Harold said, brushing heart confetti off his plate before helping himself to another steak, clearly enjoying himself.
"That's your third piece, isn't it?" Hermione glanced away from Lockhart, eyeing Harold's plate. "Is the steak really that good today?"
She cut herself a slice and popped it into her mouth.
Tasted normal—just like any other day.
"It's alright," Harold replied.
"Then why are you eating so much?" Hermione asked. "I noticed this morning you had five sausages."
"Because the full moon's coming," Harold replied, voice tinged with a hopeless sigh.
Full moon—meaning it was almost time to start keeping that leaf in his mouth again. Back to days of poor sleep and worse meals.
Might as well eat his fill while he could.
Harold cut into a pork chop and forced himself to take a bite.
"What's the full moon got to do with you? Only werewolves care about that," Ron said, squinting at Harold. Then, a horrified look spread across his face. "You… you're not a werewolf, are you…"
"If I were," Harold said without looking up, "the first place I'd visit under the full moon would be your dormitory. Make sure to leave the door unlocked."
Clang. Neville's silverware clattered onto his plate with a sharp ring.
"Neville, he's joking," Hermione said, glaring at Ron, who was laughing far too loudly.
"Of course I'm joking," Ron said. "Anyway, there's no way Dumbledore would let a werewolf into Hogwarts."
"Sorry, I… I didn't mean anything by it…" Neville's face turned crimson. Of course he knew Harold was just a normal wizard—he just hadn't thought before reacting.
Harold didn't seem bothered. He just kept chewing his pork chop.
Hermione, sitting opposite, was watching him thoughtfully.
So... besides werewolves, what else was the full moon associated with?
She was just starting to piece it together when a forced, exaggerated laugh broke her concentration.
Lockhart had just cracked a joke—something about Professor Flitwick being a master of mind-altering charms, and had "affectionately" referred to him as that wily old dog.
No one else seemed to find it funny. Flitwick had buried his face in his hands in shame.
He was probably regretting not using the Killing Curse on Lockhart at the Dueling Club.
And honestly, more and more people were starting to think the same.
All day long, dwarfs had been marching in and out of classrooms delivering Valentine's cards, driving the teachers to near insanity.
Even the professors received cards.
During lunch, one dwarf stomped over to Dumbledore and began singing in a raspy voice:
Oh wise and charming headmaster,
Whose eyes sparkle like stars afar,
Whose beard glows like a unicorn's bum,
Praise to thee, dear Dumbledore!
At first, Dumbledore had chuckled and thanked the dwarf, flattered by the attention.
But the dwarfs just kept coming—and the songs kept getting worse.
Some were so cringeworthy that even the hundred-year-old headmaster blushed bright red.
He soon gave up, fleeing the Great Hall in embarrassment—leaving his favorite treacle tart untouched. He fled to his office, guarded by the stone gargoyle where no dwarf could follow.
Other professors also fell victim to the relentless serenades, though most managed to fend them off in their own ways.
Snape, of course, had the most effective method.
The moment one dwarf in the dungeons began to sing "his hair's so greasy even Veela would slip," Snape reacted with lightning speed. He grabbed a ladleful of Neville's unknown potion and poured it down the dwarf's throat.
Nobody had any idea what was in Neville's cauldron—least of all Neville himself.
But the results were instant. The dwarf fell silent, turned an ashen grey, and began foaming purple bubbles from his mouth.
After that, not a single dwarf dared step foot in the dungeons again.
Snape was quite pleased with himself. He thought Dumbledore was too soft—everyone knew the headmaster was a gentleman who rarely lost his temper. Sometimes, firmness was needed.
Still, that one lyric about his hair was so revolting, Snape lost his appetite and skipped dinner altogether.
Most of the professors were absent that night.
Harold had only taken a few bites of stew when he suddenly stood up.
Harry flinched in surprise, glancing nervously around—no dwarfs with wings in sight. He let out a breath.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing. I'm full," Harold said, folding a piece of old parchment and slipping it into his pocket.
"But you just sat down," Harry said, eyeing Harold's barely-touched bowl of stew.
"Must've eaten too much at lunch," Harold said, getting up. "You guys go ahead. I just remembered—I need to return a book to the library."
Before he even finished the sentence, Harold had already dashed out of the Great Hall and up the marble staircase toward the second floor.
It was dinner time, so the second floor was mostly empty. A few dwarfs with wings and harps were lingering near the library doors.
They had tried delivering cards inside but had been chased out by Madam Pince. Now, they simply hovered nearby, waiting.
Harold ignored them, turning down a different corridor.
After two turns, he suddenly stopped.
He stared at the man approaching from the other direction.
"Good evening, Professor Lockhart. Fancy seeing you here," Harold said.
"As do I, Mr. Ollivander," Lockhart replied, glancing nervously at a nearby closed door.
Harold followed his gaze. "If I'm not mistaken, that's a girls' lavatory, Professor. A rather haunted one, actually. No one's used it in years."
"Is it?" Lockhart said casually. "Perhaps I could offer the ghost some help. When I was in Transylvania, I resolved quite a few ghostly disturbances."
"So you do know there's a ghost in there?" Harold raised an eyebrow.
"Of course. This is the girls' lavatory, isn't it?"
"But I just said no one's used it in years," Harold smiled. "Maybe it's because there's a male ghost inside."
"Is that so?" A flicker of unease passed over Lockhart's face.
"I'm joking, Professor," Harold said with a grin. "The ghost's name is Moaning Myrtle."
"Ah, yes, I remember her. She was here even when I was a student," Lockhart said. "But more importantly, we should head back to the Great Hall—there might still be food left."
"Certainly, Professor." Harold stepped aside to let him pass.
"You're not joining me, Mr. Ollivander?" Lockhart paused. "Come along—we could go together."
"I've already eaten," Harold said. "And I need to get back to the dorm. Got a book due today."
Oddly enough, Lockhart's smile seemed to grow more genuine upon hearing Harold wasn't staying.
"Good luck," he said. "Madam Pince can be quite terrifying."
"I quite agree."
They parted at the corner.
Harold stood in the corridor, watching until Lockhart appeared in the Entrance Hall below, then walked over to the door of Moaning Myrtle's lavatory.
He had spotted Lockhart on the Marauder's Map earlier, which is why he'd rushed here. Judging by Lockhart's reaction, the man must've heard his footsteps—leading to that awkward encounter.
Still, the Map didn't lie. Harold knew exactly where Lockhart had been.
The magical seal Dumbledore had placed on the lavatory door was still there… although something seemed different.
Previously, Dumbledore had sealed the door to keep students out. It couldn't be opened from either side—only Myrtle could pass through. He had also instructed her to notify him immediately if anything strange happened inside.
The seal was still visible… but one of the runes had shifted slightly—about half an inch higher than Harold remembered.
Maybe he was misremembering… but just to be sure, he pushed on the door.
Still sealed. No movement.
…
(End of Chapter)