Gilderoy Lockhart was growing more and more surprised—and even more entertained.
He picked up the latest issue of Witch Weekly. The handsome, charming face usually gracing the cover had vanished, replaced by a mysterious silhouette.
Jealousy and anticipation flickered across his expression. He had thought becoming Harry Potter's teacher would be enough to make him the talk of the wizarding world. But now it seemed he might even earn a spot on a Chocolate Frog card.
Once they found that young wizard, what grand title would they give him?
The Enlightened Sage?
The Revered Mentor?
An ambiguous smile tugged at his lips.
Professor McGonagall watched him with a cold stare. Only after she left the hall did she seek out Dumbledore.
"Albus, why must you hire Lockhart?" Minerva McGonagall said, deeply worried. "What can students possibly learn from someone so vain and so desperate for attention?"
"Even from a poor teacher, Minerva, students can learn a great deal—such as what not to do, and what kind of person not to become," Dumbledore replied, a thoughtful smile touching his face while his gaze lingered briefly on Lockhart.
What happened at the staff table hardly affected the young witches and wizards.
Everyone was still excited for the upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.
Everyone except Harry.
A very small, gray-haired boy was staring at him, enchanted. He clutched something tightly—something that looked suspiciously like a Muggle camera.
The moment Harry noticed him, the boy's face went bright red.
"H-hello, Harry? I—I'm Colin Creevey," he stammered breathlessly, stepping forward.
"I'm in Gryffindor too. D'you think—maybe—could I take your picture?"
He lifted the camera hopefully.
"Picture?" Harry asked blankly.
"So I can prove I met you!" Colin said eagerly, shuffling nearer.
"I know all about you. Everyone told me—how you escaped You-Know-Who, how he vanished, everything. And you've still got that lightning-shaped scar!"
He sucked in a shaky breath, nearly trembling with excitement.
"This place is amazing, isn't it? Before I got my Hogwarts letter, I didn't even know all the weird things I could do were magic. My dad delivers milk—he still can't believe it! So I'm taking tons of photos to send him. And if I had a picture of you—"
He looked at Harry pleadingly.
"—maybe I could stand beside you, and your friend could press the button? And then… could you sign it?"
He turned his begging gaze to Sean as he lifted the camera again.
"Would you mind taking the picture, sir?"
Sean, just about to leave, didn't refuse. He flicked his wand, and the camera floated into position. Colin immediately hurried to stand at Harry's side.
"Autographed photos? You're giving out autographed photos, Potter?"
Draco Malfoy's sharp, mocking voice rang across the courtyard.
He stopped behind Colin, flanked by his hulking cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.
"Oh, this is priceless. The whole wizarding world is waiting for another picture, and you lot let him take one—come on, everybody line up!" Malfoy shouted.
"Harry Potter is handing out autographs!"
"I am NOT!" Harry snapped.
"You're jealous," squeaked Colin—who was roughly the size of Crabbe's neck.
"Jealous? Please." Malfoy sneered. "Jealous of your ridiculous fan club? As if Potter's face is worth selling."
His father had told him things—things about that mysterious student named "Green." Even the Ministry refused to release information about him.
Clearly, he had to come from some ancient pure-blood family. How else could his family wield that much influence in the Ministry?
Everyone at Hogwarts was wrong! They thought Green represented Muggle-born wizards—ha! Absurd.
He was obviously the next leader of the noble pure-bloods.
The future leader—unquestionable.
No wonder Snape acted strangely around him…
Draco felt very clever indeed.
He knew that truly great pure-blood wizards often hid their ambitions among Muggle-borns and half-bloods—waiting, planning, building influence.
Just like the Pureblood Vanguard Party in certain far-off countries, whose leader had once risen from the shadows.
The thought comforted him enough that he didn't entirely despise Muggle-borns today.
"Your eyes are crooked, Malfoy. Go eat a booger slug," Ron said angrily.
Crabbe stopped laughing, cracking his knuckles threateningly. But when his gaze met Sean's, he jerked his head away and pretended to hum a song.
"Careful, Weasley," Malfoy said mockingly.
"Break another rule, and your mummy will have to come drag you home."
He raised his voice into a shrill imitation:
"'If you don't behave yourself—!'"
A group of Slytherin fifth-years burst out laughing.
Harry was used to Malfoy's mockery, but something about his weird comments today made Sean pause.
He glanced at Malfoy—who looked oddly flattered by the attention.
Being exposed was inevitable for Sean, but Malfoy's behavior was unusually strange.
"Lucky for you—we're leaving," Malfoy announced, flipping back to his usual disdain.
It was as if he'd received some sort of signal. Under the confused and irritated gazes of Harry's group, he walked off.
"Why are we leaving, Draco?" Goyle asked, bewildered.
"Of course you wouldn't understand, Goyle," Malfoy said loftily. "Some people may seem to stand among Muggle-borns, but their noble blood means their true allies would never be those filthy Muggle-borns."
Back in the Great Hall…
Harry was baffled. Malfoy had shown up, tossed around some cryptic insults, and then just… left?
"The whole wizarding world is waiting for another photo… let him take the picture…" It was obvious who he meant.
But how did Malfoy know?
"Ron… what's going on with him?" Harry whispered.
"I think he's trying to stir up trouble," Ron whispered back. "And honestly, Harry, it isn't exactly hard to figure out Sean's identity. No one's more unusual than he is."
As the morning fog lifted, Hogwarts castle settled under a strange, unspoken tension. Everyone had their own theories.