Outside the greenhouse, snow blanketed a stretch of lawn.
"Yes, Professor," Sean replied.
"Just a little over a month—how unbelievable… Oh, may I see it, child?"
Professor Sprout nudged her patched hat higher, as if worried it might block her view.
A moment later, as Professor Sprout walked across the snow, a pitch-black cat perched on her shoulder.
She was delighted. She truly hadn't expected…
"I can't even imagine how surprised Minerva will be,"
she murmured. The black cat sprang down in a single leap—then turned back into a young wizard in black robes.
It seemed Professor Sprout hadn't seen anything this entertaining in a long time. For once, she packed up her hoe and ended the day's work early.
And in just a few minutes, it would be dinner time at Hogwarts.
Sean had nothing much to pack up. He only checked his little greenhouse area one more time, then closed the fence gate, leaving behind a camera propped on a stand—it would record the plants' condition once every half day.
But when he rejoined Justin and the others with a bag of potion ingredients, Hermione was already seething:
"That damned fraud—we have to expose him!"
Justin and the others, having heard Bruce's story too, nodded in agreement.
Just a moment ago, while Leon had Bruce tied up, Bruce had laid out Lockhart's "achievements" in detail:
"Interesting. First, I should say—we did try to get him sent to Azkaban. But we failed…
He has connections with all sorts of newspapers, and besides, we're just students. No one wants to hear the truth we know.
People always believe what they want to believe—even the witch he 'saved' is absolutely convinced it was Lockhart who helped her.
Oh—anyway… about his 'deeds.' The deeds are real, sure—but the protagonist was swapped out.
Memory Charms. That's our guess—by practicing that slippery little spell over and over, he most likely managed to rewrite the memories of a dozen brave, accomplished witches and wizards, then used their heroic exploits to make himself famous…"
Bruce's argument was coherent, his logic tight, his hypothesis bold and precise—an almost hilarious contrast to the fact that he was currently wriggling on the floor.
Hermione closed her eyes and felt like she was listening to a wise wizard reconstruct the truth; she opened them—and it was just Bruce, squirming.
"Also, here are a few fun things I've found. Might not help, but as long as it makes Lockhart miserable, it's worth it.
Professor Sprout told us this:
Lockhart isn't talentless. Quite the opposite—some of the professors thought he was brighter and more capable than most, and that if he actually worked, he could achieve something.
Even if he could never pull off all those grand ambitions he bragged about to anyone willing to listen—
Lockhart used to tell people he'd successfully make a Philosopher's Stone before graduation, and planned to lead England's Quidditch team to a World Cup victory, then work hard to become Britain's youngest Minister for Magic.
After that… you can probably guess. Naturally, he wasn't very popular.
But Lockhart still achieved his primary goal through repeated attention-grabbing stunts—getting the whole school to know his name.
He used magic to carve his signature in twenty-foot-tall letters across the Quidditch pitch, and got a week of detention for it.
He even tried to create a huge glowing projection of his face in the sky, copying the Dark Mark.
One year he mailed himself eight hundred Valentine's cards—by lunchtime the Great Hall was a mountain of owls, and he had to skip breakfast because there were too many feathers and droppings in the porridge.
Stimulo! (Stinging Jinx!)"
As Bruce spoke, Leon fell into thought—and Bruce took the chance to ambush Leon.
He had no interest in freeing himself. Instead, seeing Leon end up just as miserable as he was made him downright cheerful.
Only then did Hermione truly understand what "reliable and unreliable" meant.
…
"We need to contact the press," Hermione said as they left the greenhouse, frowning.
"The Hufflepuff upperclassmen's evidence is more than enough—I don't even understand what the Ministry's been doing, letting that fraud walk free. This should be easy to prove!"
"Most papers won't run it," Justin said quietly.
"Some will," Hermione said, thinking.
Harry had already hurried off to Quidditch practice, with Ron trailing after him, while Neville went back to the greenhouse to keep working.
So only the three of them were left in the snow.
"The Quibbler?" Hermione repeated, helplessly taking that paper seriously at last.
At her words, Justin gave a gentle smile.
"Hermione—my mother always said a wise person isn't always powerful themselves. Sometimes they're better at 'using the tools available.'"
Watching the younger students look like they were about to expose Lockhart and ship him off to Azkaban, Sean could pretty much tell how strong the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse really was.
And once he returned to the Great Hall, Sean would have another problem to face.
He needed to go out over Christmas—but his detention with Professor Snape still wasn't over…
And, if nothing unexpected happened, Uncle Marcus was probably still waiting for him at McGonagall's cottage…
This Christmas would likely be even more surprising than Sean imagined.
He looked up toward the staff table.
Professor Sprout was chatting warmly with Professor McGonagall. McGonagall answered with a smile, not missing a word.
Professor Snape, meanwhile, sat with his usual dark expression, silent as ever.
Christmas was drawing near.
The Great Hall had been decorated to look magnificent: more than a dozen frost-silvered Christmas trees, thick garlands of mistletoe and holly crisscrossing the ceiling, and enchanted snow drifting down—warm and dry—as it fell.
House-elves were rushing to make Christmas pudding, and everyone was buzzing with excitement about the holiday.
This weekend, older students could, of course, go to Hogsmeade.
Another year, another round of them gathering together, grinning as they loudly argued about what to do first in Hogsmeade—while younger students could only listen.
"There's still the feast," Ron said in the Great Hall, trying to sound casual.
"You know—the Christmas feast."
"Yeah," Harry said. He was clearly disappointed, but he forced himself to agree.
"Brilliant."
The feast would be nice—but it would be so much nicer if they could spend a whole day in Hogsmeade like the older students, then go to the feast afterward.
In the end, Harry and Ron kept their ears pricked anyway, listening—until they caught a key phrase:
"Wait—what's Green Bookshop?!" Harry blurted.