Chapter 129: Lockhart Returns to Hogwarts

Words : 1242 Updated : Oct 7th, 2025

Last year it was the pet wands craze; this year, Hogwarts was swept up by an all-new trend. And it all began with a new product launched by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: "Want a companion who never leaves your side?" "Wish you could use magic without a wand?" "Guaranteed to fulfill your wishes!" "Guaranteed not to break any school rules!" "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes proudly presents: The Tracking Magic Ball!" "P.S. You can add a personal touch—include an owl feather or a cat whisker to make it uniquely yours!" On the very first day of February, this eye-catching ad magically appeared in the common rooms of every house, instantly sparking widespread curiosity. By evening, Fred and George arrived in the Great Hall, each with a uniquely designed floating ball. With a flick of Fred's finger, his ball lit up with a soft white glow. Everyone gasped as they saw a lion drawn on its surface, along with the bold words: "Gryffindor Will Win!" "Look at that one!" someone shouted. George's ball had morphed into the shape of a flying owl, circling above his head. "What is that thing?" "Our latest invention, of course," Fred said with a grin. "Just three Galleons, and it can be yours too." "And for just one extra Sickle," George added, "you can personalize it to your liking—like this." He extended his arm, and the owl-like ball landed gently on it. "Messenger owls can't always be by your side, but magic owls can. One Sickle, and you'll be the center of attention. Pretty worth it, right?" ... "No. Not worth it at all..." muttered Ron from the edge of the crowd. He desperately wanted to be the center of attention—but he couldn't afford it. Not the three Galleons for the tracking ball, nor the one Sickle for the extra transformation. Next to him, however, Hermione had already bought one. "I think the magic used in this is worth studying," she said, a squat cat perched on her shoulder. It looked exactly like Tom—Harold's cat. "Right, I get all that," Ron mumbled. "But why pay the extra Sickle to have Harold cast the transformation spell? Couldn't you do it yourself?" "I thought I could," Hermione said, looking a bit deflated. "You thought you could? What do you mean?" "Like this..." Hermione pulled out a button, waved her wand, and turned it into a beetle. It looked exactly like the real thing—except it didn't move. "We've only learned how to turn tortoises into teapots. Reversing it—turning objects into animals—is a whole different level. I can't manage animal transformation spells in reverse yet." "So, what you're saying is... Harold can do something even you can't?" Ron said, stunned. "He's quite proficient," Hermione replied, clearly more dejected. "That can't be right," Ron muttered. "Harold's grades aren't that much better than ours. He only got three O's on his exams last year." "Well, if we're talking about Transfiguration, Hermione's probably right," Harry said, chiming in. "Don't forget—Harold's been reading Transfiguration books nonstop this year. He even reads them during History of Magic. This stuff's probably easy for him." ... Harry was right. Harold could indeed perform reverse animal transformations now. The whole idea for the tracking balls was his, too. It was a great way to practice Transfiguration and make a bit of money. As for the low price—well, Harold's transformations only lasted about a day before reverting to their original form. Over the following week, Harold found himself increasingly busy. The wand cores used in the balls were completely different from those in regular wands, so the magical inscriptions had to be changed as well. Harold needed time to study and adapt. But he was pleasantly surprised to find that, while he was focused on crafting these balls, he actually forgot about the Mandrake leaf in his mouth. That realization gave him renewed motivation. He even gathered a new batch of wand cores. Unicorn hair—though not tail or mane hairs—just those that had naturally shed from the body. They were typically used for ornamental crafts and were quite expensive. Still, they were perfect for this purpose. Hagrid could collect a whole bundle in one trip to the Forbidden Forest, and one strand could last for quite a while. Harold was preparing for the next full moon. He figured that if he ramped up his workload, he might just succeed this time. But, once again, he failed. The plan was sound—working on the magic balls helped him forget the Mandrake leaf completely, and he managed to maintain that state for two full weeks. Then, during lunch, someone's sudden appearance nearly made Harold bite his tongue—and in the split second of distraction, he swallowed the leaf. But all that didn't matter anymore. Harold stared at the staff table, where Lockhart had just returned, his expression growing stranger by the second. It was obvious Lockhart was still unwell. He looked pale, exhausted—clearly not fully recovered. And yet, he was forcing a smile, chatting energetically with his swooning fans. "Oh yes, I'm much better now." "To be honest, it was carelessness on my part. The relaxed life here at Hogwarts made me let my guard down... and I was ambushed while slightly drunk." "Thank you for your concern, Miss Brown." "Yes, I'll definitely catch those scoundrels. They won't get away." "But right now, what I care about most is your education." ... "He really came back..." Ron said in disbelief. "I thought he'd finally learned his lesson and would stay holed up in St. Mungo's until the school year ended." Harold silently nodded. He'd thought the same. And honestly, Lockhart could've done that. Madam Pomfrey had said he'd been hit by a powerful Dark curse. He survived, but needed a long recovery. St. Mungo's later said the same. Lockhart could have used that as an excuse to remain hospitalized until the end of term—and avoided any risk of exposure. But against all logic, he came back—dragging his frail body with him. For a brief moment, even Harold was moved by that kind of determination. If he didn't know Lockhart, he might've thought the man was a responsible professor, a model wizard—one of Hogwarts' best. But he did know Lockhart. The man had thoroughly embarrassed himself at the Dueling Club. His incompetence had been fully exposed. The only reason that humiliation didn't continue was because he'd gotten attacked. If Harold were Lockhart—or if Lockhart could think straight—he never would've returned to Hogwarts. And yet, here he was. Harold narrowed his eyes, gaze locked on Lockhart as he chatted with the crowd. Still can't let go of the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets... can you? Dumbledore, too, was watching Lockhart. He shook his hand warmly. "My best decision this year," Dumbledore said, dabbing at non-existent tears in the corner of his eye, "was inviting you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." "Thank you, Gilderoy. Thank you for returning, even in your condition. I'm sure Professor Snape also thanks you—I've always thought teaching two subjects was a bit much for him." All eyes turned to Snape. He was staring at Lockhart with a blank expression. It didn't look the least bit like gratitude. ... (End of Chapter)

Chapter 129: Lockhart Returns to Hogwarts

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