At eight o'clock in the evening, students gathered in the Great Hall.
The long tables had been pushed to the corners, and in the center stood a long, elevated platform, illuminated by hundreds of candles floating above. The first thing anyone noticed upon entering was the gilded stage, glowing under the candlelight.
Nearly the entire school had shown up, students packed tightly together, exchanging excited glances. Hodge Blackthorn, however, suspected that quite a few were here hoping to see Lockhart make a fool of himself. By now, those who genuinely believed "Professor Lockhart" had any real talent were in the minority—probably fewer than the members of the nonexistent "Harry Potter Fan Club."
Of course, that was a joke. No such club existed, but Hodge was certain Colin Creevey could muster a squad at a moment's notice. Right now, Colin was squeezed in next to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, bombarding Harry with questions. He tried several times to raise the camera hanging around his neck, but the surging crowd thwarted his efforts. Beside Colin stood a few first-years from different houses, including Hufflepuff's Lottie Corner, as Hodge had observed.
That was interesting. He wondered how Colin had convinced her to put down her paintbrush.
The ghost attack incident had affected Lottie too, especially since she'd admitted the paint used for the "Chamber of Secrets" writing on the wall was hers. But Luna had told Hodge it hadn't fazed Lottie much. She continued sketching around the castle as usual, even giving away her artwork, which had softened people's opinions of her. Judging by how closely Lottie was studying Harry, it wouldn't be long before she produced a series of "epic" pieces. And if Colin caught wind of the idea, he'd probably do everything in his power to make sure those works saw the light of day.
"What's Lockhart planning to teach, I wonder?" Terry Boot asked curiously, craning his neck toward the Great Hall's entrance.
"I'd like to know too," Michael Corner said, his tone tinged with schadenfreude. "Maybe a grand stage play where he needs lots of audience participation…"
"I just don't get it," Anthony Goldstein grumbled. "Why is he still at this school? What's Dumbledore thinking?"
"He's probably thinking, if Lockhart leaves, who's going to fill his spot?" a voice nearby chimed in. Justin Finch-Fletchley turned to a tall, burly student. "Right, Ernie?"
Ernie Macmillan lowered his voice, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. "I got a letter from my uncle the other day. He had some opinions about the state of the school, including Lockhart—" A commotion near the entrance cut him off, and he quickly added, "Just wait and see. The Ministry's going to make a move soon."
A professor entered, and the students collectively gasped, their excited chatter dropping several decibels.
It felt like being back in Potions class, Hodge thought.
It was Snape, who seemed to carry an aura that silenced any room he entered. Once, while flipping through Hodge's Care of Magical Creatures textbook in the dorm, Terry had pointed out that Snape shared some subtle connection with Dementors.
"Make way—students—let us through! Oh, don't mess up my hair!" Professor Flitwick's slightly shrill voice rang out from the crowd. Hodge followed the sound and saw students parting with respectful nods, likely imagining tiny Professor Flitwick struggling to weave through a forest of legs. Soon, the towering figure of Snape and the diminutive Flitwick appeared on the gilded stage.
"Alright, everyone, gather round," Flitwick said. "Lower years in front, older students at the back, so everyone can see clearly." Once the crowd settled, he continued, "As you've likely seen from the club notice, Professor Lockhart is unfortunately unavailable, so Professor Snape and I will be leading this session."
The students erupted into murmurs. "No way!" Ron shouted from a distance, turning to Harry and Hermione. "I'd bet anything that with Lockhart's personality, he'd crawl here if he had to, and still keep his fancy robes spotless." His comment drew several agreeing chuckles.
"Professor Flitwick? Can he handle this?" Ernie asked skeptically.
Terry couldn't help defending his house's head. "Flitwick's the Charms professor."
"He was a dueling champion in his youth," Anthony added matter-of-factly. "Everyone knows that."
"Flitwick knows tons of spells," Hodge said. "Especially complex magic."
"What's complex magic?" Ernie asked, intrigued.
At that moment, Hermione spoke up, tilting her head. "But—Professor Flitwick? I'd like to know what happened to Professor Lockhart. Is he tied up with something, or is he ill?" Flitwick glanced at her, his expression uneasy.
"Let me answer that," Snape interjected, his wrist emerging from his black robes to cross his arms. "Your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor isn't coming. He's not tied up, nor is he ill…" He paused, a faint smirk in his voice. "He's simply not at the school. The Ministry has taken him for questioning regarding the authenticity of those stories in his books."
"What? Lockhart's been arrested by the Ministry?" a student shouted.
"Ahem, not arrested, Mr. Caulby," Flitwick said nervously from the stage. "Just brought in for questioning… to cooperate with an investigation. He'll likely be back in a few days once it's cleared up—"
The news that Lockhart might return left the students unsure whether to feel relieved or dismayed.
"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, Filius," a cloyingly sweet voice interrupted. Umbridge pushed through the crowd. She was short, but unlike with Flitwick, students instinctively stepped back, as if avoiding something foul.
Umbridge seemed pleased by this. She sauntered onto the gilded stage, raising her wide chin to survey the room, ensuring every student saw her face. Then she spoke in a high-pitched, girlish voice that grated on the ears. Hodge could sense her exhilaration—likely from orchestrating a plan to send a Hogwarts professor to Azkaban. She practically radiated smugness, her pale face flushed unnaturally, her wide mouth stretched into an exaggerated grin, and her slightly bulging eyes fixed on the crowd. Worst of all, she was wearing that garish pink wool cardigan and a pink velvet bow.
Though she hadn't yet regained her title as Senior Investigator, her arrogance had certainly returned.
"It's most unfortunate, but Gilderoy Lockhart won't be coming back," Umbridge said. "After the Ministry's thorough investigation, there's evidence that his books are fabricated—complete fiction. Perhaps even worse, he may have stolen the heroic deeds of others…" The students stared, stunned, as Umbridge plastered on a fake smile. "I assure you, on behalf of the Ministry, this is true. Now, I think what you should be concerned about is who will take over Defense Against the Dark Arts for the rest of the year—a competent professor, that is. The position is now vacant, and I've volunteered to step in—"
"Wait," Snape cut in sharply. "I wasn't informed of any staff changes. Dumbledore hasn't mentioned this."
"Oh?" Umbridge said, her smile unwavering. "Minister Fudge is currently speaking with Dumbledore. I'm sure the matter will be settled soon, and you'll be informed. As for me, I'm eager to meet all the students—" She looked down at Flitwick, her tone falsely polite. "Could you step aside, please?"
"Since this club was started by the previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it's only natural that I take over this mess…"
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