Chapter 2: Gilderoy Lockhart

The Headmaster is twinkling at him, slipping a third piece of custard tart onto his plate, and he can't really say no, even though he's painfully aware that with all the rich puddings they serve at Hogwarts he's had to let his robes out once already. He pours himself another goblet of wine, makes a couple of knowledgeable remarks about the vintage, and thinks, how could I have forgotten about these ghastly Scottish winters? That's one thing that hasn't changed since I was a student here, though a few other things have ... Binns has died but he's still teaching, the old caretaker Pringle has gone and his assistant Filch has got the job now, Flitwick and Trelawney are new ... Flitwick had quite a reputation as a duelling champion years ago, before the International Ban on Duelling, but Trelawney is a complete fraud, god knows how she got a job here, and I think she hits the sherry a bit, too. And who would have thought that Severus Snape would ever be on the staff? He was a grubby little third year when I was in my final year, I remember him, he hung around Lucius Malfoy and he was always getting detentions for fighting with the Gryffindor boys in his year.

He glances up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall – pitch black, looks like the rain still hasn't let up – and thinks, no, the weather hasn't changed, and it's been a devilishly tricky business to keep up my tan in these conditions ... I left England as soon as I graduated from Hogwarts to get away from weather like this. And I didn't come back for years, that fellow they call He Who Must Not Be Named was causing an awful lot of trouble and the Ministry seemed to be making a complete hash of things - the Muggle news was full of it, storms and collapsing buildings and terrorist attacks and so on in Britain. The Muggles had no idea what was going on, but I knew, and I did the sensible thing, stayed abroad until He Who Must Not Be Named had been sorted out ... and a few Galleons go a long way in India, that's where I picked up the material for Year with the Yeti, from the Tibetan refugees in Dharamsala. But I never dreamed that a little travelogue like that would be so popular! It had six solid months at the top of the best-seller list, it broke all records and really got my career started, not that I realised then what a hard slog it was going to be ... no, fame and fortune don't come cheaply, it's not all book signings and publicity photos.

He takes another sip of the wine, reflects on the dangers and discomforts that he's faced, and thinks, the werewolf book was the worst ... the Wagga Wagga werewolf's behaviour was positively alarming after he read what I'd written about him, I had no choice but to obliviate him - but what did he expect? I couldn't say that he Apparates into the bush and chains himself to a rock every full moon, nobody wants to read about nice werewolves, so I had to put in lots of slavering and howling ... and something about the Homorphus Charm, I'm not exactly sure what that is but it sounds good, damn good, and no-one's picked me up on it yet.

Then he leans back in his chair, feeling pleasantly full and a little inebriated, and thinks, it might be a bit dull here at Hogwarts, but it's only a twelve month contract, and the job is money for jam. My publishers were thrilled when I told them I was taking up the Defence position – and I didn't even have to apply for it, Dumbledore offered it to me when I ran into him at old Slughorn's party last summer. And it's been marvellous for book sales, eight hundred kids have bought the complete set of my travel books, and sales of Magical Me and that other little thing I did on household pests are booming ... wasn't that a real piece of luck, the Boy Who Lived showing up at my book launch, and Harry's not camera-shy, is he? A little taste of fame and he can't get enough of it! I know that Harry's got chapters devoted to him in Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, but there's nothing quite like seeing your face on the front page of the Prophet, is there? The boy's caught the bug, all right!

Merlin knows why Lucius Malfoy was scuffling with that Weasley fellow in Flourish and Blotts, I can't think why a member of the Board of Governors would get into a fist-fight with a minor Ministry clerk, but it tied in very nicely with my announcement that I was taking up the Hogwarts job ... my word, but Lucius is looking good - was looking good, until his eye swelled up - but Lucius has always looked after himself, I've got nothing to teach him about hair and skin care! Not like Harry, that was a good stunt he pulled with the flying car, that got him some more headlines, the young scallywag, but he needs a few tips - he needs to do something about his hair and he's getting a couple of spots, I hope he doesn't try to hex them off like Emmeline Vance did in third year, oh dear she did make a mess of herself! And Harry's dress sense, urgh, those Muggle things he was wearing in Diagon Alley simply won't do if he wants to make a good impression in the wizarding world ... green robes would match his eyes nicely, I should suggest that to him. Nice looking boy, Harry – he'll be rather fanciable when he grows up a bit, he'll have a horde of female fans then, but it's definitely a bit early for him to be handing out signed photographs.

He nibbles a bit more of the custard tart and thinks briefly, wistfully, of all the handsome boys at Hogwarts, all the handsome boys who are strictly out of bounds for Gilderoy Lockhart, five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award – and then starts listening to Minerva telling him about the troll that interrupted last year's Halloween Feast. He thinks, my old Head of House isn't such a bad old stick, she really seemed to appreciate the hints I gave her on mastering the Animagus transformation, and she must be pleased that I've made something of myself, not that I was a complete nobody at school, after all, I was the second reserve Seeker on the Quidditch team in fifth year ... interesting story about that troll, so Harry got involved, eh? Trapped it in a girls' bathroom – not quite the same as cornering a werewolf in a telephone box, but not a bad effort for a kid.

He's begun telling Dumbledore and Minerva an amusing anecdote out of Travels with Trolls when he notices that Snape is staring at him again, but Snape looks away as soon as he looks up, and avoids his eye. He thinks, Snape has improved – not that he'll ever be handsome, not with that nose – but the hair is still a disaster, and those black robes are so dreary ... well, I suppose black doesn't show the dirt. I wonder if he wants to ask me about hair-care potions? I mentioned them to him when I popped down to the dungeons to introduce myself and to let him know that I've dabbled in a little Potions brewing myself, I gave Damocles Belby quite a bit of help with his new Wolfsbane Potion - there's nothing like doing research in the field, is there? Damocles has been awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, for the invention of the Wolfsbane Potion, and that's a bit rich, considering mine is only Third Class ... and I put a huge amount of effort into Wanderings with Werewolves, it wasn't just a jaunt to the sunny Antipodes, was it? No, I had to spend months in central Europe, and Armenia was the worst, simply hideous - hardly any Floo Network to speak of, and the Cushioning Charms on that broomstick I hired left a lot to be desired. And that old warlock was so ugly ... all moles and wrinkles and missing teeth ...

Yes, he thinks, Snape was a bit short with me when I went down to his office to say hullo, poor fellow, he must have been so embarrassed - he's the Potions master and he can't do a thing with his hair. And good hair is so important, it made such a difference when I started curling my hair! So I made a point of mentioning that my ambition is to rid the world of evil and to market my own range of hair-care potions – that's hardly a secret, I say so quite clearly in the last chapter of Magical Me. Still, I think extra points are justified for students who get the answer to that question – like that clever little Hermione Granger – because Magical Me isn't on the required reading list. I can help Snape with his hair, but doing something about his teeth is beyond me, though, I see a Muggle dentist myself ... I'd give him my dentist's phone number except that for most of these Slytherin purebloods it's a point of honour not to know what a telephone is.

The feast is finishing up and the students are pouring out of the Great Hall, babbling cheerfully, Minerva is saying something to him about turning in as soon as she can, it's been a long evening and she's got a headache, so she hastily says good night and hurries off after Dumbledore. For a moment he wonders if there's anything between Minerva and the Headmaster, the man is ancient but he does dress well and power is an aphrodisiac ... and then he remembers the mountain of fan mail piled up in his office and thinks, no question of tackling any of that tonight, it's far too late, it's straight to bed for me, too, after all, it does take at least half an hour to get my hair into rollers. So he dawdles up the stairs after Dumbledore and Minerva, chatting pleasantly with a knot of fifth year girls and thinking, the Halloween Feast was fun, and we've got Christmas coming up in a couple of months, but then it's a long haul until winter is over ... unless I organise something for Valentine's Day ...

Then he turns into the second floor corridor, and he can hear Filch shouting about his cat, that rather unattractive feline called Mrs Harris or something like that ... and then he can hear the Headmaster's voice. What on earth is going on? He pushes forward through the milling crowd of students, to find Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger backed up against the wall of the corridor, a wall that's been daubed with a peculiar message.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Of course he knows what the Chamber of Secrets is, some apocryphal secret chamber that can only opened by the true heir of Salazar Slytherin, and he can remember when a couple of Slytherin sixth years went missing for two days trying to find it – eventually the house-elves found them in some old cellars under the kitchens – so what are three young Gryffindors doing mixed up in this?

The Headmaster is holding something furry, and he realises that it's a cat, but there's something odd about the animal, there's something wrong with her, she's all ... stiff. Is she dead? The cat must be dead if she's gone stiff – what Muggles call rigor mortis – she must have been dead for several hours.

Filch is looking as if he's about to hit Harry or burst into tears or both, surely he doesn't think the Boy Who Lived has anything to do with this? But his cat has been killed and that's pretty nasty, that's going beyond a joke ...

The Headmaster is taking it seriously, he's telling Filch and the three Gryffindor students to come with him, but there's no need to go all the way to the Headmaster's office when his own is so close – just on the next floor.

He follows Dumbledore, and so do Minerva and Snape, and he briefly wonders – where did Snape come from so quickly, shouldn't he be on his way down to the dungeons? But he has to hurry ahead, to usher them into his office and light the candles, and he's annoyed that several of the portrait Lockharts aren't quick enough to dodge out of sight before his visitors can see the rollers in their hair.

The Headmaster lays the animal on the polished surface of the desk and begins examining her, the tip of his nose barely an inch from her fur, and his long fingers gently prodding and poking her - and Minerva is bent almost as close. Snape is standing back, half in shadow, and Filch is slumped in a chair by the desk, sobbing, his face in his hands.

He wonders what Dumbledore and Minerva are doing when it's clear that the unfortunate creature is as dead as a doornail, and then he realises that they're trying to work out how she died. And he thinks, if she was killed by magic ... well, this is a bit of luck, really, a sinister little mystery like this, I might get a book out of this year at Hogwarts, but I need a good title, High Jinks at Hogwarts has a nice ring to it ...

So he hovers around, after all, he's the Defence teacher, he should be involved – and it's a chance to show off his knowledge of deadly curses. Of course the Headmaster will be familiar with the Avada Kedavra but there's the Transmogrifian Torture, very popular on the Continent during the Grindelwald war, a particularly vicious hex by all accounts, and some rather horrible killings that took place recently in Burkina Faso, he'd heard about them from some African wizards he'd met in a bar in Paris - there's any number of unpleasant curses that could have killed the animal, and they're all in his books.

The Headmaster is muttering incantations and tapping the body with his wand, and at last he says, "She's not dead, Argus."

Not dead! He stops running through the list of murders he could have prevented, given the chance, and wonders what this means – what in Merlin's name could freeze Filch's cat like this, but not kill her?

"Not dead?" Filch chokes, looking through his fingers at his cat. "But why's she all – all stiff and frozen?"

"She has been Petrified," says Dumbledore.

Petrified, of course, he was just about to say that himself ...

"Ah! I thought so!" he exclaims, thinking, this is a bit disappointing but there still might be enough material for a book, I'll have to talk to my editor ...

"But how, I cannot say," continues Dumbledore.

"Ask him!" Filch shrieks, turning towards Harry.

He thinks, I can see that Filch is worried about his pet but this is ridiculous - what would Harry know about this? Whoever wrote those words on the wall cast the curse on the cat, and, well, I hate to point the finger, but this looks like the work of a Slytherin. And Miss Granger couldn't possibly be involved, she's Muggle-born, and Salazar Slytherin left Hogwarts because he didn't agree that Hogwarts should accept Muggle-born students.

"No second-year could have done this," says the Headmaster firmly. "It would take Dark Magic of the most advanced -"

"He did it, he did it!" Filch spits, his face purpling. "You saw what he wrote on the wall! He found – in my office – he knows I'm a – I'm a ... he knows I'm a Squib!"

Filch is a Squib? No wonder Filch is so upset but it's not really a surprise, because he's never seen Filch use a wand. And another reason to suspect a Slytherin, they've always been very hard on Squibs, Binns said something once about Squibs being put to death by pureblood Slytherin families back in the old days, in the days of Wendelin the Weird – Binns occasionally says some interesting things if you can stay awake through his classes – and the Longbottom boy is lucky that he comes from a Gryffindor family, he would have had a very hard time of it if he'd been Sorted into Slytherin.

Harry is protesting that he didn't touch the cat, and the Headmaster seems satisfied, but Snape is speaking up, asking why Harry and his friends weren't at the Halloween feast.

The young Gryffindors explain that they were attending Sir Nicholas' five hundredth deathday party, which sounds fascinating and a useful bit of filler for High Jinks at Hogwarts - particularly the Headless Hunt, that's the kind of entertaining detail that the fans love - but Snape wants to know why they didn't join the feast afterwards.

Harry says something about being tired and wanting to go to bed, and he thinks, me too, it's after midnight now, and I've got a nine o'clock class tomorrow, I'll be an absolute zombie in the morning if I don't get to bed soon. And why make such a fuss? The animal hasn't been killed and it's only a student's joke, not a particularly funny one, but still, it's only a Halloween prank, and Filch is hardly popular with the students.

Snape is not giving up, though, he's pointing out that ghosts don't provide food fit for living people at their parties, but Ronald Weasley says they weren't hungry enough to come down to the feast, and that sounds reasonable, the kids have probably got a pile of snacks and treats sent from home stashed away in their dormitories, anyway.

He's starting to feel a little annoyed with Snape, really, one would think the fellow had something personal against Harry, the unpleasant way that he's suggesting that Harry is lying, but now Snape's behaviour is making sense – Snape wants Harry taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Harry's a pretty useful Seeker, from what he's heard. He thinks, this is rather a shabby trick, trying to nobble the Gryffindor team before the season even starts! Naturally, Minerva is protesting, she's saying there's no evidence at all that Harry has done anything wrong, and the Headmaster agrees, he looks at Harry, and says, "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus."

Snape looks peeved, and then Filch starts making a fuss, wailing that his cat has been Petrified and demanding that someone be punished. Patiently, Dumbledore explains that there is a cure – when Madam Sprout's mandrakes have reached their full size, they can be used to make a potion that will revive the animal – but Filch is still looking distressed, so he steps in, says something that's bound to reassure the poor old chap.

"I'll make it," he says cheerfully. "I must have done it a hundred times, I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep -"

"Excuse me," Snape butts in, "but I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

There's an awkward silence, and he's a bit taken aback at such open rudeness in front of students, when he's just doing the decent thing and offering to be helpful. Then he thinks, Flitwick warned me that Snape can be rather prickly from time to time, and someone told me that Snape was interested in the Defence position himself - he must be jealous. Understandable, I suppose, I'm an internationally famous and world travelled wizard, and who's ever heard of Severus Snape? Snape must be envious, and he can't help showing it, the poor devil.

The Headmaster tells Harry and his friends that they may go, they hurry out the door, and Snape looks like he might be about to say something more, but the Headmaster is raising his hand in a peace-making gesture, and without another word Snape turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

He thinks, I don't want people to get the wrong idea, I don't want them to think that I'm trying to show Snape up, and I'm sure that he's perfectly capable of tackling a Restorative Draught, of course, I'm happy to lend a hand if needed ... so he beams at Filch, and says, "Well, now we've got the problem with your cat sorted out, I think it's off to bed for all of us, don't you think? And don't worry, Filch, if Professor Snape runs into any problems with the Restorative Draught, I'm always happy to pass on my expertise to less able wizards."