Chapter 17 - Lockhart's Lesson

Hermione found herself staring nervously at a phoenix. Its name was Fawkes. Hermione had read all about the avian in Dumbledore by Barnabus Cuffe and of course she knew all about its properties from her studies of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander.

"Err… Hello Headmaster Dumbledore," said Hermione nervously. "Why did you call me to your office? Is this because I broke your boggart? I didn't do it on purpose of course, and I'm really very sorry-"

"No. The boggart functioned perfectly," said Headmaster Dumbledore, and for a second his expression seemed wistful, but his smile returned quickly. Hermione was sure his blue eyes were twinkling, but she didn't dare look at them. It wasn't that she'd done anything wrong, but she'd quite prefer for her thoughts to remain her own. And while she was thinking of it, she really ought to remind her parents to bring her some sunglasses along with her already requested roosters and 50 galleons when they came to see her win the Winter Dueling Tournament. "The boggart merely confirmed our suspicions of you. Why you chose not to tell me about Peter Pettigrew, why you've made no attempt to apprehend the Heir of Slytherin…"

Hermione sniffed. That was hardly fair. "'Give the Heir his desire, or the mudbloods will suffer his wrath.' That seems quite like a negotiation, doesn't it Headmaster? I've chosen not to investigate the Heir because she's obviously a mere negotiating tactic for The Dark Lord. Whatever the two of you are quarreling over, I'm a mere student, I've no obligation to get involved. I'd be dead for my troubles, and The Dark Lord would hardly be inconvenienced. He'd just find another puppet in a day or two. He's any number of students to choose from, and you've done nothing to stop him. Wisely I suspect, it seems quite foolish to negotiate with a kidnapper."

"I see." Headmaster Dumbledore sighed, and brought out a stone bowl, full of wispy swirling memories. "You know what this is I presume?" It was a pensieve of course, she'd read all about it in- "I'd like to show you something very personal. A memory I hold… I hold? Was this truly the beginning, or is that merely another delusion?" He flicked his wand and brought a specific memory to the surface. There was a much younger Albus Dumbledore. He sat behind his desk, the very same one that the pensive was sitting atop, but something about him seemed off. Hermione peered closer, and found herself being pulled inside the memory- how very delightful!

It was so strange that she could see Headmaster Dumbledore. Was this not his memory? Why could she see him? Perhaps that was why something about him seemed off. He seemed so much more worn, more tired, despite his youthful appearance. He was missing a certain… A certain she didn't know what (speaking in French seemed quite gauche to Hermione, thank you very much).

There was a knock on the door, a rattling of the knob, and then it opened, and suddenly everything seemed more vibrant.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Headmaster Dumbledore. "It's been a long time. I thought I'd never see you again after you left us. Let alone for an interview for a lowly teaching position."

Tom Riddle had a truly fascinating appearance. He was an astonishingly handsome dark-haired man, although his features seemed blurred, like they were made of ever so slightly melted wax. "Why? You chose to be a professor. Is it so hard to believe I'd wish to follow in your footsteps?"

"Yes," said Headmaster Dumbledore. "We are nothing alike Tom. Teaching is my calling. It isn't yours. We both know that, so tell me- why do you want this job?"

"As you know Albus, I left Hogwarts early. At the time I said it was for personal reasons, but in truth it was to study." Mister Riddle smiled lightly. "To see the work of the most terrible Dark Lord in history while you hid away in your castle. I saw his accomplishments firsthand, saw things more dreadful than you can imagine Albus, and your students are unprepared. You are unprepared. You've chosen to remain willfully ignorant. The truth is that war is coming, but you hide from it. Let me prepare you. Or perish."

What kind of answer was that?

"Tom. I'm interviewing you to be a teacher, not a general." Headmaster Dumbledore's lip twitched. "What is your experience working with children? If you've a child acting up in your class, how would you handle it? If I were to observe a typical lesson, what would I see? How will you help your students connect with the curriculum? And I must admit to some worry that you would speak of politics in the classroom, that is generally avoided you know?"

Tom Riddle seethed. "Mocking me Albus?"

"No more than you me," said Headmaster Dumbledore lightly. "You know I can't give you this position, Tom, no matter how much you may wish for Rowena's Diadem or Godric's Sword."

Tom hissed, his eyes flashing violet, and it seemed he was going to draw his wand. But in a moment the man's eyes returned to a normal dark brown. "Apologies. I lost control. I am disappointed by your answer, Albus. I had hoped there would be another way, but I suppose… That you should know that I'm going by another name no-"

"Goodbye Tom," said Headmaster Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling madly.

Tom bowed, and left the office. The memory ended, and Hermione was pulled out of the pensieve, and found herself staring into the eyes of a much older Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Miss Granger," Headmaster Dumbledore said. "What did you see?"

"You did the right thing," Hermione assured Headmaster Dumbledore, remembering their conversation earlier. "When Britain tried to appease Hitler it only emboldened him. The Dark Lord would have started the war no matter what!"

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed. "Is that all you saw?"

Of course not, but it would hardly have been proper to start with the other matter!

"My research on horcruxes is entirely academic," Hermione said proudly. "Once I realized the mechanics of how it worked… I would never do something so costly! But… You were there with the boggarts. How many of those students would create one, given the chance?"

"Yes, you are correct I'm afraid." Headmaster Dumbledore sighed. "So many believe that death is the worst possible fate… Truly foolish. But to create a horcrux- yes that would allow you to survive indefinitely, but would it truly be living?"

"No! To survive with a horcrux could hardly be considered living!" Hermione said. It really seemed quite obvious. "Not to mention you'd have to kill somebody, which is positively barbaric, and it rips apart your soul which sounds absolutely dreadful. As I said before, my research on horcruxes is entirely academic."

"I see. You've allayed my fears." Headmaster Dumbledore chuckled, and he pointed at a shelf of books. "You won't find these in the library. Pick one. For academic purposes only of course."

What a wonderful Headmaster! Hermione skipped to the bookshelf, and inspected the titles carefully. She opened one up. Journal on The Uses of Dragon's Blood. Lab experiments, their setup, their results, why even the titrations were written! These were research notes! Oh what a delightful gift! What else was there?

There were works from Godric Gryffindor on a sword that could absorb magical properties, Rowena Ravenclaw on magical enhancements to one's intellect, the Perevells had some fascinating research on the properties of wands, Raczidan's long lost journal on his creation of dementors, why even some work from Merlin about the fundamental properties of magic! Hermione scanned the journal of one Delfina Crimp on the Cutting Charm when one name caught her eye- Nicholas Flamel. Could it possibly be?

"This one," Hermione said excitedly. Ooh, what if it contained information on the Philosopher's Stone? Then she could be rich and immortal! Wouldn't that be grand?

"Are you sure?" Asked Headmaster Dumbledore. "And you're choosing Flamel's research on the Philosopher's Stone for purely academic reasons?"

Hermione bit her lip. Was this a test? And then she spotted another name, another journal, slightly more worn than the others. The one Headmaster Dumbledore clearly wanted her to pick, but of which she really only had a passing interest. She tapped her wand against her lips.

Nicholas Flamel or Herpo the Foul.

She thought about the memory that Headmaster Dumbledore had shown her. Bugger!

Hermione made her choice.

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't blame you…"

It was a small consolation that she wasn't the only one disappointed.

XOXOXOX

"...And three time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile," said Professor Lockhart, flashing Hermione with a gorgeous smile. How could somebody possibly have such perfect teeth? Why it was quite the dental mystery!

Oh bother, was she blushing? How very embarrassing! Hermione buried her nose in Resto Cher's menu to cover it up.

"Now Hermione, I'm quite curious, have you made any progress investigating the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Why do you think I'm investigating the Heir?" Hermione asked, putting down her menu. She would be having the chicken nuggets of course, not those horrid snails, and even if it wasn't written on the menu a restaurant of this caliber ought to have coca-cola right? Oh how very devious she was, drinking carbonated beverages! Her parents would have a fit if they ever discovered she was living with such reckless abandon! "Is it because I'm a muggleborn?"

Professor Lockhart glanced at her pin. "Was that some kind of joke? I'm afraid I don't quite get it, your father Peter Pettigrew was hardly a muggle."

Err… What?

"But to answer your original question: for the fame of course," said Professor Lockhart, smiling brightly. "The wizarding world is very demanding of its stars. Why after I had captured the Bandon Banshee it only took a few weeks before I was old news and I was off to publish Gadding With Ghouls to reclaim my rightful spotlight."

Hermione forced herself not to roll her eyes. Her parents were hardly so irresponsible as to allow her to coast on past accomplishments. Although she supposed Professor Lockhart was only being careful. After Skeeter's warning she had been rather alarmed when Professor Lockhart had approached her, but if all he wanted was to chat about The Heir of Slytherin she could hardly see the harm.

"Well, as I'm sure you've already realized, the Heir is a puppet, and most likely a student," said Hermione, recapping what must have been common knowledge. "That's why Headmaster Dumbledore hasn't made a move against them. It seems safe to assume the Heir is under the control of the Dark Lord, and their purpose is to act as both leverage and a diversion in the Dark Lord's negotiations with Headmaster Dumbledore. There is likely a magical artifact protected in Hogwarts that the Dark Lord desires."

"It is pretty obvious," Professor Lockhart agreed. Hermione sniffed- she had thought she had her conclusions at least a little clever. Oh bother, he must have thought her quite the bore. He must have wished he'd never even invited her to Paris! "But go on," said Professor Lockhart kindly. "I'm curious as to how much you've figured out."

Or perhaps not? Perhaps she had some hope of winning his favor yet. Rita's warning flashed again in Hermione's mind.

"The question about the Heir isn't who or even why. It's how. How is the student being possessed," Innocent Hermione said recklessly, quite oblivious to any potential danger in sharing her musings so freely with Gilderoy Lockhart. Afterall, he was a professor, and Hermione did so respect the profession, so his intentions must've been pure. "I mean, it's obvious why it can't be the Imperius right?"

"Obviously," The Heroic Professor Lockhart agreed readily, his right hand in his stylish purple robes. "But go on. Tell me everything. Especially names, identity is paramount!"

"Of course," said Hermione politely. "I've my suspicions on the Heir's identity, their motives, their modus operandi, and how they've come to be possessed. But I'd like you to share your conclusions first. I've found adults will occasionally tell me I'm right, even if I'm far off the mark."

It was all nonsense of course. Really it was a verification that Professor Lockhart knew his stuff, and that awful Skeeter woman was up to her usual tricks. Hermione blinked innocently, to sell her quite unbelievable tale. As if she'd made so many mistakes as to necessitate predictions on the matter, it was simply inconceivable.

"Err…" said The Heroic Professor Lockhart, his smile suddenly stiff. "The thing is- these snails are rather horrible aren't they? Escargot, more like yes-to-throw… up; waiter- I'd like an order of the finest cuisine you've available!" The Heroic Professor Lockhart slapped his menu on the table."Spuds and chips."

Yes, spuds and chips were truly the height or fine dining, of that they agreed. Despite that irrefutable fact, it did seem suspiciously like a diversion. Hermione couldn't help but grin. "I've come to a hole in my research on the Heir. I've heard a certain branch of magic mentioned a few times, but never how to use it. Professor Lockhart, what can you tell me about legilimency?"

"I'll have you know that I'm perfectly legitimate," said The Heroic Professor Lockhart haughtily. "I'll have you know that my defeat of the Waga Waga Werewolf was verified by the respected publication Spella Weekly!"

Err… Hehehe… Was the man for real? "Onto the matter of horcruxes," Hermione said briskly. "I'd like some clarifications on their properties. Magick Most Evile by Godelot was rather vague."

"Yes of course," said The Heroic Professor Lockhart. "They can be quite useful in certain situations. Why I used one at the end of Gadding With Ghouls to-"

"Capture the last ghoul in the tea strainer," said Hermione excitedly. "Oh that was ever so clever!"

"Right you are Hermione," said The Heroic Professor Lockhart, beaming. "I had doubts before, you are only twelve afterall, but you really are brilliant aren't you?" He patted the top of Hermione's head fondly.

"Thank you," Hermione chirped happily.

Perhaps Skeeter might not have been entirely wrong. The Heroic Professor Lockhart seemed rather, err… He seemed to have a rather distant relationship with the truth and seemed about as bright as an electric flashlight in Hogwarts… And to be honest, it did seem quite like he was using her to help him find the Heir, which was rather stupid. Had she not just told him that the Heir's master was the well known grandmaster of murder, The Dark Lord? If he continued to investigate so recklessly he'd be dead long before his tomfoolery had a chance to payout.

The Heroic Professor Lockhart stared at Hermione sourly, removing his hand from her head. "I'm afraid that this is rather unacceptable. This will not do at all."

Err… What?

So soon? Hermione gripped her wand nervously. She could admit to a miscalculation. She had hypothesized that The Heroic Professor Lockhart was capable of manipulating memories of course, of perhaps even legilimency, but she'd thought that she'd have more time.

"Your hair is positively dreadful," said Professor Lockhart, clicking his tongue and shaking his head ruefully. "You'll never make it big looking like a hag! Luckily for you I have just the thing. If you'd pardon my boasts, I've invented a shampoo that will make your hair lustrous as a veela's! There are some drawbacks of course." The Heroic Professor Lockhart leaned towards Hermione and whispered. "The ingredients are quite expensive, and can be err… potentially fatal if misapplied."

The Heroic Professor Lockhart frowned, and rocked in his chair. When he continued his voice was loud and irritated. "That's why those greedy goblins refused to fund my venture! 'Nobody cares enough about haircare to risk their lives,' they told me. Bah! What would they know? Goblins don't even have hair! Greedy ugly things!"

"And what exactly makes the shampoo so dangerous?" Asked Hermione patiently. "Why not search for a replacement ingredient that keeps the luster but takes away the deadly?"

The Heroic Professor Lockhart steamed, and slammed his fist on the table. "Naive! Do you want to be the Belle of the Ball or just another Plain Jane? If you want to be a star you must be willing to risk your life! In this world, appearance is everything!"

Hermione smiled and nodded. They continued talking throughout the dinner, and Hermione quite enjoyed the cod and cola. Her conversation with The Heroic Professor Lockhart was rather like reading a fiction, fun but not to be mistaken with fact. Except of course when it came to beauty products, of which he had an encyclopedic knowledge. Finally the waiter arrived to bring an end to the evening.

"Zat will be zevin 'undred galleonz… My goodnezz! It izz Gilderoy Lockhart! And izz zat, are you Hermione Granger? I zaw yer pho-toh in zee newzpa-pur!"

"The very same," said The Heroic Professor Lockhart, beaming and putting a hand over Hermione's shoulder.

The waiter bowed his head. "If it izzn't too much troub-ell, may I ask for an autograph? Zee meal izz on the house of course!"

"Of course," said The Heroic Professor Lockhart cheerfully, a quill appearing in his hand. "Might I ask for your name?"

The Heroic Professor Lockhart scribbled an elegant message as soon as the waiter gave his name, and handed the quill to Hermione… Oh… Well. She signed her name- he had just asked for an autograph right?

"His name is Caractère Supplémentaire," The Heroic Professor Lockhart whispered. He smiled at the waiter. "Sorry. She's a little slow."

Hermione blushed, and scribbled out a short message.

As they made their way back to their portkey, a giant portrait of himself, The Heroic Professor Lockhart shook his head. "You've got to learn to treat your fans well, Hermione, and they'll treat you well in return. Remember, fame is a slog. Now I've some things to do, so you can return the rest of the way on your own. Au revoir!"

He kissed both her cheeks, and left the condominium.

Well… That had been a pleasant way to spend an evening, being whisked away to Paris and eating at a five-star restaurant with the most handsome wizard in the world. The Heroic Professor Lockhart was not the source of information she'd hoped he'd be, nor was he worth fearing. Rita Skeeter was full of nothing but lies. She shouldn't have been surprised.

And so she put a hand on a giant portrait of Gilderoy Lockhart painting a picture of himself, and was teleported back to Hogwarts.

XOXOXOXOX

The Reductor Curse breaks objects, and in stronger usages may…

Well the Heir couldn't have been using that then right? No, no, he had to read the whole passage before ruling it out. This couldn't be like his homework, where he read a few sentences, got distracted, and started doing something else. He had to focus, read through the text properly if he wanted to make progress finding the Heir. But was this really the best way to go about it? Reading, err… Ron flipped to the front of the textbook, Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard.

Who was this Slinkhard bloke anyways? He'd started with it because it was the most advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook he could find. Perce had lent it to him. Perce had been nice about it too, he'd said he was glad Ronnie was trying to get his act together. Trying to be supportive- what a bloody bint.

But Ron hadn't found anything especially helpful in the textbook, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't be smart enough to do anything with it anyways. Bloody hell, Dumbledore hadn't been able to find the Heir, so what could Ron do? How daft could he possibly be? If he actually wanted to help Ginny he'd swallow his pride, and ask Hermione Granger for help. He ought to march his arse out of the library right now… Right now… Ri-

Wait, hadn't he said he wouldn't let himself get distracted?

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was a bloody idiot. This was why his grades were so bad, he could never just sit down and study.

And he still hadn't gotten back to work.

What was wrong with him?

He opened back the textbook, and tried to find where he'd been. But why even bother? It wasn't like he'd been making any progress, there probably wasn't anything in the blasted book anyways.

What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

Reducto Curse, Reducto Curse, Reducto Curse. He found it midway through page 2.

The Reductor Curse breaks objects, and in stronger usages may disintegrate them…

But if it was all one curse, why did it sometimes just break an object, and sometimes disintegrate them? Did it come from a difference in magical power? Or was it based on how good you performed the curse?

What did it bloody matter?

Ron managed to get through another half a page over the next three hours. He walked back to Gryffindor Tower, staring at his old loafers. Another wasted day in the stupid bloody library. Ron had spent all afternoon looking for information on the Heir, and he still didn't have a bloody clue. It had been two bloody weeks since he, Harry, and Neville had started their investigation and they still didn't have a single lead. Without Hermione, what chance did they have?

"I bet you're happy," said a voice from inside an empty classroom. It was Dad. Ron's heart twisted. He'd thought that having his Dad in Hogwarts would be cool… Well, no, not cool, but, y'know… Something at least... He'd finally had a chance to show Dad what he could do; that even though he couldn't fly good and wasn't the best at reading or spells, he could do other things… But the problem was, Ron hadn't found those other things. Ginny had. So had Fred. So had George. And Percy was a Prefect. So it made sense that Dad spent all his time looking after Ginny, or trying to keep the Twins in line, or helping Percy study.

"Barty Crouch Senior has finally resigned," Dad whispered behind the door. "It's not enough if you ask me. He let so many people off with the Imperius Defense, but not you. He sent you to Azkaban without a trial, all so he could plant a timebomb on us in the form of a rat!"

"No," answered Sirius Black, tiredly. "He was just fooled. He sent his own son to Azkaban for torturing the Longbottoms. Crouch is a lot of things but he's not a death eater Arthur. Peter fooled a lot of people, even me and I should've… Well it doesn't really matter anymore I suppose… I don't blame Crouch for sending me to Azkaban. I never have. For a long time I blamed Peter, but now that he's gone… James and Lily are still dead. So is Regulus. I'm all that's left."

Ron swallowed. Right. Dad didn't pay attention to him. Boo-hoo. Sirius Black had been imprisoned for eleven years. Eleven. In Azkaban. Hearing the dementors whisper into his ears, all for a crime he hadn't committed. It made his problems seem a little small in comparison, didn't it?

"But what if Junior was a pawn to clear Senior's name?" Dad asked stubbornly. Why did Dad keep bringing up Azkaban to Sirius Black? It must've been for some grown-up reason that Ron didn't get, just like always. "You've got to admit it would be a good strategic move, letting Senior denounce Junior. You-Know-Who is a lot of things, and one of them is cunning. Throwing Junior to the dementors might have preserved his entire army. What commander would turn down that deal?"

"I dunno," Sirius mumbled.

"When it comes down to it," said Dad triumphantly. "Order Member or Death Eater, light or dark, it comes down to family more often than we'd care to admit. The beliefs by which we were raised. If Junior is a death eater, Senior probably is as well."

"..." Sirius didn't answer for a long moment. The Black's were a dark family right? Weren't they related to the Malfoy's somehow? Hadn't Sirius's brother been a death eater? Besides, all that family stuff seemed like a crock of troll bogeys anyhow, afterall Draco's family was dark and Draco was the most heroic bloke Ron knew.

Dad must've had a reason for acting like this. All the same, Ron knocked on the door.

"Ronnie?" Dad asked. "What are you doing here? Wait, how long have you been listening? How much did you hear?"

"I dunno," Ron said, shrugging. Sirius swayed back and forth, eyes unfocused, staring past a brick wall. "Listen, Dad, what do you know about the Heir of Slytherin? Have attacks like this happened before? I reckon that whoever is petrifying students is a bigger threat to Ginny, to Harry, than some old fogie resigning at the Ministry."

Sirius jolted, broken from his reverie. He stared at Ron.

"You're right," Dad said. "Merlin's Beard, you're absolutely right! You've really taken my words to heart, haven't you? The Heir is after Ginny! Afterall, she was the first person he attacked! This is the proof I need! I must speak with Dumbledore about this!"

"Who says the Heir is a boy?" Ron murmured, before he could stop himself.

Dad hesitated by the door. "Listen, don't go after the Heir yourself. Don't get me wrong, I am proud of you for focusing on the Heir rather than Rita Skeeter…" Dad put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I've been meaning to talk with you about her. I know it's hard, but you must let it go. She's annoying, but harmless. You mustn't let her words get to you-"

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said impatiently.

"Yes well," said Dad. "Err… Very good then. Anyways, you've done enough bringing this to my attention. From here on, leave it to us adul- Actually no." Dad chuckled, and shot a glance at Sirius Black. Oh. Ron swallowed. And suddenly he knew exactly what Dad was gonna say.

"You're friends with Hermione Granger right? Get her involved. Ginny too. Maybe with them you'll manage another miracle, Ronnie."

Dad left.

Still Ronnie then. Dad knew him better than anyone, well enough to see that he'd had exactly nothing to do with the capture of Peter Pettigrew. Well enough to know that the only thing special about Ronnie was his friends. Well enough to know that Ronnie was The Worst Weasley. Mediocre, useless-

"Ron," said Sirius Black, staring at him with eyes so wide they seemed touched with madness. His voice came out flat, almost monotone and he paced back and forth across the room. "I don't know how to say this… The Heir is You-Know-Who's puppet. A First Year most likely, that's why Dumbledore hasn't done anything. I'd bet my vault in Gringotts that old Dumbledore's already got it all figured out, but doesn't have it in him to cut the strings. That's where I come in. I've already lost everything. Everyone." Sirius nodded to himself. "A task only I can do… This must be why I'm still here…

"Anyways," Sirius said, his voice losing its edge, becoming casual and light. He managed an innocent smile, full of crooked yellow teeth, and stood in place, his legs trembling. "You have a sister right? Ginny? Harry told me about her, and she reminded me of an old… Classmate. But… It didn't seem right to judge her so quickly. What can you tell me about her?"

Huh? Why not ask about Little Miss Perfect? Strange that Sirius wanted to know about Ginny over a witch who'd won a bloody Order of Merlin saving him. But then…

…Oh…

Of course... Dad must've told Sirius about that prophecy. Of course he had. If Dad told Ron about it, he must've been willing to tell anyone. Yeah, that made sense. Dad had been so bloody proud when he'd told Ron, so of course he'd told Sirius. His daughter was some kind of Chosen One. Fantastic! The worst of it was that Sirius must've believed him. Or considered it at least. It made sense. Ginny was very impressive afterall. A kid worth bragging about. So very, very talented. All Dad's kids were… well, except for… you know…

So Sirius wanted to know about Ginny? About the best bloody Weasley. Well he'd come to the right person.

"Before coming to Hogwarts, she always bragged about how she was gonna be best friends with Harry. Because he was famous, cuz he was The Boy Who Lived," Ron said, trying his best to smile. "Oh Ginny knows how to dress it up, make it sound good. 'He's been all alone, I just want to be his friend.' Sometimes I wonder if she believes the bollocks she spews, Mum certainly does. And then on the train Ginny met Hermione and got obsessed with her. She performed a Colour Change Charm, and so Ginny knew that Hermione was gonna be the biggest bully on the playground. You understand what I'm saying don't you? When the rest of my family look at Ginny they see the perfect Weasley. But even before she was sorted, all I ever saw was a Slimy Slytherin."

And despite all that, he'd always loved her. Accepted her. He still wanted to save her, Slytherin and all.

"I see," whispered Sirius. The man looked away. "That's… I'm so sorry to hear that. I'm so, so sorry. This will- it'll be difficult. For you especially."

"It was," Ron said softly. Sirius didn't think he was being a brat, he didn't tell him to grow up. He understood, and maybe that meant Ron wasn't a spoiled, whining, baby. "Thanks mate."

Sirius wiped his eyes. "Forget about the Heir. Go enjoy being a kid. Nobody stays young forever."

Ron nodded happily, and ran back to the Gryffindor Common Room and found Harry and Neville and found a private room to talk to them. "Sirius says the Heir is probably a First Year, so we should be able to manage capturing them ourselves."

"That doesn't… Are you sure that's what he meant?" Harry shook his head. "It really doesn't matter. We've been looking into it for three weeks. We made more progress in one night when we were trying to capture Pettigrew. I know you're angry with her, but we need Hermione. Ginny too. This is about more than us Ron. What if the Heir attacks Dean next?"

Ron opened his mouth to protest.

"Are the two of you idiots?" Neville asked sharply. "Why do you think Hermione hasn't started investigating herself? It's because she knows that if she does anything too obvious, she'll be next."

That… That was a very good point. Because she'd done exactly that when they'd investigated Madam Pomfrey.

"Or maybe, maybe it's because she is the Heir," Neville said. "If Sirius is right, and it is a First Year, it kinda has to be her doesn't it? Whatever magic the Heir is using is really advanced. Who else could it be but The Great Hermione Granger?"

Ginny…

"But Hermione's a muggleborn," said Harry, his voice rising. "You ought to shut your mouth Neville! I don't know what's going on between the two of you, but Hermione saved Sirius from Azkaban, she fixed my glasses, she even stood up to Dumbledore for me! She isn't dark!"

"Of course you can't see it. You fawn over her like everyone else! Fine! Bring her into our investigation. Get petrified. And if it's not her, get her petrified! I'd kinda like it to be honest, she's not my girlfriend," Neville said, glaring at Harry.

Too far. Way, way too far.

"Look. Calm down mate. I don't like Hermione either, I get it, but she's not the Heir," said Ron, trying his best to sound calm. "She's on our side, Neville, that means we have to be on her's. She's a friend."

"As if that matters," Neville spat. "You're the one who thinks your own sister is the Heir, so if I wanna think it's Hermione what right do you have to stop me! They think they're better than everybody- just like the rest of those blood purist wankers in Slytherin! Only difference is that they're right. Who can stop 'em?"

Uh… What?

"Wait what?" Harry asked. He glanced at Ron.

Ron did his best to shut his mouth.

How could Neville have known? How had he figured it out? Who else had? Wait, he was getting ahead of himself, none of that mattered.

Ron swallowed, and spewed out a buncha words he hoped were convincing. "Even if it is Ginny, you remember what Sirius told me- there's a puppet master. It's not her fault, she's just confused!"

Harry stared at the ceiling. "I have to go to quidditch practice." He left the room shaking his head, muttering to himself.

"Neville, what the bloody hell?" Ron said, sinking into an uncomfortable classroom chair. "How could you talk about them like that? You know it's bollocks. They're just… They work hard, and they're proud of that."

Neville paled. "I'm sorry. It's just, it's getting to me. This Heir business… Hogwarts. I thought it would be different. I thought things would change. I thought I would find something. But even here, I'm still the same old Neville. I'm failing my classes… I can't even sleep properly knowing that I'm letting down… I'm letting down Mum and Dad… Gran too… They were great wizards, you know? Way better at magic than me, and sometimes I wonder if that's why everything else seemed so easy to them. They were… They stood up for what they believed in Ron, even when it was hard. They were tortured so badly… that when I see them, they don't see me. And I'm… And everytime I visit them, everytime they look past me, a little part of me is relieved because there's nothing for them to see. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, they've all got something- something worth being proud of- they'll never understand what it's like to not have that."

Bloody hell… Any other Weasley would have consoled Neville. A hug, a hand on the shoulder, that was probably the right answer.

But Ron was the worst Weasley. "Neville, you're my friend too. And maybe you're not the best, but you're not useless. I'm not useless. We can catch the Heir, and we don't need some genius's help."

Neville chuckled. "C'mon Ron. Guys like us don't do things like that."

Ron stood straight. "Then let's not be guys like us."

XOXOXOXOX

Conniving Rita Skeeter observed the dueling lesson from the corner of The Great Hall, her floating pen scratching notes into parchment. Draco yawned again, loudly. Hermione tittered angrily, she was trying to learn!

"Ahh, Mister Malfoy, it appears my explanation is boring you," said The Heroic Professor Lockhart. "Perhaps a practical demonstration is in order."

Draco shrugged, and walked to the front of The Great Hall. "It's not as if a disarming charm can do any real harm. Father says that the Killing Curse is the only spell of any use in a real duel. And you can't teach us that. It's not like it's your fault, but this entire class is a waste of time."

The Heroic Professor Lockhart just smiled, and thrusted his wand in a helical motion. "Expelliarmus!" A jet of red light slammed into Draco, sending him flying several feet backwards, his wand landing safely in the professor's grasp.

Hermione let out a gasp. Such power! So that was what made The Heroic Professor Lockhart the most famous adventurer in the world!

"And that, my dear students, is how you perform the Disarming Charm," The Heroic Professor Lockhart's gleaming smile seemed a touch smug as he returned Draco's wand. "Lucius's opinion is shared by many, but make no mistake, you can win duels without the Killing Curse, and lose duels without it. The truth is that you can know all the spells in the world, but if you don't know how to fight you'll be killed all the same. My Dueling Class is your chance to learn." He seemed to catch himself. "Do your best. Afterall, it's not everyday that you're taught by a three time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile!"

A valid point, but irrelevant. Hermione did her best to master every lesson, every spell. Still, she couldn't help but want to prove her cleverness to The Heroic Professor Lockhart, and have that gorgeous smile aimed at her.

"Expelliarmus," Hermione said, copying The Heroic Professor Lockhart's memory as best she could. A faint red light rushed at Ginny, but only made her wand wiggle. Not quite. Hermione reviewed her memory, and how exactly The Heroic Professor Lockhart had pronounced the spell, and cross-referenced it with her memory of her own pronunciation. Perhaps not enough emphasis on the 'PEL,' but her wand movement had been a near exact match with both The Heroic Professor Lockhart's example and the description in the textbook. Hermione experimented with her pronunciation, but it yielded no results. Even after three attempts, she had failed to get the charm to work. A smidge disappointing yes, but that only meant she cared.

"I don't know what you're trying for, but you can save yourself the trouble," called Ginny from across the hall. "It won't do any good. Fights are about will. You've got to want to disarm your opponent more than they want to keep their wand. Don't think. Do."

"Thank you for the advice Ginny," said Hermione politely. It was all bollocks of course. Trite nonsense. Emotions could play a small role in the efficacy of charms, but most textbooks agreed that the impact of emotions and intent were overstated. Ginny was likely relaying an old wives tales she'd heard from her mother. The uneducated believed such interesting things! And even if everything Ginny claimed was true, it would matter not at all. Hermione's approach to learning was systematic. She isolated one variable, pronunciation, and held all others constant. That was how one held a proper experiment and introducing new unknowns into the equation would hardly be helpful. Such an approach was growth in its most efficient form, and according to famed Swiss Psychologist Jean Piaget, was a stage of development known as Formal Operations that most people only achieved in select areas in adulthood. Truly it was a shame that when Ginny saw such higher order learning she turned her nose at it and saw the struggle as a pointless thing to be avoided. That damaging mentality was all too common at Hogwarts, and was one of the reasons many thought Hermione a genius for being just a little clever. Yes, it would do Ginny good to have her naivete exposed, thinking herself capable of giving Hermione advice was an arrogance that simply wouldn't do.

"You seem quite sure of yourself," Humble Hermione said most graciously. "Perhaps you might try the charm yourself?"

Ginny smirked. "Expelliarmus," she drawled lazily, reaching up and snagging Hermione's wand as it flew across the hall.

"Oh amazing! Miss Weasley's done it!" The Heroic Professor Lockhart said delightedly, like a total wanker. So Ginevra mastered the spell first, what did it even matter? The Heroic Professor Lockhart truly grew more irritating by the moment, as he continued to embarrassingly gush, "Why that's the fastest I've seen a student take to combat since Severus Snape! It's almost as if you've been taught all this before!"

Ginevra smiled innocently.

Well fighting was boorish anyways! Honestly, it wasn't as if Robert Oppenheimer had bothered to learn boxing! Did it matter that Napoleon Bonaparte was short? Wizardkind's infatuation with dueling simply showed how backwards and savage their society truly was. Truly, utterly, rubbish!

"May I see your Disarming Charm Miss Granger?" Asked The Heroic Professor Lockhart, taking a rare moment to stop stroking Ginevra's enormous ego to actually perform his duties as her teacher.

"Why bother?" Asked Hermione. It wasn't that she was sulking, rather it was that she had finally come to her senses and realized that dueling was a rather useless skill. "I simply don't have the will for it. I'm afraid I'm incapable of performing the charm professor."

The Heroic Professor Lockhart met her gaze calmly.

"The importance of emotions on spell efficacy is an old wives tale," he said wisely. "Show me your charm and I'll tell you how to perform it correctly. Please Miss Granger, I want to help you."

Well… She still thought dueling was rather barbaric, but what girl could say no to that smile?

"Expelliarmus," Hermione said, performing the charm perfectly. Ginny's wand barely wobbled.

"The problem is that your wand movement is out of sync with your spell," said The Heroic Professor Lockhart immediately. "You must thrust your wand as you say 'Pel.' Right now you're thrusting your wand on 'mus.' You must quicken your movements by half a heartbeat."

Hermione did as instructed, and Ginny's wand came flying, right between Hermione's hands, smacking her in the forehead.

She'd done it! "Thank you Prof-"

But Professor Lockhart was gone, already helping Vincent Crabbe with his spell. Crabbe was rather slow, but Professor Lockhart was quite patient, and walked through the Disarming Charm step by step until Crabbe mastered the charm. Then he was off to help Gregory Goyle, and then Daphne Greengrass. The lesson was actually rather productive. Most of the Slytherin First Years were actually learning, something that normally only occurred in Transfiguration, but of course Draco and Nott were lounging in the back of the room, playing a game of Exploding Snap.

"Slugus Erecto," said Professor Lockhart, looking up from Parkinson and aiming a rather cruel charm at Draco. He began belching slugs and glared at Professor Lockhart. Hermione bit her lip in concern, it did seem a rather punitive method of discipline.

"You've made a mistake, Halfblood. My Fath-" Draco belched out a slug.

"Your Father will hear of this, I should hope so," said Professor Lockhart. "And he will tell you this: if you allow yourself to be cursed you deserve it. Do you disagree?"

Draco glowered, and belched out another slug. "No sir. I'll-" he belched out another slug. "I'll do better next time, sir." He even gave Professor Lockhart a nod of respect as he was escorted out of the classroom.

The class as a whole had not at all been what she'd been expecting. She'd taken Professor Lockhart for a pretty face, perhaps a liar worth emulating, but he knew his defensive magic. She shouldn't have been surprised, he was a man of action. Why would she expect The Great Gilderoy Lockhart to know of horcruxes when he'd never dealt with them? He wasn't a stuffy academic, but a roguish adventurer with a smile to die for.

"You've improved," said Skeeter, vanishing away her floating quill. "The Gilderoy I knew as a student spent three hours on makeup and refused to practice his wand work lest it give his fingers 'Boorish calluses.' By the time he'd left Hogwarts he'd only managed to master one spell, and it had nothing to do with dueling."

"You think my accomplishments are fraudulent, don't you?" Asked Professor Lockhart his voice cheerful, his shoulders loose, but his eyes locked onto Skeeter's. "You think that I used a False Memory Charm to take credit from other adventurers. But what makes you suspect me so? Because I was a late bloomer? Because I sought fame as a youth? The testimony of a few jealous witches and wizards? Rita, on my mother's honor, I haven't done any of the things you think I have."

"Then duel me," said Skeeter. "If you're all you claim to be, you'll have little difficulty with a simple reporter."

"A marvelous idea," said Professor Lockhart, seeming very pleased. And for good reason. The duel was as one-sided as one might expect. Professor Lockhart countered every curse Skeeter threw at him, calling out their names before she even cast them, humiliating the uppity reporter and her frankly pathetic attempts at dueling. It was really very satisfying, and very interesting indeed, but after a few minutes Professor Lockhart disarmed her.

"A valiant effort for a journalist," said Professor Lockhart magnanimously. He didn't so much as glance at her, but Hermione knew that duel had been for her. "Let's hear it for Rita Skeeter everybody! I'm something of a writer myself, and let me tell you that it takes every bit as much courage to publish a work to the masses as it does to face down the Waga Waga Werewolf!"

Despite Professor Lockhart's kind words, Skeeter was unresponsive. Distraught. Probably because her slander about Professor Lockhart had been tested and proven false publically. Truly a terrible woman, more concerned with being right than factually correct. At least the little beetle would have plenty of time to reflect and reform in Azkaban. As the students returned to work, Skeeter sulked in a corner.

"Miss Granger," Professor Lockhart murmured, as he passed. "I'd like a word with you after class."

Hermione nodded happily. He'd proven himself worthy of his reputation. And so she found herself all alone in a classroom with Gilderoy Lockhart. She did so hope that the conversation was about what she expected.

"How did I defeat Rita Skeeter?" Professor Lockhart asked, his eyes boring into Hermione's. "How exactly did I predict her every move?"

It was! Hurrah!

The answer, of course, was Legilimency. She met Lockhart's cold gaze. 'Does it require a spell,' she thought. 'The art seems ever so interesting… But quite illegal I imagine. Unless I am mistaken, it's so illegal that it's been placed under a taboo. You must've thought me quite the dunderhead, asking about it so openly- but you see, I'm new to such mischief. Quite curious, too. I suppose the first step is to learn to protect my mind, isn't it? Will you teach me? Oh, will you teach me? I'll do anything! Mind magic is ever-so-fascinating! Please teach me! Please, please, please!'

Professor Lockhart tilted his head forward. "Yes. I will. That is why I have come to Hogwarts, Miss Granger. To teach you- the most brilliant witch I've ever met."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you."

"Did you think your little tantrum escaped my notice? I assure you, it did not. But I ignored it because your irritation with dueling was entirely rational." Professor Lockhart's words came in a hushed whisper. "To the masses I will teach the magic to fight, to duel, to win battles. But to you Miss Granger, I will teach the magic of thought, of control, to win wars. I will teach you to infiltrate the mind undetected, navigate memories, and reshape them to your liking."

Yes! This was what she most desired, ever since hearing of mind reading from Professor Quirrell. Oh how it had captured her imagination! Yes, magic of the mind was the pinnacle, only dunderheads thought that power came from force. Why kill when you could seduce? Why force when you could control? Why… Why did this all sound so dark?

Had Professor Lockhart's smile always seemed so fake? Yes. There had always been a darkness within him. It was why Hermione had bothered to talk to him past their first conversation. Skeeter's warnings had been ever so enticing. To think an incompetent might bluff the wizarding world into thinking himself a famed wizard, truly such a liar would be worthy of admiration. As it turned out The Heroic Gilderoy Lockhart was merely a garden variety fabrication. A crafted persona, of the same type as The Humble Hermione Granger of the Order of Merlin or Mediocre Ronald Weasley or Sweet Harry Potter or even a clumsy construction that only fools would believe like The Meek Neville Longbottom. But still… Still Professor Lockhart's motives seemed quite incongruous. The other day he had seemed to take her under his wing to exploit her, and now he was willing to selflessly gift her the magic she most desired? It didn't make any sense. It was almost as if he were-

"You have won an Order of Merlin at the age of twelve," said Professor Lockhart. "You are perhaps the most brilliant witch in a thousand years. But there is a simple rule that applies to everyone, even geniuses."

Hermione blushed. Why couldn't Ronald treat her like this? As her merit and accomplishments warranted?

"You are either growing, stagnating, or declining. You are either doing your best, or you're not. Improvement is your only option," Professor Lockhart said. "If you want to be a star."

He gave her a gleaming smile. "Remember Miss Granger, it's not all pictures and glory. If you want to be a superstar you have to work for it. After all, fame is a slog."

"Alright," Hermione said. "Teach me Legilimency."

Wizardkind seemed under the illusion that dark magic was anything more than a tool. That using it was a sign of evil. But such arguments weren't worth considering. What dark magic could compare to an atomic bomb? Did she consider the United Kingdom's nuclear program evil? Hardly. Not when the Soviets had access to the same technology.

The problem with Lord Voldemort was that he was a murderer and that he was the head of a racist and likely genocidal terrorist regime, not that he used dark magic. Would Lord Voldemort hesitate to read her mind? No. So she had little choice but to respond in kind. And further…

The next time the Evil Neville Longbottom tried to get one over on her, she'd have a perfectly planned response!

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I've got some time off from work, so hopefully I'll be able to write a few chapters in advance and updates can be a little more common. I will ask that there be no speculation on any future plot points in the reviews, because I think part of the fun of the story is the mystery. That means no speculation on Rita or Lockhart's motives, the Heir, or Voldemort Hermione or Dumbledore's plans and goals. Otherwise, let me know what you think! Please leave a review! It helps me write when I know what you guys are thinking.

ViviTheFolle - Hermione's boggart is a physical representation of her true fear, in the same way that Quirrell's being his own corpse represents a fear of death. She's actually kind of a coward in this fic, just like in cannon. In this fic, riddiukulus just shows how you combat your fear. I don't want to spell things out more than this. I think if you do a reread of this fic you'll find some very interesting things. Thanks for the review!

Merendinoemiliano - Thank you so much! I'm an outliner, rather than a pantser, so I know exactly how I want this fic to end. I know what Voldemort has planned, and why. I have arcs planned out for 6 characters, and if any of them fail to grow everything falls apart and Voldemort reigns supreme. For example, the initials of the last chapter will be CtC. Thanks for the review!