Chapter 15 – Lessons In Life, Life in Lessons
Harry felt much better having decided to do something, even if that something was rather small and unlikely to really set a fire under Umbridge's toes. But then, Harry supposed that was part of the point – to do something without looking as if they were anything at all. To do something more spectacular would ruin the plan.
That his friends were in support of his plans was no small thing either. Harry hadn't really expected them to join Voldemort, but that wasn't quite the same thing as supporting Harry.
Of course, they had to wait before really putting their plans into practice because they didn't know the right spells and hadn't thought of exactly what to graffiti around the school, but that was alright. They could at least start asking questions and drawing attention to the Inquisition's impositions.
There were plenty of opportunities to do that, too, as Inquisitors were a frequent presence in lessons. Unfortunately for Harry, his next lesson with Lockhart had no Inquisitor in it and Lockhart was free to be as annoying as he wanted.
"Good, good, you're all present and accounted for, early as well!" declared Lockhart at the start of the lesson. "We've got a real treat today—not that our other lessons haven't been delightful!" He paused as if waiting for laughs, although none came. "I want us to discuss my sensational—and best-selling—encounter with a world-famous—although not so famous as me—vampire. I'm sure most of you will have heard the story already, as it was an international best-seller and was dramatized as a Wireless play, but these things are better from the hippogriff's beak as they say."
Harry could well do without Lockhart's showmanship, but vampires were quite interesting. There weren't many in the Isles at all, having been subject to a Ministry pogrom a century or so ago, and Harry had heard about Lockhart's experience with vampires before. Despite the man himself being an obnoxious fop, it really was meant to be quite an exciting tale.
"Now, of course, I'll be wanting some assistants to help me with my lesson today," Lockhart continued. "Any volunteers?"
Harry looked down at his desk. Fortunately, several other students volunteered, and Lockhart called one of them up.
"...and we'll have you up here as well, Mr Potter—come on up, Harry lad, your audience is waiting!" said Lockhart.
Oh for fuck's sake... Harry thought. He wondered if he could get away with refusing, but Lockhart seemed keen on Harry's participation.
"I think there were some other people who wanted a go, Professor," Harry decided to say. "Er, maybe I'll try next time?"
"Nonsense, Harry—you're just the man for the job! Come along, we haven't got all afternoon!" Lockhart said. "I'll have you in the role of Volodymyr, who after a week with me—well, we'll get there, won't we?" Lockhart gestured for Harry to get up from his seat.
Fighting the urge to sigh, Harry got up from his desk and joined Lockhart and one of the new students at the front of the class. Refusing to participate only to be forced into it anyway after all the palaver would look worse than just doing it after a mild protestation, although in a different way, Harry supposed, so there was that. At least the rest of the class would have heard his first refusal.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Lockhart. "Now, I'll play myself, of course, and..."
Lockhart continued the 'lesson', which ended up being nothing more than a summary of his book as some sort of extended advert, until the lesson ended midway through one of the scenes.
As glad as Harry was to be free of it all, they hadn't even reached the interesting bit, and Harry didn't feel like reading the book itself.
"Ah, what bad timing!" Lockhart said. "We were just about to get to the part where poor old Volodymyr swore off blood—well, I'll just set the homework, shall I? I want three paragraphs on your favourite part of Voyages with Vampires by our next lesson. And Harry, lad—stay back a moment, would you?"
Not even freed by the end of the lesson, Harry gathered his things at his desk and presented himself to Lockhart, keen to get away.
"Sir?" Harry said.
"Yes, Harry, my boy. Sit, sit," said Lockhart, gesturing to a chair next to his desk. "That was a golden opportunity handed to you this lesson and I must say—with the greatest respect possible—you failed spectacularly. Not a good start to your career, if you can't even knuckle down in this sort of setting. Really, at where you are, you should be jumping at the chance to play to a crowd!"
Harry didn't sit. Instead, he stood near to the desk but angled towards the doorway out of the classroom.
Harry didn't know quite what to say to that. Defence lessons were hardly his idea of 'a crowd', nor were they the sort of place Harry wanted to parade himself about even if it were. He was there to learn about Dark creatures, spells, and all other aspects of magical defence.
Even if Lockhart was abysmal at actually teaching those things.
"Er—to be honest, Professor, I don't really see Defence as the sort of place where—"
"Ah, well, that's your mistake, Harry, lad!" Lockhart said. "You can't be compartmentalising things like that—everywhere is the sort of place for it! That's rule number one of fame! Someone is always watching!"
That was probably true, at least in a general sense, but Harry still didn't think he needed to worry about his profile during his lessons at school. And even if he did, pretending to be Lockhart's vampire acquaintance Volodymyr wasn't the kind of attention he wanted.
"Well, I suppose that's true," Harry said. "I'll bear that in mind." It was a fair enough lesson. Perhaps Lockhart wasn't entirely useless as a teacher after all.
"See that you do, lad!" Lockhart said. "You've got a few years before it gets really important for you to manage your fame—it's still early days yet for you—but you really should pay more attention. Now, for your homework—don't worry about what I set the rest of the class, you don't need to do that—I'm going to have you come in and help me answer my fan mail this evening. As I'm sure you're aware—on a much smaller scale of course—the letters can pile up, and our fans do enjoy getting a response."
Harry would rather swallow a fire salamander.
"Er, if it's alright, Professor," Harry said carefully, "I'll just do the other assignment. Only, I'm quite busy with clubs and work and prefect duties that I—"
"Nonsense," Lockhart said. "This is important for you to learn, Harry my boy, and you can make time for the important things. I'll see you tonight after dinner and we can get your homework done—I'm sure it'll be an illuminating experience. So get going to your next lesson—apologise to your teacher for me, I'm sure everything will be fine—and I'll see you after dinner."
"Er, right," Harry said. He picked up his things and left the classroom. Harry did get letters from fans, although he'd never actually written back to them. That seemed like a bad idea. Then again, Lockhart appeared to thrive under the eyes of his lovestruck fans, and his entire life was predicated upon keeping himself in the public eye. So perhaps for a certain sort of person it really was a good idea.
He had Arithmancy next with Vector's apprentice, Miss Jones, so had to hurry through the castle to avoid being late. Even with that he was the last person in and the lesson had already started.
"Professor Lockhart kept me back, sorry, Miss Jones," Harry said as he slipped into the classroom and into his seat. "Shouldn't happen again."
Thursday brought another Alchemy lesson with Mr Flamel, which was simultaneously one of the highlights and low points of Harry's week. Getting the opportunity to learn from the Nicolas Flamel was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, something only a rare few had ever had the opportunity to do.
But thus far an Inquisitor had been sat in every one of Mr Flamel's lessons – twice it had been Umbridge, but she had been replaced that week by Inquisitor Arlecchino. Unlike the High Inquisitor Arlecchino tended to remain quiet during lessons, but even with that the atmosphere was tense. Flamel didn't seem to care about the Inquisitors but they put the students on edge, Harry included.
"Adjust the flame just so once you reach the boiling point, then add the powdered unicorn horn using the small measuring spoons," Flamel directed. "Remember, stir smoothly and consistently or the sericon will not form—our actions even at this early stage are key to the process."
Harry attempted to follow the instructions exactly. In many ways alchemy was exactly like potions, especially at the level Mr Flamel was teaching – with the exception of the substances being produced, of course. From what Harry understood the sericon was some sort of metallic substance that they would go on to use in later alchemical experiments, but which itself required a substantial series of reactions to produce. According to some accounts – although Mr Flamel had refused to comment when Hermione had asked about it – the production of a type of sericon was a precursor to creating a Philosopher's Stone.
The sericonergic process was associated with nigredo in Colour Theory, Harry knew, so he didn't think it would be a key component in the creation of a Philosopher's Stone as the magnum opus of alchemy was associated with rubedo. Still, it could be more important than Flamel had let on, and the instructions he'd given did say the final steps of the sericonergic process involved a red substance...
But that was something for much later in his alchemical career – and perhaps never if he mucked up the OWL – so Harry tried not to dwell on it too much.
"Don't worry too much about getting it perfect at this stage," continued Mr Flamel, "because the sericon you'll need to use in the first of your OWL projects will be created under Professor Dee's supervision. Think of this as a learning opportunity. You know, the first time I attempted to make sericon came quite a lot later in my career as an alchemist than where you all are today—but of course, it was a different time then. Alchemy wasn't new—us alchemists have an ancient pedigree as you should all know—but by God, we knew next to nothing compared with what we know now! It wasn't long after I'd finished school that I set up in my shop in Paris. Then of course after that I discovered the process—not the one we're using today, of course, because this improved process was figured out by Li Minghua in the seventeen twenties. Fantastic alchemist, Li Minghua; it's a pity her diaries were lost because I'm quite sure she was on the verge of a real breakthrough when it came to the Universal Panacea. We exchanged a few letters of course but I never did get to meet her. Our schedules simply never aligned."
Harry scribbled down a note on the alchemist he'd mentioned, although he marked her down as 'that Chinese alchemist' because he didn't have a clue how to spell her name. He sounded it out as well, but assumed it was wrong. Perhaps Madam Pince would be able to help.
Harry dared a glance back at Inquisitor Arlecchino. He didn't seem overly concerned with Mr Flamel's digression into a story about his past, not like Umbridge would have been. Tentatively, Harry preferred Arlecchino's approach, assuming he didn't go back and tell Umbridge to punish Mr Flamel for unauthorised storytelling.
"Well, that's neither here nor there, I suppose," said Flamel. "Once you've added the powdered unicorn horn and it's dissolved fully into the solvent I want you to add the powdered lead until the mixture turns black. Not just a bit black—it should be blacker than the blackest of nights you've ever seen. That's the sign we're ready for the next step."
Harry measured out some lead powder and added it to his solvent. There wasn't a set amount of lead powder that needed to be added. From what Harry had read, and what Mr Flamel had explained – although only briefly – the amount was different for every alchemist attempting to produce a sericon. It was one of the quirks of alchemy that although in many cases there was a set method for doing a particular thing, the actual recipe differed from alchemist to alchemist.
Still, it probably wouldn't take the entire stock of lead powder, so Harry felt happy enough with the ambiguity of the process. That was alchemy, after all – equal parts pin-point precision and esoteric flexibility all mashed up into a weird arcane discipline.
Harry added more powder, but his liquid didn't change colour, although the lead settled into the bottom of the glassware. He added some more then tapped it with his wand as Flamel had instructed them to do. Eventually the liquid started to blacken as the lead powder dissolved into a solution.
"Brilliant," Harry muttered. It hadn't quite turned black, but it was a start, and after a quick look around at what everyone else had managed, Harry saw he was making good progress. No one else had got as far, at least. The making of a sericon was one of the more basic and simple processes in modern alchemy, but Harry was still happy to be making progress since many alchemists failed at that first hurdle.
"Ah, here we go," said Flamel. "Potter's managed the beginning of the alchemical transmutation. The sericonergic process isn't as finicky as some of the later ones but it's complicated enough that I had to discover it. So well done to Potter and don't feel too disheartened if you're finding it a bit more difficult—I can tell you that young Albus had a little trouble with it his first time." Flamel paused. "You've still got a way to go before we actually produce any sericon of course. Even Minghua's process isn't miraculous. But be thankful you've not got to do it the really old-fashioned way, or we wouldn't get it done in the time we have. For the next part—Potter, pay attention because you're nearly there—we're going to need to chalk out some alchemical sigils around the apparatus. You should have memorised the basic ones from that book Professor Dee assigned you, but if not the diagrams should be in there. Some people underestimate the importance of proper placement of the sigils but they really shouldn't..." continued Flamel.
Harry fished the book out of his bag while keeping one eye on his equipment then flicked to the page with the right diagrams. He spent the rest of the lesson juggling the demands of alchemical transmutation until Flamel dismissed the class.
Alchemy was Harry's last lesson of the day, so he spent the rest of his afternoon in the dungeons working on his homework until dinner.
Towards the end of dinner a paper crane fluttered gently onto Harry's arm from the Head Table. He unwrapped it and read the message written on its insides.
After dinner report to my office. Bring your wand and nothing else.
The note wasn't signed, but Harry knew it could only have come from Dumbledore. Even if they hadn't arranged for occlumency lessons on Thursdays, Harry didn't think anyone else in the Hall would be the type to send fluttering paper cranes as messengers. Harry placed the note onto the dinner table and it burst into flames.
"Steady on!" said Blaise. "What are you lighting fires for?"
"Er—I didn't mean to," Harry said. "I don't think anyone noticed, anyway." He glanced up and down the table where most people were paying attention to only their own affairs. "See? No one cares."
"Well, you nearly burned my robes," Blaise said. "Don't do it again."
"It wasn't me," Harry said. "It was a note from Dumbledore—a little—you know what, it doesn't matter. I've got to go see him after dinner."
"Oh, for the... thing," Blaise said. "Well. Good luck with that, I suppose."
"Thanks," muttered Harry. "I've got to go right after dinner ends." At least he didn't have his school things with him, just his wand. When dinner ended Harry left his friends and made his way up to Dumbledore's office pleased for once that his prefect's badge meant he could more or less do what he wanted without being bothered by anyone on the way.
When Harry stood in front of the stone gargoyle he realised Dumbledore hadn't given him a password. When he opened his mouth to announce himself, however, the gargoyle didn't wait before stepping aside.
I suppose Dumbledore is expecting me.
Harry made his way up to Dumbledore's office and stepped inside. Although Dumbledore had left dinner at the same time as Harry had, the old wizard was sat behind his desk already as if he'd been waiting ages.
"Sit, Harry—we have much to get through," Dumbledore said. "Good evening," he said as an afterthought.
Harry sat down opposite Dumbledore.
"Tonight we will begin your instruction in occlumency," Dumbledore continued after Harry had got settled. "Occlumency is a difficult art, one which is seldom practised these days. There are very few wizards who could teach you this skill—and of those who could, there are only a handful for whom it is practically possible. Ordinarily I wouldn't like to be the one to teach you this but given the circumstances..." Dumbledore sighed. "Together we shall have you learn the rudiments of occlumency, and when you have progressed well enough, I shall deliver you into the hands of Professor Snape for further testing."
"Snape? Why him?"
"Professor Snape, Harry," chided Dumbledore. "In answer to your question, because he has both the necessary level of skill in occlumency and legilimency to be an appropriate teacher in this endeavour. And, of course, because teaching someone occlumency entails a necessary amount of making oneself vulnerable mentally—something which would be unwise of me to do given all that which I know. Does that answer your question?"
"Er, I suppose so, sir," Harry said. "But why not have Sn—Professor Snape teach me to start with?"
"Professor Snape is, perhaps, not as gentle as would be preferred when it comes to instruction in the Mind Arts," said Dumbledore. "It will be better for you to learn the basic principles from me, I should think, and in any case, I meant what I said after last year's debacle—I must take a more active role in your education."
"Right, sir," Harry said. "I'm still, um, sorry about—er—"
"It is done, and in many ways it was not your fault at all. Now, to the issue at hand," said Dumbledore. "Commonly, occlumency and legilimency are held as separate disciplines, but in truth they are two sides of a single magical art. The Mind Arts are obscure, little-understood, and only situationally useful—hence their obscurity. Nevertheless we find ourselves in a situation where it is imperative that you become a competent occlumens. It is quite difficult for even adult wizards to learn this skill, but you must persevere. Tell me, what do you know of meditation?"
Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. Certain muggles went on and on about meditation – 'hippy stuff' as Vernon would say – but Harry didn't think Dumbledore would be asking about that. But that was the only thing Harry could think of.
"It's, er, about being, er, calm? Not thinking? Or... or only thinking about the right things? I'm not sure, honestly, sir."
"That is not entirely incorrect," offered Dumbledore. "The ancient Vedic wizards developed the first techniques as a way to improve their control over magic—in a time long, long before wands—but similar practices have existed across many cultures and times. Indeed, some believe that meditative techniques were key to unlocking our early potential as wizards, so very long ago. There are several methods pertinent to our goals this evening and so we will discuss them all. First, tell me what you understand the goal of occlumency to be."
"Er," started Harry, but he stopped himself. He'd prefer not to say anything stupid. Dumbledore had already told him the answer to his own question on a different day – occlumency was the art of defending one's mind, and the information it contained, from intruders. Harry said as much.
Dumbledore nodded.
"Indeed, that is one of its primary functions," Dumbledore said, "and the one which we are most concerned with. There are some other benefits to practitioners of the art, but these are considered ancillary today—and in any case are a thing which you may explore further yourself when we are done, should you wish to. Occlumency is unlike much of the magic you have studied thus far in that it does not rely on ritualistic methods of preparation, on wands, or even much of a cogent theoretical framework. It is magic of a primeval sort. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Harry said. "It's not about spells and things like that, but more a state of mind? A way of thinking, or not thinking but in the right kind of way. And that's how we can get the magic to work. Right?" Something akin to what Quirrell – or Voldemort through Quirrell – had spoken about during his first year.
"Quite so, Harry," said Dumbledore. "There are several approaches conducive to entering the proper state of mind for occlumency, and we shall likely attempt them all in the course of our studies. The best—although perhaps the most difficult to achieve—is by clearing one's mind of all thoughts and feelings. That is, of course, easier said than done but the mental state produced in this way is very effective when used with occlumency. So we will attempt this first."
"Right, sir. Okay. How do I do it?" Thinking about not thinking was still thinking, at least as far as Harry understood it. It seemed counterproductive to try to clear his mind.
"Ah, now. That is the difficult part. We discussed, briefly, meditation. This is one approach, and the one we will try this evening. Perhaps to your disappointment we shall not do any occlumency, strictly speaking, this evening. Instead, I would like to introduce you to the methods which may help you on the way and, if you are willing, I shall show you what a legilimantic incursion feels like. Does this sound agreeable?"
Harry shrugged. Whether or not it was agreeable was wholly irrelevant, as Harry wanted to know what Dumbledore had to tell him and learning occlumency was the requirement. He didn't much like the idea of Dumbledore invading his mind with magic, but he liked the idea of Voldemort doing so even less.
"It's fine, sir."
"Wonderful," said Dumbledore. "So, let us begin. First, I want you focus on your breathing..."
Dumbledore spent the rest of the evening working Harry through different breathing exercises, basic methods of meditation, and what seemed to Harry to be the very rudiments of occlumency. After perhaps two hours of breathing exercises and attempts to 'clear his mind', Dumbledore had Harry stop.
"We will stop here for tonight," Dumbledore said. "After one last exercise—I wish to show you what active legilimency feels like. May we proceed?"
"Yes, sir. That's fine." Truthfully, Harry was curious. Breathing and meditating and all that was fine, but it didn't feel like actually doing anything. It was just sitting around trying to relax, which seemed backwards to Harry. An invasion of his mind by Dumbledore – however light his touch was – wasn't exactly fun, but it was at least something approaching progress.
"Excellent. Before we begin, attempt to clear your mind of thoughts and feelings. You will not succeed but it is best to try. Nod when you are ready."
Harry took a few deep, steady breaths and attempted to free his mind of all thought and feeling. He hadn't managed it yet, but by focusing on his breathing, he was able to eradicate most of his active thoughts. That would have to be enough. When he felt like he'd achieved everything he was going to, Harry nodded.
Dumbledore didn't wait around.
"Legilimens," said Dumbledore.
At first, Harry felt nothing. Not so much as a whisper. But then, after a few moments, he felt something strange – something not right. Dumbledore probed gently, almost without any presence at all. It was a strange feeling, like a tickle in his mind, like the frisson of something when he could sense someone watching him from afar.
Harry's attention became drawn inwards. He could still see Dumbledore's office in his vision, but it seemed unimportant. A trifling thing. Instead, Harry tried to follow the presence within his mind. Dumbledore flitted from one passing thought to the next, probing no further than Harry's most surface thoughts and feelings, but pausing at each before tossing it aside. Each time Dumbledore did, Harry experienced the thought again and again, almost like a recording and its echo.
How am I supposed to fight against this? Harry wondered. Not thinking would mean an intruding legilimens would have nothing to look at, he supposed, but occlumency was meant to be more useful than that. Useful for keeping secrets.
Harry felt Dumbledore tiptoe through his mind, weightless almost. But it was Harry's mind, Harry remembered, so he thought he surely had more power within it than Dumbledore did. So Harry pushed, hard.
Dumbledore withdrew after Harry's push.
"So now you see," Dumbledore said. "You felt my presence—pushed against me, although not hard enough to dislodge me. You must understand, it is possible for a skilled legilimens to be even less obtrusive than I was this evening—so subtle that it is nigh on impossible to notice their presence. Your skill in occlumency will aid you in this, in time. But it is also true that many legilimens will be more obtrusive. Voldemort, for example, favours an aggressive approach in his legilimency—he will not be as gentle as I was. Nor will he—I expect—simply leave once you show him he is unwelcome. We are done for this evening, I think. You have done very well. I would like you to continue practising your breathing and the meditative exercises we have started with tonight. Can you do this?"
"Yes, sir. Of course," Harry said.
"Good. Practise as often as you can, but especially before sleeping," directed Dumbledore. "You will have to find time for it, I am afraid—it is key to mastering occlumency. We shall meet again next week at the same time; I will inform you should anything change. Now, I have kept you here quite late, so please, be off to bed."
"Yes, sir. Thank you," Harry said. He got up from his seat and left Dumbledore's office. Occlumency seemed like it would be much more difficult than any of the other magic Harry had learned, and not even because it was complicated. Alchemy was hard, but occlumency was something entirely different. Due to the late hour Harry saw only a few of his fellow prefects out on patrol, and although he was allowed out after the curfew, he didn't dawdle back to the dungeons.
Over the next week Harry attended his extracurriculars, his lessons, and fit in as much additional occlumency practise as he possibly could while still having enough time for everything else. The occlumency practise was the least trackable thing Harry had to do, as it felt like simply sitting around doing nothing, but Harry did it anyway.
It was a good excuse to put off some of his homework, anyway. At least for a little while.
Unfortunately for Harry, Lockhart seemed unwilling to assign Harry actual homework, and instead asked Harry to help him after lessons again. The first time had been bad enough – an hour spent writing more or less the same message, tweaked only slightly, so that Lockhart could sign a letter to send back to his fans – but Harry was quite sure a second go at it would send him mad.
After being assigned another go at Lockhart's nonsense errands Harry did consider asking Dumbledore to shift their occlumency lessons to Tuesdays instead but thought the better of it. Lockhart was a professor and could assign whatever homework he liked within reason, and Dumbledore was busy enough without having to intervene on Harry's behalf for such a silly thing. And really, helping Lockhart write letters was probably less unpleasant than cleaning cauldrons by hand for Snape.
Probably.
With any luck some of the other students – the ones who were actual fans of Lockhart – would complain about Harry's 'special treatment' and get it stopped that way. Stranger things had happened after all.
So after dinner on Tuesday – as late as he felt comfortable leaving it – Harry made his way to Lockhart's office for his special 'homework' session. He arrived earlier than he would have liked, but probably later than Lockhart had intended, to find Lockhart already sat behind his desk with stacks and stacks of letters surrounding him.
"Ah! Harry! There you are. Fashionably late, I see—well, take a seat and pick up a quill. We've got a lot of work to do tonight—Witch Weekly announced the nominees for the Most Charming Smile Award and I'm inundated!" Lockhart said.
Harry fought the urge to groan. Lockhart had an international following, and the announcement of Witch Weekly's latest round of awards would no doubt cause a near hysterical reaction in many of his fans.
"Yes, sir," Harry said instead. "What do you need me to do?" He sat down at the desk.
"Answer these letters for me, there's a good lad," Lockhart said, gesturing towards a stack of letters on his desk. "Standard sort of answers—'Dear Mrs so-and-so, I am positively delighted to receive your congratulations', 'Dear Mr who-ever-you-are, it is with the greatest pleasure that I write to you...', that sort of thing. Not all that much different from what we did last time, although this time I do imagine most of the letters will be along the same theme. Not a bad bit of 'homework', eh? The perks of being a public figure!"
"Yes, sir," Harry said. He could do that. It was boring, and he didn't see why Lockhart felt the need to respond to each bit of fan mail he received, but Harry supposed it was better than a kick up the arse. "Start with these?"
Lockhart nodded and Harry picked the first of the fan letters to respond to. He wrote a basic response using Lockhart's special quill – charmed to replicate Lockhart's natural handwriting no matter who used it – and then passed the letter over to Lockhart, who was signing each one and sealing the letter with a kiss.
Harry made decent enough time but didn't rush. If he finished the stack early no doubt Lockhart would come up with something even worse to fill their remaining time, and at least responding to fan letters was easy. He took the time to read over each letter properly in order to formulate a personalised response to each one.
"Who's this one from?" Harry muttered as he picked up the next letter in the stack. It was perfumed – not uncommon for a letter from Lockhart's fans – and written on pink parchment.
My Darling Gilderoy,
All is well here in Gamp's Bottom! I send this letter just having read about your recent nomination for...
Harry scanned the rest of the letter, confident it was yet another congratulations about the Most Charming Smile Award. When he reached the end, however, he had to stop and read it over again just to check he'd really read what he'd read.
...I am weak at the knees at the thought of seeing you again! Please do endeavour to visit us here in Gamp's Bottom ahead of your next tour. I'm quite sure that this time will be the time I get my kisses and you get your special thank you. Please find enclosed a photograph of what awaits you.
All the love in the world,
Vivian xx
As tempted as he was to unfold the enclosed picture, Harry didn't. It seemed like a private sort of thing, and he wasn't sure that he really wanted to see whatever it was that Vivian had to offer. It could be wonderful, or it could put him off women for years to come.
"Er, Professor?" Harry said. "This letter, I don't think... well, I've only scanned it but I think it's, er, a bit more private than the other ones. She put in a photograph, and—"
"I'll just be taking that one here," said Lockhart, snatching the letter from Harry before Harry could finish his sentence. "If you get any others like that just hand them over, there's a good lad." He paused. "And if you find one with a picture of a chicken on the envelope don't even open it, just pass it to me and forget you ever saw it. There's a good lad."
Torn between immediately wanting to know the contents of such a letter and never wanting to know, Harry simply nodded.
Whatever Lockhart gets up to on his own time is none of my business, Harry reminded himself. Although it could make good blackmail material if the need ever arose... Harry supposed he could cross that bridge if it came up. Harry kept an eye out for the letter with a chicken on the front, anyway. Just in case.
About halfway through the letter answering session Lockhart paused and sighed dramatically. Harry ignored it. Lockhart sighed again. Unwilling to be drawn into whatever it was Lockhart wanted, Harry pretended not to have noticed.
Lockhart sighed yet again.
"Ah, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry," he said. "To be young and at the start of my career again—to have the chance at doing it all differently. Knowing what I know now... ah, but time-turners only turn so far, don't they? Looking at you now, though—well, it brings it all back, doesn't it?"
"Differently, Professor? What do you mean?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.
"Not that I wouldn't have done all the things I've accomplished, of course," Lockhart said. "All this, you know, it was my calling—my destiny, so to speak. Never worry about that—Gilderoy Lockhart is a stalwart defender against all things Dark and dastardly—but there are some early missteps I made with the press. Little blunders, you know, errant comments made in interviews, opinions given better left unsaid. Perhaps it would surprise you to learn, but I haven't always been the media-savvy professional you see today!"
"Er, right, sir," Harry said. Truthfully, he'd been hoping for something a bit meatier than that as an answer. That Lockhart had given a poor interview or two was hardly the news of the century, and Harry had his own experiences with the press which meant he already knew just how far some reporters would stretch a quote. Still, there could be something there worth digging out. "I've had a bit of, er, trouble like that myself."
"Yes, one does have to watch what one says to dear Rita," Lockhart said. "She is quite the tricky customer! When speaking to reporters, Harry, lad, it's always best to remember that they aren't your friends. Oh, treat them like they are, at least to their faces, but remember that they don't want what's best for you! Only you want what's best for you."
"I'll keep that in mind, Professor. Thank you," Harry said. It was good advice, even if he'd learned that already through his own missteps.
"Please do," Lockhart said. "Ah, it really is just your luck that you've got me here to help! What I'd have given to have had access to perhaps the world's most successful celebrity when I was starting out. But I had to learn it all on my own! You can ask me anything, you know, and I'll always be here to advise!"
"Right, sir. Thank you," Harry said. Lockhart probably could dispense some useful advice regarding the press, but Harry didn't think he wanted to risk asking. It seemed like it would set an unwise precedent. But with all the attention Lockhart dedicated to the press and courting publicity, Harry supposed he should have the expertise to show for it. "Er... how would you go about getting someone—Rita Skeeter, for example—to stop writing nasty articles about you?"
"Do something outrageous—but harmless—to take the attention away from whatever it is they're writing about, of course," Lockhart said. "Might be a bit hard cooped up here at school, but it always works a treat! If you do something the public will love, someone like Skeeter won't go against the grain by keeping at the nasty stuff—it's just bad business. It won't last forever but it should help fix things for a while."
That seemed like decent enough advice to Harry. It wasn't too far from what Dumbledore had suggested Harry to do with Umbridge, although in true Lockhart fashion it was highly visible, and Lockhart certainly had the experience with the press to back it up. But he'd hit on an important obstacle: Harry was stuck at school and generally lacked for opportunities to do anything outrageous in that sort of way.
"Thank you, sir. I'll try to think of something."
"Cheer up—at this stage in your career, everything is salvageable. Now, I've noticed that some of the letters are asking me about my unpublished book—here's what you should say..." said Lockhart. He explained his preference for those letters and Harry spent the rest of the allotted time working on Lockhart's letters. When it was finally time to go, Harry returned to the dungeons feeling like the evening hadn't been a complete waste of time.
Just about.