Harry Potter: The Wandmaker

Once everyone was inside the Great Hall, the doors were shut, and the students took their seats at their respective House tables, picking up conversations left off on the train.

It wasn't until Professor McGonagall pushed the doors open once again, leading a group of nervous-looking first-years into the hall, that the chatter began to die down. The newcomers were wide-eyed with awe, the candlelight dancing in their eyes as they took in the enchanted ceiling and floating candles, gasping in amazement.

Last year, Harold had been among those wide-eyed first-years. This year, he sat watching from the Ravenclaw table, observing the procession as they made their way toward the front of the hall.

The Sorting Hat's song was as grating as ever. Harold squinted slightly as he watched its mouth-like brim flap open and closed.

So lively, huh? He couldn't help but wonder what kind of wand it would make—if it stayed that animated post-transformation.

For some inexplicable reason, the Sorting Hat felt a chill along what it imagined was its back. Strange… how could a hat feel cold? Or even have a back?

It ignored the sensation and finished its final verse.

A round of polite applause followed as the Sorting began.

"Tyx Orle," McGonagall read from the parchment.

That was the boy who'd ridden the Knight Bus to the station with Harold. So he was a first-year after all.

"Hufflepuff!" the Hat bellowed.

…

One by one, the new students went up, and the clapping never stopped.

That little girl with the radish earrings—Luna Lovegood—was sorted into Ravenclaw.

Gryffindor gained a Colin Creevey, apparently a diehard fan of Harry's. He hadn't taken his eyes off him since walking into the Hall.

And of course, there was Ginny. When the Sorting Hat loudly declared "Gryffindor!", Fred and George jumped onto their benches, whooping like mad.

"Knew it! No question at all…"

"Ginny was born for Gryffindor!"

Percy and Ron were a bit more composed, but still clapped with enough force to turn their palms red.

Three more names followed, and the ceremony came to an end. McGonagall picked up the Sorting Hat and the stool and exited the hall.

Harold looked faintly disappointed. Would've been nice if she'd forgotten to take the Hat.

Most of the students were now ravenous, but it wasn't time to eat just yet. Dumbledore stood.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts. Before the feast begins, allow me to share a few important announcements."

"First, we have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." His gaze flicked toward the side, though not directly at the staff table. "Please join me in welcoming—Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!"

The Hall erupted in deafening applause. Even though the Daily Prophet had already reported the news, hearing it directly from Dumbledore sent Lockhart's fans into a frenzy.

As the clapping swelled, a side door beside the staff table burst open, and in strutted Gilderoy Lockhart. He was dressed in lavish robes of violet silk, his golden curls gleaming like a crown.

He smiled and waved broadly as he walked, his dazzling teeth catching the candlelight. Along the way, he nodded graciously to each House table.

The applause grew louder, a tidal wave of screams and cheers—especially from the girls. Harold noticed Hermione suddenly sitting up straighter, cheeks glowing with excitement. A few older witches looked like they might faint.

"Tch…" Ron looked like he wanted to grumble something, but wisely stayed silent under the thunder of fanfare.

It took Lockhart nearly five minutes to reach the head table—he didn't rush, savoring every cheer until the volume began to fade and the students ran out of steam.

"Thank you, thank you all," Lockhart said in his smooth, theatrical voice.

(So fake, Ron thought, pulling a face like he might vomit.)

"Returning to Hogwarts feels like coming home. Though I graduated from Ravenclaw as one of the brightest in my year, I never imagined I'd one day return—as a professor."

A fresh cheer burst from the Ravenclaw table. The high-achieving students had never cheered so loudly in their lives.

"It's truly an honor…" Lockhart winked flamboyantly at the Ravenclaws.

(Ugh…) That was Ron again, now wishing he had taken the Knight Bus instead.

"I'm honored to be personally invited by none other than Albus Dumbledore—the greatest wizard of our time," Lockhart continued, nodding graciously toward Dumbledore, who offered a polite smile.

"Some say the position is cursed, that it's dangerous. But is it really?"

He pointed to himself. "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award—"

(And you never stop reminding us, Ron thought bitterly.)

"Of course, I don't say this to boast. I simply want you to know—I've faced true danger. I've lived among it. If you're curious, just read your textbooks. They contain all the answers."

"That's why I accepted the Headmaster's offer—to gather material for my next book…"

His inaugural speech ended up being longer than the entire Sorting Ceremony. At first, the excitement remained high, but gradually, the cheers dwindled to polite nods.

Everyone had been sitting on the train all day. They were exhausted. Even Hermione was struggling to maintain her posture, sitting ramrod straight while her stomach grumbled.

POOF!

A sudden puff of purple smoke startled the entire hall. Harold finally noticed that Lockhart had brought along a photographer—the same short wizard from Flourish and Blotts, who had apparently been hiding just outside the door.

Even the professors were caught off guard. Snape's expression darkened; his eyes flicked dangerously toward the silver cutlery beside Lockhart's plate.

Only Dumbledore remained composed, smiling occasionally, nodding thoughtfully, politely thoughtful.

"A photo? Of course," Lockhart beamed.

Another blinding flash. Another group shot.

Dumbledore seized the moment.

"Let us once again welcome Professor Lockhart. Now—let the feast begin!"

Finally.

Ron didn't even hesitate. He lunged for the mountain of roast potatoes and chicken legs in front of him, stuffing food into his mouth as he mumbled through a mouthful, "Harry, Harold, I'm telling you, he's got to be a narcissist. You think so too, right?"

Harold shrugged, noncommittal.

"Don't be so harsh," Hermione shot back. "He's done incredible things. A few extra minutes of introduction is hardly unreasonable."

"Ha…" Ron had no interest in arguing with her. He chugged a glass of pumpkin juice and went back to battling the roast chicken.

…

(End of Chapter)