Chapter 327 — Lockhart's Childhood
"My father was a Muggle, my mother was a witch, and I have two older sisters. Neither of them inherited my mother's magic, but I did…"
Lockhart began recounting his childhood.
"She favored me."
There was no smugness in Lockhart's voice. He was simply stating a fact.
"I was a wizard, and I could go to Hogwarts, unlike my two older sisters! That made me very proud."
"I started becoming vain back then. That feeling kept growing inside me, even though I didn't know it was called vanity at the time," Lockhart said slowly.
"I tried my best to attract other people's attention, and that gave me satisfaction."
"By the way, I could actually have been sorted into Slytherin, but I ended up in Ravenclaw instead."
"I thought I was the best, but I wasn't."
Lockhart's tone at this moment contained no resentment. Instead, there was a sense of relief.
"No one there was surprised by my naturally handsome, curly hair."
"Even though I was actually smarter than the vast majority of other people."
"But I wasn't satisfied. I wanted to do my best. Otherwise, life seemed meaningless."
"It sounds silly now, doesn't it?"
Hermione empathized and nodded slightly.
She was actually a perfectionist herself, and her report card was filled with excellent grades. If a "Good" appeared anywhere…
She would feel extremely frustrated and upset.
However, Lockhart seemed to have gone to the opposite extreme.
He had devoted all his energy to sensationalism.
"I did some stupid things just to get their attention."
"I boasted to my classmates that I hoped to create the Philosopher's Stone before graduation."
"I also planned to lead England's Quidditch team to victory in the World Cup, eventually becoming Britain's youngest Minister for Magic."
"A good ideal," Hermione said awkwardly, unsure of what expression she should make.
It sounded like a fantasy.
However, out of courtesy, Hermione still praised him.
"But it must have turned out pretty well in the end, right? After you graduated, you became famous far and wide."
Hermione thought for a moment and began listing some of his titles.
"Recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award. Those are quite remarkable achievements."
"What if I told you that all of my achievements were fake?"
Lockhart's words startled Hermione.
"Fake?" she repeated, turning her gaze back to the man.
"Haven't you defeated many Dark creatures?"
"I'm sorry. I deceived many people. I tricked accomplished wizards and witches into revealing their greatest deeds, then erased their memories. Finally, after processing their stories, I wrote them into books and claimed them as my own."
"Memory Charm?"
Hermione stared at Lockhart in surprise, her brows instinctively furrowing.
"Yes. This is the only spell I'm truly good at."
Lockhart nodded and gave Hermione a bitter smile.
"I wasted my student years on these things instead of studying."
"I once had my name spelled out on the Quidditch Pitch in twenty-foot-high letters."
"I once projected my portrait into the sky, like You-Know-Who's Dark Mark."
"I devoted all my energy to these things and never learned much about truly great magic."
"So you don't actually know any Defence Against the Dark Arts spells? Then why did Professor Dumbledore allow you to serve as a professor?"
Hermione immediately seized upon the crucial point and questioned him.
"I don't know either."
Lockhart still wore that bitter smile as he slowly shook his head.
"By the way, Miss Granger, I have a small request. Could you grant it?"
"Go ahead and tell me."
Hermione was somewhat dazed, desperately trying to piece together the information Lockhart had revealed. She was attempting to sort through everything using her own logic and fit it together.
But it was too difficult.
"Could you ask me for my autograph again? I want to experience that feeling of being worshipped one more time."
Lockhart made the strange request somewhat tentatively.
Hermione's face showed a moment of surprise, but she quickly understood.
"Professor Lockhart, I'm an admirer of yours. May I have your autograph?"
Hermione approached him, adopted an expression of adoration, picked up the copy of The Daily Prophet from the bedside table, and handed it to Lockhart.
"It would be my pleasure."
Gilderoy Lockhart smiled, maintaining his usual elegant smile. He somehow produced his peacock-feather quill and smoothly wrote his elaborate signature on the paper.
He handed it back to Hermione.
"Thank you," he said.
"No need," Hermione replied briefly.
"Thank you," Lockhart repeated.
Then he closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.
The conversation, which had been little more than a one-sided outpouring, had come to an end.
Hermione's compassion had prevailed, and she had granted the dying man's final wish.
Through this conversation, Hermione had learned how even a talented person could become just another face in the crowd. It eased some of her doubts, but the most important secret and mystery remained unsolved.
The so-called truth was still shrouded in mystery.
Hermione then went downstairs, left St Mungo's Hospital, and met up with the Weasley family and Harry at the Muggle supermarket they had agreed upon.
After wandering around for a while, they found a run-down little hotel to stay in.
The next day, they visited Mr. Weasley again before preparing to return to school.
It was clear that their spirits were not particularly high on the journey back.
"Harry? Did they have a fight?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Because of Percy," Harry explained in a low voice.
"Don't mention him! Umbridge's lackey! What kind of job could keep him so busy that he doesn't even come to see his father?"
Although Ron had lowered his voice, he still heard Harry and immediately shouted it aloud.
"What are you saying?"
Mrs. Weasley patted Ron on the head.
"He's your brother. Don't talk nonsense."
Mrs. Weasley spoke sternly.
The group then entered a fruit shop.
Many of the tiles had fallen off the outside, and flies swarmed everywhere.
This was yet another hidden Floo Powder station.
After saying goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, the group returned to Hogwarts, since they had classes the next day.
The visit was over.
Meanwhile, beneath the bustling streets of central London, in an office of the British Ministry of Magic—the political center of wizarding society—another scene was unfolding.
It was a room that had seemingly been created out of thin air between the third and fourth floors of the Ministry of Magic.
The room was circular, surrounded by bookshelves and books.
Occasionally, one or two books looked slightly out of place, with a golden feather protruding from between their pages.
Those were Fawkes's golden tail feathers.