"Did I ever say Lockhart was incompetent?" Richard asked, raising an eyebrow. "No, Justin. At the very least, he's a gifted writer. But you don't have to be some kind of Rambo to write convincingly accounts of heroic exploits. All a writer has to do is listen to an Auror in a pub telling a story about, say, fighting a Yeti, then use a bit of imagination and turn it into a gripping tale on paper."
"But what about the Auror?" Justin asked. "Wouldn't he object? If your theory's right, then he's the one who defeated the Yeti."
"Why would he?" Richard replied in surprise. "A writer is perfectly entitled to invent whatever adventures he likes in a work of fiction. And if that Auror didn't want his story ending up in a book, he shouldn't have been telling it to anyone who cared to listen."
Putting the book back into his bag, Richard made his way over to the Gryffindor table. As he walked, he reflected that if Lockhart truly was as powerful a wizard as he claimed to be, then he, too, belonged on the list of suspects. He might well be the one destined to destroy the planet. Which meant an investigation was in order.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said, offering polite bows to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Weasley twins and Percy, who were seated a little farther down the table.
"Morning, Richie," Ron greeted him with a wave.
Harry acknowledged his friend with a courteous nod.
"Good morning, Richie," Hermione said, looking up from her book.
"Hermione, I see you're reading Lockhart," Richard observed. "He writes well. If only he'd written his fantasy in the third person, he could have sold it in huge numbers to ordinary people as well. As long as publishing remains profitable, Lockhart has every chance of becoming very wealthy."
"Fantasy?!" Hermione protested. "They're textbooks!"
Richard gave a meaningful snort and drawled with obvious irony,
"Of course they are... Textbooks... By the way, have you heard? For the first time, our Houses are sharing a class. This week they've switched Slytherin with Hufflepuff for Herbology."
Hermione brightened immediately.
"That's wonderful news, Richie! Let's work together."
"Hermione, I'd be delighted." Richard inclined his head in agreement. "I'd very much enjoy your company. Just don't expect any great talent from me in Herbology... I have to admit, digging around in the dirt has never really been my calling."
***
In Herbology, the students spent the lesson repotting young Mandrakes. The plants, whose roots resembled grotesque infants, emitted dreadful cries whenever they were pulled from the soil. Fully grown Mandrakes were capable of killing a person outright, so every student wore soundproof earmuffs.
The Mandrakes had no intention of leaving their comfortable homes for separate pots. The little monsters writhed, kicked, pummeled the students with their tiny fists, and gnashed their teeth in protest.
Richard spent a full fifteen minutes trying to force a single Mandrake into its pot. It stung his pride that even Harry and Ron had managed the task in ten minutes. To make matters worse, Hermione had somehow transplanted two Mandrakes in the same amount of time, positively glowing with satisfaction at her own superiority.
By the end of the lesson, everyone was covered in dirt from head to toe.
Hot, sweaty, and filthy, the students trudged back toward the castle. Along the way, Harry sighed tiredly.
"That was awful! I really hope I never end up becoming a Herbologist."
"I certainly won't!" Richard said fervently. "If the second-years have to deal with plant monsters like these, I shudder to think what awaits us in the upper years. They'll probably have us fertilizing an Ent or feeding some sort of arboreal dragon..."
Hermione let out an amused snort and replied in a lecturing tone,
"There are no such things as Ents or arboreal dragons. I've read all the reference books on magical plants! So which one of us is reading fantasy?" she shot back, glaring defiantly at Richard.
"This year, every student at Hogwarts is reading fantasy," Grosvenor replied evenly. "By the way, Harry, Ron, Hermione—keep an eye on Lockhart. Maybe it's just my paranoia, but that doesn't mean everything in the world is perfectly fine. If Lockhart really is as powerful as he makes himself out to be in his books, he could be another Dark Lord lying low until the right moment."
"Richie!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes full of reproach. "How can you say that about a professor?"
"Hermione's drawn little hearts next to DADA on her timetable," Ron blurted out innocently.
Granger's cheeks immediately turned scarlet. She shot Ron a glare that promised retribution.
"Hermione, you don't have to be involved..." Richard turned to Harry and Ron before adding pointedly, "Lads, Quirrell looked like a complete weakling..."
"Hmm..." Ron murmured meaningfully. "Richie, I get what you're saying..."
"We'll keep an eye on Lockhart," Harry agreed with a serious nod.
"Boys, I honestly don't understand you at all." Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're being ridiculous! Professor Lockhart is an excellent fighter against the Dark creatures. And another thing, Richie—why shouldn't I help?" she demanded indignantly.
"All right, Hermione." Richard raised both hands in a placating gesture. "You can help—but with something else. Find every piece of information you can on Animagi."
"Animagi?" Hermione looked puzzled. "What does that have to do with Professor Lockhart?"
"Nothing at all," Richard replied, remaining perfectly composed. "It's for something important. As for keeping an eye on Lockhart, I'm sorry, but I can't involve you. You're too biased where he's concerned—you admire him like a fan. What we need here is an objective perspective."
After saying their goodbyes, the Gryffindors headed for their tower while the Hufflepuffs made their way back to their basement dormitories. After a shower, another round of lessons awaited them.
(End of Chapter)
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