Professor Sprout would never know how Lockhart managed to hush the screaming Mandrakes.
Her opinion of him soared, and she gave Snape a meaningful look. "Professor Lockhart clearly has some remarkable insights."
Truth be told, Snape, a Potions master with plenty of experience handling magical plants, had no idea how Lockhart had silenced over a hundred Mandrakes so effortlessly. Whether it was Lockhart's enthusiastic charm or Snape's own lingering respect for Sprout, who'd once taught him, he found himself roped into helping with the Mandrakes alongside Lockhart.
The three worked quickly, finishing before sunset. Covered in dirt, they headed off to clean up for the Hogwarts Opening Feast.
Lockhart, ever the showman, thrust a bottle of his luxury brand shampoo into Snape's hands. "Hey, this stuff's leagues better than anything the Potters churn out," he said with a grin. "Made with Occamy eggshells—you know how pricey those are. Trust me, once you try it, you'll never go back."
He tossed his glossy, almost glowing curls and raised an eyebrow. "Everyone who's used it raves about it!"
Snape, with his greasy, unkempt hair and enough wealth to indulge in luxury, was the perfect potential customer. *Time to be a refined gentleman,* Lockhart thought, winking playfully before strutting off under Snape's bemused stare.
Lockhart didn't notice Snape quietly watching him go, glancing down at the shampoo bottle—possibly the only gift he'd received in a decade.
---
*Boom!*
Fireworks burst overhead.
The new school year had begun, and with it came the first-year students. This year, there was no iconic Sorting Hat moment with Hannah Abbott, as Harry Potter was now in his second year.
But… Lockhart scanned the Great Hall and didn't spot Harry. Of course, the real-world Harry might not look like his movie counterpart—Lockhart himself bore no resemblance to his cinematic version.
"Professor Snape," Lockhart said, turning to the man seated beside him, "where's our Chosen One?"
Snape's brow furrowed as he surveyed the hall, his gaze flicking to Dumbledore at the head table. After last year's confirmation that Voldemort was still alive, Harry Potter's absence was alarming.
Yes, Harry was missing! Somewhere between leaving the Dursleys' home, where blood protection kept him safe, and arriving at Hogwarts, he'd vanished.
Nothing could be more worrying.
Lockhart noticed Snape's neck veins pulsing beneath his stoic expression, while Professor McGonagall, seated nearby, looked visibly anxious. *What a kid, always in the spotlight,* Lockhart thought.
Soon, a prefect hurried to McGonagall, the Gryffindor Head, whispering that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley hadn't arrived at school as expected. McGonagall nodded, instructing him to maintain order, and sat back with a tight-lipped expression.
Dumbledore, however, remained calm. He gave Snape a subtle nod before stepping up to the owl-carved podium to address the hall.
*Oh,* Lockhart thought, a memory clicking into place. His mind was a chaotic jumble of past-life fanfiction and fragmented memories, but something surfaced. Harry and Ron had gone missing together. Over the summer, Harry had stayed at the Weasleys' Burrow. On the day of term, Dobby, the Malfoy family's loyal house-elf, had sealed the barrier at King's Cross Platform 9¾, preventing them from boarding the Hogwarts Express.
So, those two daring boys had taken Mr. Weasley's enchanted flying car and set off on a wild adventure.
Lockhart could imagine the Weasleys' panic when they returned to the platform and found the boys gone. Dumbledore was likely waiting for word from the Order of the Phoenix or the Weasleys themselves.
The news came soon enough—but not from the Order.
"Merlin's twisty braids! Look!" a young wizard shouted, pointing at the Great Hall's windows.
There, in the sky, was something utterly out of place in the magical world—a Muggle car! A *flying* Muggle car, belching smoke and flickering with sparks. It narrowly grazed the castle walls, zipped over the greenhouses and gardens, and streaked across the grounds toward the Forbidden Forest.
Inside, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were screaming their heads off.
Lockhart caught Snape's subtle sigh of relief, followed by a mocking smirk—likely at Harry's ridiculous entrance. McGonagall's expression softened, a smile returning as she resumed directing the first-years to the Sorting.
Dumbledore's face was unreadable, sitting calmly in his seat.
Soon, the professors spotted two sneaky figures—Harry and Ron—lugging their trunks and tiptoeing toward the hall like thieves, peeking through the windows.
Snape snorted, shoved his chair back, and stormed out.
Lockhart, munching on a chicken leg and enjoying the spectacle, wanted to call out, *Oh, dear senior, those kids are Gryffindors—McGonagall's problem, not yours, Slytherin's Head!* But he just chuckled to himself.
*They say all troubles come from caring too much,* Lockhart mused. His own worries stemmed from hiding his inability to cast spells, clinging to the prestige of his reputation. And with fame came… the screams of adoring fans.
"Aaaah!"
The shrieks of young witches and wizards, some piercingly high-pitched, rivaled the Mandrakes' cries. Fertilizer wouldn't fix this.
The hall buzzed with excitement, and leading the charge was Hermione Granger, clutching a heart-stickered copy of *Magical Me* and pushing through the crowd for an autograph.
*Not bad,* Lockhart thought, basking in the attention. If only the screams didn't stir the chaotic memories in his head.
Maintaining his charming smile, he signed books and offered free words of encouragement. The crowd of young fans grew, and soon a wizard with a magical camera appeared. Lockhart posed for photo after photo, like a celebrity at a hotspot.
His popularity was so overwhelming that some professors, lingering over their meals, looked downright jealous.