Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"Long time no see, Hermione."

The classroom was already more than half full. After finding a seat, Harry noticed the person engrossed in a book beside him was Hermione.

"Long time no see, Harry. How was your holiday?"

Slightly surprised, Hermione closed the book she had been reading—Travels with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart.

In the six months since they last met, Hermione hadn't changed much. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy her time studying at Ravenclaw. Her energy was radiant, and a faint blush adorned her cheeks.

"Where's your book?"

As usual, Hermione fired off questions like a rapid-fire machine gun. Noticing that Harry had come to class empty-handed, she asked anxiously, "Did you forget it in the dormitory? You should go back and get it. Do you think Professor Lockhart will mind? Or maybe we could share mine? By the way, which of his books is your favorite? I think—"

Harry found Hermione's motherly nagging more amusing than annoying. After all, he didn't hear it every day, and listening to it once in a while was actually quite entertaining. If Hermione truly treated him like a stranger, would she still nag like this?

"So, which question should I answer first?"

Harry grinned teasingly. Realizing she had rambled, Hermione smiled sheepishly, revealing her shiny front teeth.

"I heard you had a bit of a... disagreement with Professor Lockhart in Diagon Alley?"

"Disagreement might be overstating it." Harry waved dismissively. "It was more of a one-sided thing—I just don't think much of him."

Seeing Hermione's wide-eyed disbelief, Harry shrugged helplessly. "He wanted me to pose for pictures and help promote his new book. I'm not stupid. Someone being that overly friendly right away clearly has an ulterior motive."

"Really?" Hermione whispered skeptically. "Isn't Professor Lockhart a famous author?"

"Had you heard of him last year?"

"Well, I'd just entered the wizarding world last year."

"Exactly, but you knew me and not him."

Harry's logic left Hermione without a retort. "So, who's riding on whose fame here? I think we both know the answer."

"Fine," Hermione muttered, pouting. "Even if that's the case, you can't just dismiss his books as children's literature."

"Werewolves are dangerous, and vampires too, but those—"

"There are werewolves in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts," Hermione interjected. "I'm not sure about vampires, but there are definitely werewolves."

Harry's sudden remark sent a chill down Hermione's spine.

"Really?" she asked cautiously.

"I've even shared meals with them," Harry said casually. "They're allowed to stay in the Forbidden Forest because Dumbledore permits it. These werewolves have no intention of harming anyone. In fact, they're victims. If I ever get the chance, I'd gladly break Fenrir Greyback's limbs and hand him over to them to vent their frustrations."

"Fenrir... the infamous werewolf? The one who disguised himself as a beggar and tricked that Ministry official?"

Hermione, who spent much of her free time in the library, was somewhat familiar with Greyback's notorious reputation. At least half of England's werewolves had been infected by him. He was a textbook sociopath, for whom even the death penalty would seem merciful.

"Yes, that's the one," Harry confirmed. "If I invited a werewolf to help Professor Lockhart with his class, do you think he'd dare to demonstrate close-quarters combat and force the werewolf to transform back into a human using Transfiguration?"

Reversing a werewolf transformation with magic was possible but temporary, as the method resembled human Transfiguration. Once transformed, werewolves had a significantly higher resistance to magic—much stronger than most wizards but slightly weaker than the Hippogriffs Hagrid had trained. It often took three or five average wizards to subdue one, though their physical resistance was lower. While their transformed bodies were tougher, the enhancement had its limits.

"When I said 'I can take down a werewolf with one punch,' I wasn't joking," Harry added. "I've actually done it. That guy hadn't bathed in ages, and his stinky feet were unbearable. I pinned him down, gave him a good beating, and tossed him into a river for a thorough scrub."

Hermione burst into laughter. Harry's vivid description was both absurd and strangely amusing.

But their conversation quickly ended as the sound of the bell echoed through the classroom. The previously buzzing room quieted down, and all eyes turned to the podium. Striding in with long, dramatic steps, Lockhart let the wind sweep his robes behind him. With a graceful spin, he planted himself firmly at the front of the class.

Lockhart picked up a copy of his latest book, Magical Me, and began speaking in what he clearly thought was a dramatic and captivating tone.

"I," he said, pointing to the photo of himself on the cover, his eyes twinkling, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award—though I don't talk about that much. I didn't vanquish the Wailing Banshee with my smile, after all!"

Despite his claim of humility, the signature, toothy grin on his face practically screamed, I'm very proud of this.

Lockhart paused, as though waiting for a round of applause or a chorus of laughter. Convinced his quip was humorous, he puffed out his chest, but the response was underwhelming—only a few students offered polite chuckles.

"Professor!"

Rolf Scamander, seated right next to Harry and Hermione, raised his hand high, a mischievous smirk lurking on his face. He had overheard their earlier conversation and, unlike most Hufflepuffs, Rolf had a streak of cheeky daring. It ran in the family—his grandfather, Newt Scamander, had never been one to stay out of trouble. Newt might have been expelled for taking the fall for someone else, but he was far from a model student. His knack for bold decisions had led him to New York, a confrontation with an Obscurus, and other daring escapades.

Clearly inheriting that nerve, Rolf decided to be the class clown today.

"And you are?"

Lockhart had been so absorbed in his self-introduction that he hadn't even bothered to take attendance—perhaps he'd forgotten entirely.

"Rolf Scamander."

"Very well, Mr. Scamander, what's your question?"

Lockhart smiled, projecting an air of scholarly patience.

"Professor Lockhart, have you really fought a werewolf? In a telephone booth, no less? You defeated one?"

Rolf's tone was deliberately exaggerated, his eyes wide with mock admiration. Seeing what appeared to be genuine awe, Lockhart's vanity swelled a little further.

"Ah, of course, Mr. Scamander," Lockhart replied breezily, his expression brimming with theatrical confidence. "You've read my book Wandering with Werewolves, haven't you?"

"That was quite the adventure—thrilling and dangerous, but naturally, I don't recommend any of you attempt it. Werewolves are wicked creatures. Without the right preparation—or adequate skill—they'll spell disaster for anyone who crosses their path."

"Professor, you must be amazing!" Rolf exclaimed, his face flushed as though he were genuinely starstruck. "Taking down a werewolf must've been easy for you, right? Even in such a dangerous situation, you handled it with such grace! Truly, you're a great adventurer!"

"It was but a minor chapter in my illustrious career," Lockhart replied, feigning modesty with a casual wave of his hand. "I'm always delighted to share my small adventures to brighten up mundane lives. After all, not everyone has the courage to take that first step into the unknown."

The classroom buzzed with whispers and murmurs. Feeling the weight of many eyes on him, Lockhart's smile grew even more radiant.

Just as he was about to ask Rolf to sit down and move on with the lesson, Rolf leaned forward slightly, his mischievous grin barely concealed. Adopting a pitiful tone, he said:

"Professor, then please save Hogwarts!"

"What?!"

Lockhart froze, taken aback by the dramatic plea.

"The school is in terrible danger," Rolf continued earnestly, though his tone carried a hint of mockery. "I'm sure only someone as brave and skilled as you can help us!"

Lockhart's face lit up with excitement as he straightened up, his enthusiasm reignited.

"Werewolves," he said, though his smile faltered just slightly.

"In the Forbidden Forest," Rolf continued, voice trembling as though fighting back fear. "At night, the howling echoes under the moonlight. It's terrifying. It keeps me up every night, haunting my thoughts."

Rolf pinched his side hard enough to redden his eyes and blinked rapidly, making it seem like he was on the verge of tears. His expression of fear and helplessness was almost convincing.

"I didn't even want to return to Hogwarts this term," he said, his voice quivering. "Last year, I barely slept a wink because of it. But when I heard you would be teaching us this year, Professor, I summoned all my courage and came back—for you! You didn't disappoint me, Professor Lockhart!"

He leaned forward, his reddened eyes boring into Lockhart's. With an impassioned plea, he declared, "Please, Professor, you have to help us! Rid Hogwarts of this terrible menace, just like you've done on your grand adventures! Bring us peace and safety!"

Harry and the others, watching Rolf's performance, bit down on their lips or pinched themselves under the desk to avoid bursting into laughter. The kid was far more mischievous than any of them had anticipated. Meanwhile, Lockhart, thrust onto this precarious pedestal, looked visibly uneasy. After all, no one knew his actual capabilities—or lack thereof—better than he did.

"Ahahaha," Lockhart laughed nervously, his usual bravado cracking. "Hogwarts, having werewolves? Surely not! What you must have heard are wolves—yes, wild wolves! I heard them myself last night!"

Lockhart began fabricating explanations, attempting to reassure his "devoted fan."

"Werewolf howls and wolf howls sound very similar," he said. "Without extensive experience, it's nearly impossible to tell the difference."

Frantically racking his brain for werewolf-related trivia, Lockhart latched onto the one fact he did know: full moons. Yes, werewolves only transformed under a full moon!

"Besides, werewolves only transform under the full moon. It's impossible for them to be howling every night. What you heard yesterday was definitely just wolves."

"But yesterday was a full moon," Rolf said innocently, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

"Cough—was it?!"

Lockhart's forced smile wavered, his composure unraveling. He scrambled to redirect the conversation.

"Even so, no werewolf howls were heard last night. That proves Hogwarts is safe. Rest assured, Mr. Scamander. Now, let's move on to a little test—"

"But, Professor," Rolf interjected, pointing a trembling finger over Lockhart's shoulder, his face a mask of terror. "There's one right behind you."

The room fell silent. Lockhart's eyes widened, his body going stiff as a board. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

"Wh-what?" he stammered.

"Right behind you," Rolf croaked, his voice low and rasping, "Professor."

At that moment, Harry acted. With a flick of his wand, he silently cast a Transfiguration spell on Lockhart's desk. The wood twisted and stretched, morphing swiftly into a towering, hulking figure—a 2.2-meter-tall werewolf that loomed ominously over the professor, its shadow engulfing him entirely.

Lockhart, spinning around, saw nothing at first and let out a relieved breath. But before he could compose himself, the massive shadow enveloped him, and a furry claw gently rested on his shoulder.

The pressure increased incrementally, forcing him to turn. Lockhart found himself face-to-face with a monstrous, snarling wolf's visage. Its jagged, yellowed fangs gleamed menacingly, and its cruel grin spread wide as it lunged forward, jaws snapping open.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Lockhart's blood-curdling scream echoed through the classroom as the once-poised professor crumpled to the floor like a wooden plank, his collapse punctuated by a dull, painful-sounding thud.

The students erupted in laughter, unable to contain themselves any longer. Harry and his friends clutched their sides, their efforts to stifle their amusement utterly failing.

And so concluded one of the most unforgettable—and unintentionally brilliant—Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons in Hogwarts' history.

(End of Chapter)