During Christmas of our second year, Hogwarts was even emptier than usual.
The news that Mrs. Norris had been attacked on Halloween, that Colin Creevey had been petrified the day after a Quidditch match, and then, as if to worsen matters, that Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick had also been turned to stone, plunged Hogwarts into even greater chaos.
Harry, in particular, suffered the most. Ever since it was revealed at the Duelling Club that he was a Parselmouth, he had been treated as a full-fledged suspect, labeled the "Heir of Slytherin."
On top of that, the idea that some unknown monster was roaming the school sent everyone fleeing home. As a result, Hogwarts had fallen so silent that it felt like a funeral.
As for me…
"Well then, Saya, how about trying wind magic next?"
To make good on a promise I had neglected for some time, I was holding Christmas training sessions with Saya, a first-year Gryffindor student whom I had said I would teach magic.
"Wind magic?"
"Yes. It involves manipulating the flow of air. Even a slight change in air currents can be applied offensively, so it's quite a useful spell."
Because Saya's family lived far to the east, she stayed behind during Christmas to save on travel expenses and to secure the scholarship she needed to study at Hogwarts. Just as promised, I was giving her one-on-one magical training throughout the holiday season.
I did ask her whether she was afraid of the whole Heir of Slytherin incident.
"Well, Headmaster Dumbledore is here, so it's probably fine, right? Besides, if I go home and my parents start worrying, I might not be able to come back to Hogwarts."
She was surprisingly bold. Then again, without that kind of nerve, you could never survive as a witch.
So, as promised, I spent the Christmas holidays giving her private lessons.
"If you imagine gathering the air and hurling it forward, it tends to work better. Like this."
When I flicked my wand, a gust of wind brushed past the bottle placed in front of us, making it rattle as it shook.
"Now you try."
"L-like this?"
Saya swung her wand with a sharp motion. Wind magic itself was taught early on in Professor Flitwick's classes, so she could already produce wind.
Unfortunately, the wind she created passed right over the bottle. So close.
"Your wand grip is off. Wind control is delicate, so forcing it won't work."
"Um… then how about this?"
Another gust swept past.
"Like this."
When I moved my wand, the bottle rattled again. Saya let out an impressed "Wow," then gently adjusted her grip.
"Here I go!"
She tried to imitate me, but the bottle was not even grazed.
"I suppose it can't be helped. Shall we have you learn it with your body?"
"W-with my body?"
"Yes. With your body."
For some reason, Saya's ears turned bright red. I stepped behind her and took hold of both her wrists. She flinched slightly, and I spoke softly near her ear.
"Alright, here we go."
We practiced like that until sunset, but she did terribly. In fact, she seemed to get worse once I stood behind her. Or was it just my imagination?
＊＊
Even though I'm more dutiful than one might expect and kept my promise to Saya by giving her daily private lessons, I wasn't with her every moment of the Christmas break.
After parting ways with her at dusk, I headed to Professor Lockhart's office on the third floor of the castle.
"Excuse me."
I gave a light knock, and the door flew open. Professor Lockhart greeted me with a dazzling smile, flashing his pearly white teeth.
"Oh my, if it isn't the future author herself! Come along in."
The walls of the room were covered with countless autographed photographs of Professor Lockhart, all brightly illuminated by numerous candles. On the desk lay stacks of what looked like half-finished manuscripts.
"Then, please take a look, Pro-fes-sor."
What I handed him was a bundle of about fifty manuscript pages. While Professor Lockhart read through them, the only sound filling the room was the scratching of my pen as I worked on my holiday assignments and reports.
About an hour passed before Professor Lockhart murmured, "Hmm," and looked up. I stopped writing and looked at him.
"Well?"
"The build-up from the middle to the climax is a bit lacking. However, the way you draw the reader in at the beginning is splendid!"
He smiled and snapped his fingers. A house-elf employed at Hogwarts popped into view and poured milk tea for the two of us.
"The ending, where the golem self-destructs, feels a little overused. That said, the concept of a gigantic kelpie landing in London and running rampant, as well as the story of the Minister for Magic confronting it while being battered by bureaucratic red tape, is extremely original!"
Yes, during the Christmas holidays, I was also receiving private literary lessons from Professor Lockhart.
What he was reviewing was an assignment from the day before yesterday: a short story created from three prompts.
The prompts Professor Lockhart gave were "kelpie," "bureaucratic work," and "golem," a rather puzzling combination that I had to turn into a short story.
While Professor Lockhart is hopeless as a wizard and as a teacher, his literary talent is genuine. After all, he has been awarded the Third Class Order of Merlin, an honor given to those who contribute to magical knowledge and entertainment.
For someone like me, who hopes to travel the world and write down my own stories someday, there was no way I could pass up the chance to have a currently popular author personally critique my work, especially for free.
So I asked him on a whim, expecting nothing, and he agreed surprisingly easily. That's why I found myself visiting his office almost every day during Christmas.
"First, this is a bit of a minor point, but on page three, line fourteen. Elaina, you use the word 'dungeon' here. In a broad sense it means a basement. While that usage is common in Britain, in America it's often understood in the narrower sense of a prison cell, so it can be misleading. Do be careful."
This was exactly where his professionalism showed.
"With this set of prompts, you've clearly researched bureaucratic work very thoroughly. Excellent. Before writing, it's important to properly study the subject you want to write about."
Then Professor Lockhart continued.
"However, haven't you focused a bit too much on detail, at the expense of pacing and character portrayal? It's fine for a setting reference book, but as a piece of fiction, it comes across as somewhat bland."
"Ugh…"
He hit a sore spot.
"Of course, realism is important! But it must be something the reader can feel firsthand. You could decide to aim it at a niche audience, but letting details drag down the story's development and narrow your characters would be putting the cart before the horse."
That really stung.
Smiling the whole time, this boastful old man landed one perfectly accurate critical hit after another.
"The title is the problem now. With your proposal, 'Thames Barriers,' Elaina, it might be hard for readers to grasp what the story is about. A title that lets you understand the content at a glance is exactly what busy modern witches and wizards need!"
Now that he mentioned it, Professor Lockhart's books all had titles like A Handsome Holiday with Vampires or Wandering the Mountains with Werewolves, ones where you could more or less imagine the content just from the name.
Honestly… why on earth is this man teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts? He should just hurry up and go back to being a writer and put out a new book already.
Well, I had actually asked him about that, indirectly, some time ago.
"Because the title 'Gilderoy Lockhart, former Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts professor' sounds absolutely brilliant, doesn't it?"
It was completely the mindset of a fake scholar turned media personality.
People really are weak to authority. Even novelists and critics tend to sound more convincing when they have backgrounds like "former diplomat" or "former doctor" attached to their names.
While we were talking, Professor Lockhart continued to glide his red-ink quill smoothly across the parchment. By the time it was returned to me, it was almost completely red. In other words, rejected.
"…"
It wasn't my main profession, so I wasn't particularly crushed. Still, if a travel story I hoped to write someday were edited like this, I was confident I would at least tear up a little.
"Still, Elaina, you're extremely diligent! You did thorough research, built your world carefully, and skillfully combined classic character types and story progressions from past masterpieces. I can really tell how much effort you put into developing the characters and the plot."
However, Professor Lockhart continued.
"Elaina, is that truly your story?"
"Well… um…"
He hit another sore spot.
I thought I had crafted the story well in response to the prompts. I had read many works, done my research, and then fitted everything together like puzzle pieces.
But that alone does not make a story. It was more like a collection of optimal solutions assembled through mechanical learning. Not my story, but someone else's.
Of course, when given prompts, you have to follow them.
But within that…
How much of yourself can you put into it? How far can you push yourself? How do you present yourself to others?
That, too, is where skill truly shows. That is where you set yourself apart from the rest.
With those words, Professor Lockhart looked at me, still smiling as ever, while I struggled to respond.
"If you're going to do it, why not turn it into a story you yourself find interesting?"
＊＊
After that, Professor Lockhart and I talked deep into the night.
"This character kind of reminds me of the apprentice Hula from The Tale of Nike's Adventures."
"I see. Specifically, what similarities stood out to you?"
"That's why I thought the romance element was unnecessary…"
"But you said earlier that you were moved by a different book, didn't you?"
"I did."
"What do you think makes the difference?"
"That's why I just can't help wanting to know what happens next."
"Then let me ask you this. Why do you think the author deliberately chose not to write a continuation?"
In the end, most of the questions might have been little more than casual conversation without much substance.
My impressions were ordinary, and quite a few of them sounded like the grumbling of a bystander.
Even so, Professor Lockhart kept trying to understand what I was thinking and feeling. He relentlessly asked questions, wanting to understand the author of the book and what was written within it.
As if he were searching tirelessly for something buried.
As if he were desperately seeking something long forgotten.
And in the end, he would always add the same thing.
"If it were me, I'd do it this way! It would absolutely make for a much better work! Because…"
The way he confronted the author and the work head-on, earnestly declaring that he would make it more interesting, was unmistakably the attitude of a true professional.
He wanted more people to enjoy his work. But above all, he wanted to create stories he himself could enjoy. That was why he wove his tales the way he did.
The way he spoke so passionately made him look just like a boy.
Watching him, I couldn't help but let these words slip out.
"Professor Lockhart… you really do love stories, don't you?"
Professor Lockhart's eyes widened in surprise. His clear blue irises seemed to grow larger as he stared at my face in a daze.
"…Do you really think so, Elaina?"
"It's not so much that I think so. It's more that it comes across that way."
"It comes across…?"
Looking back on it later, Professor Lockhart might have been acting a little strange. Perhaps he was exasperated, thinking something like, "Ah, this kid is in that phase too," after I said something so out of character like feelings coming across.
But at the time, I was only thinking about myself.
Instead of noticing the change in him, I asked a terribly self-centered question.
After graduating from Hogwarts, I want to travel. I want to travel, write about what I see and experience, just like Nike did. I want to deliver my stories to someone.
But will they really reach anyone? Can the joy, anxiety, and desperation I felt make someone else's life even a little brighter?
I kept thinking about such childish, vague dreams.
"Professor… do you think I can become the protagonist of my own story?"
As I leaned forward slightly, Professor Lockhart looked at me with a gentle expression.
"As long as you keep walking forward, wishing with all your heart to be so, you absolutely will become one."
He said it clearly and without hesitation.
(End of chapter)
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