Lockhart is Gay?

Hermione crossed her arms, her expression a mixture of frustration and disbelief. "What happened tonight feels absolutely outrageous to me."

"Moreover, we've broken so many school rules, yet we only lost a few points?"

That was Dumbledore for you—always unpredictable.

Eighteen points… wasn't it odd to deduct points only after a discussion?

Blake gave Hermione a curious look. "Isn't it good that we only lost a few points and didn't get punished?"

"Or did you actually want us to be expelled?" He smirked.

Hermione flushed, her earlier thoughts from the Forbidden Forest resurfacing. If both of them had been expelled… then…

"I… I didn't say that!" she stammered.

But Blake caught the flicker of guilt in her expression. "Wait, were you actually hoping we'd get expelled? That way, you—"

"Hiss… I didn't expect you to be like this, Hermione."

Hermione's embarrassment turned to anger. "You're talking nonsense! I'm not! I'm not!"

Her three consecutive denials only made her seem guiltier.

Blake's knowing smirk pushed her over the edge. "I… I'm going back!"

She turned abruptly and marched toward the door of the Room of Requirement.

"Hey, leaving so soon?"

"What else would I do?"

"What if you run into Professor McGonagall or Filch? You'd be escorted straight back to Dumbledore."

Hermione froze mid-step.

After just saying goodnight to Dumbledore, how would she explain being caught roaming around again?

She turned back to Blake, biting her lip. "Can you walk me back?"

"Or… you could stay?"

"No! I need to sleep. Staying up late is a girl's worst enemy!"

Blake lounged on his bed, patting the empty space beside him invitingly. "Come on, there's room here."

"Get lost!"

Blake sighed dramatically. "So you dislike me that much. It's not like—"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Not like what? Who else has stayed here?"

"Cassandra?" she asked, voice tight with suspicion.

"Cassandra? Oh, I invited her, but she didn't agree."

"Are you disappointed?" Hermione growled.

Blake looked scandalized. "I never said anything about sleeping together! I just meant she could rest here while I went back to my dormitory!"

"Tch! Don't tell me you think I—"

"Ouch! You and Cassandra think alike!"

"You're so annoying!" Hermione huffed, her cheeks burning.

[Ding! Detected embarrassment and anger! Congratulations, host, for earning a silver treasure chest!]

Blake smirked at the system's announcement as Hermione bolted for the door, opening it in a flustered hurry and running out.

With a snap of his fingers, Hermione suddenly found herself standing right in front of the Gryffindor common room entrance.

The Fat Lady stared at her in shock. "Lucky stars shine!" Hermione blurted, flustered.

The portrait frame swung open, muttering, "Young people these days… such temper."

—

The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with hushed whispers. Normally, breakfast at Hogwarts was lively, but today was eerily quiet.

The reason? The morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

The front page no longer discussed Blake's life-extending potion.

Instead, the headline was all about Lockhart.

[Shocking! Gilderoy Lockhart, popular writer, is actually gay! Here are the top ten supporting evidences!]

"High-profile young author Lockhart, quite the unique taste!"

"He has a particular fondness for greasy middle-aged men with sinister expressions!"

"Sources claim Lockhart's charm is irresistible to his preferred targets."

"According to an anonymous victim, Ackerman Allen…"

"The Prophet advises all middle-aged wizards to beware, avoid black robes, and always keep smiling…"

Lockhart hummed as he strolled into the Great Hall, eager for breakfast.

His mood had been excellent lately, though it soured slightly after a falling out with the Daily Prophet's editor-in-chief. Still, his number one fan, Gladys Gudgeon, had gifted him a golden-framed portrait of himself just days ago. It was a masterpiece! He had even signed it flamboyantly with his peacock-feather quill.

But today, something felt off.

As he walked through the corridors, students eyed him strangely.

The girls who once blushed at his presence now averted their gazes.

The boys pressed themselves against the walls as he passed.

Even the professors glanced at him with barely concealed amusement—or in some cases, concern.

"What's going on?" Lockhart muttered.

Then he spotted Snape, ever his usual brooding self, striding toward the Great Hall.

"Ah! Severus! Good morning!"

Snape turned, eyeing him with what looked like… revulsion? Then, in a swift, almost comical motion, he stepped back against the wall.

Lockhart frowned. "Is something wrong?"

Snape, deeply disturbed, kept his distance. He had read the article.

The victim's silhouette bore a striking resemblance to him—right down to the hairstyle, hair color, and robes. Though the face was blurred, the similarities were uncanny.

Was it possible? Had the Daily Prophet accused him of being Lockhart's…

No. Ridiculous. Absurd.

But the idea sent shivers down Snape's spine.

"Have you read today's Daily Prophet?" Snape asked coldly.

"Oh, I haven't received it yet!" Lockhart beamed. "Why, is there something about me?"

Snape's lips curled slightly. "It's the front-page headline."

"Front page?!" Lockhart's eyes sparkled. "I must go see it at once!"

He practically skipped to the Great Hall, oblivious to Snape's deepening scowl.

The moment Lockhart stepped inside, all conversation ceased. Every pair of eyes landed on him, each filled with varying degrees of curiosity, pity, or disbelief.

Blake, finishing his breakfast, watched the scene unfold with mild amusement.

Lockhart, taking the silence as admiration, puffed up his chest and waved. "Good morning, Minerva!"

Professor McGonagall stood, adjusting her glasses with a sharp gaze. "Professor Lockhart, we do not interfere with your private life… but perhaps you should keep your particular tastes outside of Hogwarts."

Lockhart blinked. "Particular tastes?"

McGonagall gave him one final disapproving look before exiting the hall.

Confused, Lockhart finally noticed his personal copy of the Prophet, delivered by an owl perched on his seat. He snatched it up eagerly and flipped to the front page.

His delighted expression froze.

His face turned deathly pale.

His hands trembled as he gripped the paper.

"RITA SKEETER, YOU LYING—!"

With a furious roar, Lockhart stormed out of the Great Hall, clutching the newspaper.

Blake wiped his mouth with a napkin and smirked. "Nice work, Rita."

Rita had expertly planted the first seeds of doubt. Lockhart's fanbase consisted mainly of women—especially middle-aged women. Now, many would question their devotion.

The first strike was a mere distraction. The real scandal would come next.

Lockhart, oblivious, had just walked into the perfect trap.

Rita Skeeter grinned, relishing her work. "I've never felt so wealthy in my life!"

=============

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