The Flying Ford Anglia was finally freed.
It revved its engine hard, then slammed on the brakes, making the whole car lurch as if it were bowing to thank Lockhart. Then, with a roar of the throttle, it shot forward. The speed was unreal—almost like a fighter jet taking off.
Vroom!
Instead of flying away, it charged at breakneck speed toward a cluster of petrified Acromantulas nearby. The acceleration, the sheer momentum, the absolute determination—it was like the car was out to settle a score with its mortal enemy.
Imagine a high-speed train smashing into a watermelon. That's the kind of visual Lockhart got. Except, unlike bowling pins scattering as he'd expected, the Acromantulas exploded like overripe fruit, their juices splattering and bits flying everywhere.
Brutal. Savagely brutal.
Lockhart didn't stop it. He had no idea what kind of bad blood existed between the Flying Ford Anglia and the Acromantulas. "Don't judge someone's grudge unless you've walked in their shoes," as the saying goes, and Lockhart got that. Plus, let's be honest, he had zero attachment to those giant spiders.
What he did know was this: Acromantulas' favorite snack was humans. And Hagrid's pet spider, Aragog, the one who supposedly kept them in check? He was so old he was practically on his last legs. In the books, when Harry and Ron went to Aragog as Hagrid's friends, begging for help, the old spider had already given up controlling his kids. He was ready to let them feast on the two young wizards who'd wandered into his lair.
Lockhart once told Hermione, "This isn't a magical world—it's a wizarding world." Everything revolves around wizards. Goblins learned that the hard way—rebel, and you get crushed until you behave. Centaurs got it. House-elves got it. But Acromantulas, with their human-level smarts and ability to talk? They still didn't get the memo. What, did they think they were tougher than dragons or something? Even Dumbledore, the guy known for being nice to intelligent creatures, made his name researching the twelve uses of dragon's blood.
This was an era where wizards and Muggle-borns were figuring out how to coexist, not one where wizards were still negotiating with other magical creatures. That ship sailed ages ago.
The Flying Ford Anglia, now splattered with grime, rolled up to Lockhart, looking almost hopeful, like it was waiting for him to give it a good scrub. A quick Scourgify would do the trick, right? Simple.
Except Lockhart didn't know that spell.
Luckily, the banshee he'd summoned saved the day. A fountain of blood-red water burst from the ground, spraying the car and washing away the muck. In Lockhart's professional opinion—and he was always reliable in his area of expertise—this wasn't just any water. It was a "vital spring," brimming with life-giving energy. The car seemed to love it, practically purring as the water cascaded over its frame.
This wasn't just any old car. Enchanted with something like a Quickening Charm, it was a magical creation, and it was thriving under the spray. It spun its wheels in place, even popped its doors open to let the water clean the interior, like an elegant lady dancing in the rain.
The car couldn't talk or piece together words from a radio like a Transformer, but that was fine. Lockhart knew how to connect with creatures that didn't speak. He reached out, running his fingers gently over the car's freshly cleaned, gleaming surface, like petting a golden retriever.
The car wasn't in great shape, though. Its once-vibrant turquoise paint was dull and chipped, with patches of rust showing through. It was already old when Arthur Weasley enchanted it, and after Harry and Ron crashed it into the Whomping Willow? Those snake-like branches had left it battered, with dents all over and a caved-in roof.
The car seemed almost embarrassed by its condition. Its tires shifted slightly, rolling back a bit, and its frame gave a little shudder.
Lockhart smiled and patted its hood. "No big deal," he said warmly. "A bit of bodywork could smooth you out, you know. Some fresh paint, and you'll be looking as gorgeous as ever." He leaned in, opening the door and sliding inside, chatting casually. "One of my sisters married a mechanic. His work's top-notch. Maybe you'd like to meet him?"
The car perked up, its steering wheel twitching like a kitten nuzzling his hand.
"Would you come with me if I left this place?" Lockhart asked directly. With magical creatures and objects, you had to be straightforward—they didn't always catch subtle hints.
The steering wheel froze. No answer. But Lockhart knew that wasn't a flat-out no.
He tried again. "I'm leaving this school in less than a year. Would you come with me then?"
The car quivered, clearly tempted.
Lockhart glanced out the window at the scattered Acromantula corpses, raising an eyebrow. "Got some unfinished business to take care of first, huh?"
Beep beep!
The car honked twice.
"If you need me, come find me," Lockhart said. "I'm in the Forbidden Forest every night lately."
He didn't linger. Stepping out, he shut the door and gave the car another pat. "Once we've both handled our business, we'll leave together. Deal?"
This time, the car answered. Its windshield wipers sprayed two arcs of water that met in the air to form a heart.
Lockhart burst out laughing.
He called over his other companions to introduce them to the car: the banshee, the golden retriever, the Boggart, the Demiguise. Somehow, he'd collected quite the crew, and he never felt alone.
Amid the laughter, figures darted out from the Magic Rabbit Hole—those big, bearded rabbits. They hopped over, curiously eyeing the group. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a downpour. The rabbits scattered in a panic, bouncing every which way.
The Flying Ford Anglia flung its doors open, inviting everyone to pile in and escape the rain. Miraculously, though they all squeezed into the back, it didn't feel cramped. The car's interior seemed to stretch to fit them all—not like an Extension Charm, but something subtler. If Lockhart hadn't trained himself to notice details, he might've missed it. It was as if the car was meant to hold this many.
As they settled in, the glovebox on the passenger side rattled and popped open. A pile of dirt spilled out, quickly forming a rabbit hole. A particularly burly rabbit poked its head out—the same one that had tugged Lockhart's pant leg to drag him into the rabbit hole to escape the Acromantulas earlier.
Thump thump!
It stomped its hind legs, warning its kin. Then it spotted the other rabbits sitting calmly in the back and visibly relaxed.
What were these magical creatures? Lockhart was intrigued. Their Magic Rabbit Hole could even create an entrance inside a magical object like the Flying Ford Anglia.
Whistle!
Lockhart let out a sharp whistle, a trick he'd picked up from a forest witch's memory to signal friendliness to small creatures. It seemed to work. The burly rabbit hopped out of the hole and onto Lockhart's lap, looking around curiously.
Boom!
The storm outside raged harder, startling the rabbit, which burrowed into Lockhart's arms for safety.