Boom!
Inside Hagrid's hut, a middle-aged wizard was roughly thrown to the floor by a group of young witches and wizards.
His face was twisted with venomous resentment as he glared at the smug, triumphant students, his teeth practically grinding with rage.
You think you defeated me?
You think you caught me?
What are you so proud of, huh?
Answer me!
Look in my eyes!
George Weasley gave him a sharp kick, his face burning with anger. "The Killing Curse! The Cruciatus Curse! You filthy dark wizard, get ready to rot in Azkaban for the rest of your life!"
The dark wizard only sneered back at him.
George was livid. He'd nearly lost his brother forever, and he wanted nothing more than to end this man right then and there.
"George!" Lockhart called out, stopping him. "You and Fred go look after the others. Heal anyone who can be treated with counter-curses, and for those who can't, get them to Madam Pomfrey."
Lockhart had been keeping a close eye on things. Aside from Derian Pucey, who'd been hit with the Cruciatus Curse early on, the other young witches and wizards seemed mostly okay.
But having this chaotic crowd of students milling about in Hagrid's hut wasn't ideal.
Lockhart turned to Cedric.
The young Hufflepuff looked guilt-ridden, clearly aware that his performance had disappointed the professor. He seemed utterly dejected.
"Cedric, can you fetch Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall for me? They need to know about this immediately."
Cedric straightened up at once.
"And…" Lockhart added with a warm smile, "you did well out there. Your decisiveness in leading the charge against the Slytherin team and organizing everyone to cast the Shield Charm together was impressive."
Cedric's eyes lit up, his voice catching with emotion. "Professor, I… I…"
Lockhart just nodded with a grin.
Honestly, the kid had done a great job.
Young ones need encouragement.
"Go on, get Dumbledore and McGonagall here quickly."
Soon, the crowded hut emptied as the students filed out. Lockhart patted Fang's head, asking the boarhound to keep watch at the door.
This was thanks to the Forest Witch's "Forest Darling" state, which gave him an affinity with animals—though it took a bit of wandwork to pull it off.
With that done, Lockhart finally turned to the dark wizard.
"You still haven't answered my question."
The dark wizard blinked, caught off guard.
Lockhart clarified with a tilt of his head. "I asked where you came from."
The dark wizard just smirked, refusing to speak.
Unfazed, Lockhart plopped down in a nearby chair, smiling brightly. "Alright, let's have a guess, shall we?"
"Sent by the Board of Governors?"
There was no such character in Harry's second year in the books, which made this odd.
Lockhart's mind raced, stepping outside the framework of the original story to consider all possibilities.
The pure-blood families on Hogwarts' Board of Governors, when faced with a headmaster whose ideals clashed with theirs and whom they couldn't control, would likely plant someone in the school to keep tabs.
If Dumbledore was pushing his anti-pure-blood agenda, shaping generations of young witches and wizards who'd become the backbone of the British wizarding world—potentially burying the influence of those families—why would they keep pouring resources into Hogwarts like fools?
Wouldn't it make more sense to redirect their support to Durmstrang, which aligned with their values?
"Nah, that's not it," Lockhart said, dismissing his own theory. "If the Board wanted to plant someone, they'd put them among the staff, not disguise them as a student."
"That's a bit too sneaky…" He paused, a new idea forming. "Fudge, then? Did he send you?"
It wasn't far-fetched. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, might've caught a dark wizard in a compromising position and blackmailed them into doing his bidding.
As a mediocre politician propped up by Dumbledore, Fudge was likely riddled with insecurities. Sending someone to monitor Hogwarts for updates on Dumbledore—who held immense sway over his future—made sense.
The dark wizard just sneered again.
"Wrong again?" Lockhart chuckled. "Don't tell me you're one of You-Know-Who's lackeys."
"Bingo!" shrieked the Boggart, which had taken the form of a centipede coiled around the dark wizard. "I felt his emotions shift—that's the answer!"
"!!!"
Lockhart shot to his feet, stunned, staring at the man on the floor. "Seriously? Voldemort?"
The dark wizard's eyes blazed red, his body thrashing as his face contorted with rage. "How dare you! How dare you speak the Dark Lord's name! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
The Dark Lord?
Clearly, this wasn't the Tom Riddle from the diary Horcrux, scheming his grand resurrection.
No, this was the Voldemort from last year—the one who'd been undone by the curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, fleeing as a wraith in some comical failure, now hiding who-knows-where.
Lockhart's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting between amusement and unease as he studied the man.
His fingers trembled slightly as he gripped his wand, a wild urge surging to rip every memory from this man's mind, leaving him a drooling husk.
Wipe his mind clean—turn him into an idiot who couldn't even walk!
But that wouldn't change anything.
Voldemort had his eyes on Hogwarts.
With so many students involved in this fight, even a half-witted Voldemort would piece together Lockhart's role in foiling his plans.
He was marked.
Voldemort had him in his sights.
This mess was definitely his now.
"Hahaha…" The dark wizard cackled, his laughter hysterical and gasping, laced with malice. "You're done for, Gilderoy Lockhart! You're done! The Dark Lord is watching Hogwarts! He'll know you ruined his plans!"
"He'll kill you! Kill you!"
Lockhart tilted his head back, letting out a long, exasperated sigh. "Bloody hell, what did I do to deserve this?"
It wasn't me who wrecked your little infiltration plan! It was that idiot Voldemort and his curse on my teaching post that caused all this, got it?
Fuming, Lockhart jabbed his wand at the dark wizard.
Laugh?
Laugh at me?
"Obliviate!"
The dark wizard's body began to convulse violently, his head jerking as shimmering silver threads of memory were yanked out, like pulling guts from a carcass.
This was the most brutal, advanced use of the Memory Charm.
A method so damaging to the mind that the original Lockhart, who treated memory manipulation as an elegant art, would never have used it.
Inflicting pain really was the best way to vent anger—no wonder dark wizards loved this stuff.
A brilliant smile spread across Lockhart's face as he delicately twirled his wand, sifting through the extracted memories and discarding the bits he didn't need, letting them dissolve into the air.
"Since I'm bound to face some nasty attacks sooner or later, it's not too much to take something from you to boost my strength, right?"
The dark wizard couldn't respond. His body burned with agony, every nerve screaming as pain overwhelmed him. He was on the verge of losing consciousness, but his heightened mental state kept him from passing out.
The Cruciatus Curse?
Hah!
A Memory Charm could achieve the same effect, got it? This was the kind of trick a wizard dancing on the edge of legality would explore.
Lockhart finished sorting through the floating memories, meticulously stripping out the dark wizard's magical knowledge.
It was the perfect memory surgery.
He'd extracted only the technical expertise, leaving the man's core memories and personality intact.
But then, a sigh came from behind.
Lockhart turned to see Dumbledore's tall figure standing in the doorway, his eyes heavy with quiet disapproval. "Lockhart, I wouldn't advise this."
"Hmph," Lockhart snorted, flicking his wand to bundle the memories into a tight ball, which he tucked into his robe pocket before facing Dumbledore. "Professor Trelawney made a prophecy about me. She said if I don't walk away from all this, Voldemort's curse will come for me—and I'll die!"
He let out an irritated huff. "I didn't walk away. I've done my best to be the professor I'm supposed to be. But you know what, Professor Dumbledore? I'm pissed. I'm marked by this curse, and I'm facing the threat of death every single day!"
"You've got to let me vent a little!"
Dumbledore stared at him, taken aback by the raw emotion in Lockhart's voice. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, glancing back as McGonagall approached. In the end, he pressed his lips together in silence.
He knew. He knew Lockhart had stolen the wisdom of so many, including his old friend.
But so what?
For the greater good, some things could be overlooked.
Take Severus Snape, for instance—a former Death Eater who'd caused so much harm during the war, yet Dumbledore had protected him.
His moral standards weren't that rigid.
If Snape could be redeemed, so could Lockhart.
Lockhart didn't have many options. Actions left traces, and international Aurors were already investigating cases of wizards losing their memories. It was Dumbledore's influence that kept those investigations at bay—finding a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was hard enough.
Perhaps Professor Kettleburn's suggestion wasn't bad: let Lockhart fill in every other year. It would lighten his workload as headmaster considerably.
Truth be told, Lockhart's dedication to teaching, his care for the students, his academic rigor, and the improvements he'd brought to Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum had won Dumbledore over.
People are selfish.
Hogwarts was his home. He was a headmaster first, then the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and then a leader in the International Confederation of Wizards.
Besides…
Not every dark wizard had to commit evil.
Environment and choices mattered.
And now, he could offer Lockhart that choice.
He believed that, like Snape, Lockhart could stay at Hogwarts and become a respected professor, helping and inspiring countless lives, using his talents for good instead of becoming a troublesome dark wizard out in the world.
McGonagall's hurried footsteps broke the tense silence in the hut.
She looked down at the dark wizard and gasped, "Amycus Carrow?"
Amycus Carrow—one of Voldemort's earliest Death Eaters.
During the First Wizarding War, Amycus had escaped capture and avoided Azkaban, vanishing without a trace.
McGonagall's heart raced with lingering fear. This powerful dark wizard, whom she'd faced multiple times in the past, had infiltrated the school and attacked students. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one had been seriously hurt.
Lockhart raised an eyebrow nearby. He knew this guy.
In the future, after Voldemort's return, Amycus would become Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, forcing Neville to cast the Cruciatus Curse on classmates, spitting in McGonagall's face, and playing a role in the plot that led to Dumbledore's death.
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