As they pushed open the door to the office that doubled as the professor's quarters, both of them spotted an owl perched on the windowsill next to a massive box.
This was probably the biggest owl Hermione had ever seen—bigger than an eagle, even.
The owl glanced at them, then went back to pecking at the fancy food laid out on a plate for owl post carriers.
Lockhart walked over and picked up the box, noticing a letter attached to it. The envelope read: *Congratulations to Gilderoy Lockhart on becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.*
It was signed by the Hibiscus Ravenclaw Alumni Association.
"The Ravenclaw Alumni Association?" Hermione asked, curiosity piqued. She stood on her tiptoes to get a better look but politely turned away when she saw Lockhart about to open the letter.
"It's just a club for Ravenclaw graduates. I asked them to help me find some dark magical creatures to use as teaching materials," Lockhart explained, the memory of this arrangement surfacing as he saw the package.
He opened the letter and raised an eyebrow at a familiar name: Alastor Moody.
*Mad-Eye Moody.*
A retired Auror who, rumor had it, was responsible for half the prisoners locked up in Azkaban.
And this box? It was all prepared by him.
Moody was a Gryffindor, but his wife had been a Ravenclaw—one of the founders and the first president of the Hibiscus Ravenclaw Alumni Association.
They say tough guys have a soft side, and Moody was no exception. Paranoid and eccentric as he was, he was endlessly devoted to his wife. He'd spent decades helping out at the alumni association, doing whatever was needed without complaint.
Even after his wife passed away, Moody stayed involved, and everyone knew it was because of the love he still carried for her.
Lockhart opened the box. Taking up two-thirds of the space was a large birdcage filled with a group of electric-blue creatures.
*Cornish Pixies.*
His expression turned odd.
As someone who knew the original story, Lockhart was all too aware of the chaos these pixies could cause—and the massive hit his reputation would take because of them.
And to think, *Mad-Eye Moody* was the one who'd sent them.
A former near-dark wizard like Lockhart and a justice-obsessed old Auror like Moody? What an interesting connection.
Lockhart thought for a moment, then sat at the desk, pulling out a gilded quill and a sheet of fine parchment to write a reply to Moody.
First, of course, he thanked him for preparing the creatures.
But the main point was to ask about the typical scope of the Ordinary Wizarding Level (O.W.L.) exams for fifth-years and the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests (N.E.W.T.) for seventh-years.
Those exams were overseen by the Wizarding Examinations Authority at the Ministry of Magic. Maybe Moody could help get some insight.
Out of a sense of duty—and confidence in his own abilities—Lockhart felt the best thing he could do for Hogwarts' students was to make sure he didn't derail their futures.
Focusing on the exam content, reinforcing key knowledge, and tailoring practice sessions to help them score better? That was something he could handle.
"I can do a lot, can't I?" he mused.
At the very least, there weren't many wizards in this world—aside from the big shots—who knew as much as he did.
That went for both the original Lockhart's knowledge of the wizarding world and his own, as a Muggle-world transplant.
After finishing the letter, Lockhart continued unpacking the box.
There were only three items inside.
Besides the cage of Cornish Pixies, the second was an old, rustic red makeup case, its paint chipped and peeling to reveal the wood underneath.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
Something was tapping on the inside of the case's lid, followed by a cautious voice: "Is anyone out there? Please, help me! I'm trapped inside."
Hermione, who'd been curiously inspecting the box, went wide-eyed and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.
"It's a Boggart," Lockhart said, flipping the case over to check the label.
"I read about those in a book," Hermione whispered, as if afraid the creature might hear her. "It can turn into whatever you're most afraid of. But I didn't know they could *talk*."
Lockhart set the case aside casually, explaining to the curious young witch, "Boggarts are probably the most common dark creatures in the wizarding world. Some that live in wizarding homes pick up human speech. Others might wander around at night in tattered robes, creaking through the house. If you're brave enough, you could even have a chat with one to pass a lonely midnight."
Hermione leaned back dramatically. "Chat with it? No way! Who'd be bored enough to talk to a monster?"
Oh, someone was.
And that someone was standing right in front of her.
The original Lockhart had once spent an entire night talking to a Boggart—not for fun, but because this young man, who'd left his Muggle family behind to make his way in the wizarding world, was deeply lonely despite his wide circle of acquaintances.
All the things he wanted to say, he could only share with a monster—because monsters were safer than people.
Hermione didn't see it that way, though. Especially not when Lockhart pulled out the final item from the box: a small jar covered in childish, colorful scribbles. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine, goosebumps prickling her skin.
An indescribable fear crept up from deep within her, clogging her throat and lodging in her chest.
She wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
She wanted to run, but her legs felt like wooden stumps, refusing to move.
"Oops, the lid's not on tight!" Lockhart's voice sounded distant, warped and stretched.
She could faintly hear him scrambling, probably looking for his wand, since she hadn't seen him holding it earlier.
*Hurry, please, hurry!*
Hermione was on the verge of tears.
She could feel it—a fuzzy little hand grabbing her trouser leg, climbing up slowly. Then another hand. And another.
She didn't know what this creature was, but terror was overwhelming her. Her body's instinctive freeze response—humanity's reaction to extreme danger—left her completely paralyzed.
She couldn't even tremble.
The creature moved fast, rummaging through her trouser and robe pockets before climbing higher. Her eyes widened in absolute horror.
Finally, she saw it: a pair of pitch-black eyes.
They blinked, and up close, she could see intricate golden patterns in the dark pupils, like a pair of beautiful gemstones.
Wait—why did she think that? It was almost like the creature was staring into *her* eyes the same way.
Then two fuzzy little hands cupped her face, and a third reached up to her cheek, near her eye, and gently… *tugged*.
*Pop!*
It sounded like a cork being pulled from a wine bottle.
Her vision went haywire. Her left eye stayed in place, seeing normally, but her right eye's perspective swung wildly as the creature held it in its hand.
*No!*
Her eye had been plucked out by this monster!
Hermione wanted to scream, but she was still frozen, helpless.
Just as she was about to break down completely, a warm, steady hand appeared in front of her. It was holding a pile of cat's-eye stone buttons, one still trailing a bit of thread, as if it had been ripped off a garment.
"Hey there," Lockhart's voice cut through, calm and teasing. "How about these? Cat's-eye stones are way prettier than eyeballs, don't you think?"
"Gurgle~" The creature made a soft, intrigued sound.
Lockhart gestured encouragingly. "Go on, take them. No need to be shy. But you've got to give her eye back, okay?"
The creature hesitated, then nodded. It carefully placed Hermione's eye back into its socket.
Her vision snapped back to normal.
After what felt like an eternity, the overwhelming fear began to ebb away. Hermione shuddered violently, gasping for air and looking around frantically. She saw Lockhart holding a golden, fuzzy little monkey-like creature by the scruff of its neck, stuffing it back into the jar.
The creature was small, curling up to the size of a football, with three tiny hands.
If she hadn't just experienced that terrifying attack, she might've squealed about how *cute* it looked.
But right now? She wanted nothing to do with it.
*Click.*
Finally, the creature was fully inside, and Lockhart screwed the lid on tight.
The fear drained from Hermione completely, and she took a deep, shaky breath.
"Sorry about that," Lockhart said, sounding genuinely apologetic. He rummaged through a wardrobe, pulled out a bar of chocolate, unwrapped it, and handed it to her. "Here, eat this. It'll help."
"What *was* that?" Hermione nibbled the chocolate, her voice small and trembling.
"A Three-Handed Creature. Not a very common dark magical being," Lockhart explained, carefully placing the jar on a nearby shelf. "It fills people with so much fear they can't move, which makes it easier for it to search for shiny treasures. If you don't have any gems on you, it'll take your eyes instead, as part of its collection."
He continued, "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries has dark creature specialists who breed these things. They use them to harvest eyes or other organs for soaking in healing potions. Of course, some shady dark wizards also use them to make sinister magical artifacts."
Hermione swallowed hard, suddenly seeing the wizarding world in a new light. Beyond its dazzling magic, it was full of terrifying, bizarre things.
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