When Voldemort was a young student at Hogwarts, he created his first Horcrux—a magical diary.
This Horcrux might just be the most unique of all the ones he made.
Because that diary could figure out how to bring itself back to life!
None of his other Horcruxes had that kind of independence.
Of course, maybe Voldemort later realized the risks of giving a Horcrux that much freedom and made sure not to repeat the trick.
This brilliant, terrifying genius clearly had a deep understanding of memory, personality, and even souls from a very young age.
Lockhart stared at the book in his hands, his breathing quickening.
People get stuck in their ways.
He knew this was a golden opportunity staring him right in the face—Voldemort's magical diary Horcrux was here at Hogwarts!
It had probably been stashed away by the Malfoy family for years. But with Arthur Weasley planning to turn Malfoy Manor upside down, Lucius had to get rid of his precious artifacts fast. And in a spiteful move, he'd slipped that very diary into Ginny Weasley's pile of schoolbooks.
Lockhart had plenty of tricks up his sleeve to easily get that diary from Ginny.
And then…
Whether he treated the diary as a living thing or some kind of twisted Pensieve, one Obliviate spell would be all it took to tap into the wisdom of a dark wizard.
Inside that diary was all the advanced knowledge about memory and souls he could ever need!
"It's just too tempting!"
Lockhart ran his fingers over the book, barely containing his excitement.
Stay calm! he told himself. Don't rush this!
The Dark Lord's Horcrux wasn't something to mess with lightly.
He didn't want to end up like Mr. Eakert, meddling with something he wasn't ready for and turning himself into a laughingstock.
Lockhart was certain that wherever Voldemort's wandering spirit was hiding, it was keeping a close eye on Hogwarts—where Dumbledore, the prophesied Harry Potter, and his Horcrux were all waiting.
Now was not the time to make a move.
He needed to stay in the shadows of Dumbledore and Harry, then strike quietly when no one expected it.
The best moment would be when Harry was stealing the spotlight, and Lockhart could slip in as an unimportant background figure!
With a clear goal, a clean plan, and lightning-fast execution, he'd grab the diary and vanish from Hogwarts immediately. He'd go into hiding somewhere far away, lay low until Voldemort was gone for good, and then reemerge years later.
So, the perfect time to act would be at the end of the school year!
By then, his teaching contract would be up, Dumbledore would have no reason to keep him, and he'd have done his duty as a professor. He could leave without a shred of guilt.
His eyes gleamed as he started plotting the details.
…
The next morning, Lockhart was woken by a clear, cheerful song.
Groggily opening his eyes from his perch on a tree trunk, he saw a busy figure tidying up his office.
That figure had a dozen gaping, toothy mouths all over its body, all humming in harmony.
It was like a one-ghost choir.
"Oh, you're awake!" The Wailing Wraith floated closer, its toothy mouths snapping shut, making it look like an ordinary witch's ghost.
Lockhart grinned broadly. "Morning!"
He stretched, hopped down from the trunk, and froze when he saw a cauldron bubbling in the middle of the room.
"I made you breakfast," the Wailing Wraith said shyly. "Not sure if you'll like it."
Lockhart gave the cauldron a wary look. The red liquid inside was simmering, with thumb-sized snakes, king-crab-sized spiders, and blue-black scorpions bobbing around.
No matter what legends said about Wailing Wraiths, this thing was a dark magical creature. It didn't really get what humans liked to eat.
Still, Lockhart sniffed the air and caught a surprisingly appetizing aroma.
"Looks… good!" he said, giving a thumbs-up.
"Heehee!" The Wraith's translucent body turned from pale white to a soft pink.
Dealing with dark creatures was tricky, but Lockhart was willing to try anything.
He glanced around, snapped two thin branches from a nearby tree to use as chopsticks, and picked up a spider leg. Its shell was cooked crispy, cracking open with a pinch to reveal tender, juicy meat that smelled amazing.
Honestly, lobsters from the sea and spiders or scorpions from land were all arthropods. If you set aside your biases, they weren't that different for humans.
Well, the texture was a bit unique.
It was a very unusual breakfast.
The little golden retriever was also invited to eat by the Wraith. You know what they say—eat someone's food, and you soften up. After chowing down, the pup was noticeably friendlier toward the Wraith.
A good start to the day. Full and satisfied, Lockhart headed to the library as usual.
He was determined to find other ways to deal with the memories cluttering his mind.
There was no way, in the vast history of the wizarding world, that Voldemort was the only one with answers.
But Hogwarts' library had so many books.
Lockhart hesitated for a moment, then pulled out the bottle of Felix Felicis, now down to a third of its contents.
He'd used it twice before—once for a magical experiment, once for the Eakert castle adventure. This was the last dose.
Did Felix Felicis really bring good luck?
He was starting to have doubts.
But he didn't have better options. Decision made, he popped the cork and downed it.
Just as he was putting the bottle away, he noticed a pair of huge eyes staring at him from behind a long table by the window.
It was a wiry, wild-looking witch with bottle-thick glasses and colorful beads and chains around her neck.
Sybill Trelawney, the Divination professor.
When she saw Lockhart looking, she gave a nervous grin, then buried her face back in her book. She grabbed an oversized coffee mug from the table and took a big gulp, only to choke and cough violently, a strong whiff of alcohol hitting the air.
That "coffee" mug was clearly full of booze.
Lockhart thought for a second, then pulled out a tissue and offered it to her.
"Oh, thanks!" Trelawney didn't wipe her mouth—she frantically dabbed at the book, glancing around like a thief. "Don't let Madam Pince know I brought alcohol in here! She'd murder me!"
Lockhart shrugged, about to say something, when Trelawney fixed him with a intense stare. "You shouldn't have drunk that Felix Felicis!"
"!!!" Lockhart blinked, looking down at the now-empty bottle. You watched me drink it and then tell me not to?
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts job is cursed by You-Know-Who!" she said, her voice sharp and urgent. "If you get too greedy with luck, it'll cost you your life!"
Lockhart went quiet for a moment, then sighed. "I don't have a choice. There are too many books here…"
Trelawney cut him off with a dramatic flourish.
She propped herself up on her hands like chopsticks, her head tilting as she stared at him, her voice eerie, like she was muttering in a dream.
"You can't escape!"
"This is the price you must pay for your greed!"
"You want to break free from a fate that drags you into the abyss?"
"You want to be a key figure in Potter's 'epic hero's journey' fairy tale?"
"You want to keep walking the path of magic?"
"The Dark Lord's curse is already at work!"
"It's got its eyes on you!"
"You'll die! You'll die!"
Lockhart's usual charming smile faded. He pressed his lips together, his eyes flickering. "So what am I supposed to do?"
Trelawney's cheeks twitched, making her look even stranger. She muttered, "Stay away from magic! Go back to where you belong!"
Become a Muggle again?
I'd rather die.
Lockhart shook his head firmly, wanting to hear more, but Trelawney suddenly slumped back in her chair, sprawled out and snoring.
No one could ignore Trelawney's prophecies.
Especially not a time-traveler.
She'd accurately predicted Voldemort's and Dumbledore's deaths, Voldemort's return, and so much more.
"Thanks for the warning," Lockhart said softly, looking at her sleeping face with a bright smile. "But everyone dies, don't they?"
"I'm ready for this challenge!"
Cool!
Mentally giving himself a thumbs-up, Lockhart hummed a tune and headed deeper into the bookshelves.
Whether the Felix Felicis would bring him luck or doom, he'd already drunk it. No sense wasting it.
And soon, he struck gold.
As he walked, that lucky gut feeling hit him again. He stopped, his eyes locking onto a damp, moldy-looking tome on the shelf.
The book was called Potions Moste Potente.
He didn't grab it right away, his brow furrowing.
Potions?
After a long pause, he pulled the book out.
It looked like it had been fished out of a lake, its pages stained with water.
Flipping through, he saw disturbing illustrations: a person turned inside out, people in agony transforming into someone else, a figure melted like a candle burned too long…
All of them were potions banned by the Ministry—dark and terrifying.
Lockhart's memories told him this book was well-known in certain circles. Many dark wizards called it the "Potions Bible," though they usually only got incomplete copies.
Oh, right—Hermione used a recipe from this book to brew Polyjuice Potion in the original story.
Polyjuice Potion, or "Disguise Draught," let someone take on another person's appearance.
In the books, Barty Crouch Jr. used it to impersonate Mad-Eye Moody, and the disguise was so perfect that even Dumbledore and Snape, a potions master, couldn't tell.
Lockhart quickly found what he was looking for.
It had a quirky name: "Mischievous Mind Muck."
The illustration showed a witch with multiple arms sprouting from her head.
Lockhart didn't linger on it. He got the borrowing slip from Madam Pince and took the book back to his office.
Trelawney's prophecy left a bad taste in his mouth.
Accepting life's challenges didn't mean being reckless.
Playing it safe was the smart move.
On his way back, the castle felt full of lurking dangers, shadows moving in every corner. The only thing keeping him calm was the presence of two powerful dark creatures nearby.
But maybe he was just scaring himself. Nothing happened until he pushed open his office door.
Then he noticed a shadow outside the window, growing larger fast.
BOOM!
A deafening crash shook the office.
A massive, 15-meter-long golden Quidditch goalpost, like a javelin, smashed through the window, splintered the oak trunk, and slammed into the wall with incredible force.
Lockhart could clearly see a cracked pipe exposed in the shattered wall.
That was…
The pipe the Basilisk used to slither through the castle. In the original story, Harry first heard the Basilisk's hissing in Lockhart's office.
The cold, eerie air seeping from the crack felt like the wicked grin of a demon.
Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he saw the glint of snake scales flash by in the pipe.
"A monster!"
"There's a monster!" shrieked the Boggart from the peach tree hollow by the fireplace. "It's terrifying!"
It was here!
The curse had come!
Standing in the doorway, Lockhart's body trembled—not just from fear, but from a strange, wild excitement.
A voice inside him roared, drowning out the chaotic chatter of a dozen other voices in his head, shouting, "Lockhart! Your fairy-tale magical life is here! Embrace it! Step into the journey!"
"Ohhh!"
Lockhart let out a slightly manic groan, spreading his arms in welcome, his eyes glazed with thrill. "Bring it on—I'm ready!"
A boring, ordinary life? Been there, done that.
Death? Already faced it.
All he craved now was fire!
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