Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson hit a bit of a snag.
The rain hadn't let up for days, and the castle was filled with a damp, chilly vibe. Colds were spreading like wildfire among the staff and students, and everyone was looking a bit worse for wear.
The Quidditch teams from the four Houses were especially hard-hit, but they didn't skip a single day of training.
It was necessary, after all. Some of the most legendary matches in wizarding history—like that epic showdown in a storm—were played in torrential rain.
As Professor Flitwick put it, "That's the wizarding way! Forging your spirit in the wind and rain!"
Whether it actually forged anything was anyone's guess, but Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, was run off her feet.
The castle was crawling with little witches and wizards whose heads were steaming from potion fumes.
This was seriously messing with Lockhart's teaching.
He needed his students to dive headfirst into the fairy-tale vibe of his lessons, just like he'd thrown himself into his "Forest Witch" persona.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, dueling, and defending against dark creatures—these three pillars of the subject were all incredibly dangerous. Each one demanded constant vigilance.
Lockhart wished he could wave his wand and zap the students into a state of peak focus.
No such luck.
Sure, he had memories of a few healing spells that could help, but magic that advanced was way beyond his current skill level.
Trying to force it would only backfire, maybe even make him lose himself and turn into someone else entirely.
Losing himself meant losing his magic, and that was a hard no.
So, predictably, an accident happened.
What can you do?
Here's how it went down: this was a fourth-year lesson on dark magic.
Yup, dark magic.
Lockhart sometimes thought it was absurd. The wizarding world had this bizarre disconnect between "political correctness" and academics. The Ministry's Wizarding Examinations Authority included a whole list of dark spells in the Ordinary Wizarding Level (O.W.L.) curriculum, but then the Wizengamot and the Auror Office strictly banned witches and wizards from using dark magic.
What's a guy supposed to do? Sigh and move on.
In this lesson, Lockhart was teaching five spells: Serpensortia (conjures a snake), Bat-Bogey Hex (summons bat-like bogeys), Oppugno (sends conjured creatures to attack), Umbra Aggredi (summons a shadowy dog), and Mucus ad Nauseam (the Slug-Vomiting Charm). He also covered their counter-spells.
He'd carefully organized these spells by their summoning nature, structuring the lesson to help students build a solid knowledge framework.
According to the wizarding world's rather vague danger scale:
Oppugno, which summons a flock of canaries to attack, is the least dangerous, classified as a "jinx." Bat-Bogey Hex, Serpensortia, and Umbra Aggredi—which summon bats, a python, or a big black dog—are considered "hexes." Mucus ad Nauseam, which hits the target's body directly by making them vomit slugs, is a full-on "curse." Even by the strictest definitions, it's undeniable dark magic.
And here's the kicker:
Jinxes, hexes, and curses are all lumped together as dark magic.
What's more, in one of the classic DADA texts, The Theory of Magical Defense by Wilbert Slinkhard, the author points out that counter-jinxes—whether general or specific to a jinx—are, in essence, jinxes themselves.
That's academic thinking for you.
In real life, though, things are messier. The distinction is vague and often comes down to politics: a spell cast with "malicious intent" is deemed dark magic.
Seriously? How do you even judge someone's intent?
By the whim of the trial judge? The influence of a powerful family? A sob story to sway the jury?
It's ridiculous!
From Lockhart's perspective, any magic used in combat—whether dueling another wizard or defending against a magical creature—requires some level of malice or, at the very least, fighting spirit.
You can't attack without intent.
Even if you're using a spell the Ministry doesn't classify as dark magic, you're still filled with the desire to take down your opponent.
Every offensive spell—jinx, hex, or curse—falls into the dark magic category when you get down to it.
So how do the smartest wizards keep their squeaky-clean image and avoid this murky mess?
The answer in this day and age: Transfiguration.
That's the modern solution.
Dumbledore, a former DADA professor himself, clearly mastered this approach.
But this wasn't a Transfiguration class—it was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Lockhart had no choice but to teach the students how to use and counter these academically defined dark spells.
His teaching style was academic, too. Every tip he gave on casting or countering these spells was rooted in dark magic theory.
Master these, and if a student ever used a Ministry-defined dark spell—or even an Unforgivable Curse—they'd find it came naturally.
Every one of these spells was dangerous.
Casting or countering them required intense focus and sharp reflexes.
The O.W.L.s didn't just test this stuff on paper—it was all practical exams. Lockhart couldn't half-arse his teaching unless he wanted to ruin these kids' futures.
He didn't expect them to be experts. The exam didn't demand mastery.
But they needed to at least cast the spells and their counters successfully, right?
Otherwise, what's the point?
They might as well drop out, marry a rich Muggle, and live a cushier life in the Muggle world.
Grumbling to himself, Lockhart stayed on high alert, watching every student like a hawk.
They were at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, with the four Houses split into teams, each pretending to storm an "evil lair" to nab a treasure chest.
Hagrid's pet, Fang, was playing the "evil overlord," lounging boredly on a chest full of little red flowers that would earn house points, guarding the "lair" (Hagrid's hut).
The young witches and wizards were in a chaotic free-for-all.
Snakes, shadowy dogs, birds, and bats summoned by the spells slithered and scurried everywhere. Students dashed around, slipping on slugs vomited all over the ground, dodging attacks.
Dueling was the ultimate test of a wizard's all-around skills.
Nothing showed it more clearly.
Hogwarts' house divisions, based on students' traits, were never more obvious than in moments like this.
Slytherin was the most focused house, hands-down. Those kids knew exactly what they wanted.
But, sadly, they were split into two factions, each following one of Slytherin's Quidditch Chasers, Cassius Warrington or Adrian Pucey. The two groups kept sabotaging each other, and their infighting was so intense they accomplished nothing.
Hufflepuff, on the other hand, was the most united house. Under Cedric Diggory's leadership, they moved with precision and coordination. They didn't stand out, but they held their own, keeping everyone safe—a solid achievement.
Gryffindor was the flashiest in the melee. They were made for this kind of chaos. But they weren't exactly unified. They formed tight-knit cliques, fiercely loyal within their groups but a total mess as a house.
The standouts were the Weasley twins, George and Fred, along with two of the Quidditch team's "three sisters," Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson (George's future wife). (Note: The third sister, a third-year, wasn't in this class.)
As for Ravenclaw…
Ugh.
Lockhart hated to rag on his own house, but he genuinely couldn't spot Ravenclaw's team anywhere.
Oh, wait—there they were, scattered among Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff.
Some had already been disqualified for rule-breaking and were sulking on the sidelines.
Ravenclaw's fourth-years did have one notable student, jokingly called "Little Lockhart" by his classmates: Roger Davies.
Lockhart wasn't thrilled with the nickname. The real Lockhart—whose identity he was borrowing—chased fame, status, and connections. Roger? Just a straight-up playboy.
In the books, this handsome Quidditch star took Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball and later chased Cho Chang, swapping girlfriends faster than you could say "Quidditch."
Lockhart wasn't impressed.
After graduation, Roger would learn the hard way that good looks alone don't cut it. You need real skills. Being decent at everything but excelling at nothing would leave him fading into obscurity.
Lockhart darted through the chaotic battlefield, summoning gray wolves to block attacks that could seriously hurt the students. He'd kick out anyone who took a hit or used unauthorized spells.
Then he'd make the disqualified students practice counter-spells to heal their magical injuries.
No way was he healing them himself.
His expression screamed disapproval as he lectured them that this was a "great practice opportunity." Truth was, he couldn't cast those counter-spells himself.
Figure it out, kids.
If they didn't, a snakebite from Serpensortia would leave them in agony all night, and the Slug-Vomiting Charm would make them skip dinner and breakfast.
So, Lockhart kept the chaotic situation under control, fully aware of how the battle was unfolding and even predicting the outcome.
It'd probably end with Gryffindor teaming up with Hufflepuff to take out Slytherin, then, amid cheers from the turncoat Ravenclaws, Gryffindor would grab the point-earning chest from Fang.
But then the accident happened—right when Lockhart thought he had everything handled.
The Weasley twins, who'd been putting serious pressure on Slytherin, suddenly turned their wands on Ravenclaw's playboy, Roger Davies.
Why? Because he'd been hitting on Angelina Johnson!
George and Fred both had a not-so-secret thing for Angelina.
This wasn't the first time, either. During Quidditch practice, Roger buzzed around her like an annoying fly.
Slytherin's Cassius Warrington and Adrian Pucey, sharp as ever, seized the moment. With a quick glance, they silently agreed to team up, sneaking through the chaos toward Fang's chest.
But they forgot about Hufflepuff, who'd been watching closely. Led by Cedric Diggory, they launched a fierce charge against the sneaky Slytherins.
Lockhart was pleased—his constant talk of "flanking" and "strategic retreats" had finally sunk in with some of the kids.
It was clearly a trap.
Sly in unison, turning to flank the charging Hufflepuffs from both sides.
Brilliant!
A stellar team play!
Hufflepuff held their own, too. Unlike Slytherin's scheming, they'd learned Lockhart's tactics of "focus fire" and "quickly breaking enemy strength." Ignoring the two-sided attack, they poured everything into targeting one group—specifically Adrian Pucey, their main focus.
The results were spectacular.
"Adrian Pucey, you're out!"
Lockhart laughed, directing the student to the sidelines while summoning a gray wolf to block the onslaught of attacks Pucey couldn't handle.
His spells weren't powerful, but his timing and battle instincts were spot-on.
And yet, the accident still happened.
Adrian Pucey's nerves weren't as strong as his usual swagger suggested. Maybe the bad cold had worn him down, but as a barrage of spell-light nearly blinded him, he panicked, grabbed a nearby classmate, and shoved them into the line of fire.
In an instant, Lockhart's perfectly timed wolf missed its mark.
The poor student, with a look of utter despair, was hit by over a dozen Slug-Vomiting Charms.
It was like they were swallowed by a wave of magical light.
The battlefield fell silent, everyone turning to stare in horror.
Thankfully, Lockhart's assistant, "Little Goldie," leapt in, shredding the incoming bats, birds, snakes, and shadowy dogs. Otherwise, that student would've been rushed straight to Madam Pomfrey.
Getting hit by a dozen Slug-Vomiting Charms?
Even with Lockhart's vast (borrowed) knowledge, he'd never seen anything like it.
Based on his deep understanding of the spell's mechanics, the student's throat and esophagus would be instantly clogged with slugs. Without quick intervention, they could suffocate.
Lockhart was prepared.
He'd planned for the worst-case scenarios, pulling an emergency emetic potion—brewed by Madam Pomfrey—out of his pocket and rushing toward the student.
But…
The student's condition was bizarre.
This kid, usually overlooked by everyone, showed incredible willpower. Despite the overwhelming urge to vomit, they raised their wand, aiming at Pucey.
Sadly, no spell came out—just a massive slug.
That was the Slug-Vomiting Charm at its finest: it silenced its target, preventing spellcasting.
Unless, of course, you could cast silently.
Not impossible—most wizards, after years of using a spell, could eventually cast it without speaking.
But that wasn't something a young student would typically manage.
Yet, somehow, this kid did.
They shot a furious glare at Pucey, then aimed their wand at themselves.
It was a spell Lockhart didn't recognize—complex and unfamiliar.
"!!!"
A ghostly, pale mist washed over them, chilling and sharp, stripping away every trace of the Slug-Vomiting Charm.
But that wasn't all. The student's body began to twist and swell rapidly.
In an instant, they transformed into a short, stout middle-aged wizard with a distorted face.
"Everyone, back off!"
Lockhart's expression hardened, shouting for the students to stay alert.
Too late. The middle-aged wizard was clearly a seasoned fighter. He cast a Tarantallegra jinx on himself, dancing at an odd angle to blend into the crowd of students. Amid the chaos, his voice rang out with a spell.
"Crucio!"
"Aaah!" Adrian Pucey collapsed, screaming in agony, his face going deathly pale as if drained of blood, his body convulsing.
Boom!
A terrifying shockwave sent the surrounding students flying.
The wizard stomped a foot on Pucey's chest, twisting his neck with a wheezing laugh. He brandished his wand, sneering at Lockhart. "I'd drop that wand if I were you, or he gets an Avada Kedavra next!"
Lockhart rolled his eyes, exasperation clear. "And where the heck did you pop up from?"
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