Lockhart wasn't just flapping around in midair, quacking like a duck, waiting for Dumbledore to swoop in and take care of everything.
Even with Dumbledore's incredible power, he was still some distance away, and the immediate danger in front of Lockhart was something he had to face on his own.
The unique mechanism of Carroll's Bedtime Storybook in the chapter The Gem of Calib meant that each time an Inferius died, it absorbed the power of "slaughter" and came back to life, tripling in number.
Dumbledore was striding through Incendio, a blazing sea of magical fire, unbothered by the Inferi swarming around him. But for Lockhart, things were getting dicey.
As droves of Inferi perished, they crawled out from the edges of the fire, their numbers tripled, and turned their sights on Lockhart, charging toward him.
They weren't content just spitting venomous gunk into the air anymore.
The Inferi started clawing at each other, piling up into grotesque pillars of writhing corpses, teetering as they climbed toward the sky.
From these corpse towers, Inferi were grabbed and hurled at Lockhart. Some pillars grew tall enough to fling three at once. As they got close, two Inferi would rip a third apart, spraying torrents of foul, polluted blood that splashed over everything.
The sheer volume of that blood brought unbearable, searing pain the moment it touched skin.
Lockhart was struggling, but the Thestral—a magical creature splitting its focus between flying and carrying him—was in even worse shape.
It was on the verge of losing all ability to move.
Thankfully, Lockhart's Scourgify charm came in clutch.
He'd never cast spells at such a relentless pace before, but instead of feeling drained, he found himself getting the hang of it. The more he used Scourgify, the more natural it felt, like he was born to wield it.
It was a strange sensation, like he was teetering on the edge of something undefined, something about to take shape.
It felt like his raw, primal magic—the kind every wizard has before it's shaped by training—could go in any direction. It could be honed into something disciplined at a place like Hogwarts, or it could turn wild and free in a forest, becoming a "Child of the Forest" full of natural affinity. It could even twist into something dark and suppressed, like a Obscurus born from bottled-up rage.
Lockhart had a sudden epiphany: a wizard's magic takes on the shape of their actions.
This wasn't something wizards usually obsessed over. Everyone has their own instincts, their own vibe. Take Harry Potter—his knack for diving headfirst into danger and facing crises head-on made his magic fierce and perfect for battle.
But Lockhart? He was different. He had too many choices.
The "Child of the Forest" from a forest witch was one path. Lockhart's own "Social Charmer" persona was another. His mind buzzed with a dozen different possibilities, each a distinct state of being.
Maybe all of them could be called a "Heart of a Champion."
These wizards grew powerful, achieving things most could only dream of.
And now…
As he digested fragments of memories, as he deepened his connection with his wand, as he cast spells at a frantic pace, and—most importantly—as he stepped fully into the romantic, larger-than-life world of a fairy tale, he realized he needed to choose his own path.
His magic was asking him!
His wand was asking him!
Magic itself was asking him!
Who are you supposed to be?
Should he pick one of those dozen "templates" from legendary wizards? Or maybe embrace being "Lockhart" and step into their lives, become them?
No way!
Those were just the building blocks of a fairy tale, not him.
Their stories weren't enough. They didn't satisfy his greedy appetite for life!
Lockhart had never once been confused about what he wanted.
He was buzzing with excitement, almost manic, as he grabbed the Thestral's claws and flipped himself onto its back.
Standing shakily on its back, facing the howling wind and blood rain, he didn't care about the risk of falling from the sky. He spread his arms wide, laughing like a madman.
"I just want fire!" he shouted.
That was his answer!
Bring it on!
These so-called Inferi weren't enough. The stinging pain of the blood splashing his face only fueled his soul, making him laugh harder, wilder, almost unhinged.
Then, with a graceful flick of his wand, he bellowed, "Scourgify!"
A wave of pale golden magic surged outward, like an eraser wiping a slate clean, like a tide washing away filth. In an instant, the blood rain, the life-draining wind, and even the grime on the Inferi hurtling through the air vanished completely.
That's magic!
Magic isn't about being strong or weak—it's about who's wielding it.
And the magic in his hands?
It was alive with fire!
"Oh, ho!"
Lockhart caught a flash of vibrant green in the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw a plump witch in emerald robes clinging awkwardly to one of the corpse pillars. She'd clearly been sneaking among the Inferi, planning to catch him off guard.
But now? She stuck out like a sore thumb.
"Alecto Carrow!" Lockhart flashed a dazzling smile, brimming with delight. "I've been waiting for you!"
Amycus's sister. The whole reason he was here was to take her down!
He'd known all along. Only someone from the Carrow family would know the secret trick to manipulating Carroll's Bedtime Storybook to split him and Dumbledore up.
He'd been waiting for her.
Lockhart crouched low, grabbing a ridge on the Thestral's neck with one hand while waving his wand with the other, sending his will to the creature.
It dove instantly, rocketing toward Alecto.
Her face twisted, eyes narrowing as she stared at this fearless, cackling young man charging at her. Fury surged within her.
Back when she and her brother fought alongside the Dark Lord, the wizarding world trembled at the sight of Death Eaters. Yet here, after just a decade or so, this kid knew who she was and still had the gall to mock her. Arrogant. Infuriating!
"Crucio!"
She jabbed her wand at Lockhart.
But this guy? He didn't even flinch. He just urged the Thestral to charge faster.
Pop!
Lockhart's wand suddenly flew from his hand, zooming straight to Alecto.
"*Hahaha!*"
Lockhart laughed like a maniac. He knew Alecto better than anyone—better than her own brother, Amycus, who'd lost all memory of her.
He knew her tricks.
She'd yell Crucio but sneak in a Disarming Charm. No one understood the importance of disarming in a fight better than a dark witch like her.
Without a wand, even if someone could cast wandless magic, how many spells could they manage? How strong could they be?
Alecto snatched the flying wand, but her face fell as she glanced at it. Her pupils dilated. "A twig?!"
Yup. A twig.
That's why Lockhart loved his ring with the Extension Charm so much—it was just too handy. With a flick of his wrist, his real wand was back in his hand.
He raised it elegantly.
It was an extension of his will, something magical creatures could sense and follow without hesitation.
A plume of black smoke slithered from his robe pocket, half-forming into the massive upper body of a Boggart, now even bigger than before, its body laced with cracks of dark smoke.
It raised its right arm in sync with Lockhart.
"Alecto, hello! Alecto, goodbye!" Lockhart roared, laughing as he swung his wand.
The Boggart's massive arm mirrored his movement, swinging down with a wham!
The giant palm sent Alecto and the nearby Inferi flying.
Even a battle-hardened dark witch like Alecto couldn't withstand the force. She was sent hurtling through the air, half-conscious, plummeting toward the ground.
But then, a massive, ghostly book appeared behind her, its pages flipping to envelop her. In a flash of light, she was gone.
She survived that?
Lockhart wasn't fazed. He just laughed, recalling his Boggart and grabbing the Thestral's neck as it soared back into the sky. "You'll be back, I know it! You're gonna lose it and come charging right back—I know you!"
But things took a slight turn.
Alecto didn't reappear immediately. Instead, she used the storybook to whip up a dozen tornadoes across the desolate landscape.
The howling winds sucked up the Inferi, grinding them into clumps of filthy blood that formed pillars, rushing toward Lockhart from all directions.
Every single one was aimed at him.
Not a single one went for Dumbledore.
Lockhart knew exactly why she was targeting him.
She wanted to take out the guy who knew about the storybook first, then use the magical artifact to trap Dumbledore.
Trap him until he was done for.
Don't think Dumbledore's unbeatable—he's not a myth. Even someone as powerful as Gellert Grindelwald, just a smidge below Dumbledore, got taken down by Newt Scamander with a single Thestral and ended up in a cell.
The wizarding world is like that—one misstep, and it's game over.
Of course, if Alecto thought she could pull this off, she'd have to face Dumbledore tearing this world apart, shredding the Carrow family's precious storybook, and unleashing his wrath.
But Lockhart wasn't about to let her live long enough to face that.
He kept taunting her from the sky, each word stabbing at her pride.
"You coward! Not coming for me because you're scared? I'm not some one-eyed doll that freaks you out, am I?"
"Or do I remind you of that hot guy you used to crush on? Oh, wait, he'd rather date a Muggle than you—*hahaha!*"
"When you torture Muggle guys in front of your brother, acting all crazy, are you just hiding how excited it makes you? You too scared to come for me because I'm not a Muggle?"
The sky began to shake violently.
Massive meteors rained down, crashing with terrifying force.
"*Enough!*" Alecto screamed from atop one of the meteors, waving her wand at Lockhart like a woman possessed. "I don't care how you know my secrets—you're dead!*"
Heh.
This was it.
Avada Kedavra, no doubt.
When Alecto was this pissed, it's all she'd use.
Honestly, other spells might've been trickier for Lockhart to handle—like her Cloud of Gloom Curse, a weather-based spell from Grindelwald's era, originally designed to choke out Muggle planes and bombers.
It conjured a thick, suffocating cloud that cut off oxygen and reeked of something foul.
Later, it became a go-to for taking down wizards on broomsticks or magical creatures. It was brutally effective.
Lockhart had no counter for that one—not yet. But a Killing Curse? That he could handle.
He knew Alecto's every move, every twitch of her wand. Dodging was almost too easy.
A ranged spell like the Cloud of Gloom would take real skill to counter, but he wasn't there yet. So he kept provoking her, pushing her to use her deadliest move.
Whoosh!
A sickly green light shot toward him, brimming with malice.
But Lockhart had already nudged the Thestral to dodge, reading her wand's angle the moment she raised it.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Alecto's eyes widened in horror. She fired seven Killing Curses, each fueled by the peak of her rage and pain—her absolute best—and not one hit him.
He was getting closer.
Fear crept into her heart—not because of his flashy hair, but because she couldn't make sense of this guy.
Just how strong was he?
He didn't even bother casting a spell at her, just kept laughing and closing in, dismissing her like she was nothing. And she couldn't stop him.
Why was he getting so close?
Her mind flashed to that terrifying giant slap.
She was wrong.
It wasn't a hand—it was a foot.
Lockhart leapt off the Thestral's back, slamming his foot into her chest and pinning her to the meteor. He looked down at her with a cold smirk.
"Gotcha."