Voldemort's curse on the Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position was insanely powerful.
So powerful that even Dumbledore, for all his brilliance, couldn't break it after all those years. So powerful that when Voldemort finally clawed his way back from the forests of Albania, regaining enough strength to return to Hogwarts, that same curse backfired on him and sent him right back to square one.
Even the Dark Lord himself couldn't outsmart this curse.
Gilderoy Lockhart couldn't wrap his head around why this curse was so strong. Maybe it was because Voldemort cast it at the absolute peak of his rage and pain?
Because Dumbledore refused to let him stay at Hogwarts, refused to let him follow in Dumbledore's footsteps, refused to let him remain in the one place this orphan truly called home?
Didn't matter.
All Lockhart knew was that there was a tiny, sneaky loophole in this whole mess where Voldemort, through this curse, was trying to kill him.
The loophole? Voldemort was targeting Gilderoy Lockhart.
And what did that have to do with him? (His name from his past life.)
He didn't mind being called Gilderoy Lockhart—names are just labels, and he had his own real, authentic life. But that didn't mean this Gilderoy Lockhart was the same Gilderoy Lockhart. He wasn't anyone else. He was himself!
Lockhart knew dark magic inside and out, and he had a crystal-clear understanding of how curses worked.
Take the Snot Curse he'd just explained to his fourth-year students, breaking it down step by step. No matter how wild and varied magic could be, it always followed some basic rules.
Especially dark magic—it thrived on pure malice.
That's why, even from a purely academic perspective, dark magic was increasingly being phased out of standard wizarding education. Malice needs a target. You have to direct it at a specific object, person, or event.
That specificity is a huge advantage in low-level duels—it gives a wizard a clear purpose. But in high-level spellcasting? It's a massive weakness.
To put it bluntly, spells with strong specificity are kind of basic.
Take the Fidelius Charm, one of the spells in the safehouse series. It hides a location from everyone in the world, even someone on the other side of the planet who has no connection to it. It's broad, not specific.
That's why one of the three core areas of Defense Against the Dark Arts—countering dark magic—has an entire branch dedicated to exploiting this specificity.
Among the spells Dumbledore had just tried on Lockhart was a powerful Confundus Charm, designed to mess with that very specificity.
The Killing Curse? The Cruciatus Curse? If you can confuse the target, muddle the malice directed at them, the spell's effect might fizzle out into nothing more than a slight sting.
Of course, in a real duel, you wouldn't risk countering an Unforgivable Curse like that. But for something less deadly, like the Snot Curse? If you know this trick, it works like a charm—better than Finite Incantatem every time.
This was Lockhart's plan to save himself.
His very existence was already a kind of confusion.
But it was still a risky move, like casting a Confundus Charm on yourself when a Killing Curse is hurtling your way—treating a dead horse like it might still gallop.
So he'd say, "Isn't it funny how sometimes we have to face death head-on to find a shot at living?"
If this curse was so powerful it had to kill someone, then fine—he'd let it kill Gilderoy Lockhart once.
And then he'd come back as a brand-new Gilderoy Lockhart.
It was a dangerous gamble.
No guarantees, no certainties. But he had the courage to face death.
Because his hunger for life burned so fiercely!
Here we go!
Time to walk the line between life and death!
Dumbledore slipped off his ring, pulling out a pot of Mimbletonia and a vial of dew. He tapped his Elder Wand lightly, inspecting the items with a knowing look. These were the tools Lockhart needed.
The Mimbletonia, its stems buzzing with voices calling out to Lockhart, and the dew, symbolizing the shift from a societal role to an individual self—these objects anchored Lockhart's very existence.
Under Lockhart's guidance, Dumbledore began manipulating a fairy tale book, Carroll's Bedtime Stories. He flipped to the final chapter, I Am Glory, placed it open on the ground, and waved his wand, muttering an incantation to activate it.
"For generations, the Carroll family has safeguarded wizarding honor!"
That incantation had built the Carroll family's glory, witnessed their triumphs, and, in the end, sealed their downfall.
Because they didn't consider Muggle-born wizards to be true wizards.
Dumbledore's mind was a whirlwind as he watched Lockhart, now partially translucent like a ghost, take shaky steps toward the book. His body shrank smaller and smaller until, with a final wave, he stepped fully into the open pages.
Dumbledore sighed, his anger toward Tom Riddle flaring hotter.
His thoughts drifted back to what Lockhart had mentioned earlier: Horcruxes. Five objects and one person…
He didn't know how Lockhart had uncovered Tom's secret, but the fact that Tom, even in his weakened state, was so desperate to wield the curse on the Defense position told Dumbledore that Lockhart was probably right.
Slytherin's locket…
Hufflepuff's cup…
Ravenclaw's diadem…
The diary from his school days…
The Gaunt family ring…
To a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber, these objects stood out like blazing beacons.
Bloodline, self, home—Tom had truly made Hogwarts his home. When Dumbledore brought him from the orphanage to Hogwarts all those years ago, Tom must have latched onto it as his true sanctuary.
That deep sense of belonging shaped his Horcruxes. He chose legendary artifacts from each Hogwarts house and severed ties with his Muggle family by slaughtering them, cutting away his past entirely.
It was painfully clear to Dumbledore where Tom's fatal weakness lay.
His heart still held a gap—a longing for, and recognition of, his mother's love.
Why had Lily's magic worked so well against Tom? It wasn't just the raw power of her motherly love for Harry—though that was formidable. It wasn't enough to kill the most powerful wizard of the age at his peak.
No, it was because it struck directly at Tom's deepest vulnerability.
The magic of love is too vague a concept. What hit Tom so hard was the power of maternal love.
Humans are like that sometimes—the things we care about most are the ones that can hurt us the deepest.
So that's where to strike!
It felt cruel, almost immoral, to think this way. But when facing an enemy like Tom, there could be no room for hesitation.
Dumbledore had to admit something: in treating Hogwarts as a home, as a true sanctuary, Tom's attachment to the school might even surpass his own or Minerva's. He'd woven it into the very core of his magic.
Magic can be like that sometimes.
When it's too extreme, it's overwhelmingly powerful—but it also exposes glaring weaknesses.
Life works that way too, sometimes.
The curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was likely tied to all this, even if not directly to the Horcruxes. There was some intangible connection at play.
No wonder they'd never been able to lift it.
Maybe, just maybe, if they destroyed the Horcruxes, the curse would finally fade.
Dumbledore ran his fingers along the Elder Wand, his gaze deep and unreadable behind his half-moon glasses.
The Fairy Tale Book
Morning sunlight streamed in, warm and bright.
"Little sweetheart~"
"Sweetheart, time to wake up~"
"Lunch is ready~"
At the sound of the gentle voice, Lockhart slowly opened his eyes. A middle-aged woman with a warm, kind smile stood before him.
He glanced at the tray of delicious food in her hands and frowned slightly. "Mum, you don't have to do this. I can go eat downstairs."
"Oh, my little sweetheart, I love doing this for you," the woman said, setting the tray on the bedside table. She carefully tidied his scattered summer homework from Hogwarts, smiling proudly at the elegant handwriting on the parchment.
"Mum!" Lockhart's voice rose a bit. "Can you please stop bringing food to my room like this? My sisters won't like it. You can't play favorites."
The woman huffed, clutching the homework to her chest with pride. "How could it be the same? They're Muggles. You're a wizard!"
Lockhart sighed, sitting up in bed. "But we're family. We need to think about everyone's feelings. Dad won't be happy either!"
"Oh, he'll be fine!"
The woman snorted. "My little sweetheart, you're a wizard—a magical wizard. You're the pride of our family. You're my pride!"
She looked at him with such intensity, as if her entire life and dreams rested on him. "You'll be a great wizard, won't you? You'll make your mum proud?"
A shadow passed through Lockhart's eyes. He clenched his fists under the covers.
He knew the truth. He wasn't all that great. He struggled at Hogwarts, barely keeping up. He was on the verge of fading into obscurity.
If he lived in the Muggle world, maybe things would be easier. He could be like his dad—a well-known travel magazine columnist. Or maybe a lawyer, climbing the ranks in politics.
But in the wizarding world? He couldn't see a future.
He was lost, unsure where he'd end up after graduation.
Greatness? Glory? Those didn't feel like words that would ever describe him.
Even so…
He flashed his perfect, practiced smile, meeting his mother's hopeful gaze. "Yes, Mum. I'll make you proud. I won't let you down."
"Oh, my little sweetheart!" The woman beamed, carefully arranging his homework before patting it gently, like soothing a baby. Then she turned and left the room.
As the door clicked shut, Lockhart's smile collapsed.
He rubbed his face hard, dragging himself out of bed with a heavy heart. He rummaged through his wardrobe, picking out clothes that were just right—tasteful, polished. Anything less, and his mum would be disappointed.
But when he stepped in front of the full-length mirror to fix his hair, he froze. The face staring back wasn't his. A chill ran down his spine. "Who are you?!"
The reflection sighed, muttering, "Still not smooth enough…" It drew a wand, pressed it to its temple, and cast quickly—"*Obliviate!*"
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