Old Voldemort, that 66-year-old wizard, was acting downright mischievous.
Old Dumbledore, a spry 111-year-old wizard, just looked exasperated.
Maybe even a little angry.
Tom Riddle had slaughtered his own followers, using their blood as some twisted way of saying "hello." Dumbledore could hardly stand to watch.
But, to be fair, this adventure had drawn a bloody line under things.
Alecto Carrow's body burned in a roaring blaze. Dumbledore stared blankly, gripping the Elder Wand tightly in his hand.
"He's out there, Dumbledore, ready to stir up trouble at any moment. You need to be prepared for that," Lockhart said out of nowhere.
Dumbledore spun around, fixing him with a sharp look. "What do you know?"
Lockhart nodded, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dumbledore. I can't say any more about him. The curse on the Defense position hasn't gone away. I barely dodged it this time, and I don't know if I'll be that lucky again."
He wanted to live fiercely, unafraid of death—but that didn't mean he was reckless enough to go looking for it.
That wasn't a fairy-tale adventure. That was just plain stupid.
Dumbledore didn't press him further. He just fell into deep thought. "Around us… Hogwarts?!"
Lockhart didn't answer. He didn't dare.
He only gazed quietly at the burning corpse, sighed, and drew his wand, giving it a gentle flick.
"Evanesco! Vanish and ascend!"
The flames surged, and Alecto's body crumbled rapidly, turning to ash and drifting skyward with the fire, erasing every trace of her existence from the world.
Gone in smoke…
Ascended!
It was the melancholy of a life snuffed out.
This adventure with Dumbledore had been about taking her down, but watching her life end like this didn't bring Lockhart any joy. Maybe he really wasn't cut out to be a dark wizard.
Back in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore took Amycus Carrow from Snape and headed to the Ministry of Magic. He clearly had a lot on his plate.
A fugitive Death Eater sneaking into Hogwarts was bound to send shockwaves through the wizarding world. Dumbledore needed to take charge at the Ministry and the International Confederation of Wizards to keep things under control.
But that wasn't Lockhart's problem.
He had his own work to do.
His journey through the fairy-tale book, living a strange version of "Lockhart's life," had given him some clarity on how to fully process those precious memories in his mind.
Before, he'd always thought the key was to step into someone else's fairy-tale adventure, to align with their magic and gain the ability to use it.
Now, he'd had a breakthrough.
Align, yes—but don't become them.
Resonate, but hold on to your own identity. Build on their foundation to carve out your own magical path.
That's how you digest it, not just mimic them.
For "Lockhart," the path was crystal clear—write a book!
Follow the original Lockhart's knack for borrowing others' wisdom, weaving it into his own, and publishing it to gain fame. But do it in his own way.
Where Are the Dark Creatures? needed to hit the presses faster.
The Dark Lord was watching him, and that diary-bound Tom Riddle was about to start causing trouble. Lockhart needed a proper, structured wizarding power—not just a spell or two.
Harry Potter, time to get to work!
Yep, the book had eight co-authors—his handpicked students from the Duelling Club: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Draco, Goyle, Crabbe, and Pansy.
But to ensure the book matched the original Lockhart's bestselling glory, Harry Potter's "Chosen One" fame was the golden ticket.
The original Lockhart knew this game all too well, and Lockhart trusted his instincts.
Sorting out the material for Where Are the Dark Creatures? wasn't going smoothly.
The problem? Our boy, the Chosen One.
Harry was stuck, enduring Draco Malfoy's snide remarks and his cronies' blunt taunts. It made him want to whip out his wand and shut them up.
But what could he do? He was the one dropping the ball.
"Dealing with Basilisks…"
Lockhart flipped through the manuscript pages, glancing at Harry's nervous expression with a small smile. "So, you're saying you couldn't find any information on how to handle Basilisks?"
Harry nodded, glancing at Hermione, Ron, and Neville, who were trying to give him courage. He took a deep breath. "You mentioned before that a strong mindset—having a clear sense of right and wrong, a positive outlook, and enough courage to face terrifying things—could make you immune to a Basilisk's threat. I don't think we should put that in the book!"
Lockhart set the pages down, looking at him with mild surprise. "I thought I explained it clearly. That's the right answer. You should understand how powerful a strong mindset can be against dark magic…"
"But, Professor!"
Harry cut him off, his voice firm. He took another deep breath. "Not every wizard has that kind of strength. If we write that in the book, people might think they're brave enough and end up getting killed by a Basilisk for nothing!"
Lockhart stared at him, then glanced at the others, making sure this was Harry's own idea. He broke into a wide grin, laughing heartily.
"Hahaha!"
He was thrilled with Harry's progress. Gone was the impulsive, naive kid who seemed untouched by knowledge and just charged in headfirst. Now, he was starting to think like a scholar.
Cause for celebration!
This was his teaching at work!
"You're right, Harry!" he said, nodding in approval. "That's a sharp insight. You've convinced me!"
Harry let out a relieved sigh, his face lighting up with pride at being recognized.
But that smile didn't last long.
"You still need to come up with an answer," Lockhart said, fixing him with a steady gaze. "This isn't just about helping me gather material. It's part of your training in defending against dark creatures. I expect you to find solutions."
"Picture this…"
"Harry, imagine you're facing a Basilisk one day. You've got your wand, but your mind's blank—you don't know what to do."
He clapped his hands. "Are you going to rely on luck forever? Or just charge in with nothing but courage?"
Harry went quiet, then nodded firmly. "I'll find an answer, Professor!"
"Excellent!"
Lockhart was pleased with his attitude. He turned to the others—Draco and his smirking crew, then Hermione and the rest—tapping the manuscript. "And you lot. You think you've gathered all the material there is to find? That's great, but I don't see any sparks of your own brilliance here. No original insights."
"I don't need servants to collect data for me. I could get house-elves for that."
"What I need is for you to contribute to this book. You need to think deeper."
"Readers need to see what the great wizard Gilderoy Lockhart's carefully mentored students can do. You need to show jaw-dropping wisdom to prove it."
No bestselling book ever has just one theme—that's for academic papers. A bestseller needs a main storyline woven with a compelling subplot to create a layered, captivating effect.
The main thread of Where Are the Dark Creatures? was, of course, the professional content about dark creatures. But the subplot? My Teaching Career and the Untold Story of the Chosen One, Harry Potter. That's what would make it fun and guarantee its success.
And, of course, the other young wizards mattered too. Once the book was published, the Sacred Twenty-Eight families—Malfoy (Draco), Parkinson (Pansy), Weasley (Ron), Longbottom (Neville)—plus the old pureblood families like Goyle (Gregory) and Crabbe (Vincent) would naturally rally behind it.
Lockhart knew exactly how this worked.
He waved his hand, and a puff of black smoke shot out from the peach tree hollow by the fireplace, transforming into a massive Dementor standing before the students.
"Aaah!"
The young wizards jumped, and someone let out a terrified scream, setting off a chain reaction of panicked yells.
Lockhart just grinned, waiting for them to calm down before ushering them to a more spacious part of the office.
"Now, I want you to really feel these dark creatures—get up close and personal!"
"So, where should we start?"
He beckoned the Boggart closer. "How about Dementors?"
There's nothing more fascinating in the wizarding world than dark creatures.
Take Boggarts. Their power isn't just some simple "mimicry."
In the books, when Harry faced a Boggart that turned into a Dementor, it genuinely had the ability to drain happiness and induce despair, just like a real Dementor.
A weaker version, sure.
But it also had the same vulnerability to the Patronus Charm.
A Boggart's power is to project and embody a wizard's deepest fear, drawing on the wizard's own soul to passively generate dark magic effects within them.
Fear often stems from life's darkest moments, and Lockhart had plenty of material in his mind to fuel this. He also had the original Lockhart's knack for imagination, scene-setting, empathy, and expression—plus a flexible way with memories.
That's what made this Boggart perform so impressively.
Other dark creature researchers couldn't pull this off.
Lockhart had always been good at taking a little knowledge and stretching it to its fullest potential.
The Dementor loomed large, twelve feet tall (3.66 meters).
Lockhart stood in front of it, observing the students, who were visibly paling and looking rough. Harry was struggling the most, clutching the scar on his forehead, looking like he might collapse.
After making sure none of them were completely falling apart, Lockhart began explaining.
"Because of the Boggart's nature, it can't fully replicate a Dementor's true power. It's just a tool to help us study their characteristics."
"Try channeling positive emotions to counter the dark magic's effects."
He guided them through the process before continuing.
"On the surface, Dementors 'drain happiness' and 'devour souls'…"
"But I don't want you to stop at surface-level understanding. Dig deeper. Why do they have these powers? Get to the root of it, and that's how you fight them!"
"When Minister Damocles Rowle decided to establish Azkaban prison in 1718, Dementors had already been haunting the castle that became its foundation for centuries. The Ministry gathered mountains of data from experts on Dementors and dark historical sites, developing the first methods to control them."
"Over the 270-plus years of Azkaban's operation, the Ministry has learned far more about manipulating Dementors than just casting a Patronus Charm."
"The truth is, if you deeply understand a dark creature's essence, you can communicate with it and even harness its abilities."
"Remember this: a Dementor's core power is 'the withering of life's vibrancy.' It strips away all color from existence—that's its true essence…"
"What I'm about to tell you won't be in our book, because this information comes from… less-than-legal sources, let's say, from a certain Ministry official."
As Lockhart spoke, the students were clearly struggling.
Harry, especially, was in bad shape, leaning half his weight on Ron to stay upright.
He was trying hard to hold onto the positive mindset Lockhart had been teaching, or he'd have probably passed out by now.
But it was still rough. Lockhart's voice seemed to come from far away, his scar throbbed with sharp pain, and his head felt hot and swollen.
Just then, the office door was pushed open—not rudely, but with force.
Weekend sunlight spilled in, easing Harry's discomfort a little.
"Professor Lockhart, I heard you went on an adventure with Professor Dumbledore? Care to tell me about it…"
The voice cut off with a startled shout. "Oh! Kids, watch out!"
It was Professor Kettleburn, who'd clearly been spooked by the imposing Dementor.
The old wizard, with his wealth of battle experience, charged forward on his prosthetic legs, placing himself between the students and the creature. He drew his wand and cast swiftly: "*Expecto Patronum!*"
A silvery, translucent light burst from his wand, forming a massive dragon-shaped Patronus that lunged at the "Dementor."
Kettleburn's magic was so powerful that the Boggart's weakened Dementor form was blasted into the wall, dissolving into a cloud of black smoke.
But the Boggart wasn't done. Sensing the deepest fear in Kettleburn's heart, it transformed again.
"ROAR!"
It became a colossal dragon, nearly three tons in weight, its pearlescent scales shimmering with rainbow hues. Its pupil-less eyes gleamed, and its massive wings stretched out in the cramped office, neck trembling as it roared.
A vivid red glow gathered in its mouth, as if it were about to unleash a terrifying blast of dragon fire.
"Oh, Merlin's pink frilly skirt!"
But then, a wand flicked from the side.
The Boggart shot Lockhart a resentful look before collapsing into a wisp of black smoke, tumbling into his robe pocket.