Lockhart had never really stopped to wonder: where did Voldemort go after being forced to flee, having been outwitted by the curse Lockhart had placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position while possessing Quirrell's body?
Back to Albania? Or maybe holed up with some loyal Death Eater?
The first seemed possible; the second, not so much.
Lockhart had engineered a scenario where a young Tom Riddle would believe a purge of traitors was necessary, and he knew it would work because of the memories he'd gleaned from Ginny. Those gave him a deep understanding of Tom Riddle's psyche.
Tom Riddle couldn't stand disloyalty—he despised traitors even more than enemies. And deep down, trust didn't come easy to him.
That was his nature, and growing into Voldemort hadn't changed it.
Voldemort might trust Bellatrix or Barty Crouch Jr., but in his weakest moments, he'd never seek shelter with those who'd openly or secretly turned their backs on him.
Now, Lockhart had his answer.
The most dangerous place is the safest place.
There was no better hideout in the world than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
If Peter Pettigrew could waltz into the home of a core Order of the Phoenix member as a pet, then spend years at Hogwarts under Dumbledore's nose without being caught, then Voldemort pulling off something similar would be child's play.
At this critical moment, in the midst of a magical duel, Lockhart's mind raced, piecing it together. It was absolutely necessary to think this through.
Because he knew one thing for certain: in the original story, Harry faced danger every year, but Voldemort only showed up in person during Harry's first year. He didn't appear again until the end of fourth year, during the Triwizard Tournament's final task.
Which meant, even if Voldemort was hiding in the Forbidden Forest, recovering his strength, he spent three whole years watching Harry without making a move. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't.
As Dumbledore had said, "At least I know he's too weak to do anything right now… utterly weak."
But even in that weakened state, Voldemort was so powerful that Lockhart couldn't break the magical clash they were locked in!
Just how strong was the Dark Lord?
Lockhart was starting to get a clear picture.
Of course, this was partly because he'd used an Obliviate spell, aimed right at Aragog, the Acromantula leader's head, and hit Voldemort's wandering soul by chance.
Magic involving souls was always a bit different from other kinds of dueling.
Lockhart was starting to regret his choice.
If he'd used an Expelliarmus or some other attack spell on Aragog, Voldemort might've stayed asleep, tucked away in the spider's head!
Bloody hell!
Being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts was a minefield. That wretched curse could flare up at any moment, bringing wave after wave of trouble. How had past professors even survived a single year?
No wonder Dumbledore struggled to find replacements and ended up with someone like Lockhart's original self, whom he didn't even respect.
If Dumbledore ever dared suggest rehiring him, Lockhart would fight him tooth and nail.
"Gurgle!"
The little golden creature on his shoulder wanted to help, ready to charge at Aragog and yank its brain out. A three-handed magical creature had that kind of bizarre power.
But Lockhart shouted for it to come back. He wasn't sure if pulling Voldemort out of Aragog's head would be a good or bad idea.
Not only that, he started calling all his companions back.
He was waiting for an opportunity—a chance to make a break for it. But he couldn't abandon his team, so he needed them close to make a plan.
The opportunity would come. He was sure of it.
Voldemort wasn't looking too good either. His face flickered on Aragog's head, blurry one moment, sharper the next—a clear sign the Dark Lord was dangerously weak.
Finally, Aragog moved!
Lockhart's companions, who'd started to retreat at his command, snapped back to alertness, forming a protective barrier in front of him.
But to everyone's surprise, Aragog didn't attack. Instead, it slowly crawled toward another Acromantula on a nearby patch of flat ground.
Its massive pincers clamped down on the other spider, and its venomous fangs lunged for a bite.
But Aragog was old and sluggish. The other spider thrashed and dodged, managing to avoid the attack.
Lockhart watched, puzzled at first, then gasped as realization hit.
Why was Aragog trying to feed now?
He rifled through his memories of young Tom Riddle and found the answer: killing. Killing fueled powerful dark magic.
That's how Voldemort made Horcruxes!
He had to think fast.
Lockhart wasn't sure if Voldemort, using Aragog to kill, could muster enough power to finish him off, but it definitely wasn't good news.
Got it!
Calming his nerves, he looked up at the mysterious, enveloping forest and shouted, "Forest, forest, help me!"
This was a unique spell from the "Forest Witch"—a plea for the forest's aid. In return, he'd owe the forest a favor, or it would never answer him again.
A gust of wind roared through, shaking the trees as if the forest were nodding.
Then, a familiar rumble grew closer—two beams of headlights cut through the air. It was the flying car!
Lady Car!
Summoned by the forest, it knew exactly what to do. It landed and charged straight at Aragog.
Its powerful engine roared, picking up speed, turning the uneven ground into a smooth path.
BOOM!
The impact sent Aragog flying.
BOOM!
The magical clash between Lockhart and Aragog broke apart! A massive shockwave knocked Lockhart off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground.
The car, noticing his state, executed a slick drift, pulling up beside him. With a click, the door swung open.
"No way, I'm not getting in!" Lockhart said, using the car's frame to pull himself up. He slammed the door shut and spoke quickly, "Get out of here—don't stop! Head for Hogwarts Castle. He won't dare follow you there!"
As he sent his companions back to safety, he flipped his hand, pulling a delicate teapot from his ring.
Confirming the car was speeding toward Hogwarts as instructed, he gripped the teapot. Just as the Portkey activated, he glanced at Aragog.
The spider looked rough—covered in blood, struggling to crawl toward another spider.
Lockhart didn't press the attack. For one, he knew he couldn't kill Voldemort here. For another, he had no idea what tricks the Dark Lord might still have up his sleeve.
Traveling by Portkey was anything but pleasant.
Lockhart felt like he was clinging to the teapot's handle with just one finger, on the verge of slipping off in the dizzying, rapid motion.
Worse, it felt like a hook had latched behind his navel, yanking him forward with unstoppable force. His feet left the ground, and he flew, unable to see anything clearly.
Thankfully, the destination was close.
Before he could even yell, he hit the ground hard.
He didn't bother picking up the teapot. Propping himself up, he scanned the room—Dumbledore's office.
"Dumbledore? Dumbledore! DUMBLEDORE!"
Dumbledore wasn't there.
But a flash of flame later, there he was, appearing in the office. His half-moon glasses glinted with concern as he looked at Lockhart.
"What happened? I felt you use a Portkey!" he asked urgently.
With so much going on lately, he'd been keeping a closer eye on the school—especially on Lockhart.
"…"
Lockhart looked at Dumbledore, despair creeping in. He realized he couldn't say anything about Voldemort. The moment he did, the curse he'd faked his death to escape would trigger again.
Dumbledore's face shifted. He knew why Lockhart was hesitating.
Suddenly, black smoke billowed from Lockhart, forming a vague, serpentine shadow that roared, "Gilderoy Lockhart!"
Bloody hell!
I didn't even say anything, and you're still coming for me?
Lockhart realized why Aragog had tried to kill earlier. Attached to the spider, Voldemort couldn't cast effective spells, so he was resorting to the same old trick to take him out.
As the snake shadow lunged, Lockhart raised his wand.
In theory, the Patronus Charm should work here. It was a spell to protect the soul, to guard living beings.
Theory, sure.
But he didn't have time to overthink.
"EXPECTO! PATRONUM!"
He shouted louder than Harry Potter ever had, his voice practically cracking with fear.
Silver light burst from his wand, a mystical glow spreading like an umbrella, blocking the snake's attack.
It worked!
Lockhart's eyes lit up.
Maybe Voldemort was just that weak this time. Maybe Lockhart had nailed the Patronus Charm.
Whatever the reason—it worked!
Ha! I found a way to fight back!
He staggered to his feet, wand raised, maintaining the spell against the curse.
The silver light rippled like waves, soft and light, yet solid enough to hold back the snake shadow.
Dumbledore dove to his desk, rummaging frantically, knocking over a lamp. He grabbed a small vial and thrust it toward Lockhart. "Quick, drink this! It's a potion I've been working on to counter this force. It might help!"
Lockhart took it but didn't drink. Instead, he shouted, "Dumbledore, Voldemort's in the Forbidden Forest! He's possessing Aragog!"
The curse was already active, so he could speak freely now.
BOOM!
Before he finished, Dumbledore vanished.
The old wizard was sharp enough to make a snap decision. If Voldemort was fueling the curse, stopping him would save Lockhart. Plus, this was the closest they'd been to Voldemort in a while.
"Hurry up!" Lockhart muttered, struggling to maintain his Patronus. For some reason, the snake shadow felt even stronger than the magical clash with Voldemort earlier.
What was this curse?
He took a deep breath, trying not to tense up. If he faltered, the snake could overwhelm him.
But he knew the Patronus Charm wasn't meant to be cast like this.
You had to relax, to sink into your happiest memories, and let the magic bloom.
Finally, calming himself, he couldn't help but laugh.
"Thrilling!"
He grinned. "What a wild adventure!"
This… this was magic.
Lockhart stared, entranced, at the silver light flooding from his wand, awed by the spell holding back the curse of the most powerful dark wizard alive.
He felt like he was born to be a wizard.
He didn't need to dig for happy memories. The magic pouring from his wand—the spell defying Voldemort's curse—was joy enough. The beauty of magic itself.
This was the vibrant life he craved.
So wondrous.
Gradually, a shape began to form within the silver light.
A tall, sturdy figure with flowing hair…
A horse?
"My Patronus is a horse?" Lockhart marveled, eyes shining with affection. "I love it!"
A bold, spirited horse!
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