Gilderoy Lockhart was never content to skim the surface of his studies. Uncovering the "wondrous mechanisms of the wizarding world" was thrilling, but knowing what without understanding why wouldn't do. He craved a deeper grasp of the magic's mysteries.
Exploring magic? Far too fun to ever tire of.
The Corban Yaxley plan could wait. For now, his focus was on his companions' growth—his research into nurturing dark creatures, his true area of expertise, took top priority.
He'd found a promising angle.
When casting his "Mind-Scrub Charm," the interplay between his own mind and the natural world reminded him of the Wronged Fairy's connection to the earth. That was a thread worth pulling.
Tom Riddle's Slytherin heirlooms—those notes on basilisk breeding—suddenly seemed invaluable.
And then there was his day job: the new fairy tale chapter, The Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts. As the mastermind behind it, he'd need to pour time and energy into getting it off the ground before he could step back.
For the next couple of weeks, Lockhart was swamped.
He slipped into a pure, almost obsessive rhythm, his mind consumed by magic.
Until that day.
Rita Skeeter, his old schoolmate, showed up again.
She brought news of his latest book topping the global bestseller charts.
"Sorry, mate, but this isn't making the Daily Prophet's front page!" Rita said, her expression oddly smug as she waved the newspaper. "I've got my own business to handle."
Lockhart's eyes flicked to her, sensing it was time to pay a debt.
Rita needed his help—likely to leverage his sky-high public influence.
He didn't bring it up, just grinned and took the paper, flipping it open casually. "Oh, really? Something bigger than my bestseller? My fans worldwide are dying for news about me. The Prophet's missing out on a ton of sales."
He was spot-on.
Rita's face fell, her lips pursing in annoyance. "Yeah, damn it. Your fans are snapping up The Quibbler like mad. Lovegood's plastered your face on the cover for two issues straight!"
The Quibbler, known for its conspiracy theories, sightings of nonexistent creatures, and offbeat news, was the wizarding equivalent of a Muggle tabloid peddling alien stories.
Lockhart chuckled. "Don't blame me. I still give you exclusive interview rights. I haven't written a word for Lovegood. Maybe you should ask yourself why someone else snatched the juiciest fruit."
"Just bad luck," Rita muttered, shaking her head dramatically before tapping the newspaper in his hands. "So I need a big story to claw back my glory."
Her big story…
Lockhart glanced at the paper and nearly choked.
Front-page headline: Corban Yaxley: When Are You Registering at the Beast Office, Werewolf?
Merlin's beard, Rita was ruthless!
Corban Yaxley was the victim of the Ministry's werewolf attack, still recovering in St. Mungo's, and the story hadn't even cooled off yet. But Rita? She didn't care about the actual werewolf's trial or the Ministry's response. She zeroed in on the juiciest target—the victim himself.
Lockhart skimmed the article, wincing at the emotionally charged lines.
Mr. Corban Yaxley!
You're a werewolf now!
Yes, a werewolf!
Why haven't you registered at the Beast Office's Werewolf Registry?
As a senior Ministry official, are you flouting the rules, setting a bad example?
No wonder no werewolf bothers registering!
Rita knew how to stir the pot. Minister Fudge had scrambled to quiet the backlash against the Ministry's system after the attack, and now Rita was dragging it all back into the spotlight.
The article hit every sore spot: Ministry policy, a high-ranking official, the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families, werewolves—all with a viciously clever angle.
She was practically forcing Fudge to pressure Yaxley into registering, or the old controversy would flare up again. And if Yaxley did register? Rita could spin another story, crowing about how her reporting pushed the Ministry to tighten its rules.
Genius.
Lockhart finished the article, gobsmacked, and looked at a smug Rita. "You're not scared Yaxley'll come after you? I mean, he's a Death Eater, and with rumors of You-Know-Who stirring, he might actually try something."
Rita didn't flinch. She pulled a mirror and lipstick from her bag, touching up her makeup with cool confidence. "Scared? Me?"
A quintessential Ravenclaw rogue, she had tricks up her sleeve and magic to back them. Not to mention, she was an unregistered Animagus—a beetle, no less. Sneakier than Sirius Black's big black dog form. Slip into a crack in the floor or wall, and no enemy, no matter how powerful, could find her.
Plus, she had plenty of non-magical ways to handle trouble.
"I'm giving a speech at the International Confederation of Wizards tomorrow, blowing this whole thing wide open," she said. "If he dares come for me, I'll land my own name on the front page."
She fixed her gaze on Lockhart. "Look, mate, I need you to write an article. Anything you say to the public gets reprinted by papers worldwide. I need that clout."
Lockhart put on a grave expression, furrowing his brow. "You want me to make an enemy of Corban Yaxley? To stand against a Ministry bigwig and a pureblood family head?"
"You know how much this could cost me. I just landed a cushy Ministry job thanks to the werewolf fiasco, but it's a dead-end post. If I want to climb higher, crossing someone like Yaxley is a bad move."
"And," he added, "you might not know, but I just joined Lady Melusine's club. Yaxley's got serious pull there."
Lockhart laid out his predicament earnestly. "This could block every path I have after Hogwarts."
"You have to help me!" Rita snapped, gripping her lipstick tightly. She'd thought Lockhart would jump at this—back in the day, he wouldn't have overthought it. "I've done so much for you! All I'm asking is one article. You owe me!"
When he stayed silent, her face darkened, her voice turning venomous. "Gilderoy, you know me. I need this article. If you don't write it, you'll still see your name in the papers—because I'll write it for you. Don't think I don't know your secrets. You're no master wizard. Your fans would love to hear how you're all flash and no substance—"
Her words cut off as a chilling dread surged through her, a mix of panic and mental collapse creeping from her scalp to her arms, raising goosebumps.
She opened her mouth to keep talking but couldn't. Her body prickled, legs trembling.
It was as if she saw wails rising from a bottomless abyss, dark smoke swirling around Lockhart, twisting his figure into something eerie, sinister.
No, not just sinister—something vicious, like a monster crawling from the depths.
Boom!
Thunder roared outside. Jagged lightning crackled across the sky, illuminating Lockhart's face in flickering bursts against a suddenly darkened, ominous sky.
"Rita… Skeeter," Lockhart drawled, his voice cold as he lifted his eyes to her. "Are you threatening me?"
Rita swallowed hard, unable to speak, paralyzed by fear.
Her hollow gaze fixed on the window behind Lockhart, where roiling black clouds looked like ink ready to swallow her soul.
His voice seemed to echo from a distant place, laced with the searing crackle of lightning and the hollow reverberation of the abyss, growing louder until it thundered in her ears.
Time seemed to freeze. She couldn't tell how long the terror gripped her—a day, a moment? She didn't know.
Vaguely, she sensed Lockhart rising, circling the desk, stepping toward her.
Step, step, step…
No!
Don't kill me!
I don't know anything!
I just collect dirt on famous people, brainstorm explosive stories—I swear I don't know anything!
She screamed in her mind, but her body was frozen, rigid as a statue.
Then, a knock at the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound snapped her back to reality, grounding her.
Rita realized she could move. Her instincts screamed to run, but her legs gave out, collapsing her into the chair. She gasped like a fish out of water.
Despairingly, she looked up at Lockhart looming over her, too terrified to even hint at fleeing.
She was scared. The fearless Rita Skeeter was truly, deeply scared.
Only now, feeling this raw, visceral fear, did she realize she could be afraid.
Knock, knock, knock.
The knocking came again, accompanied by a faint voice asking if Lockhart was in.
He's here, Gilderoy, go answer the door!
Lockhart gave her one last piercing look before turning toward the door.
"Gilderoy!" Rita mustered the courage to call out, her voice hoarse and faint, but enough to stop the terrifyingly unfamiliar man in his tracks.
"Name your terms," she said. "I'll do whatever you want if you help me with this. I need that article."
Yes, she was terrified—scared to death.
But her obsession with her big story still burned.
Everyone has their fixation. Or maybe that's not quite right. Most people struggle to find something they care about enough to throw themselves into fully.
That kind of passion was a gift, a life's conviction—one that could outweigh even the fear of death.
Truth be told, Lockhart's little stunt—blending a Weather Charm with the Vicious Werewolf and Golden-Haired Friend's magical ambiance—was just a casual experiment. The effect was surface-level, not enough to sear the fear into her soul.
Her determination clearly struck a chord with the fearsome man.
Lockhart turned back, eyeing her silently before speaking coldly. "Then be ready to pay a price, Rita. I won't say no this time. But when I call in my favor, you don't get to say no either."
Rita swallowed, a sudden sense of making a deal with the devil washing over her.
For a moment, she wondered if she'd made a mistake, bargaining with someone like Gilderoy. Would this drag her into the abyss?
She wanted to back out, but under his gaze, she forced a strained smile. "Of… of course. I'll keep my word."
What the hell was she saying?
Rita was on the verge of tears. She'd never imagined the perpetually grinning, foolish Gilderoy Lockhart could be this terrifying, this powerful.
You're actually a master wizard?!
Then why act like some flamboyant fraud all the time?
You liar!
She wailed inwardly.