On the way back, Lockhart took the initiative to ask Crabbe about his current grasp of magical abilities.
Though Lockhart leaned toward an elite teaching style, handpicking a few promising young witches and wizards for his Duelling Club, he'd only been at it for a few months. He hadn't had time to deeply tailor his instruction to each student's unique traits.
He'd always had his eye on Draco and Harry, with occasional hopes pinned on the ambitious Hermione. But, by some twist of fate, the first to step up to him was Crabbe.
Maybe it was destiny.
Lockhart believed in destiny, that hard-to-translate concept of human connection that took paragraphs to explain in Europe.
This second-year wizard had lost his entire family, entrusting Lockhart with their most precious assets. That kind of trust instantly forged a bond closer than with his other students.
Teaching was teaching, and Lockhart didn't play favorites in the Duelling Club. Every student admitted had potential in his eyes.
So, why not start with Crabbe?
He didn't care about Crabbe's portrayal in the original story. That story was long gone. If Crabbe remained the same dim thug despite Lockhart's guidance, it'd be his failure as a professor, not Crabbe's.
In some ways, his mindset mirrored Dumbledore's—willing to give chances to even the likes of Snape, a Death Eater leader, or Lockhart himself, a memory thief.
Crabbe's academic performance was, frankly, dismal.
Awful, even.
Forget Potions, a subject demanding both sharp logic and keen intuition—Crabbe struggled with even the basics of Charms.
But he wasn't hopeless. Thanks to his father's teachings, Crabbe had a solid grasp of the family's inherited spells, carefully curated for their lineage.
Spells like Scourgify, Reparo, Evanesco, Engorgio, Reducio, and Diffindo…
All spells that tested control.
Not control over others, but over objects.
"Oh!" Crabbe said slowly, after thinking hard. "I've also gotten pretty good at the Extinguishing Charm Professor Snape taught in Duelling Club."
What an interesting approach.
Lockhart rubbed his chin, studying Crabbe with curiosity. "Anything else? Did your dad ever mention what you should master in the future?"
Crabbe shook his head, then his eyes lit up. "Apparition! My mum said our family's been funding the Ministry's Department of Magical Transportation's Apparition Test Centre for ages. We've got a dedicated space there. Every Crabbe has to train there extensively."
"Mum said after I graduate, I'll work at the Test Centre and train in Apparition for at least three years."
Apparition?
Could training in Apparition sharpen magical control?
Lockhart pondered this. "When did this arrangement start?"
Crabbe shook his head, clueless. "Dunno. Dad couldn't explain it to Mum either, but I heard it's been funded for centuries."
Centuries? The British Ministry's barely 300 years old, mate.
Seeing Lockhart's interest, Crabbe eagerly added, "I can have Tootoo take you to our family's space at the Apparition Test Centre. She knows how to get in."
"Tootoo?"
"Oh, right! Our house-elf. She's been handling the family estate stuff lately and mentioned the Test Centre."
Well, that's a treat.
Lockhart couldn't help but marvel at Crabbe. The kid was practically showering him with golden opportunities, and he almost felt guilty.
But he was already forming ideas for Crabbe's situation.
"It's clear your family's been working on honing magical control, likely to better wield the power of the Fiendfyre spell," Lockhart said. "Smart move. Instead of dabbling in everything, master one thing."
"Maybe I can chat with your house-elf… Tootoo, right? We'll see if this approach actually works or if it's just flailing against a curse."
He wasn't quick to judge, continuing, "Finding solutions tailored to your strengths, Crabbe—I've taught you that, haven't I?"
Crabbe nodded.
"Your bloodline has an affinity for fire magic, but the Norwegian Ridgeback's curse causes you to lose control, backfiring spectacularly," Lockhart explained, brainstorming solutions. "I'd say steer clear of spells that demand precise control. Go for magic where losing control won't cause havoc—or better yet, where raw power benefits you."
He turned to the car's dashboard. "Lady, find us a quiet forest, will you?"
Beep beep!
The car veered through the clouds, heading in a new direction.
Soon, they landed in an unmarked, ancient forest. Lockhart found a clearing, gathered a few dry branches into a small pile, and waved his wand.
"Soul Bonfire!"
A spell favored by the Forest Witch in the Amazon.
Whoosh!
Flames roared to life, orange-red with faint blue flickers weaving through them, shifting and overlapping as they danced.
"This spell calms the soul, soothes physical pain, and promotes deep sleep," Lockhart said. "It's perfect for wizards resting in the wild at night."
He raised his wand to his lips, its tip morphing into a sturdy bird's beak. With a soft murmur, he produced a clear, chirping birdsong.
Soon, a limping fox was drawn to the sound. It eyed Lockhart and Crabbe warily but was quickly captivated by the dual-colored flames. Squinting, it curled up on a nearby rock, chin resting on its crossed paws, and fell asleep.
"See? Even an injured beast won't attack under this fire's influence," Lockhart said. "It soothes the soul's turmoil, bringing peace and healing."
"Of course, human minds are trickier. It usually only works when we're asleep—"
He was cut off by a loud snore. Turning with an odd expression, he saw Crabbe, the big lug, fast asleep on his feet, head bobbing.
Kid, you're gonna get yourself killed like that.
But it raised a question: Were pureblood heirs, with their flawed minds, more susceptible to nature-based magic? Both beneficial buffs and targeted attacks?
The Forest Witch had a whole arsenal of calming spells: Afternoon Slumber for daytime, Glowbug Serenade for nights, Gentle Breeze for cloudy days…
Lockhart sometimes wondered if purebloods' frequent mental shortcomings weren't just from inbreeding. Maybe dark magic's erosion had compounded over generations, creating a near-blood-curse effect, amplifying their soul's vulnerabilities.
Or even…
Were they evolving toward magical creatures?
A fascinating theory. Some magical creatures became fantastic beasts through wizardly influence, while some wizards seemed to inch toward powerful but dim-witted magical beings.
Lockhart couldn't wait around for Crabbe to sleep it off—he had to get back to Hogwarts for the afternoon's adventure activities.
With a gentle flick of his wand, a chilly gust swept over Crabbe, jolting him awake.
"I… I fell asleep?" Crabbe mumbled, face red with embarrassment, looking ready to burst.
"No worries, it's the magic," Lockhart said lightly, gesturing for him to gather branches and build a fire. He began teaching him the spell.
It wasn't hard.
Or rather, it wasn't hard for Crabbe.
He nailed it on the first try. The flames roared higher than Lockhart's, even accounting for Lockhart deliberately keeping his fire small for comfort. Crabbe's natural affinity for fire magic clearly played a role.
"What do you feel from this fire?" Lockhart asked.
Crabbe didn't answer, staring blankly at the bonfire. After a moment, tears streamed down his face as he whispered, "Dad… Mum…"
It took a while before he turned to Lockhart, tears still on his cheeks but a new spark in his eyes. "Professor, I don't feel so sad anymore."
Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "Tell me more."
Crabbe struggled to explain, gazing at the fire. "I felt Mum and Dad with me in the flames…"
What, are you the Little Match Girl now?
Lockhart was stunned. He'd found the right path. Crabbe was suited for this kind of magic, not destructive spells like Fiendfyre.
If you can't control it, don't. Lean into the chaos and make your magic stronger.
He motioned to Crabbe. "Watch closely. This next spell might be trickier. It channels the earth's vitality through fire, letting wizards commune with nature for aid."
He pointed at the fire. "Warming Healing!"
A new hue joined the dual-colored flames—indescribable but radiating a holy white glow. Bathed in it, Lockhart felt the fatigue of their journey melt away.
The spell's energy boost was secondary; its true power was healing.
It was a tougher spell.
It demanded wand movements that flowed with nature's rhythm, and Crabbe's clumsiness required Lockhart's patient corrections to even cast it successfully.
It also required a mental state of affinity and gratitude toward natural flames—a unique mindset some found easy, others impossible.
But Crabbe surprised him here.
"Warming Healing!"
Still a bit dazed, Crabbe cast the spell. Instantly, a milky-white glow filled their vision, spreading outward.
The unique firelight stretched hundreds of meters, bathing the area in radiant white.
The sleeping fox on the rock startled awake, bolting off in alarm. But after a few steps, it stopped, realizing its fractures and bite wounds had fully healed. It turned back, yipping gratefully.
"Hahaha!" Lockhart's triumphant laugh echoed through the forest. "Yes, yes, that's it!"
"Crabbe, keep going this way. Forget destructive dark magic like Fiendfyre. Restoring the Crabbe family's glory? It's within your reach!"
Crabbe said nothing, lost in the firelight's soothing massage on his soul—warm, comforting, wondrous.
A profound relaxation filled his mind and body.
So beautiful, so soothing, so magical.
He wanted to sleep again.