If young Crabbe's talents were nurtured properly, his future could be entirely different. By embracing positive magic and steering clear of dark, malicious spells, his naturally magic-attuned heart wouldn't be tainted by dark forces.
How wonderful that would be.
No dabbling in dangerous stuff like the Fiendfyre Curse.
A bright future ahead!
Well… Lockhart had started studying the Fiendfyre Curse himself.
It wasn't his original plan, honestly. But the Crabbe family's centuries' worth of research on the spell was just sitting there, begging to be explored. Ignoring it would've been such a waste.
And wow, the Crabbe family's magical texts were incredible.
Perhaps because the family was concerned about the increasing number of, ahem, less-than-bright children in their line, the occasional genius Crabbe would take it upon themselves to organize the family's Fiendfyre research. They'd break it down into simple, almost childlike explanations.
An ancient family, refining one spell over centuries, influenced by magical philosophies from ancient, medieval, and modern times, had pushed the spell to profound depths, then simplified it back to its essence. Lockhart doubted he'd find such valuable magical texts anywhere else.
He'd already started copying these books.
Whether he returned them to young Crabbe or sent them to the family's Italian branch after his time, he'd keep a copy of this treasure trove of knowledge for himself.
Of course, he hadn't abandoned his study of Weather Charms either. Dumbledore and Grindelwald's Controlling Lightning was equally precious. When he got tired of one, he'd switch to the other to refresh his mind.
But flipping between the two, he started noticing something odd.
That evening, after finishing his N.E.W.T. advanced class, Lockhart placed his hefty compiled notes, The Crabbe Family's Fiendfyre Curse, next to Controlling Lightning. As he pondered which to dive into, he felt an odd connection between the two.
He couldn't quite pin it down.
Fire and lightning might spark some poetic interpretations, but from an academic perspective, the Fiendfyre Curse and Weather Charms were worlds apart.
He sat there, mulling it over, as the noise outside faded and the sunset's glow was swallowed by darkness, moonlight spilling across the grounds. Still, nothing clicked.
"Take a walk," came a gentle suggestion.
Lockhart looked at his teacup, noticing it no longer held blood, and glanced at the vengeful fairy nearby, who'd offered the advice.
The fairy was softly massaging his temples, her voice soothing. "Being a wizard isn't easy, is it?"
Lockhart let out a relaxed sigh. "Stepping into a fairy tale, waiting for magic to bloom—that's always been my way. I see others pick up spells so easily, just learning the incantation and wand movement, and they're off."
"Maybe…" She leaned down, her long golden hair falling as she met his eyes. "Maybe you're the one on the right path?"
Fair point.
Lockhart smiled. "I can't speak for others, but this path suits me."
Along this journey, the magic that truly became part of his life—unlike the spells he'd gleaned from the memories of the forest witch, his predecessor, or Tom Riddle, or the ones he'd only dabbled in—felt different. Deeper.
Alright, then. A walk it was.
He took her advice.
He gave a gentle pat to the little golden creature sleeping on his lap, clutching a half-eaten peach. Stirring, it hugged the peach tighter, its fluffy tail tapping his leg before it lazily opened its eyes.
The boggart transformed into a wisp of black smoke, bursting from a peach tree hollow. It landed as a hulking figure in a blood-stained burlap hood—the Dementor-like form—scooping the golden creature onto its shoulder to let it keep sleeping.
The Snallygaster swooped in, aiming for the other shoulder, but the boggart swatted it away. It let out a few aggrieved chirps before curling up on the edge of Lockhart's robe pocket, looking like a glowing blue ornament.
The red cloak shimmered into view mid-air, swirling around the office before expanding to hide everyone within its folds, then vanishing again.
Lockhart summoned his Patronus—a gleaming horse—climbed on, and set off with his companions.
Before he knew it, he'd reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Feeling his magic hum with excitement in the forest, his furrowed brow relaxed.
The nighttime forest was alive with noise—the domain of nocturnal creatures. To humans, this lively chaos somehow blended into a kind of quiet.
Morning bird calls, nighttime insect hums—humans loved this not-too-silent serenity. A living calm, not the dead stillness of a locked room.
But tonight felt different.
The breeze carried something new: the sound of human cheers.
The Weasley twins on a night-time jaunt in the Forbidden Forest? Wonder what they'd found this time.
Curious, Lockhart urged his horse forward, soon arriving at Hagrid's paddock for the Hippogriffs. Peering through the fence, he spotted a lively group: Hagrid, Professor Kettleburn, and the Weasley twins, George and Fred.
Lockhart dispelled the red cloak's concealment and stepped into the paddock.
"Professor Lockhart, perfect timing! Come look!" Kettleburn, sharp-eyed, waved him over with his prosthetic arm.
Lockhart greeted everyone and joined them, seeing they were gathered around a pile of straw with a large egg inside.
The eggshell was cracked, and a tiny, sharp beak was pecking away, clearly at the critical moment of hatching.
"An animal breaking its shell is the most important moment of its life," Kettleburn said, watching with excitement. "This is when a creature becomes truly independent, complete. Whether its body will be strong, its spirit resilient—it's all laid bare in this moment."
"Look!" he gasped. "The little one's adjusting to the world outside!"
Lockhart found it fascinating. He hadn't known Hippogriffs were egg-born, likely tied to their eagle heritage.
He'd only known they were a cross between a griffin and a mare—a feat of magical breeding. Creating a stable new species, not just a one-off fluke, was no small task.
These creatures, with the front of an eagle and the hindquarters of a horse, exuded raw power. Their eagle legs, as sturdy as a horse's, ended in massive talons rivaling a dragon's in strength.
Soon, the tiny creature crawled free from its shell. Kettleburn quickly pulled Lockhart and the twins back to give Hagrid space to bond with it.
Hagrid would raise this one, and while they were welcome to watch, it wasn't their place to interfere. Experienced wizards like Kettleburn valued these boundaries.
From a distance, the hatchling was adorable—tiny, smaller than Hagrid's big nose as he gazed down at it gently.
It sneezed, letting out its first cry—soft but already hinting at the fierce majesty of a flying beast.
"Ohh!" Hagrid's heart melted.
With his giant blood, his tastes differed from most humans. Humans loved soft, cute animals—the dumber, the better. Giants, though, prized health and strength, signs a creature could thrive in a harsh world where wizards and Muggles increasingly encroached on their space.
In this era, wildness meant a high risk of dying young. Beasts that didn't want to end up like pampered cats and dogs, fully dependent on humans, needed to be wilder, stronger, more aggressive to survive.
Kettleburn chatted with Lockhart about the relationship between creatures and their environment, noting how the concepts of good and evil for beasts might be the opposite of humans'.
Nearby, George and Fred whispered excitedly, tossing around wild ideas.
"What if a Hippogriff mated with a horse? Would it still lay an egg?" George wondered.
Fred's face twisted. "A horse laying an egg? Merlin's beard, that'd be horrifying."
"But the first Hippogriff probably hatched from an egg laid by a mare," George mused.
"Actually… you might be right," Fred's eyes lit up.
"Hey, kids," Kettleburn turned, eyeing the restless twins warily. "The Ministry banned experimental breeding last century. You shouldn't be thinking about that."
His warning, though, fell on deaf ears.
The twins' father was a notorious rule-breaker, enchanting Muggle objects in his shed. Hagrid, too, dabbled in forbidden breeding. Wizards, especially talented ones, often had a certain arrogance toward Ministry rules—a mix of historical defiance and their innate, unbound magical nature.
Like these young witches and wizards, sneaking into the Forbidden Forest at night despite school rules and Dumbledore's repeated warnings.
"Maybe in today's world, wizards only find that sense of mystery in breaking the rules?" Lockhart mused. "You know, mystery is always the source of magic."
Kettleburn blinked. "Is that so?"
"You always have some odd theory that makes sense in its own way," he muttered. "Anyway, I've warned the students."
Having done his duty as a professor, Kettleburn eagerly joined the twins' debate about Hippogriff crossbreeding, getting even more animated than they were.
See? He was just like them.