You really have to admit—charms are incredibly convenient, maybe even a little like cheating.
The girls' bathroom, which had been reduced to rubble during the fierce battle just moments ago, was now completely restored after just a few waves of a wand.
In the Muggle world, that kind of thing would be considered nothing short of a miracle.
If not for the fact that time was clearly moving forward as normal, one might've thought they'd stumbled into some kind of forbidden time-altering magic.
But the one casting the spell wasn't thinking about any of that. His mind was still stuck on the battle...
Draco wasn't new to fighting adult wizards. With the Malfoy family's unconditional support, he'd grown up in an environment that far outpaced most wizarding households—whether in magical theory or combat training.
With that kind of foundation, it wasn't just his raw magic that had developed quickly—his combat experience alone already outclassed the average wizard by a long shot.
Some adult wizards might not even be able to match him as he was now.
And yet, no one had expected that once Lockhart dropped the act, he would prove exactly why he had been given a professor's post at Hogwarts.
Compared to the fool who'd been knocked out with one hit by Snape during the Duelling Club, the Lockhart they faced in battle had fully revealed his hidden strength—strength that had been completely masked before.
If it had been any other young wizard, Lockhart probably would've taken them down in an instant—then wiped part of their memory clean...
"Magic power, spell control, combat experience... Did I lose on every front?"
Reflecting on the battle, Draco could now clearly see the gaps in his abilities.
Or rather, he could finally measure the true distance between himself and the level of a powerful wizard.
He'd thought there was no need to rush. But the bitterness of defeat unsettled him.
His magic reserves were almost spent, and his muscles were sore from pushing past his limits. Draco frowned, displeased.
In a way, he wasn't so different from Hermione, who stood beside him.
They both carried the same pride in their hearts—and neither of them ever underestimated their own potential. When confronted with adversity, running away or asking for help wasn't their first instinct.
That drive was the very trait needed to rise to the top.
Just as Hermione had quietly vowed to grow stronger, Draco now decided it was time to spend less of his time reading.
And maybe—that was something the mastermind behind Lockhart never anticipated...
...
When Draco arrived at the Great Hall the next morning, Lockhart was already sitting at the staff table, acting like nothing had ever happened.
And when Draco glanced his way, Lockhart even had the nerve to wink at him—cheerful and composed, as if he hadn't just been in a deadly duel or nearly unleashed Fiendfyre.
"By the looks of it, Lockhart's plan wasn't exactly a success, was it?"
"Or maybe... he never really cared whether it worked at all."
Draco hesitated, then quickly looked away from Lockhart, suspicion clouding his expression. He couldn't help but wonder what Lockhart's real goal had been—and what role he was actually playing in all of this.
Draco had a strong feeling the man hadn't told anyone about what happened the day before. Or if he had, he'd likely left parts of the truth out on purpose. Then again, maybe everything he'd said had just been a distraction in the first place...
"That guy's seriously off."
"..."
"Do you think anything he said can be trusted?"
"I think," Draco muttered with a scowl, "you should go eat at your own House table instead of sitting here with me."
Hermione, clearly wanting to discuss Lockhart's strange behavior, frowned at the brush-off. But Draco wasn't in the mood—especially with all the younger students around the hall staring at them, whispering, eyes filled with curiosity about what was going on between them.
He glanced sideways at Hermione. There was no way she hadn't noticed the stares.
And he didn't even need to turn around to feel the glares from The Chosen One and his friends...
"Is this really the time for that? We've got more important things to deal with."
"You're not wrong. But I'm on my own..."
"Which is why, before things get more complicated, we need to figure out Lockhart's position—and who's pulling the strings behind him. We also need to confirm whether that tunnel in the bathroom really leads to the Chamber."
Well... that was definitely the Hermione Granger he knew. She didn't even give him a chance to reply before launching into full-on research mode, excitedly setting the direction of their investigation.
Still, Draco had to admit—now that she'd calmed down, her thoughts were clear and her reasoning sound.
The only issue now was how she planned to explain all of this to The Chosen One and the Weasley, which... Draco was rather curious about.
"Are you even listening? And why do you look like you're thinking something totally inappropriate?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes at Draco, who was quietly sipping his bitter Gurdyroot Infusion with no comment at all.
She had a strong gut feeling this idiot was thinking about something stupid again.
Draco, oddly pleased by the way Hermione's mood flared, took another sip of the awful tea.
"What do you think killed Myrtle? A curse? A potion?"
"What are you getting at?"
Draco set his cup down and pushed a book toward her.
Hermione tilted her head slightly, puzzled.
"I was trying to look up information on unicorns—but then I stumbled on something even more interesting."
"Unicorns? Don't tell me you made that up..."
"Hmm... who knows? Someone told me about them."
"Weird as always," Hermione mumbled as she glanced at the page he'd turned to.
From the title, the book seemed to be about rare magical creatures.
Her gaze landed on an illustration—big, round yellow eyes stared back at her. Immediately, Myrtle's words from the day before came to mind.
"This is... a Basilisk?"
Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper. As she stared at the page, her eyes lit up, realization dawning fast.
Now she understood why Draco had brought out the book.
This—this might be the real killer...
...
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