What did Lockhart see in that stack of documents?
He saw a list of all his previous victims of Memory Charms, their current situations, and, of course, the experiences he had stolen from them.
He flipped through the pages faster and faster, the rustling sound of paper friction seeming to be an unconscious attempt to dispel the fear in his heart.
Disgrace, a fall from grace—these dark secrets, once exposed, would be enough to turn him from a hero revered by thousands into a pariah chased by all. As for his latest heroic deed, naturally, no one would believe it, especially since it was fabricated in the first place.
Trembling, he turned to the last page. On it, written in pitch-black ink, was a single sentence: "You know what to do." His gaze seemed to be sucked into those words. A deep, authoritative voice of an old man echoed in his ears like a sudden clap of thunder. Simultaneously, fragmented, blurred memories pierced into his mind, stirring up a storm.
With a jolt, Lockhart, sitting on his bed, snapped back to reality. He carefully pondered the images that had just appeared in his mind, chewing over the words of warning.
Lockhart remembered the bewitching diary. He saw Dumbledore displaying immense power within the Chamber of Secrets, effortlessly dispatching the Basilisk as if crushing a bug. He saw his own unconscious self, the female student Hermione who admired him, and the male student Draco who had gifted him whiskey.
"Why would he give this credit to me?" Lockhart began to ponder.
He recalled the reporters' unusually fervent enthusiasm earlier. For someone as seasoned and experienced in dealing with the press as himself, this incident could be interpreted in various ways. But the reporters' abnormal behaviour made him sense a whiff of "conspiracy."
"That's it, that must be it." A flash of insight struck Lockhart, leading him to what he deemed a perfectly reasonable explanation—and indeed, there was some truth to it.
Dumbledore's own reputation had already reached its peak. As the world's greatest white wizard, long famed for defeating Grindelwald, solving the Basilisk problem would cause no surprise among people. Students and teachers would simply think it was to be expected. 'Oh, the Professor dealt with a Basilisk, and peace is restored to the school.'
But if it were credited to him, it would be entirely different.
The more Lockhart speculated, the more he felt Dumbledore was unfathomable.
Both were acts of saving the day, but if people felt the hero merely lifted a finger, their gratitude wouldn't run deep. Conversely, if the hero paid a significant price, people's admiration would be far more fervent.
He was precisely the one who had "sacrificed greatly" for this matter.
For some reason, Dumbledore had learned of his true capabilities. Seizing this opportunity, he could glorify his achievements while providing himself a dignified excuse to leave the school.
Thinking this, Lockhart felt both gratitude and awe toward Dumbledore.
As for why Dumbledore went to such lengths to orchestrate this, Lockhart also had a theory. If he remembered correctly, that little girl named Hermione was a Muggle-born witch. A schoolteacher risking his life to save such a student could stir up another media storm, challenging those stubborn blood purists in the wizarding world once more.
Peaceful coexistence between wizards and Muggles was not only Dumbledore's stance but also something Lockhart had always advocated—though the former was genuinely respected as the foremost wizard of his time, while the latter was a fraud, all flash and no substance.
At this thought, Lockhart felt even more respect for the old man who shared his ideals.
Those who have faced death tend to ponder more deeply. Perhaps Lockhart had suddenly become enlightened, as parts of his analysis actually aligned with the truth.
However, people often subconsciously suppress memories unfavourable to themselves. Lockhart conveniently glossed over his own role as the instigator, readily accepting the official explanation while overlooking the greatest possibility—that he himself might have been controlled by the diary.
Well, perhaps Professor Dumbledore had tampered more with his memories than he realised.
In any case, the current Lockhart might be tempted, but he still had to act according to Dumbledore's wishes.
On the stage now, he took a step back and addressed the students below: "You can ask the Headmaster to answer that question. After all, as you said, Ron, it's just a rumour." Then he yielded the floor back to Dumbledore.
"Ron is quite well-informed," Dumbledore said, stroking his long beard and scanning the audience. The students looked excited. "However," Dumbledore's tone shifted, and he raised his hands slightly to quiet them, "it seems you've mistaken one thing. Some magical creatures are far more terrifying than a Basilisk." His previously amiable tone grew serious.
Only then did the students remember that the Basilisk was also a type of magical creature. To ensure their safety, the teachers couldn't be too weak either. Disappointed once more, the students hung their heads.
But then Dumbledore teased them with a hint. He continued, "Indeed, your Care of Magical Creatures teacher will retire next year when you're in your third year. He's getting on in years and needs more time to spend with his lovely little creatures." Dumbledore paused, adjusting his slightly askew glasses. "So, you will welcome a new teacher next semester, likely someone familiar. Please wait patiently."
Hearing this, Ron could only sit back down on his stool helplessly.
Harry also made a greatly disappointed expression and thumped the table in front of him.
Clearly, they would no longer get to see that Old Bat Snape getting beaten up. They had still held onto a sliver of hope that perhaps one day, as Lockhart taught, his magic would recover, allowing him to "resume his official post." That would have been more convenient.
Returning to the main topic, Lockhart resumed his "heroic deeds report." Believing he had Dumbledore's tacit approval, he embellished the story to the extreme, eliciting waves of applause from the students below. Standing beside him, Hermione only felt growing irritation and an inexplicable aversion.
Amid the cheers, some discordant sounds emerged—all from the direction of Slytherin House. Whenever Lockhart mentioned the so-called "**," applause and cheers came from elsewhere, but from here came boos and jeers.
"Talking so big, who's the one who lost all his magic now?" they muttered among themselves.
"Such a disgrace, sacrificing his future to save a mudblood." Such voices were quieter but not few.
Dumbledore gave Snape a look, and Snape waved his wide robes, signalling his students to rein it in.
The dining hall remained noisy. Everyone knew Snape's favouritism toward his own house. This token gesture of restraint was far from a real outburst of anger. Perhaps Snape secretly hoped they would act this way to avenge the humiliation of his defeat.
That's what most Slytherin students thought.
Pansy sat beside Draco, having not joined in any of the earlier jeering. She watched him quietly, worried his emotions might spiral further, as today's gathering didn't seem very pleasant. The more the "hero's" achievements were praised, the more pitiful the villain trampled underfoot appeared.
"Enough." Draco slapped the table, startling Pansy. Just as she thought he was about to explode, he spoke.
"If this continues, the Headmaster won't let Professor Snape just warn us again. We lost, that's it. Slandering others behind their backs isn't a good habit. What we need to do is win next time." Draco uttered these words in a voice so faint it was barely audible, yet they reached the ears of every Slytherin student. The older students looked at him with newfound respect—not because his words were reasonable, but because this seemed to be another novel display of magic.
Though defeated, he retained honour. Draco's prestige within the house soared to unprecedented heights. Most chose to follow his lead. Compared to his, their Dean's words were far less effective.
Watching Lockhart on stage, talking incessantly and eloquently, Draco could only sigh inwardly.
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