Life at Hogwarts was easy, and time flew by.
Lockhart had once tried to locate Ravenclaw's diadem in the Room of Requirement, but he clearly didn't possess Harry's protagonist-level intuition.
In fact, he found the original plot rather absurd. Every time the Room of Requirement appeared, the entrance was different, and the space inside was as vast as a football field—overflowing with countless hidden objects.
No wonder Voldemort chose to hide things there. A drop of water disappears in the sea; a leaf vanishes in the forest. The Dark Lord was no fool.
Perhaps once Harry trusted him, he could let Harry search for it instead. After all, Harry carried a fragment of Voldemort's soul—he might be able to sense Horcruxes.
As for Ginny's diary, Lockhart wasn't in a hurry. He planned to use it to stage another grand deception. At the critical moment, he would expose Ginny's abnormal behavior—just like in a detective novel.
Nearly Headless Nick had invited Lockhart, the new professor, to attend his five-hundredth "deathday" party. Lockhart politely declined. Even before transmigrating, he had been in his twenties—he had no particular curiosity about ghostly gatherings.
On Halloween, Lockhart attended the feast with the other professors. As expected, the trio was nowhere to be seen—they were likely at Nick's party.
After a while, Lockhart wandered into the corridor, hoping to strike up a conversation with some older students—perhaps flirt a little.
Suddenly, a scream echoed through the hallway.
What now? Had the basilisk started attacking already?
Lockhart rushed over and found the trio standing frozen, staring at a dead cat on the wall—and a line of blood-red writing.
"You three—what are you doing here?" Lockhart feigned ignorance.
"Professor, this…" Ron looked terrified. Harry stood dumbfounded. Hermione cried out "Professor!" and rushed over, grabbing Lockhart's arm tightly, as if afraid he might leave.
Soon, a crowd of students gathered. Draco Malfoy stepped forward and read aloud mockingly:
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
"Mr. Malfoy, we can all read—there's no need for you to recite it," Lockhart said with disdain. "If you enjoy reading so much, perhaps after graduation you can become an English teacher in the Muggle world."
Being a professor who could deduct points, Lockhart still carried authority. Malfoy fumed but retreated into the crowd.
"What's going on? What's going on?"
Naturally, the commotion drew Argus Filch. He pushed through the crowd and froze when he saw Mrs. Norris. His face twisted in horror.
"My cat! My cat! What's happened to Mrs. Norris?" he shrieked.
Then his eyes snapped toward Harry.
"You!" he screamed. "You killed my cat! You killed her! I'll kill you! I'll—"
"Mr. Filch, calm down. I can prove Harry didn't do this," Lockhart said.
At that moment, Dumbledore's voice rang out:
"Come with me, Filch. You as well—Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger."
He carefully took Mrs. Norris down.
"My office is just upstairs," Lockhart added, stepping forward.
They gathered in Lockhart's office, placing the cat on the desk as Dumbledore examined it closely.
"It was him!" Filch cried shrilly, pointing at Harry, his tear-streaked face contorted. Lockhart found it oddly theatrical—as if Filch were determined to frame Harry.
"I never touched Mrs. Norris!" Harry protested loudly, painfully aware that everyone was staring at him—everyone except Lockhart and Dumbledore.
"Let me take a look," Lockhart stepped forward. Time to show off.
"If it's Dark Magic, I might have a way."
He leaned over the desk, pretending to examine the cat carefully.
"Hm… not Petrification, and not a transfiguration either. Otherwise, I'd certainly be able to reverse it."
(Well, even Dumbledore couldn't undo it—this was an easy bluff.)
Straightening up, Lockhart continued, "I believe this is the work of a dark creature—perhaps the monster hidden within the Chamber of Secrets. I've encountered similar things during my adventures. Only a potion made from magical apples can cure it."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "If Professor Lockhart believes so… then—Severus, I'll leave this to you."
Snape inclined his head. For once, he had no opportunity to interject.
Dumbledore then turned to Harry. "Now, Harry—what were you doing there? I didn't see you at the feast."
"I was—" Harry began.
"They were with me," Lockhart cut in smoothly. "I was asking them for ideas for my next book."
Dumbledore glanced at Lockhart, puzzled. He had clearly seen Lockhart at the feast—why was he covering for Harry?
Harry, meanwhile, felt a mix of confusion and gratitude. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong, yet this unexpected defense warmed him.
He had seen professors show favoritism before—but never toward him.
Was this… what it felt like?
In the end, Dumbledore decided to let it go. Lockhart's teaching had been solid so far, and there was nothing overtly suspicious.
"Very well. You may return to your dormitories."
As the trio left the office—
"Why did Lockhart lie for us? We didn't do anything!" Ron grumbled.
"Shut up, Ron! He helped you and you're complaining?" Hermione snapped.
"Why are you so worked up? I know you like Lockhart, but be careful—he's a famous playboy."
"Don't you dare say that about Professor!" Hermione flushed angrily, looking ready to hit him.
"Enough, Ron," Harry intervened. "Professor Lockhart is a good person. Don't judge him with your own petty thoughts."