The “Three-Handed Monkey’s” method of filling a human heart with dread had no effect on Lockhart.
This was not only due to the chaotic cacophony of voices and memories already churning within his mind, but also because of his own method as a seasoned, well-traveled wizard.
Or, to put it more accurately, his frame of mind: courage.
Not the hot-blooded, impulsive courage of a Gryffindor, but the cool, clinical courage of a Ravenclaw.
The courage required for combat spells is an emotion—a burning, frantic thing.
But the courage required to face Dark magical creatures is a state of mind, typically one of profound indifference.
This was an innate talent, allowing Lockhart to remain unperturbed by the negative emotions projected by most Dark creatures, even the most notorious Dementors of Azkaban.
In truth, the world of wizardry is a game of talent.
Magical beasts were the domain of Hagrid and Newt; combat magic belonged to Harry Potter; magical artifacts were the playground of the Weasley twins.
Even Ron, the most unremarkable in the original story, possessed unparalleled linguistic talent, naturally gifted at mimicking Parseltongue and the voices of others.
Of course, talent alone is not enough.
A wizard must know how to utilize his talent and find the environment where it can flourish.
Those with a knack for Dark magic should be Dark wizards; those adept at combat and flexible in their interpretation of rules should be Aurors.
Lockhart would bet that even a man like Professor Snape, having turned his back on the Dark Lord to serve Dumbledore, would be far weaker today if he weren’t continuing his private study of the Dark Arts.
Because his state of mind had been fractured, he had strayed from the very foundation of his talent.
People change, and as their mindset shifts, so too does their talent.
Who knows?
For his part, Lockhart didn’t mind being a Dark wizard in the slightest.
That was why he greedily refused to extract those memories—the dozen powerful wizards in his head, along with the original Lockhart’s own.
It was simple enough—a wand to the temple and a well-placed spell—but he refused to let them go.
He wanted to digest them, to absorb the emotions, the logic, the values, and the perspectives within.
If he had been a wizard in his past life, he would undoubtedly have been a Ravenclaw; he was born knowing how to think and how to maximize his potential.
Hermione didn’t stay long.
The Boggart in the vanity case was rattling, and the Cornish Pixies were shaking their birdcage with such violence that she feared they might burst out.
Once she left, Lockhart closed the windows and opened the jar to release “Three-Hands.” “Goo-jee?” The golden, furry monkey stared at him with wide, curious eyes.
Its third hand, growing from under its right armpit, curled against its chest.
Lockhart fetched a large apple from his desk, broke it in half, and offered a piece.
“Hungry?” “Goo-jee!” The monkey hesitated, then took the apple.
It tried a bite, its eyes lit up, and it began to chew with intense focus.
“Hahaha!” Lockhart laughed heartily, patting the creature’s head.
“No leaving the office without my permission from now on.
If you can manage that, I’ll find you something delicious to eat every day, deal?” The chewing stopped.
The monkey hesitated, looking from the apple to the door.
“If you don’t agree, I’ll have to keep you in the jar.
I know you’re a special breed; you like sunlight.
Maybe I can set up a little nest for you on the windowsill?” The monkey understood.
It turned its head toward the window, puzzled by the absence of sunlight in the dead of night.
“Never had a chance to sunbathe, have you?” Lockhart smiled.
“Trust me, you’ll like it.
I know your kind better than you think.” Many wizards harbored the stereotype that Dark wizards liked damp, dark alleys and that Dark creatures preferred gloomy, moisture-ridden corners.
The previous owners of this creature clearly held such views.
It was easy to tell the difference between wild and domestic Dark creatures: those that had lived near humans could understand speech and communicate—it was a simple diagnostic.
God only knew which Dark wizard Moody had snatched this from.
“Goo-jee!” The monkey finally nodded, extending its third hand.
Lockhart shook it, and the deal was struck.
It didn’t mean the creature was loyal, merely that it was willing to try a partnership.
If it later found that this arrangement harmed its interests, it would break the deal.
But it was a start; taming a Dark creature was no small feat.
Lockhart could have just kept it in the jar—Dark creatures weren’t “living” in the biological sense; they didn’t eat, sleep, age, or reproduce.
Academically, they were classified as “non-existent” or “non-human psychic phenomena.” But Lockhart was lonely.
He had so much he couldn’t say to people, so much he dared not speak.
Keeping a monster as a pet seemed a fine choice.
“I’ll call you Goldie.” Lockhart chuckled as he named his new pet.
But his smile vanished the moment he sat at his desk and prepared to tackle the year’s teaching workload.
His gaze froze.
“What is this outrageous thing?!” He shrieked, causing Goldie to tilt its head in confusion.
Lockhart was stunned, his mind reeling, his pupils dilated in genuine shock.
Goldie, still clutching its apple, climbed up Lockhart’s chair and onto his shoulder, peering down at the thin sheet of paper in his hand.
It wondered why its new master had suddenly been struck by a wave of pure, concentrated dread.
Even Goldie couldn’t produce such fear in someone.
Yet, this piece of paper had.
The paper was the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum.
That wasn’t the issue.
The issue was that Lockhart hadn’t realized how absurd it was to have a single professor for seven years and four houses.
Unlike Potions or Transfiguration, where two houses were taught at once, Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught to each house separately!
First year was manageable—one class per house, four total.
Second through fourth years were two classes each—eight total.
Fifth year was a double period—eight more.
Sixth and seventh years were combined, but they were double periods too.
It added up to 40 classes a week!
The entire schedule was packed solid.
Not a single gap.
And that wasn’t all.
The professor also had to run the N.E.W.T.
classes—selecting the best students after their O.W.L.s and mentoring them as apprentices.
That required hours of one-on-one instruction throughout the week.
“Hiss…” Lockhart gasped, feeling lightheaded.
He suddenly felt a surge of profound respect for Professor Snape.
If he recalled correctly, Snape had held the DADA post as a part-time job.
Part-time?!
What kind of joke was that?
How did he manage?
On top of his Potions duties, the DADA post, his responsibilities as Head of Slytherin, nightly patrols, tormenting Harry Potter, and various other school affairs like hosting Quidditch matches…
not to mention the impossible amount of lesson planning and grading.
Was Snape’s hair greasy just because he was too busy to wash it?
No, no, no!
Lockhart realized in terror that Snape wasn’t currently holding the post.
Based on this workload, the two busiest professors at Hogwarts were currently himself and Professor Binns!
Binns was a ghost who didn’t need to eat, drink, or sleep.
Lockhart did.
If he kept this up for a year, he’d be the next Professor Binns!
“Professor Dumbledore!” “Professor Dumbledore!!!” Lockhart clutched the schedule and charged toward the Headmaster’s office without a second’s hesitation.
He couldn’t wait.
He knew he should be talking to McGonagall—she was the one who likely drafted the schedule—but it was the middle of the night, and disturbing a lady didn’t feel appropriate.
After calling out for a while, the giant gargoyle guarding the door folded its wings.
Lockhart rushed up the moving staircase into the office.
Dumbledore sat at his desk, wearing pink robes embroidered with silver moons and stars, a steaming cup of coffee and a mountain of files in front of him.
He looked up, his half-moon spectacles catching the light.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Running around the school with such a Dark creature is not a good idea, Professor Lockhart.” Lockhart blinked, reacted, and frantically stuffed Goldie back into his robes.
The rough way he handled such a powerful Dark creature caused Dumbledore to arch an eyebrow in surprise.
“A late-night visit.
To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lockhart opened his mouth, staring at the formidable Headmaster, and suddenly didn’t know how to begin.
What was he going to say?
That the workload was too high?
That might seem like a shock to him, but to Dumbledore, who had taught the subject himself when he was younger, it was probably just Tuesday.
“It’s like this…” Lockhart’s mind raced.
In the time it took to walk to the desk, he had an idea.
“Regarding the teaching, I have a fantastic proposal.
I don’t know if you have a moment.
I’m terribly sorry—I was just so excited about it that I didn’t notice the time.” Dumbledore gestured to the empty chair, removed his glasses, and leaned back, looking a bit tired.
“Please, speak.” — Don’t forget to send Spirit Stones for more chapters.
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