To be honest, Lockhart felt a little embarrassed about the state of his office.
According to his agreement with Albus Dumbledore, his position as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was essentially a temporary, one-year appointment.
In other words, he was only borrowing the room for a year.
Yet he had absolutely no way of restoring it to its original condition.
Fortunately, Minerva McGonagall didn’t seem bothered by it.
She appeared to have something she wanted to discuss, but after glancing at the young wizards beside her, she hesitated.
“Perhaps I should wait until after your lesson?” She asked, not wanting her personal matter to interfere with the children’s studies.
Lockhart nodded.
“Then please wait just a little while.
Today is a practical training session, so it will only take a short time.” He clapped his hands, drawing the curious children’s attention back to himself.
“Today we’ll continue practicing the Disarming Charm.” He glanced over.
“Oh, Harry, what’s with that expression?
Pride is not a good thing.” “Harry, Draco… don’t think that just because you’ve become proficient with the Disarming Charm, defensive techniques, and counter-curses that I’ll be satisfied.
In our next lesson, I’ll have the two of you conduct combat drills while riding flying broomsticks.
Your current level is still far from sufficient.” The truth was that the talent these two young wizards displayed in Charms secretly filled Lockhart with both envy and admiration.
He had no choice but to criticize them a little more often to keep their momentum in check and maintain his authority as a professor.
Producing two future dueling masters would be the crowning achievement of his teaching career this year, greatly boosting his reputation wherever he went afterward.
He turned toward Ron and Hermione.
“As for you two, you’ll probably need to start from the beginning.
But don’t worry about falling behind Harry and Draco.
You’re only second-year students, so you have plenty of time to improve.” Lockhart had his own teaching philosophy.
Whether in the Duelling Club, ordinary classes, or N.E.W.T.
courses, he liked identifying a few outstanding students first and focusing on their development.
Afterward, he would have them help teach the newer students.
That approach always made his own job considerably easier.
“Pair up,” he instructed.
“Having experienced students guide newer ones helps reinforce knowledge and reveals details they may have overlooked before.
Harry, you’ll teach Ron.
Draco, you’ll teach Hermione.” Draco nearly jumped into the air.
“Why do I have to partner with her?!” Had he not been standing directly in front of a professor, the slur ‘Mudblood’ would have already left his mouth.
Lockhart merely looked at him thoughtfully, then said quietly, “A truly intelligent Slytherin doesn’t make enemies everywhere he goes.
Draco, you need to learn how to maintain good relations even with people whose opinions differ from your own.” Draco pursed his lips without speaking.
After a long moment, he gave a solemn nod.
Hermione looked equally unhappy, but she clearly understood how to respect her idol’s arrangements.
She simply gripped her wand tightly and stayed silent.
“Excellent.” Lockhart smiled at the young wizards.
“Now it’s time for questions.
If there’s anything you’re confused about, ask now.
Once I’ve answered, you can begin practicing.” Hermione’s hand shot up immediately.
After receiving permission, she excitedly pointed at the trees filling the office.
“Professor, how did you do this?” This was exactly the kind of magic she admired, magic capable of producing effects that transcended ordinary rules.
She could feel its power.
Harry quietly tugged on her sleeve.
“Hermione,” he whispered, “we’re only supposed to ask questions about the Disarming Charm right now.” Hermione froze, shrinking back slightly in embarrassment.
“It’s fine,” Lockhart said smoothly.
“I can explain it, but only this once.” He looked around at the trees surrounding them.
Some had already grown so massive they looked decades old.
Even he, knowing exactly how they had come into existence, found them remarkable.
It was only natural for the children to be curious.
Smiling, he shook his head.
“You will never be able to do this.” The young wizards were stunned.
None of them had expected such an answer.
Even Professor McGonagall, quietly observing from the side, seemed uncertain whether she should interrupt.
Looking at the children’s disappointed faces, Lockhart explained, “The principle behind this effect is actually very simple: an Animation Charm from alchemy, a Growth Charm from magical horticulture, and an Engorgement Charm.
That’s all.
They’re all very basic spells.” He shrugged.
“It’s similar to Transfiguration.
The fundamental principles are quite simple, but mastering them deeply requires a lifetime of dedication.
That doesn’t mean you spend your entire life studying them.” Lockhart raised an eyebrow.
“It means they require your life.
Your experiences.
Your thoughts.
Your entire journey.
Everything in your existence must become nourishment for your magic’s growth.” The Forest Witch of the Amazon had been abandoned as an infant and raised by gray wolves, spending most of her life within the forest.
Only later did she leave alongside trolls and travel to Manhattan in the United States.
Her magic hadn’t become powerful because she studied a few spells, it was powerful because the forest itself was part of her very essence.
During her years in the big city, whenever she found herself in battle, she never chose modern magic.
Instead, she retained her old habits, reshaping the surrounding environment through magic first.
She called it: ‘Returning to nature.
Nature will grant me strength.’ Lockhart, however, preferred a different description: ‘The Forest Witch’s domain of battle.’ “Everyone has their own magical path to walk,” he said, patting the massive tree trunk beside him with a thoughtful expression.
“Sometimes we encounter extraordinary magic and immediately become fascinated by it.
But remember this: that is someone else’s magic.
Someone else’s life.
Someone else’s soul.
Not yours.
We can never become other people.
We can only become ourselves.” Such profound truths were far too advanced for a group of twelve-year-old second-years; they simply couldn’t grasp them.
Standing nearby, however, Professor McGonagall was deeply moved.
As an internationally renowned master of Transfiguration, she devoted herself every year to teaching generation after generation of students.
From first year through seventh, she had never ceased teaching the subject.
Yet how many true masters of Transfiguration had she actually produced?
In recent years, none worthy of special praise had emerged.
Looking back fifteen or twenty years, there had been a particularly promising group… James Potter, Sirius Black, and their friends had mastered the complex Animagus transformation while still students.
Unfortunately, the war had intervened, and she had never lived to see them reach their full potential.
Lockhart continued stroking the tree trunk in silence, well aware that those inspiring words didn’t apply to him at all.
He had already absorbed a fragment of the Forest Witch’s memories.
Would he one day digest all of her memories and fully consume that adventurous life?
He didn’t know, but the future seemed promising.
If the original Lockhart had been a Memory Thief, then perhaps he would go a step further: he would become a Thief of Lives.
He had no intention of becoming a saint.
Faced with the precious memories and life experiences of powerful wizards, he simply couldn’t remain indifferent.
He hadn’t crossed into this magical world only to continue living as a magicless Muggle.
Without those memories, he was nothing.
Since he had chosen to keep them, he needed to learn how to use them, to steal the lives of others, digest their adventures, and make them his own.
“All right.
Enough philosophy.
Begin practicing.” Practical exercises were the best way to determine whether students had truly mastered what they had learned, both for Harry and Draco as instructors, and for Hermione and Ron as learners.
Lockhart only needed to watch from the sidelines to gauge everyone’s progress.
After all, he understood the Disarming Charm better than almost anyone.
Among the three major fields of Defence Against the Dark Arts, dealing with Dark Wizards, dealing with Dark Creatures, and dueling, he might not be capable of casting the most powerful spells himself, but his judgment and insight remained razor-sharp.
Today, however, his attention wasn’t entirely on the students.
He invited Professor McGonagall to sit with him at a desk hidden behind several large trees and asked why she had come.
“It’s like this,” Professor McGonagall said, withdrawing a letter from her robes.
“The Urquhart family castle has experienced a rather bizarre incident.
After failing to receive any useful assistance from the Ministry of Magic, they wrote asking if I might be able to help.” She sighed.
“We’ve already confirmed that a Dark Creature is responsible, but no one has been able to solve the problem.” The normally proud witch rarely offered compliments.
“Professor Lockhart, you’re one of the most knowledgeable people I’ve ever met in this field.
Perhaps you’ll have an idea.” The Urquhart family?
Lockhart raised an eyebrow.
Quickly searching through his memories, he found the answer within the recollections of one of the powerful wizards he had absorbed.
The Urquharts were the family of Professor McGonagall’s late husband, Elphinstone Urquhart.
In those memories, that wizard had even attended Elphinstone’s funeral as a close family friend.
The Urquharts were traditionally associated with Durmstrang Institute, an old, deeply traditional pure-blood family with enormous influence both in their own Ministry of Magic and across magical Europe.
If even a family of that stature couldn’t resolve the issue, it had to be serious.
Lockhart accepted the letter and began reading.
The writer addressed Professor McGonagall affectionately as “Aunt Minerva.” After several paragraphs of flattery, the letter described the castle’s situation, a textbook haunted-castle horror story.
Overnight, the entire castle had become covered in bloodstains.
Venomous snakes and spiders crawled everywhere.
The house-elves had died mysteriously, and in the middle of the night, the faint singing of a woman could be heard drifting through the halls.
Once the possibility of a malicious curse had been eliminated and a Dark Creature confirmed as the culprit, such castles were usually considered lost causes.
Dark Creatures appeared to be living beings, but in essence, they were more like supernatural phenomena.
Without specific countermeasures, they simply couldn’t be killed.
Throughout the wizarding world, many places had been abandoned for this very reason.
As it happened, after searching through his memories, Lockhart actually found an answer.
In fact, he found two.
Handing the letter back to Professor McGonagall, he thought for a moment before speaking.
“It may be either Cellar Rot…” “…or a Wrongfully Slain Fairy.” Professor McGonagall froze.
When she had first received the letter from young Urquhart, its tone had been so despairing that she had virtually given up hope of finding a solution.
She had only approached Lockhart with a simple thought: ‘Lockhart seems surprisingly capable.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask.’ She had never expected him to provide an answer immediately.