On the evening that Gilderoy Lockhart was escorted away, Dumbledore addressed the entire school during the feast.
"I must apologize," he began solemnly, "for my clouded judgnt in selecting an utterly unqualified professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts."
He looked out across the rows of students, his voice calm but heavy.
"According to the Ministry's investigation, every single adventure recounted in Gilderoy Lockhart's books was stolen from others. He took credit for their deeds, and as for his own magical abilities—his only true skill is the mory Charm."
A murmur rippled across the hall.
"Effective imdiately," Dumbledore continued, "Lockhart has been stripped of his position as professor. Until a suitable replacent is found, your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes will consist of study sessions and substitute lessons shared among other professors."
The mont his words fell, the Great Hall erupted into a chorus of shocked chatter.
Many had been wondering why the Ministry was even involved—dismissal from teaching was hardly their affair. But now it all made sense. And Dumbledore's announcent confird what so many had already suspected: Lockhart was a fraud.
Students who had long been skeptical of him straightened proudly, smugness written all over their faces.
"I told you! Look at him—flimsy, frivolous, not at all like soone who's done half the things he claid."
"Exactly! His books sounded so detailed, but when I asked him about them, he stamred and dodged the questions. Turns out he just copied everything!"
"Couldn't even handle a pack of Cornish pixies—yet people still believed him!"
The students who spoke did so loudly on purpose, directing their words toward Lockhart's diehard fangirls. Their faces flushed green with anger and humiliation, but what could they say? The Ministry itself had dragged him away. All they could do was endure the mocking until the scandal eventually blew over.
Still, such students were a minority. Most—whether Gryffindor or Slytherin—were delighted. For once, the two rival Houses found themselves united.
In that sense, Lockhart was remarkable: in only a single week, he had accomplished sothing it had taken Phineas Nigellus Black, as Headmaster, years to do—bring the Houses together.
"Headmaster Dumbledore!"
A sharp, clear voice suddenly rang out. Daphne Greengrass had stood up, and at once the hall fell silent, all eyes snapping toward her.
"Since it has been proven that Lockhart was a fraud and a criminal," she declared boldly, "shouldn't Tom's punishnt be revoked as well?"
"Big sister… so brave…"
Astoria's eyes went wide, her cowlick trembling. To openly confront Dumbledore in front of every teacher and student—it was reckless.
Even Tom was stunned. His own battles with the Headmaster had taken place in the privacy of Dumbledore's office, with only Snape as witness. Compared to Daphne's audacity, his efforts seed pitiful.
But Daphne didn't care. All she knew was that it had been Lockhart who provoked Tom in the first place. Even if Tom wasn't the type to obsess over House points, he still didn't deserve unjust punishnt.
"She's right!"
Another voice joined—Hermione Granger, standing tall, her eyes flashing with conviction.
"Headmaster, even though Lockhart hadn't been exposed at the ti, he was scheming to harm Tom's pet. Everything Tom did was to protect what was his. That shouldn't have been punished."
No one from Gryffindor protested. No one sneered at Hermione for defending a Slytherin.
For one, everyone knew about her relationship with Tom; inter-house rivalry was one thing, but even the most stubborn Gryffindor wasn't about to try breaking up a couple. And two—well, Tom's actions had been imnsely satisfying to watch.
Dumbledore's expression remained calm, his half-moon spectacles glittering in the candlelight.
"Miss Greengrass. Miss Granger. I will admit—your argunts for leniency are not without rit," he said, his voice carrying a weight that stilled even the boldest students. "But Mr. Riddle could have handled the matter with more restraint. He might have sought a professor's intervention, or chosen a gentler response. Instead, he chose the path with the worst consequences. Were it not for a gap in the school rules, his punishnt would have been far harsher."
Daphne frowned, her aristocratic temper ready to flare—but before she could open her mouth, Dumbledore continued.
"Still, you remind of sothing I have yet to announce."
His eyes twinkled now, a spark of light against the shadows.
"Because of Mr. Riddle's efforts, Lockhart's true nature was exposed swiftly. For that, Slytherin House is awarded one hundred and fifty points."
A radiant smile blood across Daphne's face.
Thunderous applause erupted from the Slytherin table, spreading quickly through the entire hall until it seed the very stones of Hogwarts vibrated with it. Even two usually cold hearts found themselves ward by it.
When the feast ended and the Slytherins returned to their common room, celebration exploded in full.
This victory over Lockhart was more than personal vindication—it was a declaration of Slytherin's strength. Eight governors had stood together to challenge authority; Dumbledore himself had admitted to an error. They had proven that the Headmaster's voice was not the only one that mattered in Hogwarts.
Of course… they could only influence the balance of power. After all, even united, they still weren't strong enough to overco the white-bearded giant completely.
Tom had arranged plenty of food and drink, celebrating with his fellow serpents before slipping away to his dormitory. There, he pulled out his chatbook to contact Mrs. Greengrass.
The Ministry's efficiency had far exceeded his expectations. Originally, his plan had been to publicly force Lockhart into performing a few basic spells—sothing any real wizard could manage. If Lockhart failed, Dumbledore would have no choice but to dismiss him, McGonagall certainly wouldn't allow such incompetence among her colleagues.
But with the sudden appearance of Ministry Aurors today, all that trouble had been avoided.
Naturally, Tom was eager to dig for details.
[Tom]: Auntie, how did the Ministry suddenly get so efficient?
[Still Charming ]: So, your impression of the Ministry isn't very flattering, I see.
[Tom]: You misunderstand . It's not just the Ministry—I've co to understand all official departnts. Efficiency is rarely their strength.
[Still Charming]: Then you don't understand deeply enough. When faced with imnse pressure and strict orders from above, they can beco the most efficient organization in the world.
[Tom]: A fair point. You've given sothing to think about.
[Still Charming]: The truth is, it wasn't complicated. Many of the events in Lockhart's books left traces. We tracked down several of the real victims and restored their mories. That gave us the proof we needed.
[Tom]: Restored mories? But even Dumbledore once praised Lockhart's mory Charms. And the Ministry managed to undo them?
[Still Charming: Ordinary wizards can't. But we brought in the Unspeakables.]
[Tom: The Unspeakables from the Departnt of Mysteries?]
[Still Charming: You actually know of them? Even most Ministry employees have no idea they exist.]
[Still Charming: Yes, exactly them. Their raw power may not rival the greatest duellists, but they are the most secretive wizards alive—researching souls, death, and other unfathomable mysteries. Their expertise is unique.]
The conversation with Madam Greengrass ended, leaving Tom deep in thought.
He realized he had underestimated the breadth of magical talent in this world. His eyes had always been fixed on figures like Dumbledore, Nicolas Flal, or Newt Scamander.
But being "the greatest wizard of the century" didn't an one man monopolized every field of magic.
Dumbledore, for instance, still depended on Snape's potions to sustain his life. And now, in the field of mory restoration, the Unspeakables had achieved what even the so-called geniuses could not.
"The Departnt of Mysteries…" Tom whispered.
That departnt had always been portrayed as enigmatic. In the original story, only a glimpse of two Unspeakables appeared—both controlled by Death Eaters with the Imperius Curse. Tom had once dismissed the entire bureau as little more than smoke and mirrors. Now, he was intrigued. A part of him itched to step foot inside that hidden hall of secrets.
But Madam Greengrass had been clear: the Unspeakables seldom interacted with outsiders. They knew too much—too many truths about magic and the world. Even Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, dared not ddle in their affairs. To the world, the Departnt of Mysteries might as well not exist.
If Tom wanted to investigate, he would need the right timing—and an impeccable excuse.
He glanced at the dimd icons on his friend list, sighed, and closed WhatsApp. With a flick, he summoned the system panel:
[Host: Tom Riddle
Identity: Hogwarts Second-Year Student
Credits: 2587
Achievent Points: 721
Pending Rewards: None]
"Hm?"
Where's my mission reward? Did the system swallow it?
Opening the task log, Tom discovered the catch—rewards would only be distributed after seven full days. His latest quest wouldn't pay out until next Tuesday.
He smirked bitterly. I was hoping for a lottery draw… and I still have to wait.
Closing the panel, Tom sank his consciousness into the Learning Space, where he continued studying diverse branches of magic under Grindelwald's shadowy tutelage.
Unintentionally, Tom had already cented Lockhart's infamy in Hogwarts history—making him the professor with the shortest tenure ever. Just one week and a day and a half of classes, and Lockhart was carried into the infirmary. Not two weeks later, he was expelled.
The previous record holder? A 19th-century Care of Magical Creatures professor who was gored clean through by a rampaging Warthog-Troll within a month of taking the job. His intestines spilled everywhere. Though the healers patched him back together, he never recovered from the trauma and resigned imdiately.
Now, in the Great Hall, news spread like fire. McGonagall announced that Dumbledore had already left Hogwarts at dawn.
Where had he gone? To find a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, of course.
Two disasters in a row—Quirrell and Lockhart—had shredded confidence in the position. If the next professor turned out to be another fraud or lunatic, Dumbledore's reputation among the students would crumble.
But that was the curse of the job. Who with real power and competence would want to take on such a cursed seat? Few, if any. Yet the school could not function without it. Professors couldn't cover the class forever.
So the weary headmaster, over a hundred years old, set out under the moonlight, knocking on the doors of old allies, hoping soone—anyone—might foolishly agree.
anwhile, Hogwarts classes continued.
During Transfiguration, Ron Weasley of all people approached Tom with a grin, even chatting to him a little.
This sudden friendliness had nothing to do with admiration. The Ministry had announced fines for Lockhart after his trial—every student who bought his worthless books would be refunded. Seven books, over ten Galleons in total—that was a small fortune back to the Weasley household.
"Mr. Weasley," Tom remarked dryly, "if you spoke incantations as fast as you talk, you'd already be a spell-casting prodigy."
Ron flushed scarlet and shrank his neck, obediently returning to practice.
McGonagall's stern gaze lingered until Tom successfully transford a flower basket into a prickly hedgehog. Only then did her eyes soften and shift to another student.
Tom toyed with the hedgehog's spines idly—when suddenly, WhatsApp vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out, eyes gleaming.
A ssage.
From that mysterious contact.
[French Black Rose: Good day, young Riddle. Forgive my delay—Vogel only just arrived in Paris today.]
[Tom: Good day, Madam Rosier. There is sothing I require the Saints' help with.]
[French Black Rose: At once. Do you need to co to Britain personally?]
[Tom: Not yet. Focus on your work. What I need is soone completely unconnected to the Saints on the surface—but soone I can absolutely trust. Soone to apply at Hogwarts… as the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.]
[French Black Rose: Infiltration, like yourself? Brilliant. Dumbledore has already lowered his guard toward the Saints… a perfect opportunity. Allow so ti. I must conduct careful selection.]
[Tom: The sooner the better. Dumbledore has already begun searching.]
[French Black Rose: Then by this ti tomorrow, you shall have my answer.]
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