In Hermione’s mind, Lockhart’s reputation had been on a steady decline since day one.
He started off as a heroic adventurer. Then turned out to just be a regular author. Then downgraded further to a professor with diocre magical skill but a flair for theatrics.
And perhaps most unforgettable was his bizarre obsession with Harry—one that defied explanation.
Eventually, Lockhart had beco so ridiculous that Hermione genuinely couldn’t understand how he’d even gotten a teaching position at Hogwarts. Or how his adoring fans had managed to convince themselves he was worth admiring at all.
But now, the Lockhart standing before her seed to shatter all those past impressions.
Was this really the sa man she rembered?
The mont he stepped into the girls’ lavatory, the air shifted—sothing about it felt wrong. Off.
Not just the fact that he was here, but the things he began to say next...
“As your professor, I must say... this really is such a headache I honestly didn’t want it to co to this. After all, you two are such outstanding students”
“......”
“It’s just... you’re too clever for your own good!”
“......”
Only soone like the ever-stylish Lockhart could speak with such theatrical flair, like he was delivering an aria. But the wand casually twirling in his hand, and the cold gleam in his eyes, didn’t match the playful tone at all.
With every step he took, the atmosphere turned heavier—sharper.
Hermione, who had been pulled behind Draco, instinctively tensed.
This wasn’t so joke. This Lockhart ant danger.
“Professor... Lockhart?”
“Ahaha~ Isn’t this our little know-it-all who tricked into signing her book? Tell , did you get what you were after in the Restricted Section?”
“You knew... but why?”
The smile on Lockhart’s face clashed violently with the coldness in his eyes. Hermione’s voice trembled as she spoke, one hand slipping into her robes to clutch her wand.
But deep down, she already understood.
If she didn’t see the truth now, she’d be underestimating herself.
“Why?” Lockhart echoed, still smiling. “That’s not sothing you need to know.”
“...”
The wand in his hand drifted slightly in her direction. Hermione’s face went pale, and she froze.
He’d always acted like he could barely handle basic spells, but the pressure she felt from him now was real—and overwhelming. It felt like the mont she drew her wand, she’d be blasted before she could utter a word.
And she wasn’t wrong. The pressure coiling around Lockhart was unmistakably strong.
He had deceived them all. This man wasn’t incompetent—he’d just been hiding it.
The more elaborate the lie, the darker the intent.
Realizing this, Hermione unconsciously stepped closer to Draco, who stood firm and unflinching beside her.
Unlike Hermione’s growing tension, Draco remained perfectly calm...
“…”
Don’t be fooled by Lockhart’s composed appearance—every ounce of his focus was locked onto Draco.
The mont Draco stepped forward, Lockhart’s steady pace faltered for the first ti. His wand shifted, pointing directly at Draco.
“Draco Malfoy. Yes, the Malfoy heir himself.”
His smile vanished. The light, teasing tone from before disappeared in an instant, leaving behind only the cold glint that had always lingered in his eyes.
It was clear: even a concealed threat like Lockhart didn’t dare underestimate Draco Malfoy.
“No wand? As a professor, I’d say it’s only fair to give you a fighting chance.”
Lockhart gave a wink as he spoke, but Draco, shielding Hermione behind him, didn’t move an inch. He just stared at Lockhart, expression unreadable—his gaze unsettlingly calm.
That look of cold superiority seed to touch a nerve.
“There it is again... that arrogant stare. Just like the rest of them. Hahaha...!”
“...”
A low, malicious laugh spilled from Lockhart’s lips. His face twisted with sothing darker, sothing more unhinged. Hermione, growing more alard, shrank further behind Draco, eyes darting as she tried to figure out a way out.
But the very next second, Lockhart composed himself. The unsettling grin returned—charming on the surface, but hollow underneath.
“Relax. This is Hogwarts, after all. I wouldn’t kill you... just erase a tiny bit of your mory. Trust , I’m very skilled—it won’t hurt a bit, you won’t even feel it~”
Obliviate.
The spell sprang instantly to Hermione’s mind.
A mory-erasing charm. But if cast improperly, it could erase far more than intended—and often left the victim with permanent brain damage.
And judging from the sinister tone in Lockhart’s voice, Hermione was sure he’d intentionally ss it up.
More importantly, who said they were just going to sit there and let him do it?
Hermione gritted her teeth, then poked her head out from behind Draco, voice trembling with anger.
“Have you even thought about the consequences? If Dumbledore finds out, he’ll never let you get away with this!”
“Dumbledore...?”
Lockhart didn’t flinch. In fact, he chuckled—like he’d just heard a joke.
There was no fear in his face. Just amusent, like the idea of Dumbledore stopping him was absurd.
Draco, who had been carefully watching him, caught the subtle shift in expression. His eyes narrowed.
And then, he stepped forward again.
Hermione stiffened in shock, but before she could say anything, Draco’s voice cut through the tension—low, steady, and cold.
“...”
“To cast a spell on another wizard... you’d better be ready to die.”
“......”
“I’m assuming you’ve already accepted that.”
Those storm-gray eyes pierced through Lockhart like daggers.
The grin on Lockhart’s face faltered.
And for a brief second—the aura of magic around him paused.
Was that... fear?
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