Lockhart was already pacing through the corridors, practically glowing with anticipation.
His sudden and excessive enthusiasm for patrolling had even made Filch suspicious. The caretaker muttered darkly to Mrs. Norris, wondering aloud if Lockhart might be under the Imperius Curse.
After circling the corridors three times and ensuring no one was nearby, Lockhart finally made his way to the eighth floor. He approached the spot across from the tapestry depicting the troll beating Barnabas the Barmy with a club.
Just as the letter instructed, he focused intently and began walking past the blank wall, repeating silently in his mind:"I want a room with hidden secrets."
Three times back and forth.
A door appeared.
Lockhart's hands trembled with excitement. He could already imagine the cover: his heroic pose, wand raised, the coiled basilisk beneath him.
He stepped inside.
It was a quiet, enclosed space—dim and empty. With a quick flick of his wand, Lockhart cast Lumos. The wand tip glowed, revealing the interior.
But there was no basilisk.No lair.No mysterious controls.
Just one figure standing calmly across the room.
The very last person Lockhart wanted to see.
"Good evening, Professor Lockhart," said Sean, voice cool and polite.
Lockhart blinked, then forced his signature smile—perfectly rehearsed, all sixteen teeth gleaming.
"That letter… Sean, was that you?"
Sean nodded, expression unreadable. "Indeed. Took quite some effort, actually. Mimicking a girl's handwriting was the easy part. It was the fabricated admiration and all those nauseating compliments that nearly made me sick. After all, I have no love for a fraud who steals glory and lies for a living."
Lockhart's smile stiffened.
"I… I don't know what you're talking about," he said quickly. "It's very late, and I suggest you return to your common room before Filch catches you. As for me, since you've always done well in my class, I'll overlook this little mishap. Now if you'll excuse me, I have business elsewhere—"
He turned to leave.
But before he could reach the door, a wisp of black smoke slithered out of the shadows and coiled tightly around his waist.
"Wha—?!"
With a sudden pull, the smoke yanked him backward—dragging him deeper into the room. Lockhart hit the floor with a loud thud, arms flailing, robes askew.
Lying there in a heap, his face contorted in panic, the color drained from his cheeks.
"Sean Bulstrode, what on earth are you doing?! Are you going to—kill the professor? You'll be sent to Azkaban!"
Lockhart's voice rose in pitch as panic took hold, cracking slightly—especially on the word Azkaban, which came out so shrill it sounded like he was trying (and failing) to hit a high note in an opera. It was a clear measure of just how terrified he was.
"Kill you?" Sean raised an eyebrow. "No, Professor Lockhart. You've misunderstood. I have no intention of killing you."
He lifted one hand slightly, and tendrils of black smoke curled around Lockhart, lifting him effortlessly into the air.
Lockhart flailed for a moment, then seemed to have a sudden realization—or so he thought. An awkward, sheepish smile spread across his face, and he asked in a trembling, hopeful voice, "Ah… could it be that you admire me? Deeply? And—because you can't have me, you've resorted to this—?"
Sean's expression turned to stone.
Without a word, he gestured sharply. The black smoke coiled into a massive fist and drove itself squarely into Lockhart's stomach, cutting off the rest of his sentence and knocking the breath from his lungs. The professor wheezed, eyes bulging, as he struggled to recover.
Sean looked at him calmly. "Professor Lockhart, I brought you here for one reason: to duel. Now… draw your wand."
"D-Duel?" Lockhart gasped, still clutching his stomach. He stared at Sean in disbelief, as though he were staring at a lunatic. The memory of their last encounter—the humiliation, the pain—was clearly still fresh.
He blinked rapidly. "You want to duel again? After that? What is wrong with you? Are you some kind of sadist?!"
"You… you've already defeated me so many times," Lockhart stammered. "I'm no match for you, truly!"
"Enough nonsense," Sean snapped. "If I say duel—then duel."
Without another word, Sean raised his wand and shifted into a dueling stance. Seeing his posture, Lockhart had no choice but to draw his wand, albeit with trembling fingers. But just as he raised it, Sean flicked his own wand sharply.
A flash of red light shot out and struck Lockhart squarely in the chest. He was blasted backwards and landed hard on the floor with a grunt.
"Ugh—cough, cough… All right, all right!" he gasped, wheezing. "You win, I'll duel with you! There's no need for—"
Sean, unfazed, brought up a glowing panel in the air and glanced at it. Clicking his tongue, he turned back toward Lockhart and said flatly, "Professor Lockhart, please stand up. Let's try again."
Lockhart blinked in disbelief. "Again?" he croaked. "What did you say? Are you mad?!"
Sean didn't answer. He raised his wand, and a dark plume of smoke surged forward and smacked Lockhart clean across the face.
Lockhart staggered. Dazed, he heard Sean's cold voice: "Professor Lockhart, stand up. And try again."
Lockhart scrambled upright, shaking, and hastily flung out his wand. A weak Disarming Charm spluttered from the tip—more sparks than spell—and fizzled out in the air like a dying firework.
Seeing that Lockhart had technically "attacked," Sean didn't wait. He raised his wand with precision.
"Expelliarmus!"
Lockhart was hurled backward again, hitting the ground with a thud. He groaned, curling up slightly, pain etched across his face.
Sean glanced at the panel again—another low-level spell, Level 0. He curled his lip in annoyance, then turned his cold, unfeeling gaze back to Lockhart.
"Professor Lockhart," he said icily, "again."
"…"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Tsk... again."
"Flipendo!"
"Tsk, do it again."
"…"
"Tsk..."
"…"
"Tsk..."
"…"
"Tsk..."
Who knew how many times it had happened by now?
Lockhart sat slumped on the floor, face bruised and swollen, the proud gleam in his eyes long gone. His robes were scuffed, his wand hand trembling, and he looked nothing like the charming professor he once pretended to be.
Sean stared at the panel, now with a trace of helplessness. He was beginning to question his own character stats. Had Lockhart ever even known the Obliviate Charm? Sean was seriously starting to doubt it. After all, he'd already dueled this man countless times—and still, not a single drop of success.
When I dueled Harry, I got a double-yolk reward on the first shot, he thought bitterly. Even if luck fluctuates, this is more volatile than the stock market. This is absurd.
He lowered his wand slightly and said once again, in that same cold tone, "Professor Lockhart, please continue."
"No—no! I won't! If I keep going, you will kill me!" Lockhart wailed, crawling backward. "Please, have mercy. I'm just a professor! I came to Hogwarts to teach, not to be tortured!"
In a desperate bid for freedom, he scrambled toward the door of the Room of Requirement. But as he passed Sean, a tendril of black smoke shot forward once more, wrapping around his body like a rope and dragging him back inside—face first.
The door sealed shut behind them.
Just as Lockhart was being dragged past Sean, a sudden glint of sharp intent flashed in the professor's eyes. His hand twitched—faster than expected—and his wand snapped up, aiming directly at Sean. A streak of silver light flared from the tip.
"Oblivi—"
The incantation had barely left his lips when Sean's wand lashed out.
"I've been guarding against this!Expelliarmus!"
With the dual speed boost from Swift Casting and Agile Casting, Sean's red spell struck first, blasting Lockhart off his feet once again. The professor slammed into the far wall with a heavy thud, and his wand clattered to the floor, landing right at Sean's feet.
Sean narrowed his eyes at the unconscious Lockhart. "Sneaky to the very end."
He opened the panel out of habit—and then froze, eyes lighting up.
[Duel Victory: Randomly draw one ability from the opponent.]
[Drawing…]
[Draw Complete: Obtained Obliviate LV5 MAX.]
Got it.
He finally got Lockhart's Oblivion Charm.
And not just any version—the full-level version.
Sean's satisfaction was quickly overtaken by a creeping sense of confusion. How could someone like Lockhart, so embarrassingly incompetent in every other magical discipline, have mastered such a complex and advanced spell?
It didn't make sense.
If this were a novel, Sean mused, maybe it'd just be a plot twist—even if it was a bit forced. But this is real. And this inconsistency must mean something.
It couldn't be raw talent. Sean had seen Lockhart's performance firsthand. The man could barely hold his wand straight. And yet… this spell was at maximum level?
Something wasn't right.
There had to be more to it.
A deeper secret, hidden beneath the glittering smile and false bravado.
With a sense of grim resolve, Sean stepped forward. Lockhart lay sprawled on the floor, too weak and broken to lift a hand. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his eyes half-lidded with defeat.
Sean raised his wand and pointed it squarely at Lockhart's forehead.
"Legilimens."