Lockhart couldn't care less about whether the crowd outside the vault would barge in and disturb the banshee.
He gazed at her with such tenderness, his delicate, almost broken demeanor on full display as he raised his hand toward the banshee.
This move always worked like a charm.
It was all about experience—powerful yet fragile, that's the killer combo.
By stacking the roles of "savior" and "one awaiting redemption," the banshee finally reacted the way he'd hoped.
He was willing to die for her!
And so, she was willing to live for him!
How long had she been trapped on this stake, her soul burning endlessly?
A hundred years?
Two hundred?
She couldn't remember anymore.
All she knew was that she finally had the courage to face it. She began to struggle fiercely against the thorny vines binding her.
The earth itself seemed to root for her success, lending her strength. The deep, bloody gashes from the vines healed rapidly.
At last, she broke free!
Stumbling, cautious, and a little timid, her soft, pink feet touched the ground lightly.
The blood and grime parted from her feet, and the small pebbles on the ground rolled away, as if unwilling to harm her even slightly.
Finally, she reached him, throwing herself into Lockhart's arms. Her small head rested against his warm chest, and she whispered shyly in his ear, "Live for me!"
A beauty in his arms—soft yet firm.
And by that, I mean a gaping maw full of fangs.
Lockhart stared in horror at the sharp teeth pressing against every part of his body. Trembling, he gently reached out to stroke her golden hair.
He smiled.
A smile full of love.
"Yes, my beautiful girl, I'll live for you. Will you let down all your defenses for me? Open your heart to me completely! Without you, my life would lose all color!"
The banshee propped herself up on his chest, her cheeks flushed so red they seemed ready to drip. With a light but resolute nod, she murmured, "Yes!"
Perfect.
Lockhart's uninjured hand had already slipped into his robe pocket, fingers brushing the wand in his small pouch. With her confirmation, he swiftly drew it, pressed it against her, and chanted, "Return to the earth!"
The Return Charm, a branch of defensive magic used against dark creatures, was highly effective against banshees, inferi, and the like when specific conditions were met.
The only problem was…
The banshee wriggled, her waist pressed against the wand, and looked at him in confusion. "What did you say? What's poking me?"
"!!!"
The spell failed!
Or rather, it hadn't even been cast properly.
Talk about awkward.
His mind raced, quickly sifting through his chaotic memories for a backup plan.
He had to act fast!
If he didn't, those fanged maws would tear him to shreds.
Dark creatures weren't to be trifled with!
Treating a dark creature like a living being, let alone trying to romance one, had led to the gruesome deaths of countless dark creature researchers in history.
These things were phenomena, not individuals!
His approach was merely a way to trigger a change in the phenomenon—he couldn't get too caught up in her reactions!
Lockhart discreetly slipped the useless wand back into the pouch, gazing at her with affection. "Don't worry about the details, my lovely girl. Would you live in my heart? Wander the world with me?"
The banshee nodded shyly, throwing herself back into his warm chest, utterly smitten.
Her cheeks were so red.
She felt so warm—warm enough to melt.
And, well, she was melting.
Professor McGonagall had finally decided to step in and help. She didn't fully trust Lockhart and tasked young Erkhardt with keeping an eye on Harry and Draco. She and Professor Snape quietly slipped inside.
And then they saw it…
Lockhart lying on the ground, a translucent pink figure in his arms.
The scene wasn't exactly romantic—it was downright chilling.
The translucent figure was melting rapidly, sprouting eerie, whisker-like tendrils that glowed like a pink jellyfish. One by one, they arced through the air and plunged into Lockhart's chest.
McGonagall and Snape raised their wands to intervene, but Lockhart subtly waved them off, shooting them a pointed look.
"?" McGonagall hesitated, glancing at Snape.
Snape's face was grim as he rummaged through his robe for a potion that might help.
The transformation ended quickly.
The figure fully merged into Lockhart's chest.
In an instant, the bloodstains on the walls vanished, and the incessant bird calls and whispers fell silent.
Only the snakes and crawlers slithered away into dark corners, startled.
"Done!"
Lockhart clapped his hands and stood up with a smug grin. "Not a challenge for me!"
Snape silently handed him a vial of potion. "This will purge any malevolent forces from your body. You'll need it."
Lockhart didn't hesitate, giving him a grateful look. "Oh, my dear Snape, you're an absolute lifesaver."
He definitely needed it!
A top-tier potion from a master like Snape, carried for emergencies, was something even Lockhart's connections couldn't buy.
Snape said nothing, his face impassive as he turned and headed out.
McGonagall watched with a warm smile. "He's never been good at showing his feelings."
Young Erkhardt was immensely grateful for resolving the crisis. He insisted that McGonagall, who was eager to return to Hogwarts, stay for a thank-you banquet in the Erkhardt castle hall.
Harry privately pointed out that Erkhardt was probably just scared the cleanup wasn't complete and wanted everyone to stick around to monitor the situation.
Even Draco could see through that logic.
Lockhart just ruffled Harry's hair with a grin. "It's the right thing to do, isn't it? We need to make sure the problem's fully solved. Better safe than sorry."
And so, the group enjoyed a lively feast.
The promised reward was a choice of one family heirloom. After much thought, Lockhart picked a ring enchanted with an Extension Charm.
Crafted by an ancient master, the ring's magic had withstood the test of time, remaining perfectly stable.
The small pouch he'd gotten from Borgin wasn't as reliable. It seemed spacious but was unstable—one stray spell, malicious or not, could make it burst.
Another option was a damaged antique gramophone. If it hadn't been broken, the banshee wouldn't have escaped its magical confines.
Fixing it could've spared him needing Snape's potion.
The final choice was a magical book.
Erkhardt had planned to swap it with another book, hoping to keep the real one hidden, especially since no one knew exactly which book he'd traded with the Malfoy family.
But McGonagall, anticipating this, warned him: "Are you sure you can handle the consequences?"
Many magical books were protected with curses to safeguard their knowledge. Did Erkhardt really want to risk another disaster?
Terrified, he handed over the book to Lockhart, breathing a sigh of relief as Lockhart left the castle after the banquet.
…
Back at Hogwarts, Lockhart carefully stored Snape's potion in the ring and began flipping through the book.
McGonagall had checked it—no curses.
The title was simple: The Complete Art of Pensieve Crafting.
Authored by Septimus Malfoy and the Ministry of Magic's "Egyptian Magical Arts Documentation Office," the book dated back to the eighteenth century, when Septimus was an advisor to the Minister. Technically, it belonged to the Ministry.
But given that Minister Ankthes was known as "Malfoy's puppet," it wasn't surprising the book ended up in the Malfoy family's collection.
Lockhart dove in with interest.
A few pages in, an illustration of a crystal skull Pensieve caught his eye.
The text read: "…Wizards moved beyond the basic principles of human skulls affecting the brain and memory, experimenting with new forms. Before settling on the modern stone Pensieve crafted from magical clay and bone powder, the crystal skull technique was a pivotal breakthrough…"
Well, damn!
Lockhart had thought his crystal Basilisk-skull Pensieve was something special, but apparently, it was just an outdated relic compared to modern Pensieve techniques.
The wizarding world wasn't always "older is better." Modern disciplines like Transfiguration would've been unimaginable to ancient wizards.
That greedy Borgin! He'd pawned off an antique, claiming the "control phrase" was lost. Who knows how many hands that thing had passed through or how many graves it had seen? The phrase was probably long gone.
Still, ancient magical artifacts had their perks.
Modern stone and clay Pensieves, like wand-making, were tightly controlled by the so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight" pure-blood families. Crystal skull Pensieves, however, had more accessible records.
Lockhart soon found a potion recipe to reactivate the memory imprint of a crystal skull Pensieve, meaning he could restore his Basilisk-skull Pensieve's resizing function.
But something else caught his eye—handwritten notes scribbled in the margins of the precious book.
"…I heard the great Dumbledore used ancient skull Pensieve techniques to craft a magical device for Gellert Grindelwald, who had Seer abilities, to project memory images. So, ancient techniques can still be powerful—it depends on who's wielding them. —Tom Riddle."
Tom Riddle…
Voldemort!
Lockhart sat up straight, suddenly understanding why Lucius Malfoy was so eager to get rid of this book.
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