Lockhart's worst fear didn't come to pass.
Ginny Weasley—or rather, the soul fragment of Tom Riddle carried by her Horcrux—hadn't set its sights on him.
It was all just a coincidence.
When Ginny sneaked over to kill Hagrid's roosters, she spotted Lockhart acting suspicious, skulking around—though he was just collecting sand suitable for crafting a makeshift Pensieve.
The key moment? Lockhart glanced toward Hagrid's chicken coop, then started looking around as if searching for something.
That made Ginny think she'd been found out.
A wizard under the Imperius Curse is a strange case—they seem capable of thought, yet it's like there's a barrier between them and true reasoning.
Ginny knew fear. She was well aware of the trouble she'd be in if her actions were exposed. In a split second, she decided to attack.
She wasn't being puppeted by Tom Riddle like some marionette. At that point, the Horcrux couldn't directly control her actions.
If Tom had been in charge, he'd never have let her attack a Hogwarts professor—it would only derail his plans.
Such decisiveness, such ruthlessness…
"Heh," Lockhart chuckled softly. "What a promising little dark witch in the making."
The power came from Voldemort, but the judgment was all her own.
Clearly…
This young witch had serious potential to be a dark wizard. Very serious potential.
Lockhart hadn't paid much attention to Ginny before—she was just a minor character in the original books, and his impression of her was vague. But now? He was starting to see her in a new light.
He sifted through the increasingly chaotic memories in his mind, searching for anything about Ginny Weasley. There wasn't much.
Even after reading countless fan stories in his past life, she always seemed a bit… unremarkable.
A starry-eyed fan of Harry Potter, the Chosen One…
A popular school heartthrob who cycled through several boyfriends…
Skilled at curses like the Bat-Bogey Hex and Reducto, spells that required a good dose of malice…
Ended up marrying the true savior, Harry Potter, and had three kids.
That's it.
The only substantial detail was what happened after she got the diary: she controlled the Basilisk to attack people who showed hostility toward Harry, as well as Hermione, who was close to him, and Percy's girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater.
Penelope, by the way, was a half-blood and Ravenclaw prefect.
Lockhart wasn't all that interested in the childish drama of it all.
Nor did he care to dig into what kind of person Ginny really was.
His focus was locked on the memories where Voldemort's influence had deeply affected her.
Fascinating.
And brilliantly subtle.
In those memory fragments, he could clearly see Ginny pouring her heart out to the diary, writing about her schoolgirl feelings. Meanwhile, unnoticed by her, wisps of dark energy silently seeped into the depths of her soul.
That was dark magic at work.
What specific kind of dark magic? Lockhart couldn't quite tell.
But he could roughly figure out what Tom was up to.
He was imprinting his essence into Ginny's soul, forging a connection between their lives so he could siphon her life force to resurrect himself.
It was a masterclass in manipulation.
Lockhart's deep study of the Obliviate spell and its effects on memory, personality, and souls let him see through Tom's methods. He couldn't help but marvel at the intricate details.
"Learning something new, learning something new," he muttered, genuinely impressed by the dark magic techniques of a teenage Voldemort. His eyes gleamed as he analyzed every nuance of Tom's spellwork.
"Life replacement…"
"Forging a life connection…"
He was captivated, watching this bold and delicate "life surgery" unfold, his mind racing with ideas about how to handle the tangled memories clogging his own brain.
Such a shame.
These memory fragments were too few and far between.
Ginny hadn't yet reached the point of a full transformation.
At the diary's current pace, it'd probably take a whole school year to complete the process.
Lockhart quickly sifted through the memories, waving his wand to gently extract three silvery strands of memory.
These were copies, containing three insights into magic that Tom Riddle had embedded deep in Ginny's soul.
—The Killing Curse.
—The Flying Charm.
—The Bone-Breaker Curse.
The Bone-Breaker Curse was a particularly vicious dark spell. Once cast, it relentlessly pursued its target until its magic fizzled out. If it hit, it burrowed into the body, savagely tearing at every bone, big and small.
The choice of these three spells was deliberate.
The Killing Curse carried Voldemort's view of life and death, shaping Ginny's personality.
The Flying Charm reflected his approach to controlling magic, influencing her core instincts and behavior.
The Bone-Breaker Curse embodied the malice needed for dark magic, affecting her casting mindset.
It was a unique take on the "Ship of Theseus" paradox—replacing parts of her until she became him, her life becoming his.
Tales like this were common: making a deal with a demon for power, only to lose your life and soul. In the wizarding world, such stories were old hat.
And now, the wisdom in these three spells would serve as Lockhart's foundation for decoding Tom Riddle's behavior and logic.
There's no better way to understand someone than to study them from the perspective of their soul.
Lockhart was confident that the next time he faced Tom Riddle, the Horcrux would be shocked to find Lockhart knew him better than he knew himself.
"Know your enemy, know yourself, and you'll win every battle," he thought. He'd always understood the power of wielding knowledge.
Everything he'd achieved since crossing into this world came from that.
"Heh heh," he grinned. "This is just too much fun."
With a wave of his wand, Lockhart let the memories drift out of the crystal Occamy skull Pensieve, guiding them back into Ginny's mind.
Except for one thing: her memory of spotting him tonight while she was killing those roosters would be completely erased.
She wouldn't remember encountering him.
Which meant she couldn't tell the Tom Riddle still trapped in the diary about it.
Since now wasn't the right time to make a move on the diary Horcrux, Lockhart needed to carefully control the fallout—removing himself from the equation entirely.
There was still plenty of time.
They'd play this game slowly.
Lockhart packed up the crystal Pensieve and his broomstick, whistled for the Thestral and the B sûre, and waved to the Wailing Wraith who'd been keeping watch. He pushed through the underbrush and headed out.
The Forbidden Forest fell quiet again.
After a long while, bird calls returned, and the insects started chirping once more.
In the distance, the sounds of the Quidditch pitch and Fang's barking from Hagrid's hut drifted over.
"Ahhh!"
A terrified scream shattered the forest's calm.
Ginny Weasley woke up in the Forbidden Forest, staring in disbelief at the dark, unfamiliar surroundings, screaming in panic.
"How did I get here?!"
She stumbled frantically toward the edge of the forest.
She didn't notice a pair of eyes watching her from the canopy of a tree.
"Grr?" The little golden retriever proudly offered Lockhart two snake-like eyes made of black smoke, but seeing its master wasn't impressed, it happily tucked them away.
The Wailing Wraith, floating beside Lockhart, turned to him with a puzzled look. "Why didn't you kill her? She almost killed you."
Lockhart shrugged. "It's complicated. Hard to explain right now."
The Wraith nodded, its body extending pink tendrils that floated like a jellyfish in the air, slowly sinking into Lockhart's form.
Once Ginny was out of sight, Lockhart, cradling a potted Singing Grass, hopped down from the tree.
His slow descent carried just a hint of the Flying Charm.
Well, maybe just a smidge of it—not much, but it was there.
"Today's got its own tasks. Time to keep moving!"
He stretched, reminding himself not to slow down.
He knew Voldemort's curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was real, and tonight's encounter was likely just the beginning.
As Professor Trelawney had warned, the more you chased magic, the more you refused to return to where you "belonged" and stayed close to it, the more the curse would come for you.
What could Lockhart do?
He pulled out the small glass vial Snape had given him and headed off to collect dew.
Magic…
It wasn't just knowledge. It was tied to action. Maybe facing this curse head-on was the very path to fully embracing his magical life.
Perhaps…
It wasn't wizards who chose magic, but magic that chose wizards.
Magic—the ultimate romance of fairy tales.
To become part of that fairy tale, maybe that was the true meaning of a romantic, magical life.
Stepping onto that dangerous, enchanting path, magic would bloom quietly, like a gentle rain.
The mist in the Forbidden Forest grew thicker. Three gray wolves emerged silently, following Lockhart's steps—some slinking through the grass, others leaping through the treetops.
Until they vanished completely into the fog.
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