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could revive her."
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Chapter Seven: The Basilisk's First Attack
School days passed easily, and time slipped by. Lockhart tried several times to locate Ravenclaw's diadem in the Room of Requirement, but he clearly lacked Harry's protagonist intuition.
He even felt the original plot was absurd: each time he entered the Room, the door appeared in a different form, and the inside was vast as a football pitch—crammed with mountains of forgotten things.
No wonder Voldemort hid objects here. A drop of water disappears in the ocean; a leaf vanishes in a forest. Voldemort had chosen wisely.
Perhaps, once Harry trusted him enough, Lockhart could bring him here to search—Harry carried a shard of Voldemort's soul, and might sense a Horcrux instinctively.
As for Ginny's diary, Lockhart wasn't worried. He still intended to use it to stage a grand deception—exposing Ginny's strange behaviour at the crucial moment and uncovering the Chamber's entrance, like the detective in a mystery novel.
——
Nearly Headless Nick invited the new Professor Lockhart to his five-hundredth "deathday" celebration, but Lockhart politely declined. Even with memories from his previous life—well into his twenties—he had no particular interest in a gathering of ghosts.
On Halloween night, Lockhart went to the feast with the other professors, but the trio were nowhere to be seen; they had undoubtedly gone to Nick's party.
After eating, drinking, and exchanging pleasantries for a while, Lockhart slipped into the corridor, hoping to chat up a few older girls as they passed, perhaps even flirt a bit.
But suddenly, a piercing scream echoed through the corridor. What was that? Had the basilisk already struck?
Lockhart sprinted towards the sound—and found the three children standing stunned beneath a hanging cat and a message scrawled in blood-red letters.
"What are you three doing?!" Lockhart demanded sharply, feigning shock.
"Professor, this—" Ron was pale as parchment. Harry stood frozen. Hermione rushed over and grabbed Lockhart's arm, as though frightened he might flee.
——
Just then, the feast ended, and a noisy stream of students poured into the corridor. They gasped at the sight and clustered around. Draco Malfoy sneered loudly:
"Enemies of the Heir—beware! You'll be next, Mudblood!"
"Malfoy," Lockhart drawled, "we can all read. No need to recite it aloud. If you're so fond of reading, perhaps attend a Muggle school and become an English teacher."
A ripple of laughter went through the students. Lockhart could deduct house points, after all. Malfoy, seething but powerless, slunk back.
"What's going on? What's happened?"
Malfoy's shouting brought Filch charging through the crowd. He caught sight of Mrs Norris and recoiled in horror, his face twisted in anguish.
"My cat! My cat! What's wrong with her?" Filch wailed.
Then his eyes locked on Harry.
"You!" he shrieked. "It was you! You killed my cat! Murderer! I'll—"
"Mr Filch, calm down. I can vouch for Harry," Lockhart said, stepping quickly between them.
Dumbledore's calm voice cut through the panic: "Come with me, Argus. And you as well, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger."
The students parted as the Headmaster approached. He examined Mrs Norris closely and lifted her down.
Lockhart stepped forward smoothly. "My office is just upstairs, Headmaster."
——
They gathered in Lockhart's office. Mrs Norris was laid gently on the table, and Dumbledore bent over her, studying her condition.
"It was him," Filch whispered hoarsely, his eyes wild and watery. Lockhart found it odd—Filch looked determined to blame Harry no matter what.
"I never touched Mrs Norris!" Harry protested.
His throat tightened; everyone except Dumbledore and Lockhart seemed to be scrutinising him with suspicion.
"Let me have a look," Lockhart announced grandly, stepping forward. "If this is dark magic, I should be able to handle it."
He peered theatrically at the cat. "Hmm. It's not Petrification or Transfiguration—otherwise I would certainly be able to reverse it."
Of course, even Dumbledore couldn't reverse it, but it made for a convenient excuse.
Lockhart straightened and declared, "It must be the work of some kind of creature—some evil beast .
I've faced things like this in my adventures. Only a restorative made from Mandrakes could revive her."
Dumbledore nodded calmly. "Since Professor Lockhart believes so, then—Snape. I leave this matter to you."
Snape inclined his head slightly. For once, he had no cutting remark.
Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Tell me, Harry—what were you doing in that corridor? You weren't at the feast."
"At that time…" Harry began.
"They were with me," Lockhart interrupted smoothly. "I was consulting them about the plot of my next book. Thought they might give me some ideas."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Lockhart, clearly puzzled. He had seen Lockhart at the feast. Still, he said nothing.
Harry blinked in surprise and warmth. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet Lockhart had stepped in for him. Professors favoured students now and then—but never him. The strange feeling in his chest… was this what family felt like?
Dumbledore finally said, "Very well. If that is the case, you three may return to your dormitories."
——
Harry, Ron, and Hermione left Lockhart's office.
"Why is Lockhart sticking up for us? We didn't do anything!" Ron muttered.
"Ron, shut up! Professor Lockhart helped you, and you're still complaining?" Hermione snapped immediately.
"What's got into you, Hermione? I know you fancy him, but you'd better be careful—he's a celebrity, you know, and a dreadful show-off—"
"Don't insult the Professor!" Hermione flared, practically ready to lunge.
"Alright, Ron, stop it." Harry stepped in quickly. "Professor Lockhart's a good man. Don't go judging people because of your own petty thoughts."
——