Gilderoy Lockhart was never a gifted man.
Even back when he was a student at Hogwarts, Lockhart wasn't exactly the likable sort. He knew it, too—others didn't care for him much. But so what?
He was well aware that his antics, even as a young student, rubbed people the wrong way. Sending hundreds of owls to deliver love letters to himself on Valentine's Day, carving his signature in twenty-foot letters across the Quidditch pitch with magic, or even mimicking the Dark Mark to project a giant, glowing image of himself in the sky. He'd convinced Dumbledore to start a school newspaper, only to plaster his name and face at the top of every issue.
Unlike the typically reserved Ravenclaw students who preferred to observe quietly, Lockhart always put himself front and center. This habit only grew worse after he graduated.
Lockhart knew the secret to his success: a thick skin. Sure, plenty of students found him annoying, dismissing his words as lies. But didn't some still believe him?
He'd learned this truth early on. If he kept pushing, kept proclaiming his greatness, even if only a few bought into it, there'd always be someone who believed him, admired him, trusted him.
This tactic matured after he left Hogwarts and entered wizarding society. The praise began to drown out the criticism. Lockhart carefully curated his image, using Galleons and Memory Charms to sway opinions. Eventually, he achieved his childhood dream: becoming a celebrated figure in the wizarding world.
But even for someone like Lockhart, in the quiet of the night, regrets lingered. He knew, deep down, that he was only pretending to be powerful—not truly powerful.
To maintain this façade, much of the gold he earned from his books went to schmoozing influential figures. What was left in his pockets was pitifully small.
What if he were truly powerful?
What if he had Dumbledore's strength—or even the might of the mysterious figure just below Dumbledore, the Dark Lord himself? Would he still need to pretend?
No more exhausting efforts to craft an image of strength. He could be bolder, more flamboyant—more like the Dark Lord than the Dark Lord himself!
The thought of Voldemort's fearsome presence filled Lockhart with longing. To become another Dark Lord—what a glorious thing that would be.
But alas, the old Lockhart lacked such talent.
Until today.
Today, he would finally get his wish.
"Pah!"
Another gob of spit hit the ground. Ron, bound tightly to a sturdy totem pole, could only attack with his mouth.
And it worked like a charm.
"Good heavens! What are you doing?!"
Lockhart, who'd been fussing over a magical array for ages, spun around to see Ron spitting furiously at the intricate pattern near his feet. He clutched his head, shrieking in agony.
"I worked so hard to draw that array! You have no idea how difficult it is to craft something this precise!"
Ron's spit had indeed sullied the blood-drawn symbols, smudging them into the neighboring runes. The green glow of the array dimmed noticeably.
Worse, it was disgusting—a pile of saliva pooling together. For someone as fastidious as Lockhart, the sight made his skin crawl.
"Ha! Serves you right!" Ron spat again, flashing a defiant grin. "Just wait—Harry and Dumbledore will beat you to a pulp! You bastard, I'll make you pay for Hercules!"
Hercules was Ron's earth elemental companion.
Tears streamed down Ron's face as he spoke. He'd been captured after a struggle. Lockhart had lured him under the pretense of needing a shaman apprentice to deal with troublesome elemental spirits in his office. The moment Ron stepped inside, Lockhart ambushed him.
Caught off guard, Ron should've been easy prey with his limited combat experience. But Lockhart overlooked one thing: the earth elementals that always trailed shaman apprentices. To most wizards, these small creatures were mere pets.
Yet it was this very companion, whom Ron saw as a true friend, that stepped up at the critical moment, buying Ron a fleeting chance to fight back. But Lockhart's spell blasted the elemental to pieces, and Ron, overwhelmed soon after, was knocked unconscious.
He'd even pulled out his carefully carved totem, but now that same totem was being used to bind him.
When Ron came to, Lockhart was already drawing blood from him with a knife.
It hurt—terribly so. But the physical pain paled in comparison to the ache in his heart. Ron never imagined he'd lose another companion in just a year.
Scabbers—ugh, Peter Pettigrew—was a whole other mess. The thought of sharing a bed for years with a balding, greasy, middle-aged man, even kissing him—vomit!
Thank Merlin Pettigrew was rotting in Azkaban now.
Ron had barely recovered from the pain of losing a pet and being betrayed when he lost another companion. The grief made him want to tear Lockhart apart with his teeth, starting from the feet.
"Crucio!"
Furious at Ron's words, Lockhart raised his wand without hesitation. A red flash shot out, and Ron screamed in agony.
Even for an adult, a Cruciatus Curse fueled by malice was enough to drive someone mad with pain. For Ron, a child yet to come of age, untested by life's harsher trials, it was unbearable.
Tears and snot couldn't even flow. The excruciating pain, searing every part of his body, left Ron gaping in a silent scream. If not for the ropes holding him, he'd have been writhing on the floor.
The infamous Unforgivable Curse, cast openly by a Hogwarts professor on a student, horrified the other bound students nearby. The girls, in particular, screamed.
"Enough! Enough!"
Lavender Brown, a second-year Gryffindor, shrieked desperately.
"Let him go, Professor Lockhart! Please—stop! He's going to die!"
For Lavender, the day's events were a nightmare. She'd been one of Lockhart's biggest fans. Despite most students calling him a talentless fraud, she'd always believed he had real skill—just nervous as a first-time professor, unsure of how to teach.
So when Lockhart asked for her help, she agreed without a second thought—only to be met with ropes and her own blood being drawn.
Learning her idol was a wicked dark wizard crushed her. She hadn't even processed the betrayal when the sight of Ron's torment under the Cruciatus Curse shattered her sanity.
Ron's agony was so palpable that the bound students felt pain just watching. But Lavender's screams had some effect, snapping Lockhart out of his sadistic trance. Realizing it wasn't time to kill Ron, he stopped the curse.
"…Ah…pah!"
Drenched in sweat, looking like he'd been pulled from a lake, Ron weakly lifted his head. His throat worked, and with effort, he spat again, aiming at Lockhart with the same defiant glare.
"That's it?" Ron panted, sneering. "Go on, kill me! Harry'll avenge me!"
"He'll smash you to pulp with his warhammer, fry you to charcoal with lightning, and burn you to ash with magma!" Ron's voice grew wild. "Even Fang wouldn't touch you!"
The overwhelming pain left Ron no room for clear thought. He spoke on instinct, forgetting Lockhart wouldn't even know who Fang was.
But Lockhart understood the intent—and the contempt. Crack!
Enraged, he stormed over and punched Ron in the face.
"How dare you mock me?!" His face flushed red with fury. "How dare you scorn someone far greater than you? Someone as powerful as me?!"
Ron was his captive, helpless against his magic. How dare he look at him like that? How dare he mock and threaten him?!
"Pah!" This time, it was blood that Ron spat out. Lockhart's punch had swollen his right cheek, but Ron acted as if he felt nothing. He raised his head, staring defiantly into Lockhart's eyes. "Keep going! Ha! Your punches are weaker than Snape's insults—soft as a slug!"
Crack!
Lockhart lost it.
Ron's words hit his deepest insecurities. He couldn't stand being told he was lesser than anyone—especially Snape.
"Snape's nothing!" he roared. "How dare he be compared to me?! Is he as beloved as I am? No!"
"I've already beaten him! In front of everyone! At the Duelling Club! I sent him flying! He's my defeated foe!"
Lockhart's frenzied shouts echoed through the underground classroom. As he ranted, he pummeled Ron with his fists. Lavender and another girl screamed again.
"Please! Stop! Don't!"
For these young students, watching a peer being beaten to death was too horrifying, too unthinkable.
"He's going to die!"
Lavender's scream finally pulled Lockhart back to some semblance of reason. Breathing heavily, he stopped, staring at his handiwork. Ron's face was a bloody mess, his nose likely broken, now crooked to one side.
"Ha! You're stalling," Lockhart said, his mood shifting with unnerving speed, like a madman. One moment, he was a raging beast; the next, he was the calm, elegant Ravenclaw. "I see it now. You're spouting nonsense—obvious lies—to buy time, aren't you?"
He turned to the other students, who nodded frantically, terrified of what might happen if they hesitated.
"See? Everyone agrees." Lockhart stepped back, taking a deep breath and shrugging. "I've always known."
He even picked up his wand and cast two healing charms on Ron.
"Clever boy," he said, his tone mockingly sweet. "I must say, you're very clever. If I weren't Gilderoy Lockhart, you might've succeeded." He feigned admiration. "But I can't let you die here—not yet. Not before my grand ritual is complete. I can't exactly go grabbing another shaman apprentice, can I? A perfect ascension requires the perfect flourish."
"I'm not like those common fools who can't commune with the elements. Your shamanic talents are essential, boy. So buck up! Stay alive a bit longer!"
Lockhart patted Ron's swollen cheek, urging him on.
Ron, on the verge of passing out, forced his swollen eyes open at Lockhart's words, now mere slits.
"Wha—what do you mean?"
A missing front tooth made his voice whistle, but Lockhart understood him clearly. He'd been waiting for this moment.
If he didn't share his brilliance, who would know of his greatness? His genius?
If he didn't speak, wouldn't all his hard work be for nothing?
"Good question!" Lockhart snapped his fingers, slipping back into his cheerful, charming professor persona. "Truth be told, I didn't originally plan to use you. That Luna girl—she's got far more talent. Even that Neville, always tagging along with you. His wizarding skills may be lacking, but his shamanic gifts? Far superior to yours."
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