Ted and Hermione knocked on Lockhart's office door.
"Who's there?" Lockhart called from inside, sounding startled.
Without waiting, Ted pushed the door open and stepped in with Hermione close behind. "Professor! We heard something's happened—Malfoy's been taken by the monster from the Chamber! They said you're in charge of the investigation. We've found clues—wait, what are you doing?"
Ted's perfectly puzzled look nearly made Hermione trip. How does he act so naturally? She thought he'd just come here to trap Lockhart, but he was acting like he didn't have a clue. Hermione quickly ducked behind Ted, afraid her own face would give them away.
Lockhart was standing there holding a wig, halfway to stuffing it into his suitcase. The look on his face was so guilty, it was almost painful.
"Oh—this? Ah—well, you know how it is. I've got so many things, I'm always tidying up. Keeping house is a fine habit, did I ever tell you about the time I won a witch's heart just by keeping things neat? Let me—"
But Ted cut him off. "Professor, please! There's no time to clean house. We need to go save Malfoy. We've found the entrance to the Chamber!"
Lockhart blinked rapidly. "Ah yes, the Chamber. Well, I have my own plans, Ted, can't let just anyone meddle in these matters—"
His eyes darted around the room—anywhere but at Ted and Hermione. They lingered on his smiling portraits on the wall, the racks of colorful robes, the piles of fan letters. But not on his two students.
This is the star pupil who's always praised me, Lockhart thought with dismay. Am I about to lose my best supporter?
No way was he going to that Chamber. If someone else wanted to go, fine, but not him. He hadn't signed up for this when he took the job.
Hogwarts hadn't been this dangerous when he was in school. What was Dumbledore thinking, letting it come to this?
"Professor," Ted said, voice rising with urgent persuasion. "You're Gilderoy Lockhart—the famous Lockhart! If we go down there together and rescue Malfoy, think of it. You'll be the savior of Hogwarts, the brightest star in the British wizarding world. The Ministry will have to award you the Order of Merlin, First Class!"
For a moment Lockhart's eyes sparkled. He pictured Cornelius Fudge pinning a glittering medal on his chest, cameras flashing, witches squealing. Glorious!
Then reality crashed back. That's the monster in the Chamber! Even Dumbledore couldn't stop it. Was he supposed to march in there and serve himself up as dinner?
Lockhart threw his wig down, crushing it underfoot. "Alright, Ted, fine! You want honesty? I'll give it to you! There's no way I'm going into that bloody Chamber. I should've never come back to this bloody school. There's no applause, no bouquets, no adoring crowds—just those blasted kids thinking I'm a fool. Damn it all!"
He kicked at his wig again, voice cracking. "Damn this shampoo! Damn my hair falling out! Damn the reporters and damn the publishers! Damn it all!"
If anyone had looked closely, they'd have seen Ted's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint there.
Lockhart's tantrum lasted over a minute before he suddenly stopped, panting. He seemed to realize he'd shown too much. But it was too late to pretend.
He sighed. "When I took this job, I thought I'd build a connection with Longbottom, ride his fame a bit. But he's useless at flattery. If only he were more like you, Ted. Too bad you're here now—"
His hand drifted toward his waist.
Ted's face turned cold. "Professor Lockhart, let me ask you one more time: are you going to help us save Malfoy?"
Lockhart sneered. "Don't be naive, Ted."
Ted's voice dropped, calm and sharp. "Those stories in your books—they're not really yours, are they?"
Lockhart froze. His lips twitched, pupils blown wide. "What nonsense! Of course those are my adventures. I'm a celebrated adventurer, everyone knows that!"
"Don't lie. I've spent more time with you than anyone. You don't know half the spells in your own books. You miss obvious details any real expert would know. Your stories change every time you brag to your fans. And I've seen articles in foreign wizarding papers—same stories, different heroes."
Ted's words hit Lockhart like cold steel. His legs went weak, sweat breaking out on his forehead and down his back.
"I... those... haha, well, it's not really my story. I found those wizards, got friendly with them, learned their stories, and then wrote books pretending they were mine. But it's not my fault!"
"It's all the readers' fault! They want to read stories with me as the hero! Who would want to read about a scruffy, hare-lipped old wizard in his sixties chasing off a banshee in Birmingham, or a wrinkled old witch with charms driving out werewolves, or some skinny hermit feeding a yeti on a mountain?"
Lockhart spoke faster and faster, as if the more he justified it, the more confident he became.
"I just made the stories better! Gave readers something fun! What's wrong with that? What's wrong with me?"
As he rambled on, Lockhart's hands slipped under the desk, fingers quietly wrapping around his wand at his waist. He glanced at Ted and Hermione standing in front of him—his prized student and that bright witch.
Ted was known for his brains and his dueling. Ten straight wins in the last tournament. Still, Lockhart told himself, if he struck quickly enough, he could wipe their memories of this whole awkward business with a single charm.
As for Hermione—she was clever, but hardly a threat.
Decision made, Lockhart whipped out his wand. But before he could even aim, a brilliant flash of color darted past. A searing pain struck the back of his hand, and his wand clattered to the floor.
He blinked. On his desk now stood an enormous cock!
Its feathers shimmered gold and red, its comb was a bright crimson plume, and a tuft of white feathers split neatly down the middle of its head—almost stylish. Its claws were huge, golden, each one sharper than a dagger.
Standing on the desk, it towered over two meters tall, glaring down at him with an unsettling intelligence.
Brother Chicken: Are you a good chicken brother?
Ted, after successfully evolving his rooster, had spent days figuring out how to bring it along—there'd be no time to fetch it if they ran into a basilisk.
If he was already borrowing ideas from magical creature breeding, why not from Pokémon too? Shame he didn't have real Poké Ball knowledge.
But with some clever spellwork—mixing an Extension Charm with space magic like a wizard's pouch, plus a bit of alchemy—he'd crafted his own: the Fantastic Beasts Ball, version 1.0.
Moments ago, Ted had pulled out a walnut-sized enchanted orb and released Brother Chicken right onto Lockhart's desk.
The rooster struck with a lightning-quick peck that made Lockhart yelp and clutch his hand.
Ted flicked his wand, and Lockhart's cherry wood wand soared neatly into his own hand.
"Professor, if you don't want your little secret published all over the Prophet, you'll come with us to rescue Malfoy. Besides, the Malfoys are a proud pure-blood family. Only the one heir—imagine how Lucius would reward you for saving his son."
Ted leaned in, eyes cold. "But if you run, old Malfoy might see it as your fault. Grieving fathers can be... creative."
Lockhart's skin went pale. He felt sweat trickle down his neck. When had his charming, studious favorite become so... calculating?
He forced a smile. "Well, Ted, you make a very good point. I'll come to the Chamber with you—just, ah, hand me my wand, can't go wandless, can I?"
Ted weighed the cherry wand thoughtfully. "Don't worry, Professor. I'll make sure you get it back right before the fighting starts."
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Word count: 1410
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