The concept of "sociality" is a fascinating one—it shows us exactly where we stand in the world.
Take, for instance, being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Right now, Lockhart found himself woven into Tom Riddle's blood magic. From a magical perspective, he was one of Tom's "blood kin" within the "family" of Hogwarts.
That was intriguing, because Lockhart realized blood magic required a delicate balance—and Tom's version was out of whack.
Even more interesting? He wasn't just any professor; he was the cursed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Which meant…
If he could restore the balance to this blood magic, could he fully embed himself into it? Become the one it protects?
Tom was brilliant, no doubt. He'd tapped into the essence of blood magic, wielding its curse with ruthless precision, sacrificing all capacity for "love" in the process.
But at its core, it was still blood magic. It needed someone to protect.
To shift from being cursed to being guarded—that was Lockhart's plan to break the curse. For at least the next six months of his tenure, Voldemort wouldn't be able to use the curse to kill him.
And maybe, just maybe, he could be shielded from certain harms blood magic protects against—until Voldemort was gone for good.
Late at night.
After a long day, Professor Lockhart returned to Hogwarts, opened his fairy-tale book, stepped inside, and eagerly flipped open the diary for another "lesson" with Tom.
"Because of the bonds love creates, we can better sense our place in this world, in this society?"
Tom was clearly mulling over Lockhart's unguarded words.
"Exactly!" Lockhart responded to Tom's earlier doubts. "You're right—love is a tether. But it's because of those tethers that we gain a strong sense of sociality. Our existence becomes real, vibrant, full of life."
He introduced Tom to the idea of "wizarding life," explaining that magical creatures evolve into natural beings by embracing sociality. "You have to step into it, engage with it, to become real—not some monster lurking in the shadows."
He even brought up house-elves as an example, noting how these magical creatures gained the ability to thrive because they integrated into "wizarding life." Some even joined the goblin rebellions, stepping into a higher level of "fairy-tale wizarding life."
Thanks to Ginny's glowing praise of Lockhart to her "bestie" Tom, and Lockhart's own displays of magical mastery, Tom viewed him much like he did Professor Slughorn, who'd taught him about Horcruxes. A bit skeptical, always questioning, but never doubting the authority of a true master of magic.
At sixteen, Tom was still a touch naive.
He had no idea how cunning Lockhart could be.
And so, he tried it.
"I need the basilisk's power."
That's what he said.
His thirst for resurrection was so intense that he was willing to reveal this secret. The opportunity was right there—he couldn't let it slip away.
Salazar Slytherin, one of Hogwarts' founders, was all about legacy. Someone who built a school to teach magic naturally cared about passing down knowledge, including to his own bloodline.
The basilisk was his gift to his heirs—a protective force.
And this generation's "Slytherin heir" was Tom Riddle.
But let's be clear: Salazar didn't hate Muggle-born witches and wizards—he just didn't trust them. His true hatred was for Muggles.
Context matters. Ignoring the era is just bad faith.
In the brutal witch-hunting days, the Order of Merlin, the most powerful wizarding group, had become lapdogs for Muggle kings, preaching limits on wizards harming Muggles. The Wizards' Council, the precursor to the Ministry of Magic, was little more than a loose academic group, far from the powerhouse it is today.
You could say Slytherin and his three friends, by founding Hogwarts, created the first organized wizarding resistance against Muggle oppression.
They even stockpiled Muggle cannons in the castle.
In such a cutthroat time, a wizard with a Muggle background, steeped in Muggle thinking, with only Muggle relatives—how could Slytherin not be wary of them joining his resistance?
But Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were all about inclusion, and even Ravenclaw, known for her wisdom, saw Muggle-born wizards as a vital force to unite.
This sparked the rift among the four founders.
It was a clash of political visions. When Slytherin stormed out of the school he'd built with his own castle, wary of him turning extreme and harming Muggle-born students, certain narratives took root.
In that context, it didn't matter if Slytherin kept a basilisk, a unicorn, or a phoenix—it'd still be branded as evil.
But the truth wasn't some grand conspiracy.
To Slytherin, his basilisk was like Lockhart's golden-furred monkey or Newt's Niffler—just a pet.
Or rather, a triumph of his research into dark magical creature breeding.
Guided by Tom, Lockhart took the diary to the girls' bathroom on the first floor of the castle. Using Parseltongue, he opened the passage, slid down the pipe to the Chamber of Secrets' entrance, and spoke the password to unlock the door.
Inside Slytherin's Chamber, Tom seemed to gain some kind of power. Wisps of black smoke drifted from the diary, coalescing into a youthful figure.
His form was blurry, like he stood behind a foggy window, surrounded by a faint, shimmering glow. He looked ghostly but wasn't a ghost.
There was no deathly pallor—his presence was vibrant, full of color.
Black hair, pale skin, a demeanor both humble and regal, with an indefinable air of pride and self-assurance.
Lockhart couldn't shake the odd urge to call him "little Dumbledore."
At sixteen, Tom had been a favorite of most professors.
Proud yet humble, with a touch of life's polish, he could've been a second Dumbledore.
What a shame.
Lockhart couldn't help but sigh. A figure like Voldemort could've been a Grindelwald at the very least, but he veered off course, ending up a deranged, monstrous shell of a man.
"Professor Lockhart, my sincere greetings," Tom said with a chuckle, relishing the shock and awe in Lockhart's eyes.
Shock? Lockhart's pupils were practically quaking.
That greeting…
He'd heard it before.
During his chaotic adventure with Dumbledore, they'd found Death Eater Alecto Carrow strung up in a tower, her blood spelling out, "Dumbledore, my sincere greetings."
Well, that snuffed out any fleeting hope Lockhart had that "this kid might still be salvageable."
They say you can see a person's future at three years old. Maybe Voldemort's path was always set by something deep in his bones.
"I didn't expect you to be a ghost," Lockhart said, feigning amazement. "Such a unique soul."
Tom might be good at playing the saint, but Lockhart was better. Tom's worst outcome was a professor's disapproval; Lockhart's misstep could land him in Azkaban.
"Professor, I need a wand," Tom said.
He wanted to learn the Patronus Charm, which required magic—fair enough.
But such a blunt request raised red flags. It felt like a test, probing whether this young professor was trustworthy, truly invested in teaching him.
Talk about not recognizing good intentions.
Lockhart didn't hesitate. He handed over his wand, rubbing his hands excitedly. "I've always wanted to see a basilisk up close—this creature straddling the line between magical beast and dark creature. Come on, call it out!"
He sounded like an obsessive academic.
It reminded Tom of his Care of Magical Creatures professor, Silvanus Kettleburn.
According to Ginny, Kettleburn was now Lockhart's teaching assistant. Birds of a feather, it seemed—Lockhart was clearly cut from the same cloth.
Smirking, Tom toyed with the wand, waving it at the Slytherin statue on the far wall and hissing in Parseltongue.
The statue's mouth opened, and the basilisk slithered out, eyes closed, coiling toward them.
"Wow!"
Lockhart reached out to touch the basilisk's cool scales, practically bouncing with excitement. "Incredible! Was it really bred by Slytherin himself? To think it's survived all these centuries!"
"Yes," Tom said, watching Lockhart's unguarded enthusiasm, unconcerned that Tom might command the basilisk to kill him. He twirled the wand with a playful smile. "My ancestor bred this basilisk himself."
A thought struck him as he studied the youthful professor. "You mentioned you've been researching dark magical creatures?"
Lockhart, still fixated on the basilisk, nodded absently. "Yes, specifically dark creature breeding."
Perfect!
Tom's smile widened. He hissed at the Slytherin statue again, and it moved once more.
The statue's hands lifted its robes, revealing a large cavity at its chest. A stone staircase extended outward.
Inside, shelves brimmed with experimental equipment, research notes, and magical tomes.
"What's this?" Lockhart blinked, certain this wasn't in the original story when Harry and the others faced the basilisk.
"Slytherin's laboratory for magic and dark creature breeding," Tom said. "It contains detailed records on the basilisk. I think you'll like this gift."
Tom was generous—selling off his ancestor's legacy without a second thought.
But he wasn't losing out. If Lockhart bred more basilisks—a whole army of them—it'd only bolster Tom's power.
After all, basilisks only obeyed Parseltongue.
With resurrection within reach, Tom was already planning for the future. His greatest enemy might not be Dumbledore but the other Voldemort plotting his own return.
A basilisk might not defeat Voldemort, but it could handle his Death Eaters with ease.
"A gift? All for me?" Lockhart's face lit up with delight.
Tom nodded, smiling warmly and gesturing invitingly. "Yes, esteemed professor. Please, help yourself."
"Then I won't hold back!" Lockhart said, practically vibrating with excitement as he hurried up the stone steps.
Tom watched the professor's back, a faint smile curling his lips, pleased with the potential this professor could bring.
Now…
Time to begin the resurrection.