Chapter 115: Attacked Lockhart: Those Holding Wands, Beware

The sudden appearance of the house-elf Dobby left Harry agitated.

Gilderoy Lockhart was equally agitated.

Since the last Quidditch match, he had been lifted high by Gryffindors—but only by Gryffindors.

The other three houses all harbored varying degrees of suspicion; after all, directly pulling out a student’s bones was clearly not something any professor could possibly do with magic.

At the same time, his carefully constructed image of the “Hero Professor” was not going smoothly.

He wanted a live interview with the Daily Prophet to expand the impact of this incident from Hogwarts to the entire magical world.

They agreed—but when the appointed time came, the reporter Rita Skeeter never showed up, and further letters received no reply whatsoever.

Moreover, the student Silven Ollivander refused to cooperate; despite being saved by him, Silven never voluntarily expressed gratitude and had publicly undermined him more than once.

Lockhart’s face twisted as if he truly believed his own lies, convinced he had revived Silven with the Human Reformation Charm—even though he didn’t know the spell at all.

To salvage his dwindling reputation, Lockhart conceived a bold idea… to reveal the existence of the Basilisk!

The reappearance of the Basilisk, vanished for centuries, would surely cause a sensation; as the “first person to discover this,” he would surely grace the front page.

Not only that, he could write a new book about it—he’d already thought of the title: *Dancing with the Basilisk*.

Then no one would remember his little incident of pulling out a student’s bones.

Lockhart’s eyes gleamed, but minutes later, he had to abandon this tempting idea.

Dumbledore would never approve; that night he had specifically ordered all professors privy to the truth to keep silent, claiming it was to prevent panic.

To Lockhart, this was nonsense—he simply didn’t want to admit his own incompetence and negligence, and he even suspected the Basilisk itself was a lie invented by Ollivander.

If there truly was a Basilisk, how could Dumbledore fail to catch it?

Lockhart stared out the window.

When Dumbledore invited him to Hogwarts, he had casually dropped hints that sent chills down Lockhart’s spine, so he dared not oppose him—at least not until he finished this damned term as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

“A bunch of fools, Dumbledore is the biggest fool of them all—they have no idea how huge an impact this would make,” Lockhart screamed silently in his mind.

Even if it were fabricated, if Dumbledore himself could utter the name “Basilisk,” it would be enough to make Hogwarts dominate the front pages.

They were so stupid they couldn’t even seize such a perfect opportunity!

It forced him to find another way to regain his popularity.

Lockhart couldn’t help standing up and pacing around the room; his self-portraits lined every wall, each “Lockhart” watching him, eyes shifting left and right.

About an hour later, Lockhart finally thought of a good idea, turned sharply, and left his office, heading toward the headmaster’s office on the eighth floor.

…

The next day, on his way to Charms class, Silven noticed a crowd gathered around the notice board, reading a newly posted announcement.

He faintly heard someone shouting something about a Dueling Club.

No way.

Silven’s expression turned strange as he squeezed into the crowd.

“Silven, you’re amazing,” Seamus said excitedly upon seeing him. “They’re starting a Dueling Club to teach students how to protect themselves.”

“So what does this have to do with me?” Silven asked. “It’s not going to drag me back into that attack incident again, is it?”

“Have you already read the announcement?” Seamus blurted out.

At the same time, Silven saw the content of the notice—especially the middle section.

【…Silven Ollivander’s experience shows us that learning some combat skills is essential…】

This… well, Silven should have expected it.

But he couldn’t understand why Lockhart couldn’t latch onto someone else.

Wasn’t the Boy Who Lived famous enough? Why must he fixate on this pathetic incident involving him?

Thanks to Lockhart’s efforts, everyone at Hogwarts now knew he had been petrified in a corridor corner; some overly sentimental witches even looked at him with pity.

As if he’d been petrified in that corridor for three days and nights without anyone noticing.

This feeling was bizarre—actually, he’d been petrified for no more than five minutes.

And for a second-year student, surviving a direct encounter with a Basilisk and being petrified for only five minutes was practically a miracle.

“Silven, Silven, are you going to join the Dueling Club?”

Hearing Seamus’s question, Silven snapped back to attention, nodded, and sneered, “I will. I’m actually curious to see what tricks Professor Lockhart has.”

“Great! Then we can go together.”

That day, the topic was almost entirely the Dueling Club; Professor Flitwick was asked multiple times whether he would serve as the club’s instructor.

Many knew he had won the Dueling Championship two years in a row during his youth—he was an undisputed dueling master.

But Flitwick never gave a direct answer; only when pressed repeatedly would he smile and shake his head, saying he didn’t know.

By eight o’clock that evening, Silven arrived early at the Great Hall.

It had been completely transformed: the dining tables had been pushed to the sides, and a large golden stage now stood against the wall at the front.

“Hey, Silven, why are you here so early?” Seamus walked up from behind; Harry, Hermione, and Ron were there too.

“I just got here,” Silven said.

“What’s that in your hand?” Harry noticed a dark object in Silven’s grip—it looked familiar.

“It’s the camera I borrowed from Colin Creevey,” Silven said.

He planned to photograph Lockhart’s performance later and sell the pictures to Witch Weekly—he might even make a little profit.

Five minutes later, the doors opened again.

Gilderoy Lockhart stepped onto the stage, wearing a purple-red robe, radiant and dazzling; beside him stood the Dueling Champion, Professor Flitwick.

But Flitwick looked anything but happy—he wore his usual teaching robes, standing beside the elaborately dressed Lockhart like a house-elf… and even in stature, he resembled one.

No one had ever told him he needed to wear formal attire for dueling!

If Minerva and Pomona hadn’t been occupied, and Severus hadn’t had to leave school temporarily because of Malfoy, he would never have agreed to be this assistant.

Seeing Flitwick, Silven was briefly surprised, then began to suspect Lockhart had done this on purpose—Flitwick’s presence made Lockhart appear even taller and more handsome.

“I knew it—Flitwick’s going to teach us!” Ron exclaimed. “He was the Dueling Champion in his youth.”

“If you’d been listening, you’d know he’s Professor Lockhart’s assistant,” Hermione corrected. “Professor Lockhart is the real dueling instructor.”

“So you mean Lockhart is better than Flitwick, the Dueling Champion?” Ron retorted.

“Professor Lockhart is very skilled at dueling—he wrote about it in *With the Troll*.”

“Come on—he’s good at everything and good at nothing…”

Then they began arguing again.

Silven kept watching the stage; the two professors had finished their introductions and now stood on opposite sides.

“Honestly, I didn’t want to do this—what if you all think I’m better than the Dueling Champion?” Lockhart flicked his golden hair. “I actually competed in the Dueling Championship myself, but just before the finals, I received an urgent plea for help from Bulgaria and had to forfeit the rest of the tournament—something I’ve always regretted.”

He wiped his eyes. “I want you to know—I’ll return you a fully intact Charms professor.”

Flitwick’s expression darkened further; such remarks sounded like premature celebration.

But had Lockhart really competed in the Dueling Championship? Had he reached the finals? Why had he never heard of it?

Still, as a fellow professional, Flitwick decided to grant him due respect.

He raised his wand to his chest and bowed to Lockhart, who bowed in return.

Their movements were unexpectedly precise—Flitwick now truly believed Lockhart had competed in the Dueling Championship.

“One… two… three!”

Both raised their wands over their shoulders; Lockhart was still mumbling incantations when he was suddenly flung backward, crashing hard into the wall and collapsing unconscious.

“Hmm…”

Professor Flitwick stood there bewildered, helpless as a house-elf.

Wasn’t this supposed to be a dueling demonstration? Why did Lockhart have to chant his spell… chanting aloud isn’t dueling at all.

Oh right—he was supposed to demonstrate for the students!

Flitwick slapped his forehead in frustration—he shouldn’t have reflexively used the Stunning Spell to start.

But it probably wasn’t a problem.

He glanced at the unconscious Lockhart, confirmed he was unharmed, then had him taken to the hospital wing.

But the Dueling Club had to continue; the rest of the session would now fall to him as assistant.

“The Stunning Spell may be difficult for some of you, but it’s one of the most effective spells—it renders your opponent unable to resist for a short time.

“Also, the Disarming Charm is another excellent choice…”

After Lockhart was removed, the Dueling Club finally settled into proper rhythm; Flitwick guided everyone through basic training in the Stunning Spell and the Disarming Charm, then paired everyone off for practice.

The club ended just before ten; Silven reluctantly left the Great Hall.

He’d come to watch a spectacle, but ended up learning over an hour of real knowledge—he’d gotten far more than he’d expected.

“I hope this Dueling Club keeps going,” Harry said cheerfully. “I love the Disarming Charm—it’s so simple; after just two tries, I managed to cast it successfully.”

“I just don’t understand why Hermione keeps failing—it should be even easier for her…”

At that moment, everyone was delighted, and no one cared about Lockhart, who had been sent to the hospital wing.

The next day, Lockhart didn’t appear at all; his classes were replaced with reading assignments.

“He’s probably too embarrassed to show his face after yesterday,” Ron laughed, still utterly unconcerned.

Last night’s defeat of Lockhart by Flitwick had become Hogwarts’ favorite gossip; every time he heard someone mention it, he couldn’t help laughing.

In his view, it was better if Lockhart never showed up—reading might be boring, but at least he could do what he liked or catch up on other homework.

Far better than watching Lockhart’s theatrical nonsense.

Hermione did visit the hospital wing to check on Lockhart, but Madam Pomfrey told her Lockhart had woken up and left the night before.

Later, Hermione went to his office—but he was nowhere to be found.

It wasn’t until evening that Lockhart finally appeared.

The first to spot him was Hermione; Lockhart lay sprawled on the stone steps of the entrance hall, his body rigid as stone, his face and exposed arms pale as death, exactly as the Muggles in the illustrations of his books looked after being attacked by vampires.

Several young witches and wizards who saw him afterward nearly burst into tears.

More chilling still, several lines of blood had been written across Lockhart’s blue robe.

【The Chamber has been opened!】

【The one who spreads power, the prophet who should not be, the beginning and end of all calamity.】

【Beware, he who holds the wand.】

……

(End of Chapter)