Seventh Horcrux

Harry Potter vs. Gilderoy Lockhart

I woke up to two bulbous eyes staring at me from the foot of my bed. Grabbing my wand, I growled, "Trying to kill me, eh?"

The house-elf gaped. "Dobby is not trying to kill the Great Harry Potter; Dobby is only trying to save him. Dobby..."

Dobby. I knew that name from somewhere. I hummed, my wand still pointed at the house-elf. "You're Lucius's elf, the one who used to serve those fantastic cakes!"

"The Great Harry Potter knows about Dobby?" the pitiful creature said, eyes filling with tears.

It wasn't that impressive, really. House-elves were simply less prone to failure than their owners and therefore died significantly less often.

"So, which Malfoy sent you then? The older or the younger?"

"No one sent Dobby. Dobby went on his own. Dobby wanted to warn the Great Harry Potter - "

"House-elves don't just go places. Really, though, which one is trying to kill me? I'd have guessed Lucius, but Draco might be making another go at it."

"They is talking about terrible things at Hogwarts -"

"Both of them, then?" - I paused thoughtfully - "Yes, of course, Malfoys always travel in packs."

"Dobby -"

"Yes, thank you for this valuable information. If you'll excuse me, I need to plan."

Pulling at his ears, Dobby popped away. That was one of the most helpful assassination attempts I've ever experienced.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac."

Lockhart sighed gustily, golden curls flopping with a dramatic shake of his head. His exasperation lasted only a moment, however, and he was soon back to grinning like a loon.

The Weasley rolled his eyes, grumbling about frauds. Of course, the boy was far too dense to realize that it wasn't his accomplishments that Lockhart was faking - it was his personality. After all, it is common for truly powerful wizards to hide their cunning behind a mask of harmless incompetence. Just look at Dumbledore.

I, too, had once doubted Lockhart's claims, for even I would hesitate to take on an entire island of vampires, no matter how many stakes I was using as hair curlers. Nevertheless, a small amount of research revealed that Lockhart was quite reputable.

Besides, Dumbledore would hardly hire someone as idiotic as Lockhart pretended to be. No, he was clearly more than he appeared.

Lockhart went on to prove his worth as a professor by releasing a batch of Cornish Pixies and hiding under a desk. By withholding support, he forced students to think on their feet and problem solve without relying on an authority figure to do everything for them.

This was true Defense Against the Dark Arts.

For the first time in decades, I feared that Dumbledore had hired a professor talented enough to break my curse. Gilderoy Lockhart would have to die.

I approached Hermione, Ron trailing at my heels. She was cheerfully chatting with Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor House. I found it telling that the ghost of Gryffindor had been violently murdered while the ghost of Slytherin was a violent murderer.

"You shouldn't let them upset you," she said, "People are just awful when they're in groups. They like to exclude people, you know, especially on technicalities. It makes them feel important, and it's well-known psychological phenomenon..."

"I suppose," Nick said morosely.

Hermione reached out a hand to pat him on the shoulder, realized what she was doing, and yanked her hand back. She sniffed. "I'm quite certain the Headless Hunt isn't nearly as fun as you'd think, anyway."