The rain was coming down in buckets, getting heavier by the minute, and Lockhart was starting to worry.
He gazed helplessly out the window, wondering how on earth he was going to get back to the school.
This downpour was clearly going to last all night.
He knew it for sure—thanks to the weather-watching wisdom of some old, rheumatic wizard he'd once heard about.
Lockhart was aware of a neat little spell that could turn the tip of a wand into an airflow barrier, essentially making an umbrella. He also knew all the fancy techniques for casting the Caelum Velum charm, a high-end weather spell that could shield an individual from the elements.
Problem was, he couldn't cast either one.
His only option seemed to be hopping on a broomstick and racing through the storm back to the castle as fast as possible. But that was absolutely not happening!
If the little witches and wizards saw him looking like a drowned rat, his carefully curated image would take a serious hit.
Even the real Lockhart—the one whose identity he was borrowing—wouldn't have risked it.
The original Lockhart knew his charm was all smoke and mirrors, a fragile illusion he'd worked hard to maintain. He'd never let it get tarnished.
And this Lockhart? Well, he was even more useless, so he was doubly careful about keeping up appearances.
Maintaining that perfect image was the key to worming his way into Harry Potter's "epic hero saga." It was his ticket to reaping the rewards of being the "Savior's Professor" for the school year, maybe even unlocking some magical potential along the way.
No way was he passing up that opportunity.
But…
Easier said than done. How was he supposed to get back?
He decided to stop racking his brain and ask the creatures around him for help.
The enchanted car seemed eager to give him a lift, but it had recently smashed into the school's precious Whomping Willow, leaving it battered. The school was already turning a blind eye to its antics, so driving it right into the castle grounds would be pushing his luck.
The bearded rabbit, on the other hand, offered to help.
Lockhart felt that chaotic, primal magic stirring inside him again, working its charm.
It pulsed with a unique rhythm, like that of a forest witch—when you sincerely share your troubles with the forest, it's always ready to lend a hand. After all, you're forever one of its favorites.
Lockhart decided to call this magical state his "Forest Darling Mode."
Pretty cool, right?
He also noticed a key difference between Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures. DADA experts tend to shut off their minds to protect themselves from monsters' influence or harm. But Care of Magical Creatures folks? They open their hearts, connecting with all of nature's wonders.
Guided by the bearded rabbit, Lockhart climbed into the passenger seat and slipped into a magical rabbit hole tucked inside the car's tiny glove compartment.
Before heading in, he stuck his hand out of the hole to wave goodbye to the enchanted car.
Then he stepped into a shimmering tunnel filled with dazzling streams of light.
As he followed the burly rabbit, the path twisted and turned. Sometimes an invisible force pushed him upward, other times he slid downward at breakneck speed.
Finally, he spotted a bright white light ahead.
It was right above his head.
The rabbit crouched nearby, pointing a fluffy paw at the exit and miming a climbing motion.
It clearly wasn't coming along—just waiting for Lockhart to crawl out before closing the temporary passage.
"Thanks!"
Lockhart tilted his head, catching the faint hoot of owls and the distant chatter of young witches and wizards passing by.
Everything seemed fine.
Still, he cautiously clutched a Snitchwing in his left hand before grabbing the edge of the rabbit hole and pulling himself out.
"Ohhh!"
An old, weathered voice rang out from the other side. "My old friend, you've come to visit?"
"Huh? A person?"
Lockhart, ever vigilant, peered out from the hole's edge. He realized he was in a professor's office. The air was thick with the damp, slightly musky smell of pets, like cats or dogs, mixed with a sharp, fiery scent that stung his nose.
Clunk, clunk.
A pair of prosthetic legs limped closer. The figure bent down, squinting at him, then gasped, "Professor Lockhart?"
"Hey there!"
Lockhart flashed his signature, dazzling smile. "Good evening, Professor Kettleburn."
Seeing the older man move to help him, Lockhart quickly scrambled out of the rabbit hole, rolling to his feet and steadying the professor. "Careful now, I've got this."
Professor Kettleburn looked a bit forlorn. He patted his prosthetic leg and sighed, "Getting old. Not much use anymore."
He was in rough shape.
His elderly frame was frail and unhealthy, his face a map of wrinkles and jagged scars. His left arm was all that remained of his arms, and his right leg ended at the knee.
But Lockhart wasn't about to underestimate this disabled old wizard. "Oh, come on now," he said smoothly. "Just a few days before I took up my post, I read in the Daily Prophet about you bravely venturing into a dragon sanctuary again. Everyone's in awe of you."
Professor Silvanus Kettleburn taught Care of Magical Creatures and was a legend in the wizarding world. Known as "Encyclopedia Kettleburn" in professional circles, his expertise was unmatched. Based on his career, he'd likely taught both Voldemort and Newt Scamander.
Like the stereotype of Hufflepuff producing top Herbologists and Creature experts, Kettleburn was a proud Hufflepuff alum.
His most famous feats—besides his reckless love for dangerous creatures, which cost him all but one and a half limbs—were the sixty-two times he'd been put on probation during his teaching career. Though everyone called him "Professor" out of respect, he was technically still just a teacher.
Rumor had it, with his health declining, he'd asked Dumbledore multiple times to let him retire.
"Sorry for barging in like this," Lockhart said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "I had no idea that rabbit would bring me here…"
"Dragon Burrow Rabbit!" Kettleburn cut in, his tone serious as he named the creature. "They live near the lairs of powerful beasts, especially dragon caves, hence the name."
"It let you travel through its life-preserving tunnels, which means it trusts you. Out of respect, you've got to call it by its proper name."
Lockhart nodded earnestly. "Dragon Burrow Rabbit, got it. It brought me here."
Kettleburn smiled, satisfied, and gestured for Lockhart to take a seat. He couldn't stand for long himself. "Hogwarts' protective charms are strong, but my office is an exception—I've left it open for creatures like these. Where else could it take you?"
That made sense, Lockhart thought.
"I wouldn't recommend keeping that Snitchwing clutched in your hand," Kettleburn said, wincing as he removed his right prosthetic arm and pointed it at Lockhart's palm. "I used to teach students to use Snitchwings for protection, like Muggle kids with those… what are they called… yo-yo things…"
"Yo-yos," Lockhart supplied quickly.
"Right, yo-yos." Kettleburn chuckled, setting his prosthetic arm on a rack. With a wave of his wand, a copper kettle and two cups floated over from a fire pit where small, fiery snakes were wriggling. He poured them each a cup of hot cocoa.
"But then, during one adventure, I learned the hard way that when a Snitchwing pops out, its sharp teeth can easily nick your pinky." He shrugged. "Lost mine that way. Lucky it was still attached by a bit of skin, or I'd have left it behind."
Yikes.
Lockhart sucked in a breath and quickly stuffed the Snitchwing into his pocket.
Kettleburn was a chatty old man, but also a lonely one. His vast knowledge of magical creatures earned him respect from students and staff, but his reckless handling of them made people keep their distance.
Take the fire pit in his office, for example—filled with Ashwinder snakes that could explode and set the whole room ablaze at any moment.
Experts come in different flavors. Some, like Newt Scamander, were masters at applying their knowledge practically. Kettleburn? He knew everything there was to know about magical creatures, but controlling them? Not so much.
He'd once set the Great Hall on fire during a demonstration with Ashwinders, landing several professors and students in the hospital wing for months.
Lockhart wasn't too worried, though. He saw this as a golden opportunity to pick the brain of this living encyclopedia about caring for Snitchwings.
Dark creatures could go centuries without food, no problem. But magical creatures? They needed proper care, and Lockhart's knowledge in that area was patchy at best.
Kettleburn appreciated the young wizard's eagerness to learn. Too many witches and wizards graduated Hogwarts at seventeen and acted like seven years of school was enough for a lifetime.
Magic, though…
It's such a wondrous, dangerous thing. How could that ever be enough?
And it was dangerous, no matter the field.
As a flash of lightning lit up the window, a deafening clap of thunder shook the castle.
The Ashwinders in the fire pit, startled, flared up, lighting the room in a blinding glow.
"Oh no!" Kettleburn yelped.
The Ashwinders shot out of the pit like fireworks, igniting everything in their path. One exploded right in the pit, spraying sparks everywhere.
Flames roared to life, filling the room with smoke and firelight.
Boom!
Outside, the rain poured harder.
Inside, every crack and crevice in the office began gushing blood-red water, surging like waves, flooding every corner.
In an instant, Lockhart—who'd been desperate to avoid getting soaked—was drenched head to toe in blood-like liquid.
"Oh, Merlin's pink polka-dot pants!"
Kettleburn struggled to stand, only to be knocked back into his chair by a wave of the crimson flood. Before he could react, the blood-water vanished, leaving only his cup, now filled with a gruesome mix of cocoa and blood.
He stared, dumbfounded, at Lockhart, who was calmly sipping from his own cup.
After finishing, Lockhart smacked his lips.
The taste was bitter, mirroring his mood.
For a moment, he wondered if the Ashwinders' explosion was triggered by some curse lingering on him, a shadow of death always lurking nearby.
But then he brushed it off—maybe it was just an accident, and he was being paranoid, jumping at shadows like a fool.
Still, the drink left a bad taste in his mouth.
Catching Kettleburn's gaze, he quickly adjusted his expression, flashing a warm, friendly smile.
He was about to suggest this "lively spring water" to the old professor—perfect for revitalizing his frail body. Maybe he could even market it as "Fairy Fountain" or something catchy?
But Kettleburn's reaction was… odd.
The old professor stared in horror at the blood-soaked young man, who was grinning at him with what looked like a "ferocious" yet oddly elegant smile, his mouth stained red with blood-water.
Kettleburn's eyes widened, his pupils shook—
"!!!"
He fainted dead away.
Seriously?
Lockhart leapt to his feet. "Mate, you're the guy who charges into wild dragon sanctuaries every other week! You've seen it all—come on, was that really necessary?"
He'd been about to say, Look, we're already in this mess, why not enjoy the revitalizing spring water? It's good stuff, don't waste it!
But…
"Mate, come on, wake up…"
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