"Oh, really? These cosmetics are that magical?" Umbridge gushed, accepting Lockhart's gift with an enthusiasm so over-the-top it bordered on caricature. Her smile outshone even Lockhart's dazzling grin.
That fawning, almost groveling demeanor…
It left Dumbledore, Fudge, and Scrimgeour standing at the door absolutely gobsmacked.
Fudge stared at his trusted ally, his expression screaming, "Is this for real?" He glanced at Dumbledore, clearly questioning his entire life. "Dolores is one of his fans?"
Dumbledore, barely holding it together, maintained his wise-headmaster vibe with a serene smile. "We can never fully know someone, can we?"
Exactly!
Scrimgeour, the grizzled head of the Aurors, nodded in silent agreement. Normally, his boss Umbridge acted like everyone owed her a vault full of Galleons, but here she was, practically bowing to this peacock of a man. It wasn't just world-shattering—it was downright painful to watch.
As the group stepped inside, Umbridge was already offering Lockhart a plum position. "How about heading up a division under the Beast Consultation Office? Something hands-on!" she chirped. "The Centaur Liaison Office, perhaps? You'd deal with centaur tribes—those stargazing types always have treasures, like magical artifacts, up for grabs."
"Or maybe the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau," she went on, barely pausing. "You'd rub elbows with the bigwigs running dragon reserves. Great for networking—only the heavy hitters can afford those operations."
"And, oh! The House-Elf Relocation Office might be perfect…"
She was getting carried away. Fudge couldn't take it anymore and strode in. "Oi, Dolores! The House-Elf Relocation Office reports to the Department for Non-Human Entities, not the Beast Office. They're on the same level!"
Dumbledore, ever calm, murmured, "It sounds like a fine arrangement."
"Oh, I mean…" Fudge backpedaled instantly. "The Beast Office and Non-Human Entities always overlap, don't they? Time to set up a House-Elf Relocation Office under the Beast Office!"
Fudge was careful, though. Instead of slotting Lockhart into the existing Non-Human Entities department, he proposed a new office just for him. Typical Fudge—half-agreeing with Dumbledore, like a kid nodding to a stern dad while still doing his own thing.
And just like that, Lockhart's Ministry job was sealed.
He'd join the Beast Consultation Office and lead a brand-new House-Elf Relocation Office.
Well, it suited him. House-elves were a gray area in magical classification, teetering between dark creatures and magical beings.
Lockhart's mind flicked to Dobby, the house-elf bound to the Malfoys yet fiercely loyal to their enemy, Harry Potter. But he quickly pushed the thought aside. His brief stint at the Ministry felt too much like his old Muggle office job—promotions and pay raises couldn't spark his interest.
Put simply: it lacked magic.
Lockhart lived for magic—the thrill of it, the power of it. A Ministry title? Not enough to hold his attention.
Still, he'd swing by for the paycheck. Free Galleons were always nice.
His focus shifted to Dumbledore, who was no longer a Confundus Charm illusion but the real deal.
Problem solved?
Back in the Hogwarts headmaster's office, Dumbledore confirmed Lockhart's suspicions. He set a golden cup on his desk—a Horcrux—and wearily removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Sneaking into Gringotts' labyrinth of enchanted vaults to snag something this small, all without raising alarms, was no small feat.
"You said there were six, but only told me about five. Now we've got one," Dumbledore said, his expression heavy. "The issue is, he knows you've shared this with me. I can't be sure he won't create new, even better-hidden Horcruxes."
That was the crux of it.
Lockhart had to admit, spilling the Horcrux secret to Dumbledore might've altered the future. Would Voldemort still turn Nagini into a Horcrux? That was now uncertain.
Worse, even if Voldemort stuck to his obsession with the number seven, he might make an extra Horcrux, not knowing Harry was already one.
Things just got complicated.
"Is there a way to use this one to track the others?" Lockhart asked, hopeful.
Dumbledore shook his head, pulling a stack of papers and a hefty tome—Secrets of the Darkest Arts—from a shelf. "Everything I know is in here," he said, gesturing to the book. "The answer is no."
As Lockhart flipped through the pages, Dumbledore clapped his hands, summoning two steaming drinks. He took a sip and began, "Ancient wizards had a saying: 'Love can make a soul eternal.' It's been interpreted in many ways."
"Magically speaking, love can keep a life tethered to this world. The same principle applies to other emotions—hate, pain, duty, regret, obsession. They can all achieve it."
Lockhart frowned, not following. Why the sudden philosophy lesson?
"Love," Dumbledore said, wiggling a finger, "is just one piece of life. It can make life eternal."
It clicked.
Lockhart's eyes widened. "That's the basis for Horcruxes?!"
Dumbledore nodded, glancing at the animated portraits of past headmasters lining the walls. "The most common example is right here."
Was magic hard? Not for Dumbledore. In a few sentences, he'd laid bare the essence of Horcruxes: anchoring a piece of life to achieve eternity.
"In theory, a soul can be split into countless fragments, and just one is enough to keep it whole in the real world."
Lockhart thought of Lily Evans, whose love protected Harry through magic, letting her appear in the right moments—like during this adventure or when Harry faced Voldemort in the books.
Dumbledore tapped the tome with his ringed finger. "Horcruxes are dangerous because they're too effective. They make wizards lose reverence for life—for the human condition, with all its flaws and limits. They stop caring about others, society, nature, everything but themselves. They lose their humanity."
"When humanity fades, the beast within takes over. Dark magic easily corrupts the mind, turning a person into a monster."
Voldemort's snake-like face, noseless and eerie, came to mind.
Dumbledore handed over another book, The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "There's a story in here, 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart.'"
"It's about a wizard who locked his heart in a box to avoid emotional pain, even when his family died. He seemed successful, living richly. But when he fell in love and opened the box to prove his heart, it had grown hairy, steeped in dark power."
"Even something as beautiful as love, if locked away, can turn dangerous," Dumbledore said, his gaze distant. "It can easily become hate."
Lockhart's eyes lit up. "I get it!" He pointed at the golden cup. "You're saying we could alter this Horcrux to affect his life force?"
"...What?" Dumbledore blinked, caught off guard.
Was that what he meant?
Could Horcruxes be manipulated that way?
He stared at the cup, thoughtful. His original plan was to wait for Fawkes, his newly reborn phoenix, to grow strong enough to destroy it with venom. But this…
Alter a Horcrux to influence Voldemort's life?
Could it work?
No clue, but Lockhart was eager to try. Modifying the cup would take advanced charms and alchemy—way beyond his skill set. But the diary Horcrux, with young Tom Riddle inside? That was his wheelhouse.
Maybe during the Christmas holidays?
When Lockhart returned to his office, arms full of Dumbledore's borrowed research, Snape was waiting, looking like he'd been brooding for hours. Voldemort's return was clearly weighing on him.
"Why do people call him the Dark Lord, but not Gellert Grindelwald?" Snape asked.
Lockhart stashed the papers, considering. "Because his methods are more vicious, cruel, and ruthless?"
"Exactly," Snape said, his expression unreadable. "The First Wizarding War left deep scars. Back then, anyone who defied or even questioned You-Know-Who lived in fear of one thing: Death Eaters storming their homes, slaughtering their families."
Terror was a powerful weapon in a magical world.
"When I turned against him, I took precautions," Snape continued. "I cast an ancient spell to hide my family from everyone."
His face was grave. "You'll need it too."
Lockhart froze. He'd overlooked his original self's family. By crossing Voldemort, he'd put them at risk.
"Is it hard to cast?" he asked quickly.
"Not at all," Snape said. "Easier than a Patronus Charm. It doesn't require a specific mindset—just a blood connection. It's blood magic."
Lockhart gasped. "Harry Potter?"
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Snape exhaled. "Yes. The magic Lily used for her son. I taught it to her."
The pain in his voice was raw. He'd found the spell in the library, shared it with Lily, and she'd used it to save Harry—at the cost of her life.
Lockhart, always bringing up Lily, was pushing Snape's buttons. Lily, Lily, Lily. A few more mentions, and Snape might just snap.
He shot Lockhart a glare. "Want to learn it?"
"Absolutely!" Lockhart nodded eagerly. He'd reaped the benefits of his predecessor's life—he couldn't let his family pay the price for his actions.
"This spell…" Snape's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "It's technically dark magic, recorded in a Restricted Section book called The Captive Lover."
"Back then, I was obsessed with powerful dark magic. That spell opened a new world for me—showing that even 'evil' magic could be cast in the name of love."
Teaching Lily dark magic had been thrilling, but he never got the chance to explain it was dark magic—or that not all dark magic was bad. She'd married Potter.
"With love as its base, it severs part or all of a blood relative's social connections, making them invisible to certain people—or the whole world," Snape said, his gaze intense. "In The Captive Lover, a witch used it to cut her lover's ties with another witch, so she could never find him, even standing face-to-face."
"Lily cast it to shield Harry from You-Know-Who and his followers. I cast it to hide my family from all wizards."
"It's up to you how you use it," Snape said. "But act fast. If they sent werewolves after us and the students, they could go after your family next—or kidnap them to control you."