The dark magical creature "Three-Hands" tried to fill human hearts with fear, but it didn't work on Lockhart.
Part of it was the chaotic mess of memories and voices swirling in his head. But it was also his mindset as a seasoned wizard—or rather, his *heart*.
Courage.
Not the fiery, Gryffindor kind of courage, but the calm, Ravenclaw kind.
The courage needed for battle spells was all about emotion, burning and intense. But facing dark creatures? That required a steady mindset, often calm and unshaken.
This mindset was a natural gift, letting Lockhart shrug off the negative emotions dark creatures stirred up—even the infamous Dementors, Azkaban's creepy guards.
Wizardry was, after all, a game of talent.
Hagrid and Newt had their knack for magical creatures, Harry Potter excelled at combat spells, the Weasley twins were geniuses with magical inventions, and even Ron, often overlooked, had an uncanny gift for languages, mimicking Harry's Parseltongue or Peter Pettigrew's voice with ease. He was a natural at charms and language-based magic.
But talent alone wasn't enough. Wizards had to know how to use their gifts and find the right environment to let them shine.
Those with a knack for dark magic should become dark wizards. Those who were great at fighting and bending rules? Aurors.
Lockhart would bet that someone like Snape, who'd betrayed Voldemort to join Dumbledore and teach at Hogwarts, would be weaker now than during the First Wizarding War if he wasn't still secretly studying dark magic. His mindset had shifted, straying from his natural talents.
People change, though. Mindsets shift, and talents evolve. Who knows?
Take Lockhart. He didn't mind the idea of being a dark wizard himself. That's why he greedily clung to the jumble of memories in his head—those of the powerful wizards he'd "borrowed" from, plus the original Lockhart's.
Extracting memories was easy in the wizarding world. A flick of the wand to the temple, and you could pull them out like threads. Simple.
Especially for someone like him, who'd inherited the original Lockhart's mastery of the Memory Charm. It wouldn't be hard at all.
Now in this magical world, he had no intention of going back to being a Muggle. He wanted to digest and absorb those memories—the emotions, thought patterns, worldviews, and mindsets they carried.
If he'd been a wizard in his past life, he'd definitely have been a Ravenclaw. He had a natural knack for figuring out how to use his talents wisely.
Hermione didn't linger long in his office. The dark creature Boggart was rattling around in its peeling makeup box, and the Cornish Pixies were shaking their cage so hard she worried they'd break free.
Once she left, Lockhart locked the doors and windows, then opened the jar to let Three-Hands out.
"Gooji~~"
The shiny, golden-furred monkey blinked at him curiously with big eyes, its third hand, sprouting from its right side, curled against its chest.
Lockhart grabbed a big apple from his desk, snapped it in half, and offered one part to the creature. "Want some?"
"Gooji~"
The monkey hesitated, then took the apple, nibbling cautiously. Its eyes lit up, and it clutched the fruit with both hands, munching eagerly.
"Hahaha!" Lockhart let out a hearty laugh, ruffling the monkey's head. "No leaving my office without my permission, got it? If you behave, I'll get you tasty treats every day. Deal?"
The munching stopped. The monkey glanced at the apple, then at the door, clearly torn.
"If you don't agree, I'll have to keep you in the jar," Lockhart said with a grin. "I know you're a special dark creature. You love sunlight, right? I could set up a little nest by the window for you."
The monkey tilted its head toward the window, puzzled. It was nighttime—no sunlight to be seen.
"Never felt the sun?" Lockhart asked, smiling. "Trust me, you'll love it. I know your kind."
A lot of wizards had this stereotype: dark wizards skulk in shadowy alleys, and dark creatures lurk in damp, gloomy corners. Three-Hands had clearly been raised that way by its previous keepers.
You could tell wild dark creatures from domesticated ones easily. The ones used to humans understood speech and were easier to communicate with.
Who knows where Mad-Eye Moody had nabbed this one from—probably some dark wizard he'd arrested.
"Gooji~"
The monkey finally nodded, lifting its third hand to Lockhart's.
They shook on it, sealing the deal.
It wasn't full trust—more like a trial run. If the monkey felt shortchanged later, it could back out. But it was a solid start. Taming a dark creature wasn't easy.
Lockhart could've just kept it in the jar. Dark creatures weren't like normal animals—they didn't eat, sleep, or die like regular beings. Academically, they were called "non-beings" or "non-human spirit phenomena."
But Lockhart was lonely. He had too many secrets he couldn't share, didn't *dare* share. A monster pet seemed like a great idea.
"You're Little Goldie from now on," he said with a chuckle, naming his new companion.
But his smile faded fast.
As he sat at his desk, ready to tackle his teaching duties for the year, his eyes locked onto something that froze him in place.
"What is this *insane* nonsense?!"
He let out a yelp, startling Little Goldie, who turned to stare at him.
Lockhart was so shocked his whole body went numb, his pupils practically shaking.
Little Goldie, still holding its apple, scrambled up the chair to his shoulder, peering at the thin sheet of paper in his hands, confused why its new master was suddenly gripped by fear—a fear even *it* couldn't inspire.
That piece of paper had done it.
The monkey squinted but couldn't read the text.
It was the Defense Against the Dark Arts schedule, which shouldn't have been a big deal. But Lockhart hadn't realized what it meant to be the *only* Defense professor for all seven years and four houses.
Unlike Potions or Transfiguration, where two houses shared a class, Defense was taught separately for *each* house.
First years weren't too bad—one class per house, so four classes total.
Second through fourth years? Two classes per house. That's eight classes.
Fifth years had combined classes, but still two per house—another eight classes.
Sixth and seventh years had all four houses together, which meant big classes.
That added up to *40 classes a week*.
The schedule was packed solid, not a single free moment.
And that wasn't all. There was also the N.E.W.T. class for advanced students, handpicked after their O.W.L.s to prepare for the final wizarding exams. That didn't even have a set schedule—it was ongoing mentorship, like training apprentices.
*Hiss.*
Lockhart sucked in a breath, feeling like he might pass out.
Suddenly, he had mad respect for Snape. If he remembered right, Snape had *temporarily* taken on Defense Against the Dark Arts in the books.
*Part-time*!
How?! How did he manage that?
Potions classes, part-time Defense, head of Slytherin, nighttime patrols, obsessing over Harry Potter, and handling school events like refereeing Quidditch…
Not to mention the insane workload of lesson planning and grading…
Wait. Was Snape's greasy hair just because he was too busy to wash it?
No, no, no!
Lockhart realized with horror that Snape wasn't even teaching Defense right now. With this schedule and his memories of Hogwarts, the busiest professors were probably him and… Professor Binns!
Binns was a ghost—he didn't need to eat, sleep, or rest. Lockhart, on the other hand? Very much alive.
If he kept this up for a year, he'd probably *become* the next Professor Binns!
This workload didn't need Voldemort's curse to kill him!
Who could handle this?!
"Professor Dumbledore!"
"*Professor Dumbledore!*"
Clutching the schedule, Lockhart bolted for Dumbledore's office without a second thought.
He didn't know the password to the Headmaster's office, so he stood outside, yelling at the gargoyle.
Truth be told, he should've gone to McGonagall—this schedule was likely her doing, not Dumbledore's.
But disturbing a lady in the middle of the night? Not a great look.
After shouting for a while, the stone gargoyle finally folded its wings. Lockhart rushed up the spiraling staircase to the office.
Dumbledore was at his desk, dressed in a pink robe embroidered with silver moons and stars, a steaming cup of coffee and a stack of papers in front of him.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up, his half-moon glasses glinting. "Running around the school with a dark creature like that isn't wise, Professor Lockhart."
Lockhart froze, then quickly yanked Little Goldie off his shoulder and stuffed it into his robe pocket.
His casual, almost reckless handling of such a powerful dark creature made Dumbledore raise an eyebrow in surprise.
"A late-night visit. What's on your mind?"
Lockhart opened his mouth, staring at the imposing Dumbledore, suddenly unsure how to explain.
Complain about the workload?
To him, it was shocking, but to Dumbledore—who'd taught Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts in his youth—it was probably just another Tuesday.
"Well, it's like this…"
Lockhart's mind raced. In the short walk from the door to the desk, he'd hatched a plan.
"I've got a brilliant idea for teaching," he said, "and I'm so excited I didn't realize how late it was. Do you have a moment?"
Dumbledore gestured to the empty chair across from him, removing his glasses and leaning back wearily. "Go ahead."