Lockhart wasn't nearly as smug as he seemed.
Truth be told, he had to admit he was a bit jealous.
Watching two young wizards cast spells up close made him ache for magic himself. The wand in his hand might as well have been a chopstick for all the good it did him.
And the "fairytale romance" approach the original Lockhart had mastered? It was boosting Harry and Draco's skills so much that he was starting to feel a twinge of envy.
He craved magic.
He craved power.
Taking a deep breath, he glanced at the other professors' faces. When Draco got knocked back by a spell, Professor McGonagall looked worried.
So, with a dazzling smile, Lockhart stepped forward, ready to stop the duel between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
Enough was enough.
It was already perfect.
But just then, Malfoy flicked his wand, and the giant snake he'd conjured slithered forward, hissing angrily. Harry's Disarming Charm must've seriously ticked it off.
Faced with this terrifying scene, Harry didn't flinch. He just stared at the snake, hissing back with a sssss sound.
Holy smokes—the professors' faces changed in an instant.
Lockhart's expression hardened. Damn it, Harry Potter, stealing the spotlight again?
This was his stage!
He was the star!
Today was supposed to cement his reputation as a magical master at Hogwarts!
He hurried forward, not even "having time" to draw his wand, and grabbed Harry by the shoulders, pulling him away from the snake. He shot a quick glance at Snape.
Sure, Snape was sneering, probably hoping Harry would embarrass himself, but his wand was gripped tightly, ready for trouble.
"Perfect!" Lockhart boomed, laughing. "An absolutely perfect duel…"
He held Harry's shoulders firmly, positioning his tall frame between the boy and the snake.
Was he scared? A little.
But he trusted Snape would handle the snake.
And if not, Dumbledore would step in.
All he had to do was play the part of a fearless magical master. "I'm sure everyone—"
Before he could finish, a young wizard in the crowd shouted, "Was that Parseltongue?"
More students chimed in, uncertain at first but growing louder. "I heard Harry Potter talking to the snake!"
"Yeah, I heard it too!"
"No way! I thought only the most evil wizards could speak Parseltongue!"
The hall erupted in chatter. Lockhart quickly called for order, signaling the prefects to quiet everyone down.
He stole a glance back—the snake was gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, he launched into a speech. "Actually, Parseltongue isn't just for dark wizards. If any of you ventured to the Amazon like I have, you'd find plenty of tribes with snake-talkers."
"Strictly speaking, snake language is a complex part of Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"And the best example? Our great Headmaster Dumbledore. He's not just fluent in Parseltongue but also Mermish, Gobbledegook…"
Dumbledore watched, amused, as Lockhart muddled the difference between the innate gift of Parseltongue and the learned skill of snake-talking.
McGonagall, however, stepped in. She appreciated Lockhart easing the tension, but she wasn't thrilled about students mixing up Parseltongue with snake-talkers. It went against her teaching principles.
"Alright, children!" she called, waving a hand to brighten the dimmed Great Hall. "Class is over. Please leave in an orderly fashion."
She gave the students a pointed look. "Even if some of you don't grasp the 'fairytale romance' approach to magic, Professor Lockhart's seven principles are insightful. I hope you'll reflect on them."
"Prefects, lead everyone back to your dorms."
The students shuffled out, buzzing about Harry's Parseltongue moment.
Luckily, some were still excited about their own potential, focusing on Lockhart's talk about the essence of magic.
On the platform, surrounded by professors—especially Dumbledore, whose deep, unreadable eyes bore into him—Harry looked nervous.
"Har-ry Pot-ter," Snape sneered, stepping forward and glaring maliciously. "Look at the surprise our Chosen One has brought us."
Harry's mind was a mess, unsure how to handle this. He didn't need to look up to feel Snape's mocking stare.
"Remarkable," a warm voice cut in. A friendly arm draped around Harry's shoulders. He looked up—it was Lockhart.
Lockhart gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, as if passing him strength to face anything.
"Parseltongue! What an enviable talent!"
He raised an eyebrow at Snape. "You and I both grew up in the Muggle world, Severus. Ever heard of Muggle genetics? Traits skipping generations—it's perfectly normal."
Snape scoffed. "Let's hope that's your theory."
Lockhart just smiled, not taking the bait, and turned to Draco, who was staring at Harry in shock. "You two were outstanding. You deserve a reward! Though, you got a bit too into it, so I'll need to give you some counseling."
He glanced at the other professors, especially Dumbledore. "Shall I take the boys?"
Perfect!
Harry felt a wave of relief. Lockhart had swooped in to save him again. He didn't want to stay here, surrounded by judgmental stares.
He suddenly felt bad for thinking Lockhart was a bit of a jerk before. Clearly, this professor wasn't just a powerful wizard—he was a good guy.
With Dumbledore's nod, our good guy Lockhart led Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to his office.
These two kids were goldmines.
Harry was the book's protagonist, no question. And Draco? His pure-blood family, the Malfoys, held serious sway.
What better way to get close to Lucius Malfoy than being his son's teacher?
Perfect!
And for future classes, who better to use as assistants? Whenever a spell was needed, he'd just have these two show off—no need for him to cast a thing.
With a little training, these talented kids would shine, and no one would question the magical mastery of a teacher who could produce such stellar students.
Absolutely perfect!