Almost every student shared Hermione's concerns.
They trusted Hogwarts and its professors—but trust wasn't a spell that could vanquish a basilisk.
As terrifying as the dark creature itself might be, what truly unsettled them was something else entirely:
Despite the professors' exhaustive preparations, with "roosters" stationed across the castle, another student had been attacked.
Despite it being the holiday season, with only a handful of people remaining at school, there had been no progress.
Where was the basilisk?
Where was the Chamber of Secrets?
Who was the Heir?
When students asked their professors, they were met with silence. Well, not from everyone. Lockhart, for example, had plenty to say in his classes.
He recounted how he had saved Hogwarts over the holidays, bravely uncovering the Heir, who was controlled by a dark artifact. He claimed to have engaged in a death-defying duel but, unfortunately, let her escape at the last critical moment.
Students treated it as entertainment, never taking him seriously.
It wasn't even about whether Lockhart had the ability to do such a thing.
After all, there were only three witches who stayed at Hogwarts over the holidays:
One was in the hospital wing.
One was a half-blood Hufflepuff.
The third, though a pure-blood, was a Gryffindor.
No one could seriously believe that a girl was the "Heir" responsible for all the chaos.
On the last class of the first week of the new term, Harry and his peers had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Lockhart.
Neville slouched dejectedly as he left the stage, having just finished reenacting one of Lockhart's stories about heroically subduing a werewolf. The performance earned Gryffindor twenty points, but it did little to lift the students' spirits.
Points hardly seemed important compared to the threat looming over their safety.
Meanwhile, the Slytherins were more smug than ever. With the Heir still uncaptured, they continued to intimidate the other houses, their praise for the Heir growing louder and bolder: "The Heir proves that Slytherin truly is the greatest!"
"Look at all of you, so glum and gloomy," Lockhart said, tugging at his collar during the last few minutes of class. "Does attending a class with your favorite professor—yours truly—fail to cheer you up?"
Ron muttered under his breath from behind a copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2, "We'd be happier if we didn't have his class at all."
Every student had hoped to learn something useful from Lockhart, especially in times like these.
Instead, they got:
"I once killed a basilisk in Turku. Rest assured, Hogwarts is safe under my protection!"
"Oh, and I once had a few basilisk eggs. But I was so hungry, I fried and ate them! Otherwise, I would've brought one to show you."
This earned a collective eye-roll.
Had Lockhart bothered to open a basic book on magical creatures, he wouldn't spout such nonsense—basilisks don't lay eggs; they're artificially created when a toad hatches a chicken's egg.
Still, at least he got one thing right: basilisks are egg-born. Small miracles.
The students grumbled quietly, echoing Ron's complaints.
Lockhart raised his voice, trying to regain their attention. "Well, then! I suppose this next bit of news will surely cheer you up."
"I, Gilderoy Lockhart…" He launched into his usual litany of titles. "I understand your concerns. You young wizards and witches do need to learn more powerful spells for self-defense."
"So tonight, in the Great Hall, I'll be teaching some of the magic you've always wanted to learn—the kind that will help you protect yourselves!"
Even Hermione rolled her eyes. "What could he possibly teach us?"
"How to make a fried egg out of a rooster's egg? Hagrid's probably better at that than he is," she quipped.
Raising his wand, Lockhart hesitated before grabbing a piece of chalk instead. He wrote a long string of words on the blackboard:
"I proposed this to Headmaster Dumbledore, and he has granted his permission—tonight, Hogwarts will host a Dueling Club!"
"I hope you'll all come to see how a great wizard conducts himself in battle!"
The students were abuzz with excitement.
Lockhart, for once, seemed to have done something useful.
They had always dreamed of dueling like true witches and wizards—especially Gryffindors. Their disputes with Slytherins often began with drawn wands and ended with professors separating them.
The younger they were, the more likely they were to find fists more effective than spells.
The prospect of an official dueling club sparked animated discussions. If only Professor Flitwick were in charge, they mused, it would've been even better.
After dinner, Professor McGonagall waved her wand to clear the long house tables, creating a wide open space in the Great Hall.
Lockhart sidled up to her, ingratiatingly pleading until, with evident reluctance, she conjured a grand, gold-trimmed stage.
He hurriedly thanked her and dashed onto the platform.
"Gather round, everyone, gather round!" Lockhart called out enthusiastically, gesturing for the students to approach. "Can you all hear me?"
When the crowd gave a halfhearted nod, he beamed even brighter. "Some of you heard about this in class, while others saw the notices in the Entrance Hall. Let me just say: those of you here tonight are very fortunate!"
"As you know, Professor Flitwick is a renowned dueling champion."
At the staff table, Flitwick's expression darkened. While the words were complimentary, coming from Lockhart, they somehow sounded insufferable.
"And I," Lockhart continued, "as a proud Ravenclaw alumnus, have also achieved great success in dueling, as I detailed in my books. I am, after all, a highly accomplished dueling master."
"To ensure you don't think I'm bullying an old man…"
Flitwick's face darkened further.
"…I've invited Professor Snape to assist me. He, too, has some minor knowledge of dueling. Despite the risks, he has bravely volunteered to demonstrate for you!"
Snape's expression was one of pure revulsion.
Among the students, the Slytherins frowned.
Everyone knew bravery was a Gryffindor trait, and Lockhart's supposed "compliment" was practically a pointed jab: "Snape, you're such a Gryffindor!"
"Of course, don't worry," Lockhart reassured the crowd. "I'll take care not to hurt your Potions professor. After all, if I had to teach two classes, I wouldn't have time to answer my fan mail."
Snape narrowed his eyes, scanning Lockhart like a predator sizing up prey, deliberating where to strike.
Ravenclaws and Gryffindors watched the unfolding drama with glee.
Hufflepuffs looked on with pity.
Slytherins silently prayed their Head of House would hex Lockhart into oblivion.
"Shall we begin?" Snape interrupted, climbing onto the gaudy stage with visible reluctance.
"Of course, Professor Snape, the question is—are you ready?" Lockhart brandished his wand. "For a wizard like me, readiness is a constant state!"
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Powerstones?
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