"A most secluded location. Top notch."
Lockhart stepped through the door with a look of smug satisfaction. He was already imagining the chorus of squealing young witches that surely awaited him inside. He scanned the room, looking for one specific face: Mr. Green.
The future greatest wizard, the boy destined to surpass Dumbledore, the most gifted alchemist in eight centuries... who else could it be?
Maintaining his most-charming-smile, Lockhart thrust his chest out and strode forward with purpose.
However, his welco was not what he expected.
"Expelliarmus!" Justin shouted.
Lockhart's face went slack with shock. He made a desperate, clumsy attempt to dive behind Hermione for cover.
Hermione, having anticipated the move, stepped nimbly aside and slamd the heavy wooden door shut, bolting it in the sa motion.
Lockhart's wand flew from his belt, soaring through the air. He scrambled to track its flight, only to see it land firmly in Justin's hand.
Justin had executed a perfect, "Lockhart's wand, Accio!"
"What is the aning of this? A little joke, I take it?" Lockhart asked. He tried to recover his poise, smoothing his plum-colored robes. "Of course. You've caught off guard and disard . My most devoted admirers! I suppose you think this will goad into teaching you so advanced duelling techniques?
"Ha! You've guessed correctly! What I shall teach you now is—"
Lockhart lunged suddenly, reaching for Hermione's wand, but she side-stepped him with the grace of a seeker.
"Exceptional combat reflexes, I see... most impressive..."
Before he could finish his sentence, Justin's voice rang out again:
"Tarantallegra!"
Imdiately, Lockhart's legs began to twitch and jerk. He was forced into a frantic, involuntary tap-dance across the stone floor. His legs flailed in an absurdly exaggerated manner, and his heart sank.
He couldn't understand it. What was happening? What did these students want?
"Hey! Listen to , you lot! I am a Professor!" he shouted over the sound of his own rhythmic stomping.
"Not for long," Hermione said icily.
"What's next?" Justin asked, stepping out from the shadows of the corner.
"We wait a mont," Hermione replied. She sat down on a nearby chair, watching Lockhart with a clinical eye. She found herself wishing she had already mastered the Petrification Curse, but that was classified as Dark Magic.
Unfortunately, Lockhart had taught them absolutely nothing of substance; even the theory for that curse had co from Sean's private notes.
"Right then. Quietus."
Justin cast a Quietening Charm on the room. Lockhart's eyes darted around in desperation, looking for an exit or a savior, but the room was a fortress.
He no longer looked like the dashing hero from the covers of his books. His lips were trembling, and the dazzling, toothy smile had vanished, leaving his face looking gaunt and hollow. He looked every bit his age and more—a weary, desperate man.
"Now, see here, children! Let's not be hasty. Release now and I might be persuaded not to report this to the Headmaster! I am an internationally acclaid author! A recipient of the Order of rlin, Third Class! An Honorary mber of the Dark Force Defense League! I've won Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award five tis!"
"Your honors co from your books," Hermione noted, her voice devoid of emotion. "And your books are a lie."
They waited until Lockhart's breathing beca ragged, until the physical strain of the dance and the crushing weight of the situation began to wear down his will.
Justin raised his wand again. "Incarcerous!"
Thick, magical ropes erupted from the air, lashing around Lockhart's wrists and ankles. Since the spell was notoriously easy to dodge, they had waited for the perfect mont of exhaustion.
Hermione followed up with a Locomotor Mortis to ensure he stayed down. It was a spell she had researched in the Restricted Section—a way to control the physical movents of those unable to walk.
Now, they had total control over him. They were ready to administer the Veritaserum.
"Those stories were all based on my life!" Lockhart shouted, squirming on the floor.
"Books can lie, Professor. Just like you," Justin said, refreshing the Tarantallegra for good asure.
"This is slander! Outrageous!" Lockhart's feet continued to shuffle, though his body was pinned. He perford a look of wounded indignation. "My dear Miss Granger, the most brilliant student in your year... surely you can distinguish fact from fiction?"
He spoke with a greasy, fawning tone, his eyes surreptitiously flickering toward her wand. He was a fraud, yes, but he wasn't entirely helpless; he was simply waiting for a gap in their concentration.
"We've visited the places you described, Professor. We've spoken to the people there," Hermione said.
"Oh? And what did you discover, my dear fans?" Lockhart asked, trying to keep their attention on his words.
"We found that you're a thief. Now, stay still. Incarcerous!"
Justin added a second set of bindings, pinning Lockhart's arms to his sides.
"Hermione!" he called out.
"Ready," Hermione replied, her wand moving in a sharp, decisive arc.
Lockhart was now bound like a prize turkey, unable to do anything but wriggle on the rug. The two students finally allowed themselves a mont to breathe.
"Go on, Hermione. Be quick," Justin urged. He was vibrating with a mix of nerves and excitent. Once Lockhart was dealt with, they would finally get a proper Defense teacher.
"Mobilicorpus," Hermione whispered.
She used the charm to tilt Lockhart's head back. Despite his terrified, muffled protests, she carefully administered the three drops of clear liquid.
"What have you done to ?!" Lockhart scread the mont the ropes around his jaw were loosened.
"Now, Professor," Justin said, holding a Transcription Quill over a piece of parchnt. "Tell us the truth. What is the real story behind your bestsellers? Who actually perford those deeds?"
Lockhart opened his mouth to spin another lie, but the words that ca out were not his own.
"My dear boy, use your common sense! It wasn't , obviously. But if people didn't believe I'd done those things, the books wouldn't have sold a single copy! No one wants to read about so ugly old Arnian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. Putting his face on the cover? It would have been a disaster! The man had no sense of style whatsoever. And that witch who banished the Bandon Banshee? She had a hairy chin!
"I an, really, think about it... the public deserves a hero they can look at."
"So you stole their lives and put your na on the cover?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.
"Hermione, Hermione," Lockhart muttered. He tried to clap a hand over his mouth, but the Veritaserum forced his jaw open. "It wasn't as simple as you think. It was hard work! I had to track these people down, interview them, get every detail right... and then I had to wipe their mories.
"If I have one true talent, it's my mory Charm. It took years of practice to get it that perfect. Do you have any idea how much effort that takes? It's not all book-signings and photo-ops, you know. If you want to be famous, you have to be prepared for the long, grueling labor of deception."
As the confession ended, Lockhart's face turned a dull, ashen grey. He looked utterly broken.
"Looks like we're in the market for a new professor," Justin said, clicking his recording device shut.
"Mmm-hmm," Hermione agreed, lifting her chin with a look of grim triumph. "Where's Sean?"
They both looked toward the corner where Sean had been standing, but the shadows were empty. A wave of unease, far sharper than anything they'd felt while facing Lockhart, washed over them.
"Excellent work, everyone."
Sean's voice drifted from the far side of the room. He stepped out from behind a massive mahogany bookshelf.
Following close behind him, looking thoroughly entertained, was Albus Dumbledore.
[End of Chapter 424]
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