Did He Stuff His Brain with Owls?

"Is this really that serious?"

If Voldemort weren't causing such a ruckus, it might indeed qualify as an urgent issue.

"I'll have Minerva talk to him," Dumbledore said after a pause, nodding slightly. "This is indeed excessive."

Harry's face remained solemn. "I suggest expelling him. Use this as a reason to pack him off and hire at least a competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"Harry, I would also like a better professor," Dumbledore replied with a wry expression. "But the Defense Against the Dark Arts position… This year, only one person applied for the job."

It wasn't that Dumbledore wanted Lockhart; he simply had no other choice.

"And even if he leaves, the artifact will remain at Hogwarts."

Harry clicked his tongue in frustration.

Only one applicant? Was this because of that curse?

Damn bald-nosed Tom Riddle.

"Not just that," Harry added, shaking his head and dropping the subject of expulsion. "Lockhart may be an airheaded troll, but Voldemort isn't."

Dumbledore sighed, catching on. "You mean the artifact might be in someone else's hands?"

"Oh, absolutely. Love makes people blind."

"Perhaps a young witch, hopelessly infatuated, might go to great lengths for him."

"Sounds like you've been there," Harry said, his tone thoughtful. "Was she beautiful? Enough to keep you unmarried even after a hundred years?"

Dumbledore acted as though he hadn't heard Harry's comment. He snapped his fingers, summoning a house-elf and instructing it to search the dormitories again.

The topic was deftly sidestepped.

They reached the dungeons and knocked on Snape's office door.

Soon enough, the greasy-haired, ever-black-clad Snape emerged. "Dumbledore. And Potter."

"What brings you here so late? Finally come to fix your heads?"

Dumbledore shook his head and gently explained, "Severus, I'm here to check your office. Voldemort's dark artifact is unaccounted for."

Snape's expression twisted as if he'd been forced to swallow two pounds of dungbombs. His face contorted, his eyes seethed with disgust, and his body trembled with indignation as he yanked out his wand. "Albus, are you seriously doubting—"

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"No, it's at Harry's suggestion," Dumbledore interjected, raising a hand to calm him. "He suspects Lockhart, but as headmaster, I can't limit my investigation to just one professor."

Snape's glare relaxed ever so slightly. "A brilliant suggestion from Mr. Potter."

"Come in," he said curtly, stepping aside.

Once inside, Dumbledore raised his wand.

"You know what's off-limits," Snape growled at Dumbledore, though his gaze lingered on Harry.

Harry shrugged. "If it's about my mother, I don't think it should be hidden from me."

Snape huffed and flicked his cloak dismissively, not bothering to look at him.

Dumbledore cast his spell, meticulously combing through the office. At Snape's insistence, one drawer emerged shrouded in a dense white mist, its contents visible only to Dumbledore.

When everything was returned to its place, Snape sneered. "Are you satisfied now?"

"Forgive me, Severus," Dumbledore said earnestly. "I trust you—I truly do—but I'm still the headmaster of Hogwarts."

"What's the situation, then?" Snape sat down, conjuring two chairs for them. "Let me guess: you've found nothing?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Both Harry and I are highly suspicious of Lockhart."

"But he seems unnervingly normal," Dumbledore added after a pause.

"Not normal at all," Harry countered. "Shifty and suspicious."

"From a magical perspective, he's completely ordinary," Dumbledore clarified. "No anomalies whatsoever."

"He's practically a Muggle who can wave a wand," Harry muttered.

"I've always suspected he's a Squib," Snape said with a cold smirk. "If there's nothing in his office, have you checked the Chamber of Secrets? He might have returned there."

"I'm waiting for word from the house-elves," Dumbledore replied. "If there's still nothing in the dormitories, I'll go with Harry to check."

The Chamber wasn't freely accessible to the house-elves; they couldn't enter as they could other parts of Hogwarts.

More than half an hour later, a house-elf reappeared before Dumbledore, its forehead freshly branded with a burn mark that still sizzled.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, we still couldn't find the book you're looking for."

"Has Professor Lockhart left his office?" Harry asked.

The house-elf shook its head. "No, his office door has remained locked. He hasn't left, nor has he been to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom."

"Could he have used a Confundus Charm?" Harry looked at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore waved his wand. "Don't worry. I've cast a spell that would alert me if he left."

So…

Lockhart hadn't snuck out during the checks to covertly pass the artifact to someone else.

Did that make him less suspicious?

The three of them rose and hurried to the Chamber of Secrets.

As before, it was empty.

No basilisk. No book. Not even new traces of disturbance.

"Severus," Dumbledore said softly as they emerged from the Chamber.

"I know," Snape replied with palpable irritation. "I'll keep an eye on Lockhart. Though, frankly, Filius might be better suited for the job."

He hesitated before continuing. "Lockhart's brain must be stuffed with owl droppings. Lately, he's been pestering me nonstop about starting a dueling club—every single day."

Dumbledore chuckled at the memory. "At least it's just a hundred owls, isn't it? Filius would rather cast an age-reversal charm on Lockhart and send him back to school—to another house, of course, for proper re-education."

Snape sneered.

Harry was puzzled. "Owl droppings? Is that some kind of joke, like the dungbombs?"

"Lockhart's been insufferable since childhood," Dumbledore explained, still amused. "That's one of the most vivid memories I have from when I first became headmaster.

"On Valentine's Day, he somehow managed to have 800 owls deliver love letters to himself. Breakfast that day was an absolute disaster."

"Severus hadn't graduated yet," Dumbledore added with a chuckle. "He suffered with the rest of us."

Snape growled in response, gritting his teeth.

"Thank goodness he's only my professor," Harry muttered, the thought of that scene more revolting than eating two pounds of Bowtruckle dung.

The rest of the holiday passed uneventfully.

Lockhart behaved himself—or so it seemed. For Snape, though, the man's incessant chatter about the dueling club was anything but peaceful.

By the end of the break, the students returned to Hogwarts only to receive a shocking New Year's gift: another attack had occurred over the holiday.

Many students regretted boarding the train.

"Wasn't staying home a better idea?"

Listening to Ron's animated retelling, Hermione blinked in confusion before turning to Harry, clutching his arm.

"So… they still haven't found the artifact Voldemort left behind?"

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Powerstones?

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