The tension in the office was thick enough to choke a Hippogriff. Allen noticed the subtle shift in Lockhart's posture—the way his eyes flickered toward the heavy oak door, and the tightening of his grip on the mahogany wand. It was a look Allen had seen in the eyes of cornered animals, or worse, men with everything to lose.
He knew exactly what the "Hero of the Wizarding World" was thinking. One quick Obliviate, a dash of his trademark charm, and this entire messy scene would vanish into the ether of forgotten memories. Daisy would go home thinking she'd had a lovely, quiet visit, and Allen would be none the wiser.
But Allen was faster.
Before Lockhart could even draw a breath to incant, Allen's wand was level with the Professor's throat. The tip glowed with a faint, dangerous spark.
"I wouldn't, Professor," Allen said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register. It wasn't the voice of a twelve-year-old student; it was the voice of a wizard who had stared down dark creatures and survived. "I'm not a fan-girl, and I'm definitely not in the mood for games. Lower the wand, or I'll ensure you never hold one again."
Daisy stood between them, her head whipping back and forth in a daze. She looked like she was caught in a nightmare where her brother and her idol were about to duel to the death. "Allen? What are you—"
Lockhart didn't lower it. He hesitated, his eyes darting toward the door again.
Expelliarmus!
The spell left Allen's wand like a thunderclap. The crimson light hit Lockhart's hand with enough force to snap his wrist back. The mahogany wand went spinning into the air, clattering into a display of self-signed portraits. The kinetic force of the spell didn't stop there; it slammed into Lockhart's chest, sending the golden-haired wizard flying backward. He hit the stone wall with a sickening thud and slumped to the floor, his perfect robes covered in dust.
Daisy didn't scream. In fact, as she watched Lockhart groan and clutch his ribs, a strange, dark flash of satisfaction crossed her tear-stained face. The pedestal she'd built for him hadn't just cracked; Allen had just blown it up.
"Daisy, we're leaving. Now," Allen said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He flicked his wand toward the hallway, where the string of petrified dwarves was still lying. With a sharp jerk of his wrist, he levitated the entire human chain and dumped them unceremoniously into the center of Lockhart's office.
"Keep your 'Cupids' in their cages, Professor," Allen spat at the disheveled man on the floor. "Forcing love on people is a crime. Forcing it on my family? That's a death wish. Consider this your only warning."
He grabbed Daisy's hand and pulled her out of the room, her boots clicking frantically against the stone as they hurried away from the scene of the crime.
"How did you even get in here, Daisy?" Allen asked once they reached the relative safety of the deserted Charms corridor.
Daisy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking small and embarrassed. "He hired those dwarves... he mentioned it in a letter months ago, saying he needed 'stout-hearted messengers' for his Valentine's grand plan. When I found out the troupe was heading to the school today, I used the letters he'd sent me as a pass. I just... I told the gate guards I was part of the logistics team. They were too busy laughing at the dwarves to check my ID properly."
Allen felt a headache blooming behind his eyes. "So he didn't even invite you? You snuck in to surprise him?"
"I wanted it to be special!" Daisy hissed, her anger returning. "But when I got to his office, he wasn't there. I saw his desk, Allen. It was covered in hundreds of identical cards. And there was a draft... a reply to some girl in Hogsmeade. It was the exact same wording he used in his letters to me. Word for word! He didn't even change the adjectives! He just has a template, like some lazy hack writing cheap wizarding fan-fiction!"
Allen sighed, remembering his friend Ian's heartbreak. It was the same story, different victim. Lockhart wasn't a lover; he was a brand, and everyone was just a customer to be managed.
"It's worse than that, Daisy," Allen said, lowering his voice as they neared a portrait of a sleeping knight. "We've been digging. Lockhart isn't a hero. All those books? Those stories about the Wagga Wagga Werewolf and the Banshees? They're real events, but they didn't happen to him. He finds the real heroes—the old, the quiet, the humble—and he steals their memories. He wipes their minds with a Memory Charm and writes himself into their place."
Daisy stopped dead, her face turning ashen. "He was holding his wand... when you walked in. He was going to..."
"He was going to erase you," Allen finished. "He was going to make sure you forgot the letters, the lies, and the fact that you ever saw him for who he really is."
"That absolute scum!" Daisy's voice was a guttural snarl. She wasn't crying anymore. She looked like she wanted to go back and finish what Allen's Expelliarmus had started.
"I'll see you to the boundary," Allen said as they reached the entrance hall. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long, bloody shadows across the grounds. "How are you getting back?"
"I can Apparate once I'm off the grounds," Daisy said, though she looked shaky. "It's fine, Allen. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, right? Dumbledore is here."
Allen looked at the dark treeline of the Forbidden Forest and shook his head. Safe was a relative term. He whistled sharply, a high, piercing note that echoed across the lawn. A moment later, a snowy owl—Bennie—dived from the Owlery, circling once before heading straight for the deep woods.
"Wait here," Allen commanded.
Ten minutes later, a silver light began to glow between the ancient trees. A magnificent Unicorn, her coat shimmering like moonlight, stepped out into the clearing. It was Gaia.
"Allen!" Gaia's voice echoed directly in his mind, playful and ancient. "Bringing more girls to the woods at this hour? And this one is much older than the little blonde one. You have varied tastes, little wizard."
Allen blushed, glad that Daisy couldn't hear the telepathic teasing. "Gaia, please. This is my sister, Daisy. I need her escorted to the edge of the wards. Safely. There are things in the school tonight I don't trust."
Gaia tilted her head, her horn casting a soft radiance over Daisy, who looked absolutely struck dumb by the creature's beauty. "A sister? Ah, I see the resemblance in the spirit. Very well. Climb on, little mare. The forest is mine tonight."
Allen watched as Daisy, still in a trance, mounted the Unicorn. They vanished into the shadows of the trees in a blur of silver light. Only then did Allen turn back toward the castle, his expression hardening.
He had a trip to America coming up to deal with the Thunderbird and the American Ministry, and he'd been content to let Lockhart play his games until the end of the year. But the man had threatened his sister. That changed everything.
Back in his dormitory, Allen sat at his desk and pulled out two pieces of parchment.
The first was for Rita Skeeter. He knew her secret—he'd spotted that peculiar beetle hanging around the bushes near the greenhouse more than once.
"Miss Skeeter," he wrote, his quill flying. "I know about the wings and the antennae. If you want to keep your career—and your freedom—you will follow my lead. There is a fraud in the DADA office. An interview with Gilderoy Lockhart is your golden ticket to a front-page blockbuster. I will provide the evidence. Don't be late."
The second letter was for his father, Owen Harris. It was longer, more detailed, and carried a weight of cold, calculated fury. He detailed every moment of Daisy's humiliation and Lockhart's attempted assault. He knew his father. Owen was a man of law, but when it came to his children, he was a man of vengeance.
The next morning, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was as obnoxious as ever. Lockhart appeared at the front of the room, his arm in a sling but his smile as wide and vacant as a Cheshire cat's. He acted as if the previous evening had never happened.
"Today, class, we shall be re-enacting a pivotal scene from Travels with Trolls!" Lockhart beamed, his eyes carefully avoiding Allen's corner of the room. "Now, I need a volunteer to play the role of the lumbering, dim-witted Troll..."
He looked toward the back, searching for a timid first-year or perhaps a distracted Gryffindor.
"I'll do it, Professor."
The room went silent. Allen stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the stone. Edward, sitting next to him, looked like he wanted to faint.
"Allen? But... but you don't look like a Troll at all!" Lockhart chuckled nervously, his step faltering. "Perhaps Edward here—"
"I insist," Allen said, walking toward the center of the room. He didn't wait for permission. He stood in the "stage" area, looming over the Professor. He brandished his wand, the wood humming with suppressed power. "I think I can capture the... destructive nature of the beast quite well. Don't you think?"
Lockhart froze. The charming smile faltered, revealing the terrified, hollow man underneath. The more he had once tried to "mentor" Allen, the more he now realized he was standing in the path of a storm he couldn't charm his way out of.