What?
Have him duel the world-famous Harry Potter?
Was this a joke?
Lockhart might be vain, but he wasn't completely lacking in self-awareness.
After all, sure, he'd painted himself as a man of vast experience—dancing with vampires, touring with ghouls—but the truth was that every last one of those "adventures" had been stolen from other wizards.
When it came to actual spellwork, aside from the Memory Charm—which he'd practiced to a decent level through constantly casting it on people to cover his plagiarism—he was hopeless at almost everything else. He wasn't just bad; he couldn't even measure up to most of his peers.
So even if you made him face a wizard his own age head-on, odds were he'd lose.
Let alone take on Harry Potter—who had already defeated the Dark Lord twice.
In that instant, Lockhart's smile froze solid. His mind spun at top speed as he frantically searched for a way to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—else.
Then his eyes lit up.
He lowered his voice, put on a "profound and mysterious" expression, and said, "Mm, yes—actually, I've had this idea for quite some time.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts exists to teach students defensive magic, so they can protect themselves from Dark magic and Dark creatures.
"And in the field of combat, no amount of theory compares to a real fight.
"So I've decided to start a Duelling Club. When the time comes, everyone will be welcome to participate.
"Of course, as your professor, I won't bully students by duelling a young wizard myself.
"So at that time, I'll select one student from among you to duel Mr. Potter.
"Come now—do look forward to it!"
Lockhart felt downright brilliant. What a perfect way to defuse the awkwardness.
Just as the corners of his mouth lifted, ready to bask in the crowd's adoration, he suddenly realized something was wrong.
The classroom was quiet—quiet in a way that didn't feel normal.
He looked up.
Every student was staring at each other, faces full of unease.
Wait. Duel Harry?
Us?
Most of them had personally witnessed Voldemort fighting Harry.
If you asked them to duel Harry, the odds would be… a thirty–seventy split, at best.
They'd last seven seconds, tops—then their bodies would be in at least three pieces.
Harry was terrifying, like a monster.
No matter how hard you fought, you couldn't win.
Sorry, Lord Harry—we couldn't entertain you!
Seeing that nobody was responding, Lockhart coughed awkwardly and pushed on with the lesson.
His class was dull, lifeless, and unbearably irritating.
First, he handed out a quiz and told everyone to answer it.
They'd assumed it would be about Defence Against the Dark Arts—but when they actually looked, it was nothing but questions about Lockhart himself, exactly like the three he'd asked Harry earlier.
After that, he produced a cage containing Cornish pixies.
He clearly meant to explain how to defend against the creatures, but his skill level was so atrocious that the pixies swarmed out the moment the cage opened and began wrecking the classroom.
They snatched textbooks and stationery, hurled things everywhere, and sent the students into chaos.
Lockhart couldn't control the situation at all. If Harry hadn't used the Freezing Charm—Immobulus—on every single Cornish pixie and then rounded them up, those ugly blue flying nuisances would've caused a real disaster.
After that, Harry went right back to his routine: staying in the library to study magic, drafting blueprints for his floating city, and keeping in contact with Audrey.
During this period, Audrey relied on the extraordinary power Harry provided to attend several Beyonder gatherings, and with her credit-card superpower, she successfully bought a large number of potion formulas.
Naturally, that included the Assassin Pathway's Sequence 7: Witch, as well as Sequence 6: Pleasure.
When Harry first learned the Witch potion formula, he was completely dumbfounded—he hadn't expected a side effect that could turn a man into a woman.
It gave him a headache on the spot. There was no way he was accepting that outcome.
So from that day onward, he'd been trying to modify the formula—keeping the extraordinary abilities while removing the gender-swap side effect. He'd made real progress, and it looked like success was only a matter of time.
At the same time, the side effect wasn't entirely useless. In certain situations, it could produce results you'd never expect.
For example—someone like Loki, whose identity was complicated enough that you couldn't just kill them outright.
Using a Witch potion to change their sex?
That was an excellent form of punishment.
And, come to think of it, after Loki became a Witch, she'd been… very pretty.
At the time, the way Thor had looked at Loki had been seriously off.
Would Thor actually ditch Jane and run straight into Loki's arms?
Harry's expression turned weird as he recalled the tangled mess that was Thor and Loki.
Nope. Not thinking about it. Absolutely not.
Later, Harry made time for this term's Quidditch matches, crushing the other three Houses with ease, taking the championship, and earning points for Gryffindor.
In his free time, Harry would take Hermione into the Forbidden Forest to train her spellcasting.
Hermione displayed shocking talent—she learned quickly, adapted instantly, and improved at a ridiculous pace.
After a stretch of intense training, her practical spellcasting had already reached the level of a third-year.
Harry judged that after graduation, Hermione might not reach Dumbledore's level—but surpassing most Aurors would be easy.
Of course, that was assuming she wasn't "borrowing" power.
If Hermione borrowed power, her strength would skyrocket.
That thought made Harry pause.
In the wizarding world, his best friends still weren't his borrowers.
How was that acceptable?
So after an Astronomy class, Harry grabbed Hermione and Ron and hurried them out to a secluded classroom.
Hermione looked at him curiously. "Harry, what are we doing here? Why so secretive?"
Harry smiled. "Hermione, Ron—do you want to become my borrowers?"
"Borrowers?!" Hermione and Ron yelped. They both knew Harry could lend magic to others, and anyone who borrowed his magic would become dramatically stronger.
Ron hesitated, bit his lip, and finally shook his head. "I'll pass. I don't have that many Galleons to buy magic."
Hermione hesitated too, then clenched her jaw and asked, "Harry… can I pay in pounds?"
Lately, she'd noticed Harry wanted her to become stronger. She didn't know why, but she wanted to answer that expectation with everything she had.
So if she could—she absolutely wanted to become a borrower.
Hearing them, Harry couldn't help but laugh. What did they take him for?
With a gentle smile, he said softly, "Relax. You're my best friends. I'm not charging you.
Don't overthink it. Here—sign the contract.
You don't need to give anything. You'll just receive magic from me."
Hermione and Ron lit up, immediately blurting, "Thank you, Harry!"
Harry smiled, lifted his hand, and with a flick of his wrist, chaos magic flowed across his fingertips, rapidly condensing into two contracts that glowed with a mysterious light.
He handed them to Hermione and Ron. The moment they signed, a translucent panel formed in front of their eyes.
They stared, amazed. "This is the borrowing panel? That's incredible!"
When Harry checked Hermione and Ron's magical talents, it was no surprise: both were naturally suited to wizarding magic.
Harry started to suspect that almost all witches and wizards were like that.
After sorting out the borrowing contracts, Hermione and Ron were buzzing with excitement, so the three of them decided to head to the Room of Requirement to practice some spells.
But they hadn't gone far when Harry's sharp hearing caught something strange.
A faint scraping sound was coming from inside the walls—there one moment, gone the next—easy to miss if you weren't paying attention.
And mixed into that scraping was the subtle, intermittent hiss of a venomous snake tasting the air.
Once, before Harry had crossed into the multiverse, there had been an evil soul fragment lodged in his scar.
And if he wasn't mistaken, it had belonged to Voldemort.
Voldemort was a descendant of Slytherin, born with the ability to communicate with snakes—fluent in Parseltongue.
Maybe because that soul fragment had clung to Harry, he'd understood bits and pieces of Parseltongue since he was young.
And if Voldemort's soul hadn't been completely destroyed by the Ancient One, Harry might've fully mastered Parseltongue by now—enough to understand exactly what the snake-voice in the walls was saying.
But right now, he could only pick out one or two scattered words.
"Follow me…"
"Kill!"
"Se—…"
Harry abruptly stopped.
Hermione and Ron, unable to sense any of this, looked startled. "Harry—why'd you stop? Are you feeling sick?"
Instead of answering, Harry moved quickly in the direction the sound was traveling, waving them along. "Come on—keep up. Something's happening. There's something moving inside the walls!"
Hermione and Ron didn't doubt him for a second and followed close behind.
But compared to Hermione—who had been tempered by Harry's training and countless trials—Ron was still much greener.
His face was tight with nerves, and his voice shook. "Harry, what is it in the walls? Why can't I hear anything? Is it dangerous?"
Harry frowned, fell silent for a moment, and thought rapidly. "Probably some kind of intelligent snake-like magical creature… or maybe something else entirely.
From the sound of it, it's trying to attack someone. We have to stop it!"
The creature inside the walls moved unbelievably fast.
To keep Hermione and Ron from falling behind, Harry had to channel magic into strengthening all three of their bodies—only then could they match his pace.
As they rounded a corner, Harry's expression shifted.
He heard a sudden scream—and at the same time, he sensed a hidden pulse of magic.
The magic felt chaotic and evil, oddly similar to Voldemort.
But part of it made Harry's attention snap sharp: an extremely violent, chaotic, powerful force—completely different from the kind of magic ordinary wizards carried.
They reached the spot where the magic had surged.
Aside from lingering traces of chaotic magic, there was only one person on the floor.
A young wizard Harry recognized immediately—Colin Creevey, the first-year who'd tried to take photos of him before.
Colin was sprawled on the ground, eyes wide open, body stiff as a plank, his face frozen in terror.
And then, as if drawn by the disturbance, a rush of footsteps thundered toward them.
Dumbledore arrived first, with Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and many others right behind him, all wearing urgent expressions.
They immediately saw Colin lying there, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron standing nearby with alarm and concern on their faces.
Professor McGonagall's face turned grave in an instant. She gasped, voice full of shock and worry. "Heavens—what happened here? What's wrong with this poor child?"
Dumbledore strode forward, bent down, and carefully examined Colin.
After a moment, once he confirmed Colin was only temporarily unconscious and not in immediate danger, Dumbledore let out a long breath, the tension easing from his face.
He straightened and reassured McGonagall. "Don't worry, Minerva. The child has been cursed, but he is alive. With proper treatment, he can recover."
"A curse?"
Harry murmured, and hearing Dumbledore say it only strengthened his suspicion.
So he shared his thoughts with everyone. "Just now, I noticed movement inside the walls, and I heard some hoarse voices from within.
I've learned a little Parseltongue, and I could understand part of what those hoarse sounds were saying. So if I'm not mistaken, whatever attacked Colin Creevey was some kind of snake-like magical creature.
And the only creature I know with a petrification-like curse is a basilisk.
But there's still one question—normally, a basilisk's gaze kills outright, even if it's not fully grown. So why is Colin Creevey still alive?"
"You can speak Parseltongue?" Professor Flitwick looked genuinely stunned. "You really are a remarkably learned young wizard. I once tried to study it myself, but I couldn't even begin."
"Hm. Maybe I've got a knack for languages?" Harry lifted an eyebrow.
Dumbledore gave a small shake of his head, cutting off further chatter between Harry and Flitwick.
His gaze fell on a small puddle on the floor, his eyes flickering thoughtfully. Then he smiled with calm confidence and said, "Look at the water on the ground. Is it possible this young wizard didn't look directly into the basilisk's eyes, but saw them reflected in the puddle's surface—so he was petrified rather than killed?"
Everyone followed Dumbledore's gaze, then slowly nodded, accepting his conclusion.
After that, Dumbledore's expression hardened as he turned to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. His tone grew serious. "Harry, we'll handle this from here. We'll make arrangements for this child and ensure he receives treatment.
And what happened here must not be spoken of. If word spreads, it could cause panic."
The three of them understood the gravity and nodded in agreement, but Harry still frowned. "Hogwarts is protected by powerful magic. How did a basilisk get into the castle without anyone noticing?"
The professors fell into silence.
They seemed to know the truth—but didn't know whether they should share it with Harry and the others.
In the end, Dumbledore spoke. "Decades ago, something similar happened. A series of attacks targeted Muggle-born students, and one Muggle-born student was killed.
After our investigation, we concluded that the poor student was killed by Hagrid's Acromantula. Hagrid was expelled, and his wand was snapped. He was forbidden from performing magic."
"That's impossible!" Hermione burst out, furious. "Hagrid is so kind—how could he let his pet kill an innocent student?"
Ron shouted too, "Exactly! Hagrid is a kind half-giant. There has to be some misunderstanding!"
Harry was far calmer than his friends. He looked steadily at Dumbledore and asked, "Headmaster… do you believe Hagrid was the culprit?"
Dumbledore shook his head, his expression complicated. "Personally, I do not believe for a moment that Hagrid would do such a thing.
But all the evidence pointed to him. Even I could not erase his guilt."
Soon after, the professors carried Colin Creevey away, while Harry and the others headed back to the Gryffindor common room.
On the way, Hermione saw that Harry still wasn't panicking at all—he looked composed, like he already had a plan. She couldn't hide her excitement. "Harry—you've got a way to deal with this, don't you?"
Harry nodded with a smile. "I have a few ideas. But there's an even greater chance we won't need to worry—because the professors will solve it themselves."
"I hope so…" Remembering how unreliable the professors had been last term, Hermione didn't sound particularly confident.
In her heart, Harry was the absolute best.
Back at Gryffindor Tower, Harry said goodbye to Hermione, then went with Ron toward their dorm.
But as Harry stepped through the doorway, he drew on the primal source of chaos magic and—through the concept of a "door"—once again completed a leap across unimaginably distant worlds.
If he could master Parseltongue and fully understand what the snake-voice was saying, the case would progress by leaps and bounds.
But right now, everything he knew about Parseltongue was just scattered fragments.
And Parseltongue, much like runes, seemed to carry a magical nature of its own.
That made it difficult for Harry to estimate how long it would take to fully analyze.
So he planned to return to the multiverse and use time stop to buy himself the time he needed.
As Harry grew stronger, the speed of his spatial transfer seemed to increase as well.
The clear world around him vanished in the blink of an eye, dissolving into simple lines.
Then even those lines blurred, until everything became a colorless void.
But the stillness didn't last long.
Colors rushed in, filling the emptiness at high speed.
Harry's vision flashed—
—and he was back in the multiverse.
And this time, he was about to raise his floating city.
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