Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“YOUR FAULT, YOUR PUNISHMENT!”

The cruel words of his father mere hours ago after the Battle of the Acropolis in Athens rang loud and harsh in Apollo’s mind. Miserable, the condemned god sat alone before the empty Olympus courtroom to await his trial. For once, he was not the one on the throne passing judgement but the powerless son about to be banished.

It wasn’t fair, he knew it. Apollo was being used as a scapegoat by Zeus, who wanted someone to blame for the war. Yes, he had encouraged and supported his legacy, Octavian, to achieve his goals, but Apollo had only thought Octavian to be a smart man who could do great things for the Romans. He had no idea Octavian would become so ruthless and imprudent and try to set the Roman and Greek demigods to war. Still, Apollo could understand how he was partly to blame for Octavian’s actions, even if he didn’t mean for this to happen.

However, solely blaming Apollo for the whole entire war was not fair at all. He wasn't the main problem or the one who caused Gaia to wake.

Then there was the fact that Zeus blamed Apollo for apparently “revealing the prophecy too soon”. But, as Apollo had attempted to tell his father over a dozen times, prophecies don't work like that. Apollo may be the God of Prophecy, but he can’t control them. He can’t just pick and choose when a prophecy is revealed and what it says. Prophecies are warnings of the inevitable future and should not be treated like they cause the future to happen. Whatever events a prophecy warns of will come when it comes, and there's no avoiding it. What Apollo does is supervise and watch over his oracles and the prophecies, making sure they are delivered and fulfilled. He's like the envoy of prophecies, but he doesn't create them. Apollo felt this reasoning to punish him was completely unfounded.

Zeus was being unfair, but he's the King of Gods. No one will argue against him, not for Apollo. Jason tried to defend Apollo, bless his half brother's golden heart, but it was a futile attempt. Zeus would have his way and Apollo would suffer for it.

Apollo desperately tried to think up ways to avoid his impending doomed fate. Either he gets cast down from Olympus and stripped of his divinity, or he can run away and hide until his father calms down. It'll still be self-exile, but it'll be on his own terms. Maybe Zeus will eventually forgive Apollo or his father will find someone else to blame instead. And for his duties, he knew that even without him riding the Sun Chariot, the other Sun Gods could raise and lower the sun just fine. For now, all Apollo knew was he had to run now.

Run to where, though? America was currently hosting the entirety of Olympus. He'll have to go overseas. Where's a place that's heavily protected and hidden at the same time? Suddenly, a brilliant idea came to his mind.

Hogwarts, in Magical Britain. Apollo remembers how abundant magic was centuries ago. Magic was a whole separate thing from the Greek gods, similar to another pantheon, even if the wizards and witches never did have clear gods they worshipped. But now, the magicals had to hide themselves, like how all gods were doing, in order to prevent chaos and war from happening. Unfortunately, due to not having much of the divine in their world, they lack mist but made up for it in the Statue of Secrecy.

It was the perfect hiding place. Zeus will never be able to find him there. Especially not at Hogwarts, one of the most protected places in all of the Magical World.

Mind made up, Apollo hastily rushed to make his way to Europe. Any second now, Zeus may return and Apollo had to be long gone by the time his father discovered he'd run away. Apollo felt a bit regretful for leaving without even telling Artemis or his children, but there was no time and the fewer people who know where he's gone, the better.

Chapter Text

Apollo arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron less than an hour later. Before going in, he made sure to summon himself some plain, black robes and shift into a young adult form no older than twenty two. First things first, he needed to secure himself a place in Hogwarts. Perhaps the school was in need of a new Professor. If not, Apollo was sure he could still find a way to apply as an assistant taking an apprenticeship with a professor.

After a quick check to make sure his British accent was flawless, Apollo entered the Leaky Cauldron.

Inside, the bar was dark and dimly lit with over a dozen wizards chattering and conversing with half empty drinks. Most spared him a quick glance before returning to their own business. Apollo headed straight for the bald, old bartender at the counter. Bartenders tend to always have useful knowledge from the many rumours and conversations they overhear.

“Good evening, sir. I’ll take one drink and the latest Daily Prophet issue,” Apollo greeted. The bartender nodded and swiftly filled up a glass of alcohol and snatched a paper from atop a nearby pile, passing both to Apollo.

“Good evening to you too, sir. I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before. What brings you here?” The bartender curiously asks as Apollo takes a sip from his drink.

“Indeed, I’m not from around here. I’ve come to see what opportunities I can find in this part of Britain, especially Hogwarts. I’ve heard the school’s got the best education around.”

“Why, of course! Hogwarts is the greatest magic school in all of Europe. If it's a job you're looking for, I’ve heard the DADA professor position is open. Perhaps it’ll interest you?”

“Oh, is that so? Maybe I’ll apply for the job,” Apollo was thrilled to hear that Hogwarts was indeed in need of a professor. If he can secure himself the job, Zeus won’t be able to do a thing. “Thank you, you’ve been most helpful. I must get going now,” Apollo stood up, leaving a galleon and two sickles on the counter.

“You're welcome. I’m Tom, by the way. And you are?” Tom asked as he collected the coins and the empty glass.

Apollo pondered what his name should be. He wasn’t going to use his real name; that would be far too obvious. Apollo took a look at the newspaper in his hands. In the corner, a list of items were being set on auction by a witch who found some old valuables in her attic. There was a golden locket amongst the many listed items with a description describing it to be a silver locket gilded with a thin layer of gold that hid a crystal heart inside. Gilded gold, like a fallen god pretending to be a normal wizard. A locked heart, like how Apollo was hiding himself and locking his identity away.

“My name … is Gilderoy Lockhart,” Apollo said, before leaving the Leaky Cauldron behind to enter Diagon Alley.

Chapter Text

It had been centuries since the last time Apollo visited Magical Britain, but Diagon Alley was as colorful as he remembered it to be. Stores showcased their latest product as shoppers passed by carrying their bought items. Children excitedly dragged parents along, as it was currently summer and the new school year would soon start.

Apollo made his way to the public owl post office to deliver an application letter to the Hogwarts headmaster. Once his letter was sent, he left to complete some more errands. First, he went to Ollivander’s to get a new wand. His last “wand” was actually an ancient staff personally built by the first Ollivander in 382 B.C.E. Apollo was fairly certain carrying around an over 2 millennia year old ancient staff in the modern era wasn’t a very good idea, especially since he needed to look like a normal wizard.

Apollo spotted Ollivander’s wand shop on the other side of the alley from the post office and made his way over. Inside, every wall was covered from floor to ceiling with rows of dusty boxes of wands. Behind the counter sat the master wandmaker himself.

“Welcome to Ollivander’s, sir! How can I help you?” Ollivander cheerfully asked as he scrutinized Apollo, as if he realized something was off with his new customer but not sure what.

“Hello, Mr. Ollivander. I’m in need of a new wand,” Apollo answered. Suddenly, every wand in the shop began shaking and vibrating. Ollivander gaped as dozens of boxes fell from their shelves, as if they all wanted to have the honor of becoming Apollo’s wand.

Suddenly, one particular wand somehow broke out of its box and flew straight into Apollo’s hand. Apollo stared at the wand in surprise. What in the world had just happened?

“Well, that was quite the unexpected reaction,” Ollivander finally said after getting over this initial shock. “It seems you are well liked by every wand here. Particularly this wand. Nice choice too, a beautiful 11 inch dragon heartstring core and cherry wood wand.”

“This wand is a versatile and tricky one. It has great potential and similar ones have been known to be used in both powerful, dark rituals yet also by the top of Saint Mungo's greatest healers. The dragon heartstring core is a picky yet loyal one and only chooses those with great potential. Cherry wood is known to be an adaptable material often used by those with a strong mind and will," Ollivander explained. 

Apollo just shrugged. If this wand wanted to be his, then why not. Apollo paid the seven galleons price and exited the shop.

Next up was Gringotts. If Apollo was going to be spending money here, it would be better to have an official vault under his new name then constantly have to suspiciously summon galleons out of nowhere or use his old vault.

The Gringotts bank was a huge, marble building easily standing out in its monochrome white amongst the colorful alley. Apollo approached the entrance, politely nodding to the goblins standing guard.

The doors opened and Apollo was standing in a long marble hall with hundreds of goblins and wizards conducting business and working behind long counters. Apollo turned to a nearby counter and walked towards a free goblin.

“Good evening, sir. I need to open vault seven and transfer some money to a new vault under a new name.” The goblin’s eyes widened when he heard the vault number.

“Vault seven? The vault of the Sun Lord? Yes, of course, my lord. I’ll just need a drop of blood for identity verification and the name you want to open a vault for,” The goblin said, deeply bowing before Apollo.

Apollo casted some notice-me-not charms so no one will notice what they’re doing before taking his index finger and making a small cut on the tip. The goblin bent beneath the counter to retrieve a verification paper and let the single drop of golden ichor fall onto the paper. The paper glowed before lighting up and dissolving. If the verification failed, the paper wouldn't have lit up. But since it was a success, it meant Apollo was who he said he was.

“I need to open a vault under the name Gilderoy Lockhart and set up birth certificates and identity records for this name. I also need one hundred billion galleons from vault seven transferred to the new vault” Apollo stated. The goblin gawked at the tremendous amount of money being transferred.

“Yes, right away, my lord,” The goblin obeyed, rushing to set up the paperwork.

Two hours later, Apollo finally left Gringotts late in the night. It had been a long day. Just this morning, he’d been fighting Gaea’s army of monsters and giants. Then he nearly got banished by his father and ran off to Britain all in the same day.

Apollo sighed. Hopefully by tomorrow, Dumbledore would have responded to his letter. Apollo wanted nothing more than to pass out in his luxurious bed in his Sun Palace atop Mount Olympus, but he’ll have to settle for a rented room in the Leaky Cauldron instead.

Chapter Text

Dumbledore sat at his desk, mulling over the letter he’d just received yesterday late at night. It was a letter from a wizard named Gilderoy Lockart who had applied for DADA professor. Dumbledore had a lot of trouble finding a professor for the subject, as the rumors of the position being “cursed”, which wasn’t even all that far off, caused many wizards to pass it over. Barely anyone had applied all summer and whoever did was untrustworthy or incompetent. With a lack of any better options, Dumbledore was willing to give Lockhart a chance. He’d sent the man a letter requesting he come for an interview at Hogwarts at 10am sharp.

However, there was just one problem. When Dumbledore had done a background check, he could barely find any records on the man. Lockhart didn’t go to Hogwarts, didn’t have any previous job here, didn’t have a recognizable name, didn't get a Hogwarts letter invitation, didn’t even seem to be born here.

This was strange and suspicious. Dumbledore made sure to list his background as a question to bring up with Lockhart during the interview.

Dumbledore checked the time, noticing it was nearing 10am. He left his office and walked down the stairs and hallways to the castle gates. There, he stood patiently and waited outside for a few minutes.

Suddenly, a bright flash engulfed the Hogwarts grounds. When the brightness died down, a young man who looked in his early twenties stood in its place. Lockhart had windswept, wavy blonde-gold hair long enough to just barely touch his shoulders. His eyes were a vibrant shade of electric blue and his skin was a perfect sun-kissed bronze tan. The man wore majestic midnight black robes accented with golden highlights. He held himself with confidence and radiated a presence of authority.

For a moment, when the sunlight caught Lockhart at just the right angle, he almost looked like a deity with an otherworldly golden glow illuminating his form from behind.

Dumbledore blinked, and Lockhart looked like a normal wizard again, who just happened to be much more handsome than average. Dumbledore decided it was probably a trick of the light.

“Good morning, sir. You must be Professor Dumbledore. I am Gilderoy Lockhart. I received your response for an interview at Hogwarts. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” Lockhart greeted, flashing a dazzling smile of perfect white teeth.

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Lockhart. No worries, I haven’t been waiting for longer than five minutes. Come along, we’re going to my office so we can go through the interview,” Dumbledore said as he led Lockhart through the castle gates.

The two of them traveled through the hallways, passed moving paintings and dozens of classrooms. Eventually, they reach a doorway blocked by two gargoyle statues. With a quick “lemon drops,” the stone gargoyles parted to allow the two to walk up the winding staircase. Finally, they arrived at the headmaster's office.

“Take a seat,” Dumbledore offered as he sat down at the seat of his desk. Lockhart sat down in one of the chairs and waited for Dumbledore to start asking the questions. Dumbledore noted how Lockhart seemed completely at ease in the presence of one of the strongest wizards in Europe.

“So, Mr. Lockhart, why have you chosen to apply to become the DADA professor?”

“I’ve heard Hogwarts has many opportunities open for wizards and witches looking for jobs. When I heard about how the DADA professor position was open, I figured I'd give it a go,” Lockhart casually answered.

“Very well. Forgive me, Mr. Lockhart, but for the students’ safety, I also had done a required background check on you. But I’ve found few records telling of your presence in Magical Europe. Why is that?” Dumbledore questioned.

“Well, Professor Dumbledore, that’d be because I’ve only recently moved here to Magical Europe. I am a homeschooled Muggeborn from America,” Lockhart smoothly replied.

An American foreigner? Dumbledore thought. This man had a flawless British accent, yet he only recently moved here. Perhaps he was an immigrant from Britain to America and had grown up with British parents?

“I see. Can you demonstrate your knowledge of Defense Against Dark Arts?” Dumbledore asked, moving on. Lockhart nodded, standing up and pulling out his wand.

“Cave inimicum!” Lockhart spoke. Instantly, a massive barrier encased around him, completely and perfectly hiding his presence from even Dumbledore. If Dumbledore didn’t know Lockhart was standing right there two seconds ago, he'd have thought no one was there at all.

The barrier disappeared and Lockhart reappeared again. He pointed his wand at the chair he had been sitting on and shouted “Reducto!” The chair was promptly blasted into smithereens. It was pulverized to the point it was no more than a small pile of dust.

“Reparo!” Lockhart commanded, and the chair was immediately repaired without a single flaw that told of it turning to dust mere moments ago. “Is that sufficient enough for you, Professor?” Lockhart bowed, before standing tall with confidence.

Dumbledore was impressed. Those were all high level spells flawlessly done one after the other instantaneously. Lockhart seemed to know his DADA spells well. Dumbledore could tell he’s found his new professor.

“Fantastic! You seem to be well qualified to become the new DADA professor. Congratulations, Mr. Lockhart, You're hired!” Dumbledore congratulated.

Lockhart smiled and thanked him. Dumbledore wasn’t sure if he saw a hint of relief in Lockhart’s expression.

“However, there is a problem I need to bring up with you, Professor Lockhart,” Dumbledore warned.

“Oh? What seems to be the problem?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard how the DADA professor position is “cursed”, and to be honest, it's not really a lie. Just last year, the previous professor, Quirinus Quirrell, got possessed by Voldemort,” Dumbledore began. He had to make sure Lockhart knew the risk it was to take this dangerous position. “I’m afraid Voldemort may also target you due to being the DADA professor.”

“Oh, is that so? Well no worries, Professor Dumbledore. Voldemort can try, but I guarantee you, he’d have to defy The Fates if he wants to kill me,” Lockhart valiantly declared in a serious tone as if this was final. Even though his proclamation was outrageous, Dumbledore could see Lockhart meant it. Something Lockhart had said also sounded strange but Dumbledore couldn't pinpoint what.

“It's reassuring to hear you're so confident, Professor Lockhart. Do be careful though, Voldemort can and will defy The Fa-” Dumbledore abruptly cut off his sentence, his mind finally figuring out what it was with Lockhart that made him so uncanny.

Lockhart was powerful enough to be fearless in the presence of the Chief Warlock and the warning of the Dark Lord himself targeting him. Dumbledore was sure it wasn't arrogance either as Lockhart had proven himself to be capable of powerful magic. In fact, Dumbledore suspected the man was holding himself back from how it looked like saying the incantation and actually using his wand was a second thought. Dumbledore was sure that he should've at least heard of Lockhart before if he was really this powerful to be equal to himself and Voldemort.

Lockhart’s background was also very odd. A homeschooled American Muggleborn? With a perfect British Accent? Even if he was homeschooled, Lockhart still should've received an Ivermorny invitation. Yet when Dumbledore had checked every magic school he knew, there was nothing.

But most suspicious of all, was the fact Lockhart mentioned The Fates.

Dumbledore still remembered when he had that one history class explaining the reasoning behind why spell incantations were in Latin. It was because before the British, there were the Romans, and before the Romans, there were the Greeks. The Greeks had heavily influenced the Romans who in turn, influenced the British. Magical Britain never really took up an official religion, but Dumbledore still knows of the ancient Beings the Greeks worshipped.

And one of them was The Fates. The three sister goddesses who weaved destiny and fate itself. Lockhart said, no, declared that Voldemort would have to defy The Fates, defy goddesses, defy death, defy destiny to kill him.

And Dumbledore just knew Lockhart wasn't joking.

Who is Gilderoy Lockhart? Is he really who he says he is? No, there was something missing. Something more to him. Something that will finally explain all the strangeness behind this young man. But what?

Dumbledore paced around his office, Lockhart staring at him in confusion. Dumbledore was close to the truth, he knew it. How could Lockhart be so confident in the face of the most powerful wizards in the world? How is it absolute that Voldemort would fail to kill him? Even Dumbledore himself could still die at Voldemort's hand. Heck, even Voldemort could still die if all his horcruxes are destroyed. After all, no matter how hard he tries, he's not immortal- Dumbledore stopped pacing.

Immortal. That's it. Could it be? Did Lockhart somehow find a way to become immortal? Like the Philosopher's Stone? No, the stone grants immunity to ageing, not dying. It can't be horcruxes either as Lockhart still looked perfectly healthy and still seemed to have his whole human soul intact.

Except … was Lockhart really human to begin with?

Dumbledore looked at Lockhart. Really looked at him. Lockhart looked like the embodiment of human perfection. His body was muscular and toned, even through his robes. His face was devilishly handsome and his luscious, blonde hair glittered in the sunlight.

His eyes were brilliant blue like a cloudless sky. And if Dumbledore looked close enough, he could swear fiery rings and flecks of luminescent molten gold swirled within his irises.

He looked so perfect, so otherworldly, so divine, so much … like a god.

A Greek god. That's it, isn't it? Voldemort can't kill Lockhart because he's an immortal god. A divine Being was literally standing in Dumbledore’s office right now.

“My lord, you're a Being, aren't you?” Dumbledore asked as he kneeled, bowing low before the god. Was this some sort of test? Was the god testing him to see if he would recognize divinity?

Lockhart stood still, seemingly surprised he'd been found out already. “Rise, Professor. I suppose I should've expected my cover wouldn't last long. Not when it comes to a wise wizard such as yourself, Albus Dumbledore,” Lockhart remarked.

“Why, my lord? I am confused. Why have you decided to take the form of a wizard applying to be a Hogwarts professor?” Dumbledore questioned as he stood back up.

“I am Apollo, the God of the Sun. There had recently been a war between the gods and giants back in America. I happen to be pinned with the brunt of the blame and have come to Hogwarts to stay out of my father's radar,” Lockhart, no, Apollo answered.

For a split second, Apollo’s black robes were replaced with a gold accented chiton. His shoes were replaced with Greek sandals, a laurel wreath crown atop his head, a glowing golden bow strung over his broad shoulders, a quiver featuring the sun motif and full of celestial bronze arrows, and a brilliant pair of shining golden wings. Apollo stood powerful, mighty, and regal like a prince basking within the sun’s rays like he owned it, and he really did.

The next second, the vision was gone, as if Apollo had never shown his true self. This time, Dumbledore knew it was not a trick of the light and everything he saw had been real.

“Lord Apollo, I am honored to be worthy within your presence. Hogwarts gladly welcomes you for as long as you need to stay. I am delighted to know the DADA classes will be well handled by a supreme Being such as yourself,” Dumbledore said, respectfully. “However, the concern still stands that Voldemort will attempt to target you for your position, jeopardizing your disguise. Especially since Harry Potter, who is another target of his, will be attending his second year DADA classes with you.”

“Harry Potter? That boy who's been plastered all over the Daily Prophet front page? This Voldemort fellow seems to be obsessed with him, if what I’ve read from the newspaper is telling the truth," Apollo crossed his arms in frustration, trying to think up a solution to this issue. “If that’s so, then I’ll have to put Mr. Potter under my personal protection until Voldemort is permanently vanquished,” Apollo now just needed a way to protect himself from Voldemort’s interference. Even if Voldemort can’t kill him, he’d rather Voldemort never realize he’s immortal. “Professor Dumbledore, by targeting me, do you mean Voldemort will attempt to possess or control me?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, exactly like what he had done to Quirrell. He will try to turn you to his side and then possess you in an attempt to turn you into his servant.”

“In that case, if Voldemort is looking for servants, then all I have to do is prove myself to be a useless servant he won’t even want or care about,” Apollo decided.

Dumbledore considered Apollo’s plan. In order for Voldemort to gain a servant, the target has to at least be good enough to pique his interest and be able to follow his orders. Voldemort can manipulate as much as he wants, but if his target is too incompetent to even recognize what he wants or successfully carry his orders out, they’d be useless to him. Voldemort wouldn’t put his time and energy into useless servants who can’t do anything he wants. Yes, this may just work. If Apollo can pull off an idiotic enough image of himself, Voldemort may just dismiss him as a lost cause.

“Brilliant! That might just work. Of course, Lord Apollo, you're still going to find a way to proficiently teach your students DADA even if you must put up a fake persona of incompetence?” Dumbledore asked, just to be sure.

“Yes, I certainly will not be letting some wannabe-immortal Dark Dunce keep me from adeptly teaching my students their lessons. Do not worry, Professor, I’ll find a way,” Apollo assured him.

“Fantastic. Now, I think this interview is just about over. All that’s left is to form a contract,” Dumbledore opened a drawer in his desk to retrieve the contract papers. He makes a contract with every professor in Hogwarts, and this includes undercover gods.

Dumbledore slid the paper onto the desk, wrote down their settled deal, and stepped back, pointing his wand at the paper. Apollo did the same, and began to recite the incantations.

“I, Lord Phoebus Apollon, God of the Sun, light, poetry, music, archery, healing, and prophecy, alias Gilderoy Lockhart, swear on the Styx to uphold my end of the deal in this contract with Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Let The Fates bear witness to seal this agreement,” Apollo then takes his wand and nicks a cut in his index finger again, allowing a single drop of golden ichor to drop onto the paper below. The ichor is absorbed into the paper, signing Apollo’s real name in golden blood in the bottom right corner. Thunder claps outside as the room fills with ancient magic, finalizing Apollo’s agreement to the contract.

“I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock, swear on my magic to uphold my end of the deal in this contract with Lord Phoebus Apollo. Let Hogwarts bear witness to seal this agreement,” Dumbledore then proceeded to cut his finger as well, letting just one drop of red blood to fall on the paper beneath. The blood is absorbed just as quickly as the ichor, signing Dumbledore’s name in red in the bottom left corner. Once again, thunder rumbles outside the castle and the ancient magic in the room intensifies, sealing Dumbledore’s word to the contract too.

Once both signatures were signed, the contract flashed a blinding bright, white light. As the light died down, Dumbledore could see the ancient magic pulsing through the now indestructible paper. The magic would prevent anyone not part of the contract from seeing its contents. The only beings in the world who knew of its contents were Apollo, The Fates, Hogwarts, and Dumbledore himself.

“Well, that’s it. This interview is officially complete. Thank you for coming, Lord Apollo. I take it you’ll be here for the start of the new school year in September?” Dumbledore asked, turning his attention from the contract to Apollo.

“Absolutely. Now, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ll see you in about two months, Professor Dumbledore,” With that, the room was engulfed in another bright flash. When Dumbledore opened his eyes, Apollo had gone.

“What a day. At least I no longer need to find a DADA professor,” Dumbledore sighed, returning to his stack of paperwork. He had a feeling this year was going to be just as troublesome as the last.

Chapter Text

By the time the interview was over, hours had passed and the sun was high in the sky. Apollo sat in his rented Leaky Cauldron room, already planning his next step. The most important task of getting himself a secured spot in Hogwarts was a success. But now, he had a whole other problem in his hands. How was he supposed to teach his students lessons while still keeping up a convincing ridiculous public image?

If Apollo wanted Voldemort from getting too interested in him, he needed to seem like a fool, someone so useless and stupid Voldemort wouldn't care about him at all. Apollo could perhaps act like a timid, clumsy, dunderhead, but he still needed to be sociable so he could watch over Harry and talk with other teachers without it seeming out of character. If he’s too shy, he won’t be able to talk much with anyone and setting up a social network would be much harder. Plus, Quirrell was a bashful and clumsy man, yet Voldemort still saw enough potential in him to turn him into a servant.

If Apollo can't go for a shy personality, then he’ll go for a brash one. He could go for a vain, incompetent, annoying, and shameless personality instead. With this personality, he can talk to anyone and start conversations without it seeming out of character. Social networks will still be difficult to set up, but he’ll at least be able to reach out more than if went for a shy act. Apollo could even be so exasperating that he might straight up be repulsive to Voldemort. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep this act up either, as Apollo was already good at being proud. He just had to dial it up to the max for this to work.

Now came the issue of professionally teaching his students while still keeping up this amateur persona. Apollo already knew the best he could allow himself to cast spells would be mediocre, bordering on poor, with a plentiful amount of mistakes here and there. If that's the case, books would be the best way for him to teach. But if he was going to teach with books, they had to be books that would make sense for the vain Lockhart to choose. Particularly, books he wrote himself.

Apollo conjured a stack of paper and a quill, writing as fast as the quill and paper could handle. He’ll write a series of twelve books and assign seven of them on the Hogwarts supply list. That should be enough to get across Lockhart’s glory-loving persona. The books will be autobiographies, or more accurately, memoirs full of some of his crazy adventures in his many myths that would sound outrageous to the average wizard. He’ll just need to slightly edit them and replace all his godly powers with magic instead. Apollo decided he’ll sell his books dirt cheap and put a 90% off sale on them too so everyone will easily be able to afford the whole required Hogwarts set for less than a galleon. Apollo is the God of Knowledge after all and wants to make sure knowledge is easily accessible to everyone.

The funny thing was, Apollo’s books weren’t actually lying. He was writing them to sound impossible, yet he really did do everything in his books, minus the magic parts. (One could make an argument that technically godly powers were a type of magic) In fact, Apollo actually toned it down so they could stay within the grade for the general audience. He was certain some of the things he and his family had done in Greek Mythology wouldn't exactly be very child friendly from the sheer amount of death, war, and torture they'd been involved in.

While the seven required books were still engaging storybooks, these books were also going to double as educational spell books. So Apollo made sure to write his self-inserted character learning Defense spells, fully describing each spell and then explaining the theory behind it in detail. Every book’s plot centered around his character learning, and therefore teaching the reader, how to fight different dark beasts and what spells would be most effective. He added a dictionary with every spell used in his story spanning dozens of pages in the very back of the book.

Apollo included a special spell he made himself written on the back of the front cover that students could use to highlight and navigate to the important sections of his book, making it easier to sift through the story for the specific spell they need. Really, his books were essentially just textbooks with a lot of extra plot centered around himself jammed in between information. Even then, all a student needed to do is recite a simple spell and the book would immediately clear up the unimportant parts.

Apollo spent the whole day and night writing all his books as fast as possible without accidentally burning the paper or breaking the quill from the sheer speed he was writing. He needed the papers intact so he could owl them to a publisher to get published, after all.

Chapter Text

Harry wandered through Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione, staring at the many fascinating stores along the way to Flourish and Blotts. Only about a week ago, after the mess with Dobby, Harry had thought he’d be trapped behind the bars of his room all the way until September when Ron, Fred, and George came to break him out and with a flying car.

The week within the Burrow had been his favorite all summer, and not even accidentally falling out of the Floo in Knockturn Alley could stump his good mood.

As the three friends got closer to the bookstore, it got harder to move without walking into someone. Harry finally realized why a massive crowd was blocking the doors when he looked up at the bright banners hung across every window.

Gilderoy Lockhart will be offering autographs for all twelve of his books: “Slaying the Serpent”, “Conquering the Cyclops”, “Marauding Monsters”, “Medical Magic”, “One Hundred and One Practical Uses for the Lumos Spell”, “Gilderoy Lockhart’s Guide to Poetry”, “Travels with Titans”, “Holidays with Heroes”, “Gadding with Giants”, “Wandering with Warriors”, “Singing with Satyrs” and “Chilling with Centaurs” today from 12:30pm to 4:30 pm. All books 90% off. Exclusive buy one set, get another for free only today.

Harry remembered how Ms. Weasley had one of Lockhart’s books in the Burrow. He also remembered his Hogwarts supply list, which had seven of Lockhart’s books on it. At least the books were currently on a huge sale so the Weasleys shouldn’t need to pay more than a galleon for every set they needed.

“He’s here! Gilderoy Lockhart himself is in the bookstore right now! Come on, let's go!” Hermione squealed as she grabbed both Harry and Ron by the arms and stuffed them all through the door.

Inside, a long line of shoppers and fans leading to a table by the back took up nearly half the room’s space. At the table sat Gilderoy Lockhart, cheerfully signing anything his fans brought to him, even things that weren’t his books. Harry, Ron and Hermione each grabbed a set of the seven required books and rejoined with the Weasleys and Grangers along the line.

As they got closer to the front, Harry could see the chaotic scene at the table more clearly. Lockhart had stylish, wavy blonde hair and bright eyes as blue as a sunny sky. He was wearing Forget-Me-Not robes the same shade of sky blue as his eyes and a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head. He was surrounded by posters of himself advertising his book sale and reporters with flashing cameras from all angles.

On the table were a bunch of quills, half of them broken and covered in splattered ink. Lockhart’s hands signed so fast they were a blur but came at the cost of a quill every dozen or so signatures. Lockhart looked relatively jaunty, but each time a quill snapped, he let out a slightly irked huff and snatched a nearby unbroken quill, continuing on like nothing happened.

In no time at all, Harry and his group reached the front of the line. Lockhart quickly turned to retrieve another quill and turned back, only to blink in surprise.

“Oh, are you Harry Potter? I’m so glad you’ve come to see me today! I’ve got an exclusive twenty-four-hour buy one, get one free deal! Would you like one, Harry? Can I call you Harry?” Lockhart said, rapid-fire speaking so quickly, half his words blurred together. Cameras zoomed in on the scene and began flashing even more than before.

Harry just dumbly nodded, struggling to grasp what Lockhart said and not go blind from all the bright lights. Lockhart flashed a broad smile of gleaming white teeth before diving under the table. He dragged out a set of books, signed the new set and Harry’s original set in the blink of an eye, and joyfully handed the whole stack to Harry. Harry staggered under the weight of so many books, and Lockhart immediately grabbed back half the stack, standing up.

“Careful there, Harry. I’ll help you carry them out,” Lockhart offered. He scooted out from behind the table and began making his way out from his cramped spot. “Excuse me, but I’ll need a moment to help this young man with his books. You can all admire my gorgeous posters instead in the meantime,” Lockhart announced to his restless crowd of fans.

The two of them struggled to make their way out of the bustling crowd. People pushed and shoved to get a closer look at Harry and Lockhart. Lights flashed from all over and at some point, a camera was shoved into Harry’s face.

“Some personal space would be appreciated!” Lockhart yelled above the excited crowd. Finally, people got the message and stood back to let the two pass unblocked. They made it all the way to an emptier corner of the room, where Lockhart dropped Harry’s books down.

“There you go! When you go to the checkout, you can ask the cashier to put a featherweight charm on your books to make them easier to carry,” Lockhart informed. “It’s nice to meet you, Harry. Now you can go and tell the world you’ve met the most fabulous person ever, me!” With that, Lockhart returned to his table without another word.

Harry just stood there for a good minute, staring blankly at the bookshelves. What just happened?

“Are you okay? You look a little stunned.” A voice to his side called. Harry jumped, turning around. Ginny was standing beside him with her new cauldron. Her cheeks were tinted a slight pink as she looked at him in concern.

“I’m fine. Here,” Harry said as he dropped one set of his books into her cauldron. “You can have these. I’ve got more than enough.”

“Harry!” Hermione called as she and Ron struggled over, each carrying their own stack of fourteen books. “I can’t believe it! Lockhart’s even more amazing in person!” Hermione excitedly gushed.

“Ugh, why do you even fancy him? He’s so excessive! I don’t believe a single word in any of those books is true,” Ron grumbled.

Hermione was about to retort when a familiar snarky voice announced his presence from behind.

“Why, if it isn’t famous Harry Potter,” Draco Malfoy in all his pratty glory sneered.

Harry inwardly sighed as Ron and Draco began trading insults with each other. Eventually, Mr. Weasley came to retrieve Ron when Lucius Malfoy showed up.

“Well, Arthur Weasley, can’t say it’s a pleasure seeing you here,” Mr. Malfoy sneered, standing beside Draco with a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Lucius,” Mr. Weasley greeted coldly.

“How’s your shopping been, Weasley? Finding anything cheap and dirty enough that your pitiful salary could afford?” Mr. Malfoy taunted. He kicked Ginny’s cauldron over and pulled out an old, battered copy of "Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration" from the pile of Lockhart’s glossy books scattered on the floor. Mr. Weasley’s enraged face turned a dark red.

“Dear me, I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a disgrace of a wizard, especially when you keep the company of Mudbloods around,” Lucius jeered, his pale eyes straying to the Grangers who were watching apprehensively.

Mr. Weasley snapped. He whipped out his wand and pointed it at Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy pulled out his own wand and pointed back. But before any spells could be fired, a voice boomed from the back of the store.

“What the Hades is going on over here?” Lockhart demanded, wading through his sea of fans as he made his way over. Arriving at the scene, he stared at Mr. Wealsey’s and Mr. Malfoy’s aggressively pointed wands and the books spilling from the knocked over cauldron.

Lockhart dramatically sighed. “Gentlemen, please put the wands away. I know you both so very badly want my amazing books, but no need to fight over them. I have plenty to go around for everyone. I’ll even sign them for you.” Lockhart offered as he walked towards Mr. Malfoy.

Mr. Malfoy made a disgruntled face. “We are not fighting over your useless boo-”. Mr. Malfoy didn’t get to finish when Lockhart signed Ginny’s "Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration" book still in his hand.

“There you go! Enjoy your custom signed Transfiguration book!” Lockhart gleefully said. Mr. Malfoy looked scandalized. Fred and George snickered at his face and even Ron couldn’t hide a smirk.

“This book is not mi-”

“Now, now, I know it’s not the newest looking book but it's nothing to be ashamed of. It just means the book has been well used.”

Mr. Malfoy opened his mouth to voice his irritation when Lockhart shoved a huge stack of books into his arms. Mr. Malfoy stumbled as he tried to balance the stack. Draco panicked, trying to help stabilize the wobbling books. Harry nearly laughed.

“Here! A full collection of all my works! A special gift from me to a fan, free of charge!” The loud cheering and clapping of the crowd watching drowned out whatever furious retort Mr. Malfoy had tried to yell.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lockhart said loudly, turning to his fans. “What an extraordinary moment this is! When Mr. Malfoy and his son came to buy my autobiographies, they had no idea that they would shortly be getting much more than just my books. Young Malfoy and his school fellows will, in fact, be getting taught by yours truly personally. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!” Cheers erupted from the crowd again as Lockhart bowed to his audience.

Mr. Malfoy eventually gave up and just dropped all the books in his arms on the floor, grabbing Draco’s arm and stalking out of the store in fury. Lockhart looked smug as he watched them walk away. Fred and George were clutching their stomachs, laughing loudly at the stunned expression on Draco’s face as he stumbled along with his father. Ron was clearly trying to hold back from laughing as loudly as the twins. Harry was having no better luck. Hermione had stars in her eyes as she stared at Lockhart in admiration. Mr. Weasley was smiling broadly at the victory against the Malfoys.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockhart. That could have ended badly if you didn’t intervene,” Mr. Weasley gratefully thanked Lockhart.

“It’s no problem at all, not when my fantastic self was here to deescalate the situation,” Lockhart bent down to collect all the books that Mr. Malfoy had dropped. He picked up Ginny’s cauldron and dropped the books into it, which was now overflowing with all the new books. “Here, you can have my marvelous books instead, free of charge.” Mr. Weasley thanked him again and Lockhart nodded, heading back to his table. The crowd followed him, reforming into a single file line.

Mr. Weasley sighed, especially when he saw his wife stomping over with an enraged face. “Come on, boys. Let's go.”

Chapter Text

Harry huffed as he stared at his timetables next to Ron and Hermione on the Gryffindor table for Breakfast in the Great Hall. Yesterday had been a mess. Summer had ended and it was finally time to board the Hogwarts Express for their second year, but for some reason, Harry and Ron couldn’t get through platform nine and three-fourths. Panicking, they resorted to taking Mr. Weasley’s flying car to Hogwarts instead. That had proven to be a scatterbrained idea, especially when they crashed into the Whomping Willow which proceeded to destroy the car, snap Ron’s wand and nearly crush them alive too. They both got detention for pulling off the stunt and then they got chewed out from a howler Ms. Weasley had sent.

Harry tried his best to remain optimistic for his second year, even if it had begun with a shaky start. He groaned when he read he had double DADA with the Slytherins this afternoon, but for now, he had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs first period.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossing over the greenhouse gardens. They arrived at the greenhouses, where the rest of the class had gathered while waiting for Professor Sprout. Less than a minute later, she came into view striding from across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart, whose arms were full of bandages and other medical equipment. With a twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow far in the distance, several of its broken branches now wrapped in slings and bandages.

Professor Sprout was a squat, short little witch who covered her flyaway hair with a patched hat. She was usually covered in a large amount of Earth and dirt from gardening. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was flashy and immaculate in sweeping robes of neon turquoise, his golden hair shining with a pair of silver designer shades resting on top of his head.

“Good morning, everyone! It is I, the remarkable Professor Lockhart!” Lockhart greeted, beaming around at the assembled students in red and yellow ties. “I’ve just been working with Professor Sprout on doctoring the Whomping Willow. I happen to have quite a bit of medical experience from the plethora of exotic plants and injuries I’ve encountered during my travels,” Lockhart recounted, eyes glazing with a faraway look like he was remembering a particularly nasty injury he’d seen.

“Greenhouse Three, boys and girls!” ordered Professor Sprout, who had a strange mixture of annoyed yet begrudged tolerance expressed on her face.

The students all rounded up and excitedly whispered about finally working in a different greenhouse than Greenhouse One. Professor Sprout took out an old key from her pocket and unlocked the door. Harry smelled an earthy whiff of damp dirt and fertilizer coming from inside the greenhouse. He was about to go in with Ron and Hermione when Lockhart stepped in front of them.

“Hold on, kids. Oh, you can go ahead, miss. I only need these two,” Lockhart said, shuffling aside so Hermione can walk past. She gave Lockhart a starry-eyed gaze and Harry and Ron a curious look before going through the door. “I’d like to have a quick word with you two. Can we have a couple minutes, Professor Sprout?” Lockhart asked her.

Professor Sprout gave him an aloof look, but still gave him her permission, stepping through the greenhouse door.

“It’s great to see you again, Harry. And what’s your name?” Lockhart asked, turning to Ron.

“Ron Weasley,” Ron curtly answered, glaring at Lockhart.

If Lockhart noticed him glaring, he didn’t respond to it. “Boys,” Lockhart said, shaking his head, gold strands glittering in the sunlight. “Boys, boys, boys.”

Harry remained nonplussed, not saying a word. Ron looked more impatient each passing second.

“Why, oh why did you think that was a good idea? I mean, of all the careless ways you could’ve gone about it, just why?”

Harry and Ron had no clue what Lockhart was talking about. Harry was about to voice this thought when Lockhart continued. “Don’t know what you two were thinking. Flying a car to Hogwarts! It’s like you two were trying to put yourselves into danger! Don’t you know, boys? By the gods, flying cars are not to be taken on detours! Especially without an experienced driver at least nearby!” Lockhart was now full on ranting, giving both boys an intense look. They stared at him in shock from his outburst.

“I mean, I could understand if you wanted to attain glory, like any youngster would, but for Fate’s sake, don’t do it by flying in a car! You could've very much died! In fact, you did very much almost die! I don’t know how much luck Tyche gave you, but somehow you both survived crashing the car and the Whomping Willow mostly unharmed. If things went just a little more wrong, the lasting consequences wouldn't have been so light! Believe me, I know. I’ve seen it happen first hand. It's dangerous, it’s deadly, you could crash, and whatever you do, Do. Not. Lose. Control. Of. The. Car.” Lockhart heaved, punctuating the last seven words individually. He wasn’t at all his cheery self and had a serious look on his face.

“That was all, boys. Just keep this conversation in mind and leave flying cars to the professionals, like me, next time you decide to try pulling off another stunt like that,” Apollo cheerfully said, his tone switching from serious to upbeat so quickly, it gave both Harry and Ron whiplash.

Lockhart gave them both a hearty wink before striding off. Harry and Ron stood stunned for a few seconds before they remembered they were supposed to be with the rest of the class in the greenhouse. Shaking off the strange encounter with Lockhart, they opened the door and slipped inside. Harry wasn’t sure what all that was about, but it didn’t matter right now.

Chapter Text

Herbology went by as usual. Professor Sprout showed them how to plant a mandrake while protecting their ears with earmuffs. She instructed them to organize into four groups a tray of pots.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined by a Hufflepuff boy with curly hair who Harry had seen before, but never spoken with.

“I’m Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he introduced himself brightly, shaking each of their hands. “I know who you three are, of course: Harry Potter, famed Boy-Who-Lived; Hermione Granger, the main earner of half of Gryffindor’s points; and Ron Weasley, wasn’t that your family’s flying car?”

Ron stiffly nodded, not smiling. He obviously didn’t like being known for the flying car incident, especially after his mother’s howler and Lockhart’s chideing.

“That Lockhart’s something, isn’t he?” said Justin excitedly, as they began to fill their garden pots with dragon-dung compost. “He’s an awfully brave man. Have you read his book, “Slaying the Serpent”? I’d have ran in terror if I had to fight a giant serpent in a cave, but he kept his cool and -bam- just incredible!” After that, they didn’t talk much, not with the earmuffs on.

Harry spent the class trying to pot squirming and kicking mandrakes who refused to cooperate. By the end, the whole class was covered in sweat and dirt. After a quick wash and an exhausting Transfiguration class of trying and failing to turn a beetle into a button, Harry was relieved to hear the bell signal their lunch break.

Harry groaned when Hermione told them they had DADA with Lockhart after lunch while Ron questioned if she actually had a crush on Lockhart from all the little hearts she outlined his lessons in.

They finished their lunch in the Great Hall and were relaxing in the courtyard outside when a first year Gryffindor, Colin Creevey, appeared in front of Harry and began begging for a signed photo.

“What’s this I hear about you giving out signed photos, Potter?” Draco’s scathing voice loudly announced in the courtyard. He had come up behind Colin, catching the attention of every student nearby.

“Everyone, gather up!” Draco roared to the curious crowd forming around them. “Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!”

“No, I’m not,” Harry said furiously, his fists clenching at his sides. “Leave me alone, Malfoy.”

“Is the mighty Potter too good to sign a measly piece of paper?” Draco taunted. “You and your broke weasel too arrogant, yet dunderheaded enough to crash into the Whomping Willow?” The Slytherins in the crowd snickered. Harry and Ron flushed an angry red.

“Eat slugs, Malfoy,” Ron snarled. Harry’s fingernails began biting into his palms to keep calm. Hermione desperately tugged on Ron’s robes to keep him from hexing Draco then and there.

“Careful there, Weasley,” sneered Draco. “You don’t want your Mummy to come take you out of Hogwarts for misconduct again, do you?” He attempted to mimic Ms. Weasley and put on a shrill, high-pitched voice. “If you put just one toe out of line–”. A group of fifth-year Slytherins laughed loudly at this. Ron’s furious face turned thunderous at the comment of his mother.

“Oh, we’re talking about parents now, huh, Malfoy? I bet you couldn't survive an attack from the Whomping Willow if your life depended on it! Good luck calling your precious Daddy for help then, Malfoy!” Ron venomously spat.

Draco’s smirk turned into an enraged scowl. The laughing Slytherins were stunned silent at Ron’s brutal comeback. The Gryffindors stood gaping with brilliant smiles at Ron, Harry and Hermione included.

“How DARE you-”. Whatever Draco was about to say next was interrupted by a certain voice that had Draco paleing in dismay and Harry conflicted between groaning and cheering.

“What in Tartarus is happening over here?” Lockhart demanded, striding towards them, turquoise robes swirling elegantly behind. “Who’s having a yelling match in the middle of the courtyard?”

The Gryfindors pointed at Draco while the Slytherins pointed at Ron. The students all began yelling their opinions, voices overlapping into an incomprehensible mess.

“It was him, professor! He started it!”

“Yeah, he wanted a signed photo from-”

“No, it was that Gryffindor! He was giving out signed photos-”

“Hey! It wasn’t Harry’s fault! That slimy Slytherin-”

“He insulted my father!”

“He insulted my mother!”

“It’s those two! They were arguing about-”

“I’ll have you know-”

“QUIET!” Lockhart boomed above the chaotic courtyard, shocking everyone into silence. Lockhart took a deep breath and exhaled in exasperation.

“Okay, okay. Let me get this straight. You two,” Lockhart pointed at Ron and Draco. “Were screaming at each other to the point I could hear you all the way across the courtyard because this young man,” He angled his hand to Colin Creevey, who was cowering behind the fourth-year Gryffindors during the spat. “Wanted a signed photo from Mr. Potter here?”

Everyone hesitantly nodded, even Draco and the Slytherins. Lockhart sighed.

“Alright, look. Because I’m so wonderful,” Lockhart flashed a radiant smile of pearly white teeth which had the witches in the crowd giggling, “I won’t be giving anyone detention for nearly starting a fight in the middle of the day.” Ron and Draco let out identical relieved breaths, then immediately glared at each other for doing the same thing.

“Got that? No more fighting and no more yelling. Now shoo, there's nothing interesting here anymore. Well, except for me, of course. But you can admire me later in class. Off you go, move along now.” Lockhart said, shooing the crowd away. The crowd slowly dispersed and returned to their original positions before the fight. Draco sulked as he disappeared into the group of Slytherins.

Once the crowd had finally broken up, Lockhart turned to Harry and the still-hiding Colin Creevy.

“Hello there, what’s your name?” Lockhart asked, holding out a hand to Colin.

“C-Colin Creevey, sir,” Colin stutters out, clutching his camera to his chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.” He hesitantly took Lockhart’s hand.

“It’s fine. You just wanted a photo and an autograph. Nothing wrong about that. I could give you one too if you wanted,” Lockhart offered. Colin nodded, smiling a little. Lockhart then turned to Harry who was trying to melt into the floor in humiliation.

“We meet again, Harry. Although, not in the most favorable situation. No matter. Do you want to take a photo with Mr. Creevey and sign it?”

Harry just mumbled a quiet “sure”, hoping to just get this over with. Maybe after signing the photo, Colin will leave him alone.

“Fantastic!” Lockhart cheerfully said, grabbing Colin’s camera. He nudged Colin to stand beside Harry and stepped back, holding up the camera.

“Harry, step a little to the left, back a bit, now to the right. Mr. Creevey, forwards half a step, no, go a step back, and stand up straight. Yes! Just like that, perfect!” Lockhart snapped the photo, and handed it to Harry to sign. Then Lockhart pulled Colin towards him, raised the camera, struck a pose and a blinding smile, and snapped another photo. He signed the photo and handed it to Colin just as Harry finished signing and handed his photo over too.

Colin had an overjoyed smile on his face as he admired both photos in his hands. “Thank you, Harry, Professor Lockhart!” He jumped up and down in excitement before running off to show the rest of the first-years. Just as he ran off, the bell signaling afternoon classes rang.

“Well, that's done with. Hey, I’ve got you for next class, haven't I? Go on now, Harry. I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Lockhart says, smiling brightly, before turning and walking off.

Harry stood still for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about Lockhart yet, and decided he didn’t have the time to figure it out. Harry turned and walked towards Ron and Hermione who had been waiting for him to finish up. With only a few minutes left, the three of them reentered the castle and rushed to make it to DADA in time.

Chapter Text

Harry, Ron and Hermione made it to Lockhart’s classroom with a few minutes to spare. Harry took a seat in the far back and Hermione and Ron sat down on either side of him. The rest of the class came clambering in not long later. 

When everyone had settled down, Lockhart loudly cleared his throat and silence fell. He reached down and picked up Neville Longbottom’s copy of “Conquering Cyclops” and held it up to show his own portrait battling a one-eyed monster on the cover. 

“Good afternoon, class. My name is Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. This,” He pointed to the portrait of himself on the book cover. “‘Is me. Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award. By the end of this year, you’ll all be able to defend against a Cyclops yourself. Maybe you won’t even need to fight them if you could come to see eye to eye!” 

Lockhart waited for them to laugh at the terrible pun; a few people smiled weakly.

“I think we’ll start today with a quick reading then a short quiz to see what you all know so far. Everyone, open up “Chilling with Centaurs” and look at the back of the front cover. There should be instructions for a spell there. Use that spell to reorganize the book then read chapter one. You have ten minutes starting now!” 

Harry pulled out the book and looked at the back of the front cover like Lockhart said. There were instructions for a spell that Harry hadn’t noticed before. The Reorganizing spell “ cribra ” meant for highlighting the important parts of a book. Harry easily learned the spell in just two tries and the pages of “Chilling with Centaurs” lit up with a slight glow before dimming down. When Harry looked at the pages again, every page was full of only the instances the character used spells. Harry quickly rushed to complete the chapter. Without all the extra story, it was only a few pages long. 

“Time's up! Close your books. I’ll be handing out the quizzes now. These won’t be graded so don’t panic if you didn’t finish reading.” Lockhart passed out the test papers and returned to the front desk. “You have fifteen minutes. Begin!” 

Harry looked at the paper in his hands and scrambled to answer each one. It wasn’t going to be graded, but he still wanted to be able to hand in something completed. Before he knew it, time was up and Lockhart had gathered up all the quizzes at the front. He took a quick look at each one with a troubled look before putting the stack of papers down. 

“Well, we have a lot of catching up to do. Barely anyone in this class got a good score, which should have been easy as chapter one only had first year spells and this quiz was just first year review questions.” 

“Alright, everyone stand up,” Lockhart commanded. The students rushed to stumble out from their seats. “This won’t do at all. At your age, I’d have already been practising subduing dragons,” He bragged, puffing out his chest and pulling down his designer shades. “All it took was just a couple well aimed spells and just like that, the dragon was out. I’ll be showing you all how to do that spell, the Freezing Charm.” 

Lockhart pulled out his wand and waited for everyone else to copy him. “Repeat after me. Immobulus!” The class repeated it over and over for a while until Lockhart was satisfied with their pronunciations. 

“Perfect, just like that. Master the Freezing Charm, and you can catch dragons just as easily as I can!” Lockhart proudly said. He stood still in deep thought for a moment before lighting up with something to say. 

“Work hard and learn spells, 

Beat dragons with elegance,

I am so awesome,” 

The whole class was silent in befuddled confusion. Lockhart waited for any reaction at all. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d just heard. Was that some sort of poem? 

“Erm, Professor Lockhart? Is that supposed to be a Japanese haiku poem?” Hermione finally asked. 

“Yes, wasn’t it incredible?” Lockhart asked, clearly pleased with himself. 

“Uh, of course, Professor. It was … unique," Hermione complemented with a strained smile. At least Lockhart didn’t blind Hermione from having a decent taste in poetry, Harry thought. 

Lockhart joyfully thanked her before moving on and bending down to pull up a large cage covered with a cloth beneath the desk. “Luckily, I happened to have prepared a very special lesson today. I caught these wild ones in the forest just this morning. Careful now, try not to scream or else it might provoke them,” Lockhart warned. 

As the whole class tensed and held their breath, Lockhart extravagantly flung off the cloth. “Behold, freshly caught Cornish pixies!” Lockhart dramatically declared like he was presenting a ferocious Cerberus to the class. 

Seamus Finnigan couldn’t control himself as he let out a snort of laughter. “But Professor, well, pixies aren’t so dangerous, are they?’ Seamus asked. 

“Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling an annoying finger at Seamus. “If you’re not careful and don’t assert your immediate dominance like I did, these seemingly harmless pixies can turn into devilish, tricky little blighters at the blink of an eye.” 

The pixies were bright blue and about eight inches tall, with pointed noses and voices so shrill it sounded like a whistle. The moment the cloth covering the cage had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around inside. 

Lockhart mumbled a spell with his wand, forming a blue barrier around the classroom. “Now, remember the Freezing Charm, don’t let yourself panic or the pixies will sense your weakness, and try not to scream. Good luck!” With no other warning, Lockhart opened the cage. 

It was immediately pandemonium. The pixies flew off and shot in every direction like little rockets. They proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging elephant. They snatched ink bottles and sprayed the walls with them, shredded books and papers, flipped chairs over, and upended the waste bin. Some tried to break through the window but the blue barrier prevented them from leaving. Within minutes, half the class were sheltering and screaming under desks and only a few students remembered the Freezing Charm. A couple quick-witted Slytherins crouched in the corners and were freezing any pixies that came near while the golden trio bunched up together and froze pixies left and right. 

“Come on now, round them up, they're only pixies! For Fate’s sake, remember your Freezing Charms!” Lockhart shouted. 

Lockhart sighed at the chaotic scene before brandishing his wand and bellowing, “ Immobulus !” Instantly, every pixie in the room froze and fell to the ground. He repaired the classroom back to its original form with a quick “ Reparo” and with an “ Accio pixies ”, he gathered them all back up and stuffed them into the cage, covering them again and canceling the charm and the blue barrier. 

Lockhart turned to the few Slytherins who had used their wands and the golden trio. “Ten points to Slytherin for successfully using the Freezing Charm,” He told the Slytherins. “Ten points to Gryffindor for also being the only few to use your wands,” He told Harry, Ron, and Hermione. 

Lockhart turned to the rest of the class and gave everyone a disappointed look. “Harmless, eh? Not so harmless now. What happened to the Freezing Charm we practiced? There won’t be any desk to hide under if it were a real threat like an Acromantula.” The students all looked at the floor or walls in shame. 

“For homework, I want all of you to be finished with chapters one through five of “Chilling with Centaurs” by next class. We will be having another short quiz on the Freezing Charm and the chapters next time will be graded,” Lockhart said just as the dismissal bell rang. “Class dismissed. Go on now, and don’t forget to study!” 

The Slytherins and Gryffindors packed up their belongings and rushed out the door for their next class. Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the room and made their way down the hallway. 

“Ugh, remind me never to piss off pixies. They’re horrid!” Ron complained as they walked. 

“At least Professor Lockhart was there to stop them,” Hermione responded. “I think it was a pretty informative class.”

“Of course you do; you have a crush on him. Sure, he’s not as bad as I thought, but did you even hear that haiku-poem-thing he said? I cringed just listening to it!” Ron retorted. 

“I don't have a crush on him! And the haiku wasn't so bad. It just needed a little work.” Hermione excused. 

“I just hope he doesn't turn out like Quirrell and tries to kill us or something,” Harry commented, hoping that they might at least get a somewhat decent DADA professor this year. 

“Rubbish, you’ve seen his books! He’s a hero, he’d never turn out like Quirrell. Just look at all the amazing things he’s done,” Hermione said, clutching her “Chilling with Centaurs” book. 

“He says he’s done,” Ron muttered. 

Chapter Text

Harry and Hermione supported Ron’s belching and retching body to Hagrid’s hut as fast as possible. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had just been about to practice on the Quidditch pitch fields when the Slytherin Quidditch team came and claimed it was their turn first. The situation quickly turned into a fight when Draco Malfoy, the newly appointed Slytherin Seeker, had insulted Hermione by calling her the horrible slur, “Mudblood”.

Ron rushed to Hermione's defense and had tried to hex Draco with a slug regurgitating spell, but his broken wand backfired and shot the spell from the wrong end of the stick, hitting Ron instead. Now, Harry and Hermione were trying to carry Ron to the gamekeeper's cabin so Ron could rest up and stop vomiting slugs.

“We're nearly there, Ron,” Hermione reassured him, as Hagrid's house by the edge of the Forbidden Forest came into view. “You’ll be fine in a moment … just hold on …”

They were within a dozen feet of Hagrid's hut when the front door whipped open, but it wasn’t Hagrid who opened the door. Gilderoy Lockhart, wearing robes of silver trimmed bright mauve today, came striding out.

“It shouldn’t be too hard once you know what you’re doing!” Lockhart was saying to Hagrid as he left the hut. “My book, “Marauding Monsters”, has more information if you want to read more on it. If you need any more help, you can find me in the DADA classroom in the castle. I’ll be there-”. Lockhart cut himself off as he spotted Harry, Ron, and Hermione approaching just a few feet away.

“Oh? Harry, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger was it? What brings you here?” Lockhart asked. Hermione blushed red when she realized Lockhart remembered her from class. Ron miserably grumbled as he spat another slug out of his mouth. Harry was about to ask for help bringing Ron inside the cabin when Lockhart went on. “Holy Hera, what happened to you, Mr. Weasley? Come on inside, I’m sure Hagrid and I can help you.”

Lockhart swiftly lifted Ron over his shoulder and reopened the door he’d just left with Harry and Hermione close behind. The cabin was just one room, which had a huge bed in the back corner and a warm fire crackling merrily in the fireplace by the other corner. “Hagrid! Sorry to be back so soon, but it seems we have a bit of a problem on our hands concerning Mr. Weasley here,” Lockhart announced to Hagrid, gently lowering Ron onto a chair.

“It’s fine, Professor,” Hagrid replied in a wary tone. Then he saw who it was Lockhart had brought in with him and his expression brightened. “I’ve bin wonderin’ when you three would come ter see me. How’ve you been, ‘arry, Ron, ‘Mione?”

Neither Lockhart nor Hagrid seemed too perturbed when Harry explained what happened to Ron at the Quidditch pitch and his backfiring spell forcing him to vomit slugs.

“Be’er they come out than stay in,” Hagrid said cheerfully, plonking a large metal bucket in front of Ron. “Get ’em all outta there, Ron.”

“I don’t think there’s anything else we can do except wait for the slugs to stop,” Hermione said anxiously, watching Ron bend over the bucket and wretch his lungs out. “That’s a tough curse to work with even at the best of times, but since it backfired with a broken wand …”.

“No worries,” Lockhart reassured her. “I’ve got a medical degree that I’m sure I can put to use to fix up something to help Mr. Weasley. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back,” Lockhart said as he quickly left the hut. Hermione’s eyes shined as she excitedly waited for him to return. Ron grumbled about doubting he actually had a medical degree in between hurling slugs. He thought it was suspicious how Lockhart seemed to have everything the moment it's needed. Harry honestly didn't care and just wanted Lockhart to hurry up. Perhaps he was heading to Madam Promfrey's to retrieve a potion for Ron.

The moment Lockhart was gone, Hagrid was already bustling around the room, making his guests some homemade tea. His boarhound, Fang, was slobbering all over Harry’s robes.

“What was Lockhart doing here with you, Hagrid?” Harry curiously asked, scratching behind Fang’s ears.

“Givin’ me advice on carin’ fer hellhounds,” grumbled Hagrid, retrieving his teapot from the top cabinet and setting it down on the stove. “I’ll admit, he did seem ter know a lot about ‘em. Even knew ‘bout how music makes ‘em fall ‘sleep. But then he went bangin’ on about how he ‘pparently found n’ raised a baby centaur. I don’t really believe it. Centaurs don’t like mixin’ with wizards at all. It just makes no sense how Lockhart could o’ managed that n’ not gotten himself chased down by an angry clan o’ centaurs. If this ta’ tale is somehow true, I'll eat my kettle.”

Harry looked at Hagrid in surprise. It was very unusual for Hagrid to criticise a Hogwarts teacher, he even defended Snape last year. Hermione, however, said in a voice slightly higher than usual, “I think you’re being a bit unfair. Professor Dumbledore hired him so he must've thought Professor Lockhart was the best man for the job.”

“Ye’, but the options weren’t so great ter begin with,” countered Hagrid, offering them a full plate of fresh treacle toffee, while Ron coughed and heaved into his basin. “Gettin’ very rare ter find anyone good fer the Dark Arts job now’days. People aren’t too keen ter apply fer it since no one’s lasted o’er a year for a while now. They’re startin’ ter think it’s cursed.”

Before anymore could be said, the door slammed open as Lockhart hastily scrambled into the room clutching a glass tube with a strange, glowing golden liquid swirling inside. He proudly held it up for everyone in the room to see.

“I did it! Made a new potion on the spot! It should help cure Mr. Weasley of his slug problem,” Lockhart proclaimed, breathing heavily from his run. Harry was sceptical. Madam Pomfrey’s hospital wing was all the way across the Hogwarts campus deep in the South Wing tower. How in the world did Lockhart manage to get himself all the way there and back without apparating within just a few minutes?

Lockhart must’ve actually made that potion himself. It was obvious too, as Harry had never seen a glowing gold potion in Madam Pmfrey’s hospital wing before. Lockhart rushed to Ron’s side by the bucket and held up the potion for him to see.

“Here, Mr. Weasley. Drink this and it should cure you of any more slugs,” Lockhart said, offering the golden liquid to Ron. Ron eyed the strange potion warily, but eventually relented and snatched the tube. He popped it open and gulped it all down in one swallow. Instantly, a gasp escaped Ron’s mouth as he began spewing out his biggest vomit of gold covered slugs yet. A tense minute and half a bucket full of golden sludge and slugs later, Ron had completely stopped coughing. Ron took in a surprised inhale before standing up and prodding his stomach for any more aches.

“Yes! Finally! That was horrible! I thought the slugs would never end!” Ron cheered as he jumped and reveled in his freedom to breathe without retching again. Hagrid, Hermione, and Harry all got up to check on Ron themselves. Ron truly did look cured, no trace of the slugs except for this filth covered robes and half full bucket telling of his temporary sickness.

“Thank you, Professor!” Hermione beamed, turning around to Lockhart.

“Yeah, Professor. Thank you for helping Ron,” Harry thanked him too. Lockhart may be strange, but he did seem to at least be helpful.

“I’ll say, I didn’t know ya could actually do potions n’ had a medical degree,” Hagrid acknowledged in surprise.

“Yeah, thanks,” Ron murmured, embarrassed he’d just gotten cured by the guy he’d been glaring at since day one.

Strangely, Lockhart didn’t react to the praise right away like he would’ve and instead had this unnerving, slightly glazed look in his eyes. He looked worn down and out of breath, sweating buckets and glowing a very faint golden aura that Harry swore wasn’t there before. But once Lockhart was addressed he straightened up, puffed out his chest, and just like that all the strangeness was gone like nothing was ever wrong.

“You're welcome! Just know to call on my brilliant self if you ever need any help! However, I must get going now. Well, goodbye!” Lockhart rapidly said, before nearly outright sprinting out, flinging the door out of the way as he fled toward the castle and turned a corner, disappearing out of their sight.

Harry blinked. What was that about? Harry wondered. He’d never seen Lockhart in so much of a rush before. Harry just shrugged. Whatever, I don’t really care right now. Harry had a lot more important things to deal with, such as it being nearly lunchtime and starving for food all morning.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong with him. 

Apollo knew it was a risk to run so far away from Olympus, his family, his throne, and his home. He is most powerful wherever the heart of the West and Olympus is. But out in Magical Britain, he’s so far from his divine throne and homeworld, it was putting a heavy strain on his body and mind. As a god, Apollo doesn't need to eat or sleep. But lately, he’d been feeling as tired and fatigued as a mortal human. Apollo was having a hard time focusing and keeping himself from accidentally releasing any of his godly aura. These days, his cheerful smile and energetic attitude which should've been easy to keep up was now a full on act when all he actually wanted to do was go pass out in bed for a century. He felt as if his very essence was draining and his powers weakening each day he didn’t ride his Sun Chariot. 

What’s wrong with me? Apollo thought as he rushed from Hagrid’s cabin to the privacy of his personal room behind the DADA classroom. He’s a god, he can conjure whatever he wants from thin air. That potion for Ron’s sickness should’ve taken no more than a few seconds, yet Apollo found himself straining to produce even that single vial of healing potion.

After pushing himself to create the gods-cursed potion for multiple minutes, Apollo felt absolutely wiped and dizzy, a fiery burning feeling in his veins boiling his blood like acid. He was barely clinging to consciousness as he shakily gave Ron the potion. He knew at any second now, he would pass out and he needed to be in complete privacy when that happened. 

Apollo ground his teeth together as a migraine-inducing pressure telling of a nasty headache built in his head. He dashed into the empty DADA classroom and stumbled into his private room, slamming the door shut behind. Apollo locked the door just in time before he could feel a nauseating, sickening feeling in his stomach. He collapsed to his knees and keeled over in pain as he spat out a mouthful of blood all over the floor. 

Oh, That can’t be good. Apollo thought, horrified as his blurry eyes attempted to focus on the ichor now covering his shaking hands and the floor. Reality began warping and his vision began clouding with green smoke. No, please no. A vision? Now? Seriously? Apollo let out a strangled, pained cry as fire filled his veins, the room blurred and tilted, the green smoke blinding him as he slumped on the gold splattered ground and blacked out. 

For a while, all Apollo could see was pitch-black darkness as he aimlessly floated in the emptiness. He was tense, eyes darting around in apprehension. He didn’t often get visions that knocked him out. What he usually got was quick, blurry flashing images and scenes of the future, but he’d still be conscious. The rare times he’d get a vision that forced him unconscious, they were always also the big world-ending ones like the Great Prophecy or Prophecy of the Seven. Whatever this vision was about to tell him was certainly going to be important if it needed to personally drag Apollo into unconsciousness to warn him. 

Then, three old ladies with thousand-year-old eyes suddenly appeared in front of him, towering over Apollo’s hovering form. They were holding a golden thread that Apollo had a gut wrenching feeling was his. Ice cold dread filled Apollo as he realized he was looking at the three goddesses of fate and destiny, The Fates. But why? What is it that they want from me? Apollo watched in horror as The Fates opened their wrinkled, toothless mouths in spoke in unison:

“The fall of the sun,” 

What? Are they reciting a prophecy? Apollo thought, alarmed. The Fates all watched Apollo with unnerving, empty stares as they continued. 

“The final verse,”

As if they were one being, all three goddesses stretched out a thin, bony hand holding the golden thread. Apollo held his breath, transfixed. 

“Bear the weight of the withering curse,” 

They simultaneously dropped the golden thread into the endless abyss below. 

“Strike arrow to the serpent’s eye,”

Apollo let out a silent scream as he watched his own thread of fate disappear into the infinite void

“Gold and red paint bleeding sky,”

Suddenly, The Fates vanished and darkness took over his vision again. 

“WHERE IS HE?” A thunderous voice bellowed in Apollo’s mind. The darkness receded to show an image of his father, Zeus, sitting in his throne in the Olympus courtroom surrounded by the entire Olympic counsel, including Hades and Hestia. 

“WHERE IS THAT COWARD? HE DARES DEFY ME? TO RUN AWAY?” Zeus roared at the other gods. Dionysus lay across his throne, lazily drinking a can of diet coke. Poseidon brooded on his throne, looking about done with Zeus. Hades had a similarly annoyed look on his face. Hermes at least looked a bit worried. Ares stared at the walls in boredom and Athena seemed like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Hestia, being the best Aunt ever, looked troubled and concerned. Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hera all seemed perfectly calm and quiet. Hephaestus sat in complete silence. Artemis, however, looked like she was on the verge of a breakdown. 

“IT’S BEEN MONTHS! WHEN I FIND THAT BRAT, I’LL CAST HIM DOWN TO EARTH! I DECLARE PHOEBUS APOLLON BANISHED!” Zeus furiously yelled, voice echoing like thunder in the giant courtroom. Multiple gods winced and tried to discreetly cover their ears from Zeus’s furious rambling. Artemis twisted her hands with an anxious and distressed expression on her face that Apollo just knew was his fault. 

I’m sorry, Sis. I promise to return home one day, Apollo swore in his mind, unable to verbally speak it in the vision, not like she’ll be able to hear it anyway. But strangely, Artemis seemed to react to his thoughts because she lifted her head and stared directly at where Apollo had been watching the scene in the vision. Her downcast expression instantly turned hopeful as she silently mouthed just one word to him. 

Brother?

Apollo startled awake on the ground in a puddle of his own ichor with a gasp. He lifted himself up and dragged himself to the couch, heavily plopping down. Apollo had been trying to bury the memories of his furious father and his dark thoughts about how he essentially self-exiled himself ever since he left. But now, Apollo knew his father had officially banished him from Olympus for an indefinite amount of time. He always knew he was going to be exiled, but to now know for sure still stung. Apollo isn't sure if he can ever return home now. Not anytime soon, that was obvious. 

Artemis . His brilliant sister. How he missed her and all his wonderful demigod children so much. Artemis is immortal, so he's sure he'll see her again one day. But Apollo may never see his mortal kids again, not while he's banished from Olympus. It was a horrible thought that Apollo hadn't dared consider before but he doesn't have a choice anymore. It's the truth, and he hated it. 

Then there was that horrifying prophecy The Fates recited. Apollo did not like the sound of the prophecy at all and had a feeling it wasn’t even complete. The first line had an unfinished rhyme and the whole prophecy was missing something, but he didn't know what. 

Apollo had no idea for most of the lines, but he did have an idea for at least two of them. He had a terrible feeling that the line “fall of the sun” had something to do with him. He also had a clue to what “bear the weight of the withering curse” meant, which was probably his weakening divinity problem. 

Speaking of his weakening divinity, it was going to be a problematic issue. Exiled and so far away from home, Apollo was not doing so well. This was a whole other world and will never be his home. It just isn't sustainable for a non-native god to stay here for a long time without daily visits to replenish his power in the world of Mythical Greek. 

Apollo knows he can't stay here forever. He'll have to eventually return home. But for now, even if it's burning him inside out, he'll have to hide here for however long until either Zeus revoked his banishment or Apollo is weakened to the point he will be forced to return. He hopes it never comes to the second option, though. He can only imagine the horrible punishment Zeus will inflict on him if he ever dares to show his face again. 

Apollo let out a deep, tired sigh as he rubbed his throbbing forehead. Luckily, he'd only been out for about an hour. No one should notice anything wrong. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand. It would be best if he refrained from using his godly powers too often to avoid burning himself any further. Muttering “ Evanesco ”, Apollo vanished all evidence of gold ichor from the floor and his robes. This was going to be a long, miserable year, he just knew it. 

Chapter Text

Harry grumpily dragged himself to Lockhart’s office at eight o’ clock in the evening, grumbling about having to serve detention with Lockhart by helping answer his fan mail. Harry would rather polish the trophy room with Ron and Filch than be forced to spend hours with an overly flashy Professor and a pile of idolizing mail from obsessed fans.

Finally reaching Lockhart’s office, Harry gritted his teeth before knocking on the door. The door flew open instantly and Lockhart appeared, beaming a bright smile.

“Harry, you’re here! Come on in,” Lockhart said, holding the door open from the side.

Inside, a five foot tall pile of mail was messily stuffed in a box by Lockhart’s desk. A couple dozen framed photographs of Lockhart were randomly scattered around the walls. A beautiful golden lyre alongside a shimmering gold bow sat proudly on the top of a nearby shelf. The second shelf had a quill with a sun motif filled with bronze arrows. Stacks of paper full of writing, poetry, music notation, and snapped or bent quills overflowed from the bottom of the shelf. Harry could somehow hear faint music in the background from no apparent source and had to cover his eyes from the sheer brightness the room seemed to radiate.

“Here you go,” Lockhart said as he dropped an armful of envelopes in Harry’s arms. “You can address these for me.”

The minutes ticked by at a painstakingly slow pace as Harry absentmindedly sifted through the pile of letters while Lockhart’s voice chattered on over him. Every now and then he caught a phrase like “If you ever need love advice, you can talk to me! I’ve had plenty of experience” or “Don't forget your bow and arrows, Harry. Never know when you might need to shoot an enemy in their ugly mug”. Harry wasn’t sure love advice from the guy who seemed to constantly jump from lover to lover (If any of Lockhart’s extravagant love stories of trees and flowers had an ounce of truth) was a good idea. He also had no idea what to think about the bow and arrows comment, and just hoped he wasn’t talking to a serial killer.

After a while, Lockhart’s rambling suddenly cut off as he got distracted and began excitedly scribbling with his (twenty-second or twenty-third?) quill on another piece of parchment, sketching out a poem while humming a soft tune. Harry looked up to curiously peer at Lockhart from his sudden lack of chatter.

For the first time, Harry noticed the strange combination of Lockhart’s attire. He supposed he didn’t notice it at first due to the extreme brightness of the room and his lack of focus or looking up in the past hour. Lockhart was wearing royal dark blue wizarding robes over an orange Muggle T-shirt with the words “Camp-Half-Blood” written in black letters on the front.

“Professor? What’s Camp-Half-Blood?” Harry spoke up, curious of this camp seemingly made for Half-bloods like him.

“Huh?” Lockhart breaks out of focus from his poem and accidentally snaps the quill clean in half. Lockhart gives it a frown before tossing it in the bin with the rest of the broken quills. He turns back to Harry and notices the shirt he’s wearing that Harry was looking at. “Oh, this? I forgot I was wearing this. Camp-Half-Blood is a summer camp for wizards and witches in America. I kind of had a responsibility there as an organizer before coming here.”

Harry's curiosity peaked. A summer camp for Halfbloods? Was Lockhart an American Halfblood? Could Harry go to this place instead of the Dursleys for the summer?

“Are you an American Halfblood, Professor? Does the camp accept British students for the summer?”

Lockhart shook his head. “No, I’m an American Muggleborn, not a Halfblood. Unfortunately, the camp is a specialized one that only accepts very specific students into their program. You can only get in if they reach out to you first.”

Harry slouched in his chair, disappointed. With no more questions, the two of them returned to work. Harry boringly continued to go through the letters as Lockhart got back to his poem and once again began jabbering off about “The magic of music and how the lyre is the best instrument ever”.

After another hour, Harry was so tired and bored out of his mind, he began to drift off right then and there on his chair when he heard it.

It was a menacing voice, a voice that chilled bone-marrow, a voice of horror-inducing, ice-cold venom. “Hungry ... so hungry… let me kill you … let me rip you ... let me tear you … little Sun god … where are you?”

Harry gave a startled jump, knocking his chair over and leaving a dozen letters messily sprawled on the floor.

“What?” Harry yelled loudly.

“I know!” said Lockhart. “The nerve of that sneaky cattle thief! Of course, I caught him and got well compensated for all my troubles.”

“No,” Harry frantically said. “That voice!”

“Sorry?” said Lockhart, putting his poem down again and looking puzzled. “There was a voice? What voice?”

“That – that voice! It said it wanted to r-rip and tear – didn’t you hear it?" Lockhart was now giving Harry his full attention and had an alarmed look on his face.

“That's concerning. I’ll look into it. Hopefully, it's nothing to worry about and it's just some ridiculous prank,” Lockhart reassured Harry, glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s been nearly two hours. Go ahead to your common room, Harry. You’re dismissed.”

Harry strained his ears to hear the voice again as he tensely walked through the halls, but it was completely silent.

By the time Harry arrived at the Gryffindor common room, it was so late it was nearly empty. Harry went straight up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory and waited for Ron to arrive. Half an hour later, Ron joined him, nursing his left hand and blissfully sinking into the sheets of his bed after going on a heated rant about Filch’s unfairness. Harry waited for Ron to finish before telling him about the voice.

Keeping his voice down to a whisper so as not to wake their roommates Neville, Dean and Seamus, Harry told Ron exactly what he heard back with Lockhart.

“And Lockhart couldn’t hear it?” said Ron. Harry could see him frowning deep in thought in the dim moonlight. “Ugh, this sounds like something we should ask Hermione. I don’t really get it. What's a disembodied murderous voice after some “Sun god” doing in Hogwarts?” Ron said.

“I know,” agreed Harry, lying back in his bed and staring at the roof above him. “I don’t get it, either.”

Chapter Text

October arrived, brightly coloring the tree leaves and bringing a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey and surprisingly Lockhart, who said he was helping her as an assistant and could often be found in the hospital wing, were both kept busy by a sudden outbreak of colds among the staff and students. Lockhart seemed to have been telling the truth about his medical degree as Madam Pomfrey trusted him enough to handle the hospital wing on his own for hours while she was out. 

On Halloween, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were heading towards the dungeons instead of the Great Hall where the Halloween feast was taking place. Harry had promised Nearly Headless Nick that he’d be there for the Deathday Party. Harry regretted agreeing when he’d honestly rather be at the feast, but a promise was a promise. 

The Deathday party was interesting, but gloomy and dreary. After Nearly Headless Nick welcomed them in, they entered to find the dungeon was filled with hundreds of pearly-white, translucent ghosts drifting around. Their breath rose in a puff of mist before them; it was like stepping into an ice cold freezer. 

They looked around, walking past many ghosts from varying time periods, including the Fat Friar and Bloody Baron. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, covered in black velvet and rotting food. The food was disgusting, looking like it’d been there for years and letting off a nasty smell. 

Hermione warned Harry and Ron to avoid Moaning Myrtle due to her tendency to have tantrums and flood the place, but then they met Peeves who mischievously proceeded to call Moaning Myrtle over so she could wail herself hoarse at Hermione. 

“Oh, dear,” said Hermione sadly, as Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeons, Peeves not far behind and pelting her with molding peanuts. 

After Myrtle and Peeves had left, Nearly Headless Nick drifted towards them through the crowd. “Enjoying yourselves?” He asked. 

“Oh, yes,” they lied, shivering in place. Harry wished he knew how to cast some warming charms. 

“Not a bad turnout,” Nearly Headless Nick proudly said. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent,” He glanced at the old, dusty clock on the wall. “Oh, it’s almost time for my speech. I’d better go and warn the orchestra.” Nick said before drifting off towards the orchestra where the music was the loudest. 

Harry rubbed his arms and wrapped his robes tighter around himself. Ron was shivering and Hermione began muttering spells under her breath, trying to remember the warming spell she read from a textbook.

“Ugh, it's freezing here. I can’t wait for summer to come when it’ll be warmer,” Ron grumbled. 

Harry suddenly remembered what Lockhart had said during detention. He’d forgotten to tell Ron and Hermione after the strange voice had taken most of his attention. Hermione thought that there was no “Sun god” and the voice was most likely a prank. Harry wasn’t sure though. 

“Speaking of summer, Lockhart mentioned he was a Muggleborn American and worked in a summer camp called Camp-Half-Blood in America before coming here,” Harry said. 

“I didn’t know there were wizards from other countries. I should've known, though, of course there are. Lockhart’s a Muggleborn too! And a summer camp?” Hermione excitedly said. 

“Yeah, it's just that you can only get into the camp if they reach out to you first. I was just wondering if you guys knew of it and how to convince them to let you join," Harry explained. Lockhart had said it was hard to get in, not impossible. Perhaps Ron or Hermione had heard of the place and knew how to get in. Harry wasn’t giving up on a potential escape from the Dursleys just yet. 

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t know there was summer camp in America before. I have no idea about this place,” Ron said. 

Hermione sadly shook her head, annoyed she had no information and couldn’t help Harry. Harry sighed in disappointment. There’s no escaping the Dursleys, huh? 

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll look into this place. Maybe I’ll find something that can help you,” Hermione offered. Harry gratefully nodded his thanks. 

Suddenly, the orchestra stopped playing as the dungeon wall burst apart with a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly at the Headless Hunt. Nearly Headless Nick and Sir Patrick greeted each other, Nick annoyed with being denied membership to the Headless Hunt. Nick tried to start his speech, but the crowd’s attention had turned to Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt who had started a game of Head Hockey. Nearly Headless Nick tried in vain to recapture his audience, but gave up when Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers. 

Harry was very cold and starving by now. 

“I don’t think I can stand much more of this,” Ron muttered, his teeth chattering, as the orchestra ground back into action and the ghosts began dancing on the dance floor. 

“Let’s go,” Harry agreed. 

They subtly backed towards the door, nodding and waving at anyone who noticed them, and a minute later were hurrying back up the cold passageway of blue lit black candles. 

“There might be pudding leftover,” said Ron hopefully, leading the way towards the steps to the Entrance Hall. 

And then Harry heard it. “... rip … tear …. kill … hungry … so hungry …”. It was the same voice, the same exact cold, murderous voice he had heard in Lockhart’s office. 

Harry stumbled to a sudden halt behind Ron, listening with all his might, looking wildly around, squinting up and down the dimly lit passageway. 

“The fall of the sun,” 

“Harry, what’re you –?”

“It’s that voice again – shut up a minute –”

“Forsaken god forced to run,”

“Don’t you hear it? Come on, listen!” Harry urgently yelled. Ron and Hermione froze, staring at him in confusion. 

“Dark Slayer meets Lightbringer,”

The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away upwards. A mixture of fear and excitement gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling above. How could it be moving upwards? Was it a phantom or a ghost, could it just go through walls and ceilings? 

“Tear fang of the poison killer,” 

“This way,” he shouted, and he began to run up the stairs, towards the Entrance Hall. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase two at a time to the first floor, Ron and Hermione stumbling behind after him. 

“Gold and red paint bleeding sky,”

“Harry, what are we –”

“SHH!”

Harry desperately strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, he heard the voice again. “... I smell blood ... I SMELL BLOOD!” 

His stomach lurched in terror. “It’s going to kill someone!” he shouted. Ignoring Ron and Hermione’s bewildered faces, he flashed up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen for the voice over his own pounding footsteps. 

Harry hurtled through the whole of the second floor, Ron and Hermione panting behind him, not stopping until they whirled around a corner into the last, deserted passageway. 

“Harry, what was that all about?” wheezed Ron, wiping sweat off his face. “I couldn’t hear anything.” 

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. “Look!”  

Something red was shining on the wall ahead. They slowly and warily approached, squinting through the darkness.

“What’s that thing hanging underneath?” said Ron, a nervous quiver in his voice. He pointed towards a dark shadow suspended in the air on the wall. 

As they edged nearer, eyes fixed on a dark shadow beneath it, all three of them realized what it was at once, and leapt backwards with a startled yelp. Mrs Norris, Filch's cat, was hanging by her tail from the torch bracket. She was stiff as a board, her glazed eyes wide and staring at nothing. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, hastily backed as far away as they could from the gruesome sight as possible. 

Harry gasped in horror as he raised his eyes from the immobile cat’s hanging body to look at the message on the wall. Twelve inch words in bright, blood red had been carved into the wall, shimmering in the faint light cast by the nearby flaming torches. 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Chapter Text

The silent crowd parted to let Harry, Ron, and Hermione pass along with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Filch, and Lockhart as they trudged to Lockhart's office. Not long after the trio’s discovery of the writing on the wall and Mrs Norris’ still body, the crowd of students returning to their dorms from the feast stumbled into the scene with terrible timing. Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall and Lockhart arrived just as Filch began firing accusations at Harry. Lockhart offered his office for some privacy and Dumbledore herded the group away from the prying eyes of the crowd.

After they entered Lockhart’s bright office, Dumbledore laid Mrs Norris on the polished surface of the desk and began to closely examine her. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged tense looks before sinking into the chairs near the desk, apprehensively watching.

The tip of Dumbledore’s long, pointed nose was barely an inch from Mrs Norris’s fur. He was carefully inspecting her through his half-moon spectacles, his long fingers gently prodding and poking her still body. Professor McGonagall was bent beside Dumbledore, her sharp eyes narrowed. Snape loomed behind them, wearing a dark, cynical expression. Lockhart stood back with a calculating, grim look on his face that was a startling change to his usual cheerful demeanor.

As Dumbledore observed Ms. Norris, Filch slumped in his chair and miserably hid his crestfallen face behind his hands, his body racking with dry, harsh sobs. Much as he detested Filch and his accusations, Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words under his breath and tapping Mrs Norris with his wand, but nothing happened: she continued to look as though she had been recently stuffed. Dumbledore had an unsettled expression and glanced at Lockhart who seemed to look just as perplexed. Dumbeldore inconspicuously tilted his head as if asking a question, and Lockhart gave a discreet shake of his head. Harry had no idea what they were doing and knew he wouldn’t have caught the nearly unnoticeable interaction at all if he hadn’t been right next to Lockhart and staring directly at Dumbledore the whole time.

At last, Dumbedore straightened up.

“She’s not dead, Argus,” He said softly.

“Not dead” Filch choked out, finally pulling his face away from his shaking hands to look at Mrs Norris. “But why’s she all – all stiff and frozen?”

“She has been Petrified,” said Dumbledore. “But how, I cannot say …”

“Ask him!” shrieked Filch, turning his blotched and tear-stained face to Harry. “He did it! He hurt my cat!”

“I never touched Mrs Norris!” Harry loudly protested, uncomfortably aware of how mostly everyone in the room was judgmentally staring at him. “I swear, it wasn’t me!”

“No second-year could have done this,” said Dumbledore firmly. “It would take powerful Dark Magic of the most advanced –”

“Rubbish!” Filch furiously insisted, wildly pointing a shaky finger at Harry. “He saw my Kwikspell letter! He did it! He did it!”

“If I might speak, Headmaster,” said Snape from the shadows, and Harry’s sense of foreboding increased; he was sure nothing Snape had to say was going to do him any good.

As Harry expected, Snape began questioning them on why they were in the upstairs corridor and not the Halloween feast. The trio launched into an explanation that they were at the Deathday Party, but Snape questioned why they went directly to their dorms and skipped supper. Harry couldn’t exactly tell them about the disembodied voice only he could hear. The chances they would believe him were next to nothing and would only make him sound mad.

They claimed they weren't hungry but Ron’s traitorous stomach exposed their lie. Snape vindictively pounced on their slip up.

“I suspect, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” Snape triumphantly said, as his nasty grin widened. “It might be a good idea to deprive him of certain privileges until he is ready to be honest.”

McGonagall opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something but startled when a striking voice suddenly interrupted.

“Mr. Potter did not petrify Mrs Norris,” Lockhart authoritatively stated, as if it were a fact and his word was final. A powerful wave of pure magic as intense as Dumbledore swept through the room. The room slightly shook from the force of the magic wave and Harry could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Everyone except Dumbledore all startled at Lockhart’s interruption. Somehow, Lockhart had managed to find his way to the center of the room without anyone, not even Snape, noticing.

Harry turned his head to Lockhart and hitched his breath in astonishment. For just a split second, when the warm sunlight from the window shone a perfect beam of light from behind, Lockhart looked … ethereal. The soft light bathed him in a translucent golden glow, making him look so inhuman it gave Harry chills down his spine.

Harry rubbed his eyes, and Lockhart looked normal again. Huh, maybe I am going crazy. Harry absently thought.

“I can assure you that these three students had nothing to do with this “Chamber of Secrets” or Mrs Norris’ unfortunate petrification. Professor Dumbedore and I can tell that whatever magic has been done to Mrs Norris is beyond a second-year’s curriculum.“ Lockhart reasoned, glaring at Snape and Filch with fiery eyes as if daring them to object. “There is no evidence Mr. Potter had done any of this. It isn’t fair to incriminate him on hunches that he’s lying. You can’t punish him for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Dumbledore nodded as he gave Harry a searching look. His twinkling light-blue gaze made Harry feel as though he was being X-rayed.

“Professor Lockhart is right. Innocent until proven guilty, Severus,” he said firmly.

Snape looked furious. Filch was livid. Harry couldn’t stop staring at Lockhart, baffled. He’d never seen this side of Lockhart before. This imposing and regal manner in which Lockhart held himself as if commanding respect and attention.

“My cat has been petrified!” Filch shrieked, his eyes popping. “I want to see some punishment!”

“That will not be necessary, Argus. We will be able to cure her,” said Dumbledore patiently. “Professor Sprout recently managed to procure some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have a potion made which will revive Mrs Norris.”

“I can help make the Mandrake Restorative Draught,” Lockhart offered. “I’ve made it before and know the recipe.”

“That would be most appreciated, Professor Lockhart, thank you,” Dumbledore nodded. He turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “You may go.”

They left, as quickly as they could without actually running. When they were a floor up from Lockhart’s office, they turned into an empty classroom and closed the door quietly behind them. Harry squinted at his friends’ darkened faces.

“D’you think I should have told them about that voice I heard?” Harry asked.

“No,” said Ron, without hesitation. “With the situation we were found in, there’s a low chance they’d believe you, especially with Snape there and Filch screaming at you. Honestly, I’m surprised Lockhart of all people had to come to your defense against Snape. Really, just how much does that slimy git hate you?”

“I don’t know what Snape's problem is but yeah, that's what I thought too. Still, the reason we got into this mess in the first place was because of that writing on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened ... what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, I think I’ve heard of something like this before,” said Ron slowly. “I think someone told me a story about a secret chamber at Hogwarts once ... might’ve been Bill …”

Hermione looked contemplative, muttering to herself as she paced around.

“At this point, I think it's safe to say this voice is not a coincidence. You heard it twice and the second time it led you to that mess with Mrs Norris. Harry, what did the voice say?” She asked.

“Uh, it was talking about being hungry and killing like the first time, but then it started saying some really weird stuff.”

“Weird? How?”

“Um, I think it said something about the sun falling, a forsaken god, a Darkslayer and a Lightbringer? There was something about a fang and poison killer and the sky bleeding gold-ish red too?”

Hermione looked intensely interested as she pulled out a parchment and quill seemingly out of nowhere and hastily handed it to Harry.

“Write it down! It might be something important.”

Harry scrambled to write everything he heard down. It was such a fast-paced panicked moment when he heard the voice, he was certain he wouldn't have remembered what it said word to word if these sentences hadn’t been so loud in his head, it had seared into his memory.

Harry handed the parchment with the five lines back to Hermione. She scrutinized the words as Ron peeked over her shoulder.

“Ugh, looks like a load of gibberish to me,” Ron grumbled.

“No, Ron, Look!” Hermione excitedly said. “These lines, they look like a prophecy!”

“What?” Both Harry and Ron asked at the same time.

“A prophecy! If you two checked out next year's electives, you'd know prophecies are part of Divination! And these lines look exactly like a prophecy. They’re vague, rhyming, and telling us a secret message of the future!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Okay, let's say it's a prophecy. What in the world could it mean, though?” Harry asked.

Hermione paused, staring hard at the words like she was demanding they tell her their secret message.

“The fall of the sun. Forsaken god forced to run. The voice mentioned a Sun god before, it must be talking about it again. But why? There’s no Sun god, is there? It must be a metaphor,” Hermione said in confusion, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself and make sense of the strange lines.

Harry shrugged. Magic could do anything. For all he knew, the Earth could be magically flat and Muggles just couldn't see through the magic.

Ron gave a look at the parchment and his eyes widened. “Darkslayer meets Lightbringer? Hey, don’t some people call Harry other titles than Boy-Who-Lived like Darkness Conqueror since he defeated You-Know-Who?”

“What? No way! And people call me what now?” Harry exclaimed in shock.

“Tear fang of the poison killer? Gold and red paint bleeding sky? I’ve not a clue what those could possibly mean. Nothing good, if I’m guessing right,” Hermione said, writing down ideas and theories in another parchment that she seemingly fabricated out of nowhere again.

“I don’t like the sound of those last two lines at all. In fact, I don’t like this whole bloody prophecy either! Why am I the only one who can hear disembodied murderous, future-telling voices?” Harry hysterically bit out in frustration.

“I don’t know, Harry, but I’ll look into it. This all must lead to something,” Hermione said, still scribbling into her parchment.

A clock chimed somewhere.

“It’s midnight,” said Ron. “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”

Chapter Text

Apollo stalked down the empty halls of Hogwarts late after curfew that night, lost in thought. After the whole mess with the petrified cat and the message on the wall, Apollo knew something was going on. Something dangerous.

Ever since the vision with the horrible prophecy, Apollo’s nerves had been fried. He was good at writing up prophecies and trying to decipher them, at least, when they didn’t involve him. When prophecies involve him in them, it's a lost cause trying to figure out what's going to happen since the Fates have chosen Apollo, the God of Prophecies himself, as their newest plaything. All he can do is guess and hope they don’t do him as dirty as they’ve done with their many other chosen heroes. Gods just aren’t hero material. Gods as the chosen ones, especially when it's Apollo himself, nearly always end in tragedy.

Apollo had felt the presence of beasts, monsters, and non-human beings throughout the school, but had simply ignored it. He knew they were there, but with his frazzled nerves and mission to focus on, he hadn't paid as much attention as he should have. The Magical World is filled with ancient creatures and beings of all different mythologies and legends anyways. The school literally had a whole class centered around caring for magical beasts after all.

Some Greek Mythical creatures had migrated and adapted to the Magical World, and now have a central relationship with the rest of wizard-kind. Examples include Manticores who were classified by the Ministry of Magic as XXXXX (extremely dangerous and lethal). Wizards had also managed to tame a few descendants of the Chimera, treating some of them more like pets than dangerous, poisonous monsters. Even a descendant of Hade’s pet hellhound, Cerberus, who had been tamed and named Fluffy by Hagrid.

The Magical World had not just ancient Greek monsters, but Greek non-human beings too. Half-giants, very distant legacies of Gaea and Ouranos, lived among wizards. Some of Poseidon’s Atlantians, now called merpeople, had migrated to Europe and now live in Hogwarts's Great Lake. There were ghosts who’ve managed to get themselves stuck in limbo, tied to the living world by a thread until the day they fade to the Underworld, floating all over the castle. Hogwarts even had a whole clan of semi-friendly centaurs, distant relatives to Chiron, just chilling out in the Forbidden Forest.

So, surrounded by monsters and non-humans all the time, Apollo danger sense had been muffled by the sheer number of different beings and presences inside the school. He didn’t pay much attention to the monsters around him, even if they seemed dangerous. He’d assumed they were probably part of the Care for Magical Creatures course, magical beasts that the students were meant to learn with, or some pet the school was caring for. The uncomfortable, rumbling, hissing presence within the walls had been dismissed as a school beast. Afterall, he had thought, Hogwarts literally has a giant squid casually living in the lake and had housed a Cerberus in the third floor corridor just last year. What was a strange creature lurking in the walls?

Harry’s strange behavior during his detention with him had been his first warning that something wasn’t right. Harry had insisted an invisible voice had been speaking, but all Apollo could hear was a very faint rumbling in the walls speaking a language he knew was of the Magical World. As a non-native Greek God, Apollo couldn’t understand what it was saying but knew at that moment that this wasn’t normal. Perhaps if only Apollo could hear it, he wouldn’t have been as worried but Harry had heard it too.

That’s when Apollo realized something was up.

It only got worse when the incident with Ms. Norris and the writing on the wall had happened. The voice in the walls had been screaming bloody murder so loudly even Apollo, all the way across the castle, had heard it. This couldn’t be a coincidence. There was a danger in the school and Apollo’s gut was telling him it was connected to the voice. But what could it be?

This simple job of protecting one single student was proving to be a lot harder than he thought.

It did not help that Apollo was feeling more and more drained each passing day. He shouldn’t be here, he doesn't belong in this foreign world, essentially a whole other pantheon. He’s a Greek God who should be up on Olympus where his power and home was. Not down here, alone in a huge castle filled with magical mortal children who were lovely and all, but only made Apollo more bitter over how he could also have been spending all this time with his children in Cabin seven.

Unlike the other gods, who definitely also feel this same pain, they instead dealt with it by trying to ignore their mortal children. They tell themselves if they distance themselves, it’ll hurt less when their sons and daughters head to the Underworld. They try so hard to forget and ignore, they go too far and tend to forget their children are their responsibility.

But Apollo could never do that. He could never forget his children. Unlike the other gods who try to ignore, Apollo tries to remember before it's too late. He's not a perfect father but he tries. He set up Camp Half-Blood a millennia ago, stationing Chiron as the camp director. Apollo spent so much time at camp, he was there nearly as often as Dionysus, who had been punished as the new camp director and as a result had demoted Chiron to activities director.

Apollo always claims his kids the moment they step into camp. He tries to guide and visit them as best as he could with his paranoid, strict father hovering over his head. But there was never enough time. In the end, every mortal he’d ever met and cared about would leave.

Apollo is an immortal god who has been around for millenia. He’d seen unspeakable horrors and had even actively participated in the most gruesome and horrible wars himself. But he’s afraid he’ll never get over how heartbreaking a war (or two) could be, especially when his own children’s lives are on the line.

So many children died. So much blood spilled and lives lost. So many young boys and girls gone in two wars they should've never had to fight in. Apollo will never get to see his sons Lee Fletcher or Michael Yew again. Will Solace was deemed the oldest and most responsible of his sons and made camp counselor at thirteen years old. Apollo knew the life of a demigod was dangerous and often short, but this was young even by demigod standards.

He could hear them, all of them, his sons and daughters, Artemis, the whole of Camp Halfblood all wondering where he’d gone. He’d never cut all contact this long before. At least Artemis would always vaguely know what he’s up to, but this complete silent ghosting had everyone who cared about him spooked. He could hear the slowly increasingly worried prayers from his children even as far as a continent away. He could feel every single one, as if a knife had been shoved into his false heart and twisted, taunting him about all he’s done and all that he will lose.

Your children are wondering if you’ve abandoned them.

Your sister is asking if her brother is still there.

Your father is waiting for the day your cowardly, godly hide shows itself so he can punish his failure of a son.

But worst of all, they were right.

Again and again, he’s forced to leave family and friends. He’s not sure when he could go back, if Zeus would even let him return. He was in hiding and this was nothing more than a temporary deal. He’ll miss more precious time with his demigod children who live such short but bright lives. He’ll never understand how mortals could live when death looms as a threat over their heads all their life. They all try so hard and fight for their lives, yet in the end, they all inevitably pass on to the Underworld.

They never stay for long and always leave so quickly. One moment, Apollo’s smiling with a loved one and the next, they’re gone. It hurts like hellfire when he realizes their time was up and now he’s been left behind all alone. Again.

Sometimes, Apollo can't help but curse being immortal. What he’d give to be able to follow a loved one all the way to the other side.

You’ve failed as a father, as a brother, as a lover, and as a son.

Over and over again, he makes the same mistakes and endures the loss of his loved ones as timeless as the gods.

This was self-exile. Self-punishment. He was running away, ignoring his problems, as he’s always done. How does being immortal, being a god, being his father’s son matter if this was all he could do in the face of judgment?

Time. He had so much yet far too little time. Plenty of time to exist, not enough time with mortals he cares for.

Apollo could admit he was a mess of a god, but he would never leave his loved ones hanging. His children believed in him, his mother trusted him, and Artemis was waiting for him.

Apollo stopped pacing the halls, his last echoing steps abruptly stopping in the eerie dark hall. No, he could never leave this place until his mission, his quest, has been completed. But he will return to his children, his friends, his family, and his sister. No matter what.

“I promise, I swear on the River Stynx, I will return home to you.”

Chapter Text

For the next week, the topic of the attack on Ms. Norris and the Chamber of Secrets was all anyone could talk about. Students spoke in hushed whispers about who this heir of Slytherin could be. Harry could hear his own name pop up every so often alongside whispering students too. Was it just a sick joke or prank? But why mention Slytherin then? Slytherin wasn't known for pulling pranks and especially not outing themselves for it either.

Harry was just trudging up the stairs after being held back in Potions to scrub the cauldrons. Along the way, he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley and opened his mouth to say hello. But before Harry could say a word, Justin spotted him and abruptly sped away in the opposite direction.

Harry hurried to meet up with Ron and Hermione in the library before she got impatient. Hermione had been in the library with her nose in a book all week long, doing nearly nothing else in her free time.

Harry found Ron at the back of the library measuring his History of Magic Homework. Across from Ron on the other side of the table, there was a pile of books on varying topics such as “Secrets of Hogwarts”, “Slytherin's Legendary Lineage”, “Prophecies of Divination”, “American Wizards and Witches”, “American Wizard Summer Camps”, “British Wizarding Myths”, and “Gods of Muggle Mythology”.

“Blimey, I'm still eight inches short,” Ron grumbled, dropping his parchment next to the pile of books. “How did Hermione write four feet seven inches already?”

“Where is she?” Harry asked, twisting his head around in hopes of catching her fluffy lion's mane of hair among the long aisles of book shelves.

“Somewhere down there, searching for another book on myths,” Ron said, pointing down an aisle of books. “I think she's trying to read the whole library before Christmas.”

Harry told Ron about his strange interaction with Justin Finch-Fletchley running away from him.

“Dunno why you care, I thought he was a bit of a dunderhead,” Ron said, scribbling on his parchment with the biggest handwriting he could get away with. “All of that hero worshiping over Lockhart's rubbish books-”

Hermione suddenly emerged from behind a bookshelf, looking irritated and ready to blow off some steam venting to them.

“Every copy of "Hogwarts: A History" has been borrowed already! There's a two week waiting list too. I wish I had my copy with me, but I left it at home to fit new books in my trunk.”

“Why do you need it?” Harry asked.

“To read up on the legend of the Chamber of Secrets like everyone else wants to. I've never heard of it before and I can't find the story anywhere else.”

Harry and Ron warily stepped back as Hermione grumpily marched over to the table and plopped down beside her pile of books.

“Well, what did you find about the American summer camp Lockhart mentioned?” Harry urged.

“Nothing! I’ve looked everywhere and not a single book has mentioned an American summer camp that's like the one Professor Lockhart had described. I’ve found a lot of daycares for toddlers, some programs for only Purebloods, some for all blood statuses, but none for just Half-bloods. And in every single camp’s list of staff members, I’ve never seen any one of them mention employing Professor Lockhart!” Hermione seethed, nearly yelling by the end of her frustrated rant. Clearly, having her trustworthy information source of books failing her for the first time was getting on her nerves.

“Did you at least find anything on the invisible voice?” Harry quickly asked, nervously taking another step back lest Hermione’s rising temper burst.

“I did find a Divination book about prophecies and it said that only seers could tell a prophecy. Maybe the voice is a seer?”

Harry shrugged. "At least that's something. Did you find anything on the prophecy’s lines?”

“I can't find anything on a Sun God here either! Not even in books on other wizarding countries! Best I could find was some Lady Magic and a tale about meeting Death,” Hermione vented, picking up the “Gods of Muggle Mythology” book. “I had to go digging underneath the shelves for this book and I bet it's got nothing too!”

“Actually, yeah. I've never once heard Mom mention any Sun God when she told us wizarding stories. I guess we need to look at other legends outside of Magical Britain,” Ron quickly said, hoping that agreeing with Hermione would calm her down.

Harry rushed to add on to Ron to keep Hermione distracted. “I can only think up muggle Sun Gods too. Maybe it's worth taking a look at that book?”

“Maybe. I mean, I doubt the voice is talking about muggle myths. We're in Hogwarts after all. But I guess I could see if there's anything in here worth looking into,” Hermione said, opening up the book and skimming the Table of Contents for the Sun Gods section.

The bell rang. Harry and Ron led the way to History of Magic, Hermione lagging behind as she relentlessly scoured her book.

History of Magic was as dull as it had always been. Professor Binns, the ghost teacher who taught the class, opened his notes and began to recite them in a flat, monotone voice that nearly put the entire class in a deep stupor within minutes. He had been talking for almost half an hour when for the first time (and probably for the last time) in his whole teaching career, a student raised their hand.

Professor Binns paused in the middle of his lecture and looked up at Hermione’s raised hand in amazement.

“Yes, Miss -er-?”

“Hermione Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets?” Hermione asked in a clear voice.

Professor Binns, after some persuading, finally relented in telling the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. He summarized how the four founders of Hogwarts dreamed of building a great castle to educate new wizards and witches on the art of magic. But then there was a disagreement on whether or not Muggleborns should be allowed into Hogwarts between Slytherin and the other founders. After a devastating argument between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Slytherin left the school forever.

Slytherin then apparently built a secret chamber in the castle that only his heir could open to unleash a horrible monster that would purge the school of those unworthy to learn magic.

There was complete silence as Professor Binns finished telling the story, but it wasn’t the usual, bored and sleepy silence that often filled his classes. There was unease in the tense air as everyone continued to uncomfortably watch him, hoping for more. Professor Binns looked faintly annoyed.

Hermione’s hand was instantly back in the air.

“Sir – what exactly do you mean by the ‘horror within’ the Chamber?”

“It is believed to be some sort of mythical, colossal monster born from the Earth itself. One said to have come from an ancient, foreign land with roots that are long preceded yet connected to the Roman Empire. According to legend - and this is of course just a fairytale - this mystical world was filled with horrific deadly monsters, beings of almighty higher powers, and impossible ancient magic that truly bordered on the divine. This is merely a myth, but it is said Slytherin had managed to tame one of the monsters from this land and ensure that only his bloodline - only the heir of Slytherin - alone can control it,” replied Professor Binns in his dry, reedy voice.

The class exchanged nervous looks. They tried to push Professor Binns for any more information, but Professor Binns had finally had enough and resolutely shut down any more conversation on the Chamber of Secrets or this monster that seemed to have come from another world, continuing his dull lecture.

And within five minutes, the class had sunk back into its usual torpor.

Chapter Text

Harry, Hermione, and Ron discussed what Binns had said as they fought their way through the crowded corridors after the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner.

Ron voiced his disgust at Slytherin’s pureblood supremacy and how he wouldn't go to Slytherin even if he was paid to. Harry couldn’t help but feel uncertain and unsettled at the fact that he had nearly been put into Slytherin himself.

As they struggled along the halls, Colin Creevey passed by and tried to tell Harry about a rumor someone in his class had been saying before getting shoved out of sight back into the crowd.

Harry’s stomach dropped in dread as he suddenly remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime. “I bet they’re saying I’m Slytherin’s heir.”

“People here’ll believe just about anything,” said Ron in disgust.

The crowd finally thinned out and they were able to climb up the next staircase without getting suffocated.

“D’you really think there’s a Chamber of Secrets?” Ron asked Hermione.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, frowning in deep thought. “Professor Binn’s description of the monster … it was so peculiar. He said the monster was a mythical, gigantic beast from some foreign fantasy world. It all sounds like a made-up story, but there must be some truth to it. He mentioned the Roman Empire, could it have something to do with Rome?”

Just as Hermione finished responding to Ron’s question, they turned a corner and found themselves in the very corridor where the writing on the wall was. The scene was deserted and nearly identical to last night, just tidier with no hanging cat.

The trio knelt down to investigate the crime scene for any hints. Hermione found a crack in the glass pane where spiders swerve trying to crawl through, as if running away. Harry asked where the water on the floor from before had come from and Ron pointed at Moaning Myrtle’s girls bathroom.

After entering the gloomy bathroom and a very unenlightening conversation with Moaning Myrtle, Ron, Harry, and Hermione turned to leave the depressing bathroom. But just as Harry was shutting the door, they unfortunately found themselves under the scrutiny of Ron’s older brother, Percy Weasley. After Ron got sufficiently chewed out and had a nasty, ugly spat with Percy, the three gloomily started trudging back to the Great Hall, deciding to just take their bags with them.

As they neared closer to the Great Hall, while walking down a practically empty corridor, a man with familiar, long wavy golden locks suddenly turned a corner ahead and spotted the trio of Gryffindors heading his way.

“Harry, Weasley, Granger! Why, if it isn’t my favorite admirers!” Lockhart beamed, his signature shiny white teeth on full display. He was wearing yet another pair of red sunglasses on his head (an accessory that Harry was beginning to automatically associate with Lockhart) and sage green robes that surprisingly looked elegant. Although Lockhart often combined wizarding clothing with muggle fashion that somehow looked both mismatched and harmonious at the same time, Harry had to admit Lockhart did have style.

“Hullo, Professor Lockhart,” Harry, Ron, and Hermione all replied in unison but in completely different tones, Ron annoyed, Hermione somewhat gleeful, and Harry neutral.

“How’re you kids doing so far?” Lockhart asked, taking a closer look at the three of them. He scrunched up his face in concern when he noticed their slouched, miserable postures and tired eyes. “Wow, what happened to you three? You look like you’ve been dragged through Hades and put on judgement by my fa- by Merlin.”

Harry swore Lockhart was about to say father, but didn’t mention it.

“Oh, nothing much. Just piled upon piles of tortuous homework and now we've got this "Chamber of Secrets” annoyance to deal with. Worst of all, people keep looking at Harry like he’s done something wrong. But other than that, no, we’re just peachy!” Ron sarcastically snarked, his frustration after his spat with Percy clearly affecting his control over his mouth.

“Ron!” Hermione reprimanded him. “Don’t say it like that! Professor Lockhart's done nothing to us.”

If Lockhart felt offended by Ron’s tone, he didn’t show it. His face was devoid of any reaction, still stuck to his blinding, smiling face.

Even though Harry was just as tired and frustrated, he did feel a little bad for Ron snapping at Lockhart. Lockhart hadn't ever really done anything to them. But now he was taking the brunt of Ron’s and all of their frustrations.

Honestly, Harry’s opinion and feelings on Lockhart were … complicated. He wasn’t really sure what to think of him. He knew Ron heavily disliked Lockhart since he believed his books to all be a fraud, and that Hermione adored him since she thought his books were all true. But Harry? Harry couldn’t decide whether or not to believe Lockhart, to trust Lockhart.

Lockhart had seemed friendly enough. Sure, he can be a bit much. He could be absolutely annoying, and such a dunce sometimes, but he's not a bad bloke. He had an overwhelming ego that made it a bit hard not to cringe sometimes, but he could teach. Lockhart didn’t dismiss Harry's words as nothing. He listened. He cared. He intervened for Harry's sake. Harry wanted to trust him. But then why? Why did Harry hesitate to rely on him?

Harry couldn’t help but remember that moment back when Lockhart defended him from Snape and Filch. When he’d stood up, tall and regal, with all the confidence in the world that for once, wasn't unfounded. When he held, for just a moment, a powerful and authoritative aura as intense as Dumbledore. When he was bathed in the sun’s light, in the singular warm golden beam that seemed to perfectly align with his practically glowing imposing form, Harry could’ve sworn that Lockhart wasn’t human. There was this feeling in Harry’s gut, uneasy and unsure, but not really afraid, that Lockhart was safe. But Harry’s gut was also telling him he was hiding something.

Harry wasn’t sure if he had imagined Lockhart’s (for lack of a better word) inhuman traits, but if he didn’t then this was all even more strange. No wizard could pull off such a powerful aura as great as Dumbledore's like that and just be completely unknown to the world. Sure, Dumbledore acted eccentric too, but no one ever forgot about his power and authority. Harry had ears, he could hear the student population’s opinions on Lockhart. It was either they really admired him (usually his decently sized yet still only a minor percentage of Hogwarts club of devoted fans) or they thought him a lying, egotistical dunderhead who’s all talk and no bite (well over half the student population), there was no in-between. If Lockhart really was that powerful, then why was he parading around as a ridiculous mediocre wizard with no sense of tact?

Was Lockhart really just like this? Or was he hiding something? Harry wasn’t sure, but he knew he wouldn’t know what to think of Lockhart until he was.

“Mr. Weasley, in fact, all three of you look like you’re in need of a cheering-up haiku!” Lockhart suddenly announced, snapping Harry out of the deep, contemplative thoughts he was lost in.

“No, wait-”

“Very sad students,
You should dance and sing a song,
And get a pet cow,”

Silence. No one smiled or laughed. Instead, Ron, Harry, and even Hermione all sighed in exasperation. Oh well, it was terrible but it was the thought that counts, Harry thought, cracking what he hoped was an amused smile but instead felt more like a grimace.

Lockhart bravely plowed through the awkward silence. “But really, you should take better care of yourselves. Overworking is not good for your health; I would know, I’m a certified healer. You should eat proteins the most, as that's best for your growing, teenage bodies. At least eight hours of sleep, and no pushing yourselves too hard. If you’re tired and feeling sick, you’re sick. Take a day off. Here,”

Lockhart turned around for half a second and turned back around with three pepper-up potions that he had seemingly fabricated out of nowhere. He handed each of them a potion and didn’t stop staring at them expectantly until they had each downed their own potion.

Harry could feel his energy levels increase and his senses sharpen with more wakefulness than a minute ago. He turned and saw that both Ron and Hermione were looking a bit better too.

“There you go! Better now, right?” Lockhart smiled, happy to see them feeling better. Harry felt a bit more appreciation for the Professor he had just been doubting minutes ago.

“Well, I best get on my way now. See you later, my dearest fans!” Lockhart abruptly turned around, about to vanish down the halls, when a voice called after him.

“Wait, Professor Lockhart!” Hermione suddenly called, causing Lockhart to just as abruptly freeze in place. He turned around with a carefully forced smile on his face that Harry wouldn’t have noticed was forced if he hadn't already mastered facial expressions thanks to the Dursleys.

“Yes, Ms. Granger?” Lockhart asked, eyes attentive, if a little strained.

“I w-was just wondering i-if you could tell us more about the s-summer camp for Half-bloods in America?” Hermione stuttered hard, flushing furiously under Lockhart’s full attention.

Lockhart sighed, eyes turning distant in nostalgia as he began to answer Hermione’s question. “Camp Half-blood, yes, I remember that place. There were wonderful groves of trees filled with nature’s wonders, a sparkling winding freshwater stream, and acres of delicious strawberries spread out under the clear blue sky that always had nice weather. Magnificent cabins of various designs towered into the sky. The vast valley was surrounded by stunning rolling hills, and the tallest one, all the way up at the summit of Half-blood hill, was the great pine tree that symbolized so much to all of us,” Lockhart reminisced, voice filled with a sadness, a melancholy, a wistfulness.

Harry began imagining wonderful summers at this place from just Lockhart's heavenly description of the environment alone. If it was really this beautiful of a camp, Harry could get why Lockhart might feel a bit homesick for a place that sounds straight out of Harry’s rare nice dreams.

“My old friend, my dearest friend who I've known for ages, he’s the co-director of the camp. I raised him myself, you know, he was always a curious and brave young lad. He grew up to be a brilliant teacher and made me so proud,” Lockhart continued, his expression clearly showing how much he adored his - his son!?

A son? Lockhart has a son and is a father? Wait, he raised his son to adulthood too? Harry suddenly thought in utter shock. Ron looked absolutely gobsmacked while Hermione’s jaw had dropped open. But how, he’s only twenty, he’s too young for adult children! Hold on, I’ve heard this before … didn’t Hagrid mention Lockhart claimed he raised a centaur?

“Wait, what? Professor Lockhart, Hagrid said something about this. So, uh, this friend you raised, was he a centaur?” Harry suddenly blurted out loud. Hermione and Ron’s expressions told him they both also had just come to the same conclusion.

“Why, yes! His name was Chiron and he was the most wonderful apprentice I’ve ever had. He grew up so fast, I wonder how he’s doing now, without me around anymore. I hope he’s still destroying his enemies as I had taught him,” Lockhart looked like he was about to say more on "destroying enemies” but wisely stopped himself.

Disturbing comment aside, Harry’s brain was mush. Did he actually raise a centaur? It didn’t sound like Lockhart was joking or lying. If so, could anything else he claimed be true?

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “Chiron, I’ve heard that name before. The legendary centaur hero mentor of Greek Mythology.”

Lockhart simply nodded. “The one and only,” was all he said. He offered no more elaboration on what he meant by that. He quickly moved on before Harry could ask another question.

“We had so many activities and memories there. Sword-fighting, archery, lava wall-climbing, metalworking, wrestling, foot-racing, canoeing, the Pegasus horse stables, the sing-along amphitheater, the campfire gatherings, and Capture-The-Flag war games. But most of all, they were there. I got to see them all the time, having fun and living life to the fullest. It was beautiful and peaceful. Sure, camp had its dark times too, but most of all, it was hom-” Lockhart suddenly stumbled over his words. His voice, full of deep and loving emotion just moments ago, had cut off with no warning. His youthful bright eyes turned a thousand years old, dark and detached, exhausted, and filled with an unreadable emotion.

It was jarring, seeing the usually expressive, dramatic, and hyperactive Lockhart go from overjoyed cheerfulness, to sentimental longing, to closed-off cold indifference all in just a couple minutes. Harry began to wonder if they really knew Lockhart at all. Maybe Harry wasn’t giving him enough credit. Sure, Harry, Ron and most of Hogwarts liked poking fun at Lockhart’s more eccentric side, but that didn’t mean he was a poor professor or a totally dim wizard.

Harry had to admit that even though he knew Lockhart was probably stronger and smarter than he looked, his acting was very convincing.

All of this lasted for only a few seconds and in no time at all, Lockhart had plastered on another smile and his eyes were back to normal. Harry was left reeling over whether or not he had been seeing things.

Hermione had definitely also caught Lockhart’s strange expression before he replaced it with his trademark smile, but decided not to point it out. “Camp Half-blood sounds wonderful, Professor. But do you perhaps know why we can’t find any information on this camp in the library? You see, Harry is interested in going. Do you know how he can get himself an invitation in?”

“Ah, that's a tricky question,” Lockhart admitted, “Camp Half-blood is a very private program that you wouldn't really see advertisements for just out there. The camp only, and I mean only, accepts people they directly send invitations to. To get an invitation, well, it's a complicated process that is classified information I am unfortunately unable to share. Sorry, Harry, but I don’t think you’ll be able to get in.”

Harry sighed in disappointment. That was it then. No escape from the Dursleys. Well, it was at least worth a try.

“Professor, I was also wondering why you came all the way here to Britain when it's so clear you liked working in America better. Did something happen?” Hermione asked, curious.

“My … Boss. He’s a, uh, a bit of a paranoid guy,” Lockhart hesitantly said, glancing out the window as if expecting a storm would start bearing down on Hogwarts. When nothing happened, he kept going. “I, um, I messed up and he was angry - angry at me. So he essentially … fired me,” Lockhart said, in a strange, strangled voice. “So yeah, now I’m not exactly allowed back so I came here to work instead.”

Harry wanted to ask what Lockhart meant by “mess up” that was so bad he got fired, but figured he’d already asked Lockhart enough personal questions to last a whole month.

“Oh,” Ron eloquently said, speaking up for the first time since his outburst at the beginning of this whole awkward conversation. “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Lockhart said quietly with an unreadable expression. “It does, thanks.”

They stood in not exactly comfortable but not exactly uncomfortable silence either for a solid minute. This was a lot in just one conversation. Harry’s brain was stuffed with so much new information, he wondered how he’d remember it all. Finally, Lockhart pulled his shades over his eyes and turned around again, and this time, no one called for him to stop.

“All right kiddos, nice talking, but I really must get on my way now! See you tomorrow, my favorite fans!” Lockhart's voice cheerily echoed before he disappeared behind a corner.

Chapter Text

Later that night in the common room, Harry, Hermione, and Ron chose seats in a quiet private corner as far away from Percy as possible. Ron was struggling with his Charms homework and in a fit of frustration, he slammed his Charms textbook shut. Hermione, feeling restless with their growing pile of mysteries to solve, startled Harry as she closed her new “History of the Roman Empire” book she’d just recently borrowed from the library right along with Ron.

“Who and what could it be, though?” She whispered, as if continuing a conversation they had been discussing the whole time. “Who’d want to get rid of all the Squibs and Muggleborns in Hogwarts? And what sort of monster locked in the Chamber could Professor Binns have been talking about? And the invisible seer voice and prophecy only Harry can hear … just what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said quietly, closing his textbooks too. “There’s just so many questions without answers. All I’m sure of so far is something's going on in Hogwarts, something big.”

A couple of silent seconds passed where the three contemplated in silence. Harry was right, there was definitely something big going on behind the scenes in Hogwarts. Hermione couldn’t help but feel like she was missing or misunderstanding something, a lot of things, that were important. In fact, Hermione felt as if the answer were right in front of her, but she just wasn’t getting it. She hated this feeling of not knowing, not understanding.

Hermione ran her mind through every possible clue she could think of. She thought of the very first problem that started this all.

“The invisible voice. It was the first problem we had. It was spouting some nonsensical prophecy about a fallen Sun God,” Hermione finally said, mind running a mile a minute. “But there is no such thing as gods, right? It must be some sort of metaphor or maybe it's referring to someone similar or named after a Sun God?”

Harry shrugged and Ron looked just as lost. Hermione knew that if they wanted to get anywhere with the prophecy, they had to at least figure out the first two lines.

“Well, what do you think?” Ron asked her, looking up to meet her eyes.

Hermione ran her mind through every Sun God she’d ever read of and every person she knew who could possibly fit the description. She thought back to her “Gods of Muggle Mythology” book she had left in her room.

“Helios, Ra, Amaterasu, Sol, Sunna, Surya, Apollo,” Hermione said, which were the first few she could remember from the book off the top of her head. There were more but Hermione could research them later. “Can you think of anyone named after them?”

Ron and Harry shook their heads. Hermione herself came up completely empty.

“Ok,” Hermione sighed, “We’ve got to think broader. Is there anyone who acts very - oh I don’t know - godlike? Bright? Sunny?”

“Professor Dumbledore? I mean, he’s supposed to be the most powerful wizard in Britain, right?” Harry suggested.

Dumbledore absolutely had more power than anyone Hermione knew. She knew people looked up to him and revered him almost as if he were a god. But he wasn’t fallen or forsaken or anything like that.

“But the prophecy said the Sun God’s forsaken and I don’t see how Professor Dumbledore would fit that.”

“Malfoy definitely has a god complex,” Ron cynically sneered. “But there's no way it's him the prophecy is talking about.”

“Professor Lockhart? He’s at least “sunny” enough to be a Sun God,” Harry suggested again.

“Oh, please. Lockhart’s ego could match a god’s, but it can’t be him either,” Ron said, shooting down that idea as fast as it formed.

Hermione wasn’t as sure. Lockhart might have the power to match, as his books had described (Ron and Harry just had to be wrong). At the very least, he was powerful enough to impress Dumbledore and get hired as the DADA professor.

Hermione could only think of one time where Lockhart had proved his power, which was back in his office, but she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. That incredible pulse wave of pure magic, it was even more powerful than Dumbledore. But that's impossible. Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard in Britain, Voldemort second only to him. Even if Lockhart is from America, we’d know if there was an even more powerful wizard in Hogwarts, right?

Thinking of Lockhart, Hermione’s string of thoughts inevitably whirled back to their conversation with him mere hours ago. She had noticed how Lockhart had cut off his description of Camp Half-Blood and how he had seemed carefully vague in his explanation of getting fired. Hermione could sense a story there, but didn't push it. Sure, she was curious, but this was his personal business.

Still, I wonder who his boss was. It was so strange … Hermione immediately ended that train of thoughts. It was none of her business.

Hermione would love to see this Camp Half-Blood though. It sounded incredible and filled with all kinds of odd but fun activities like sword-fighting and archery. It was interesting that Magical America would allow such dangerous Muggle activities in a wizard summer camp. They even had a centaur Professor Lockhart had raised named Chiron of all names. Sure, his book, “Chilling with Centaurs”, mentioned the centaur but it never named him.

If not power, then Lockhart was certainly sunny enough. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever met someone who radiated sheer brightness quite as much as he did. He was practically light incarnate and even had the handsome looks of one of those ancient Roman god marble statues in history museums.

Hermione couldn’t help the light dusting of pink on her cheeks after that intrusive thought.

“Hey, could it be possible that this is all somehow connected?” Ron suddenly said, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts and back to the conversation. “I mean, was it really just a coincidence Harry heard a murderous voice leading him directly to where the message on the wall and Ms. Norris were?”

Hermione considered that. What if these weren't all separate mysterious, but one? What if - Hermione’s eyes lit up with realization.

“What if Slytherin’s monster is the voice?” Hermione blurted out loud.

Harry and Ron looked at her in shock, slowly digesting her words with a dawning realization.

“I’ve been hearing the voice of Slytherin's monster?” Harry exclaimed in horror and disgust.

Hermione contemplated this new revelation. A monster who can talk, tell the future, mentioned a Sun God, whose voice only Harry could hear, and that Professor Binns described as a mythical beast from a foreign fantasy world. There was more to the monster than just a mindless killer, and it had something to do with Rome - or perhaps more accurately - before Rome. It seemed to be out for revenge for someone. If this creature is supposedly out for Muggleborns, could the Sun God be a Muggleborn?

“Clearly, if Harry’s been hearing it’s voice in the castle, someone had let the thing out of the Chamber of Secrets. Someone who has to be the Heir of Slytherin," Hermione said gravely.

“But who could it be?” Harry muttered. “Who’s this psychopath that wants to unleash a monster to eat up the Muggleborns?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Let’s think, who do we know thinks Muggleborns are all scum?” Ron said in mock puzzlement.

“Malfoy?” Hermione said skeptically, unconvinced. “Really? Him as the Heir of Slytherin? Sure, he fits the description, but it just feels too obvious.”

“Just look at his family. The Malfoys live and breathe blood supremacy. They’ve all gone to Slytherin and could easily be descendants of him,” Harry explained, certain they had their heir figured out.

“Well,” Hermione said cautiously, “I suppose there’s a possibility …”

“But how do we prove it?” Harry said, eyes turning dark for a millisecond.

“There might be a way,” Hermione said slowly, dropping her voice to a quiet whisper. “It’ll be dangerous and we’ll be breaking every rule in Hogwarts if we do.”

Hermione explained the plan she came up with involving sneaking into the Slytherin Common room to spy on Malfoy by brewing the illegal Polyjuice potion.

“But getting hold of the Polyjuice recipe will be nearly impossible. Snape had said it was in a book called "Moste Potente Potions" and a recipe for an illegal potion like Polyjuice is bound to be in the Restricted Section of the library.”

The only way to get into the restricted section was to get a signed note of permission from a professor.

“I can’t see why we’d want the book if we weren’t going to try and make one of the potions written in there,” Ron said, dejected.

Hermione could see the problem. She couldn't think of any Professor who’d let them in the Restricted Section for a book like that without a good reason. And unfortunately, their reason happened to be very much illegal. She didn’t like it and was already loathing the rule breaking they were about to commit, but it seems like there was no other choice, lest Hermione let every Muggleborn including herself get eaten by a monster.

“Sigh, looks like we’ll be sneaking around Hogwarts under my cloak after curfew again,” Harry glumly muttered.

Chapter Text

Apollo sighed as he finally finished brewing the last Mandrake Restorative Draught batch of the night. He would have really liked to use his godly powers to speed up the time consuming process, but knew he could not risk wasting any of his precious power reserves on something he could do by hand. It was frustrating to be reduced to less than a tenth of his full power and end up coughing ichor up if he so much as summoned a single potion.

Apollo carefully bottled up the last batch in glass tubes and placed them into neat boxes in the corner of his office. He stood up and stretched his stiff muscles, glancing at the clock. The arrows pointed at 2 o'clock in the morning. Great. He’d been up all night long. He stood up and headed into his private quarters, locking the door behind.

He entered directly into his room’s private bathroom and stood in front of the mirror in hesitation. After much procrastination, he forced himself to look into the mirror. He did not like what he saw. His gold hair had lost its shine and wave, laying lifelessly in a messy heap on his head. His eyes were bloodshot and had deep eyeballs underneath. His pupils darkened to a soulless, empty dull blue. His skin was paler and his smile was broken. Apollo coldly stared at his unkept, imperfect, ungod-like appearance with disgust and a deep melancholy misery he refused to acknowledge.

What has he become; a deadbeat dad, a pathetic brother, and an utter failure of a son? A coward who abandons his family and runs away to ignore all his problems like he always has? A fallen god whose now a shell of what he once was that the headmaster looks down at in pity? A lying, flashy, showy joke for Hogwarts students to laugh at? Apollo wasn’t stupid, despite how he often portrayed himself. His terrible poetry and “dumb blonde” act often made people forget they were talking to a god who was known to be as sharp as Athena. He was the God of Knowledge and Education, for Fate’s sake, he could be smart if he wanted to.

(He’ll never admit they weren't wrong about him lying. Ironic, for a God of Truth, but Apollo was just as good at telling truths as hiding truths.)

He used to be an almighty god that no one else dared cross, that millions prayed to out of both fear and love, that could massacre the human population to nothing, rain arrows of plague and disease on the wicked, bring health and life to the desperate and sick, raise the sun and bring light to the world. He used to be his father’s favorite son (a curse just as much as a blessing.) He used to be powerful. He used to be great.

His name was Apollo.

He used to be a god.

But gods don’t feel regret or fear. Gods don’t need anyone; not family, not friends, and absolutely not mortals. Because mortals are nothing. They should be nothing.

Are your sons and daughters nothing? A horrible voice that he ignored snarled in the back of his mind. Are your mortal friends and lovers nothing?

No, no, no! This was all wrong. He was all wrong. What was going on with him? Why did he feel like this? Gods shouldn’t feel guilt or pain or loneliness. They didn’t make mistakes or need friends. They shouldn’t get hurt and never show or feel weakness. They shouldn't be able to. Gods just can’t. Apollo can’t.

So why? Why was he feeling like this? Why did it hurt when his loved ones passed on? Why did he miss his family and friends so badly? Why did he sometimes feel like such an imposter among the Olympians, his own family? Why could he protect no one? Why can’t he ever do anything right? What was the point of all this power if he couldn't use it to make a difference? Why was he so weak? Why was he so destructive? Why did he care so much? Why has he always cared so much?

In short, Apollo was not feeling particularly godly at the moment.

He was tempted to smash a fist into the mirror, but decided against it. He did not feel up to vanishing ichor if any glass shards punctured his hand. He’d truly hit his lowest of lows and for the first time, found himself considering just going home and taking whatever punishment his father charged him with. But he couldn't. Because he was a coward.

Apollo sullenly left the bathroom and settled into bed. Maybe some sleep could help get him out of this horrible spiraling pit of desolation he’d dug himself into.

But even when he closed his eyes and fell into Morpheus’s domain of dreams, the world could never let him rest for long. Apollo found himself standing in Camp Half-blood’s dining pavilion, the tables all occupied with hungry demigods chatting together. The sun was just starting to rise above the horizon and the hearth was lively and warm.

Apollo looked down at his hands, noting the same translucent-invisible quality of his body just like when he had the vision in the Olympus throne room.

Was he having another prophetic vision? No, this time there was no prophecy or future that the Fates wanted him to see. This meant this was just a normal vision, like a demigod dream. It isn’t exactly common for Apollo to get visions through dreams, but it's not rare either.

Apollo gazed around, studying the campgrounds and the demigods dragging themselves awake for breakfast. The tables weren't as full as they usually would be since it was so early in the morning, but as usual, Apollo’s table was filled with all his children. They inherited his habit to rise with the sun, after all.

He headed over to his table, standing right next to Will and his boyfriend, Nico Di Angelo. Nico was a son of Hades, but Apollo couldn't care less about that. It was an unexpected couple, but Apollo couldn’t think of another boy more perfect for Will. They were just fantastic for each other, and so incredibly adorable. If they get married, Apollo swore he would be the best father-in-law ever.

Apollo couldn’t stop staring at all his beautiful children along his table in pride, desperately trying to commit every small detail on each of their precious faces to memory forever. This was the first time he’e gotten the chance to see his children in months and it has already felt far too long.

Will was enthusiastically whispering to Nico, Austin was discussing favorite music bands with Kayla, Jerry was fumbling with his flute, Gracie was stuffing her face with food, and Yan was writing poetry in Chinese. They were all safe in Camp Half-blood, all happy, thriving, and full of life. The youngest ones have yet to suffer any severe trauma thanks to the older veterans. The wars were temporarily over (for now) and Apollo’s wish of seeing his dear family peaceful and alive was coming true.

Apollo felt his previous worry evaporate when he concluded they were all doing fine in his absence. His heart burned in both bittersweet pride and sadness at this realization. They’ve moved on. They don’t need him anymore, and good! They shouldn’t miss him, it’ll only hurt them more, especially now that Apollo's not sure he’ll ever be able to come back. But even if they don’t miss him anymore, Apollo will always miss them. This may be the last time he ever gets to see them again…

“I just- I don’t know how much longer I can take this anymore, Nico.”

Apollo swerved his attention to Will and Nico’s conversation. He thought they had been talking about college majors before, but they seem to have moved to another topic instead.

Will continued on as Nico listened in concern. “He’s never gone silent for this long before. He always visited at least once a month. We’ve looked everywhere and asked everyone, but no one's seen him at all. Not even the hunters have a clue where he’s gone. I don’t know what to do to help.”

Will looked so dejected and sad, Apollo wanted to engulf him in a hug right then and there. But he couldn’t since his body wasn’t actually here and they couldn't even see him anyways. He shoved down his guilt of essentially abandoning all his children and family.

He glanced back at the rest of his children. They all seemed so happy and carefree minutes ago, but now Apollo saw the truth he refused to acknowledge. They were trying to seem fine, like they didn't care, but it was all an act. Austin and Kayla went into awkward silence each time one of them almost mentioned him, Jerry held the flute Apollo had given him for his last birthday in longing, Gracie seemed to be barely holding back tears as she ate, and Yan was writing a haiku in the exact same dumb way Apollo always did.

“I can’t stand this silence. It's just not the same without him. He’s always been loud and bright, the center of attention everywhere he goes. He’s always been there for us, but now he won't even answer our prayers,” Will confessed, lowering his head as his eyes shined with unfallen tears. “Is he okay? He’s a god, I know he’s probably fine, but I still can’t help but worry. I … I miss him.”

Apollo’s heart broke at that confession. His wonderful son, Will, distraught because of him, the worst dad ever.

“Don’t worry,” Nico said, trying to comfort Will. He placed his hand on Will’s, entwining their fingers together. “We’ll keep looking for him and find him, wherever he’s gone. He’s the sun, after all. And the sun always comes back.”

Apollo was impressed Nico had so much faith in him after all he’d done or not done. He took Nico’s words to heart, memorizing them. The sun always comes back. No matter what it takes, he’ll return for Artemis, for his children, and for Will.

Will gave Nico a watery smile and pulled Nico closer with their entwined hands, planting a soft kiss on Nico’s cheek.

“Thanks,” Will murmured, gazing into Nico’s eyes with unyielding love. “You're right, he'll come back. Apollo always does.”

Will turned his head to the brilliant sunrise just peaking above the forest trees bordering the dining pavilion. Apollo followed his gaze, taking in the warm colors streaking across the sky. Will opened his mouth to whisper so quietly that Apollo wouldn’t have caught it if he weren't standing right next to his son.

“Dad, where are you?”

Chapter Text

DADA with Professor Lockhart was truly an unforgettable experience. He often liked to re-enact the more dramatic parts of his books while quizzing the class on which spell he should use in each situation. If the class picked right, he’d pretend to die a gruesome, graphic death, then explain what they did wrong and what they should have chosen instead. If they picked right, Lockhart would act as if the class had helped him accomplish some nonsense great feat from one of his books.

Lockhart would ask for volunteers and surprisingly, a decent number of students, not just his fanclub or Hermione, would come up and help him demonstrate another scene. Every DADA class felt like walking into a theater and participating in a “choose your own adventure” story. Although it was a bit unorthodox and sometimes cringy with all the overdramatic poetry, the class was still actually managing to learn.

So far, Lockhart had demonstrated a scene from “Conquering the Cyclops”, where he acted out the moment he heroically defeated a group of Cyclopes for murdering someone. He taught the class to use Lumos Solem to blind the Cyclopes’ one eye, their weakness. He also acted out multiple scenes from "Marauding Monsters”, where he showed how to slay an army of bloodthirsty hellhounds by sharpshooting with the spell “Incendio”.

The very next Defense Against Dark Arts lesson, Harry watched in disbelieving bewilderment as Hermione helped Professor Lockhart perform his most outrageously impossible claim yet, the slaying of some overgrown snake.

“Perfect form, Ms. Granger! Exactly like that! See how Ms. Granger is shielding her eyes and paying attention to my wand’s position? Like the Cyclopes, the snake’s eyes are its weakness so you'll want to aim to blind it with Confringo! Gigantic serpents have dragon-tough scales that can resist most spells, so you’ll need a lot of stamina to whittle their health down. Protego Maxima, the strongest shield charm, is absolutely necessary to protect yourself from the snake’s poisonous fangs, so you really don’t want to get bitten. If you do though, only phoenix tears can save you. And my fabulous self too, of course, if you can reach me in time. With these facts in mind, you’ll be able to fend against any gigantic serpent and perhaps even become a hero, like how I did and now the whole world will forever remember me as the great serpent-slayer!”

Lockhart bowed, Hermione hastily following suit, and the class gave a bemused and unsure applause. Most of the students seemed completely over Lockhart’s ridiculous displays, but some actually found it to be amusing in a “its so bad its good” kind of way.

Harry was between these two groups. He thought Lockhart’s lessons were unnecessarily absurd, but they weren't that bad either. As long as they learned something, Harry didn't care.

The bell rang and Lockhart stood back up.

“For homework, compose a poem about which spells to use against a Gigantic serpent. Signed copies of “One Hundred and One Practical Uses for the Lumos Spell” to the author of the best one!”

Harry was about to join the rest of the class as they hurried out the door, but suddenly froze when Hermione tugged on his robes to stop. Ron gave her a questioning look from her side.

“Hermione? What is it?” Harry asked, confused.

“I just had a thought. We could maybe ask a professor for some help, and who better to ask than Professor Lockhart himself?” Hermione gushed, excitedly vibrating.

“Really? Of all professors, why Lockhart?” Ron complained, stubbornly ignoring the glare Hermione gave him for the jab against her idol.

Harry paused. It actually wasn't that bad of an idea. He didn’t tell any of the teachers about the prophecy, worried they’d just brush him off like last year, but Lockhart hadn’t given Harry a reason to expect the same dismissive attitude yet. It could be worth a short to at least ask for some advice.

“Oh, why not? Not like we have much to lose from just asking,” Harry said, giving in to Hermione’s pleading look.

“Mate, come on!” Ron groaned in exasperation. He groaned again when he too inevitably fell for Hermione's pleading eyes too. “Ugh, fine! But if that dunderhead goes off on another barney haiku, we’re leaving.”

“Yes! Let’s just wait till everyone's gone first,” Hermione said nervously. “All right…”

She approached Lockhart’s desk, Harry and Ron right behind her.

“Er-Professor Lockhart?” Hermione breathlessly stuttered. “We have a weird question to ask, if that's alright with you.”

Lockhart looked up and gave the golden trio a bright smile. “That’s fine, Ms. Granger. So, what is it?”

Harry stepped up to speak. “I heard this strange poem somewhere and would just like to know if there's any sort of meaning behind it,” Harry recounted the strange arrangement of words from the invisible voice to Lockhart.

Lockhart was dead silent, with the most unnerving and haunted blank look on his face. For a solid minute, he didn't say a single word or move an inch, not even to blink or breathe. Ron and Hermione backed up a bit, off-put by the tense atmosphere. Harry was thoroughly freaked out and began to uneasily retreat. He was about to mumble out some apology and excuse to run when Lockhart finally spoke again.

“Harry, where did you hear that from?”

Harry panicked. This was a bad idea. He was ninety percent sure Lockhart didn't believe him. Lockhart was giving off this terrifying, other aura, one so suffocating and heavy it felt like Harry was in the presence of some unholy horror. “I, um, I heard it from within the walls -or something- I don’t really know. I swear, I‘m not hearing things. It’s just- I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on with me-”

“Harry,” Lockhart softly said, holding his hands out in a placating gesture, suffocating aura gone like it never existed. “Calm down. I don’t think you’re mad. I believe you.”

Harry breathed out a long breath, trying to wrangle his rapidly beating heart into a more normal pace. Now was not the time to freak out.

“I think that was a prophecy, Harry,” Lockhart said, regaining Harry’s attention. “It's a warning of the future. I don’t know how you heard it in the walls, or what exactly it means, but it's very good that you told me. Don’t worry, I’ll look into it.”

Harry didn't feel as freaked out as before, but he was still unsure. Lockhart confirmed it was a prophecy, which was great, but it still wasn’t a solid answer for what it meant. It was still a threat and danger to Hogwarts that for whatever reason, only Harry can hear. Lockhart’s supportive belief in Harry didn't change the fact that Harry himself was worried that he really was going mad.

Harry’s apprehension must have shown on his face because Lockhart let out a sympathetic sigh.

“Alright, if you’re really worried, I think I’ve got something that could help you. Just wait here for a few minutes, I’ll be right back.” Lockhart vanished into his private room, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron alone in the classroom.

The classroom was silent for a minute before Ron finally broke the silence.

“What. Was. That?”

“I-I don’t know,” Harry muttered. Honestly, it was a question he was asking himself. That indescribable, inhuman energy Lockhart was giving off before, What in Merlin’s name was that feeling? It was not normal, not even Dumbledore, who felt like he was drenched in magic itself, ever made Harry feel the need to get on his knees and pray to the stars above that he doesn't get flattened into a pancake.

“Harry, Ron, I didn't ask this before because I thought I was just imagining it, but you both felt it just now too, right? In fact, did you feel this same feeling from Professor Lockhart back with Ms. Norris when the Chamber of Secrets first opened too?” Heroine tentatively asked, still very much cautious and agitated.

Ron and Harry nodded, both on guard from whatever it was they felt. Harry breathed in and tried to organize his frenzied thoughts.

This was the second time that Lockhart felt like that. The first time was right after Ms. Norris was petrified, but again now? This can’t be a coincidence. Harry wasn't so sure before, he just assumed he imagined it, but he never did ask Hermione or Ron, did he? But all three of them very clearly just felt that same pressure from Lockhart again and even admitted to feeling it before too. Could there be more to Lockhart than it seemed at first glance?

There was something going on with Lockhart, and Harry was going to find out what. He didn’t know what it was, or if it was a threat, but something just was off about him. And if he is anything like our last DADA professor, Harry spiraled in anxiety, if Lockhart is anything like Quirrell…

Harry’s dark train of thoughts came to an end when Lockhart shuffled out of his private quarters, looking worse for wear with his tired eyes and pale, sweaty skin. Lockhart coughed into his hand, a faint gold glow coming from his palm, before hiding it behind his back. Harry hoped whatever unpleasant sickness Lockhart had caught wasn't contagious, it looked absolutely nasty.

“Professor Lockhart? Are you okay?” Hermione asked, concerned, seemingly shoving the strange feeling from before to the side.

“I’m fine, dear, thank you. It's just a cold,” Lockhart forced out, voice rough and strained. It very much did not look like “just a cold”, but no one called him out on it.

“Sorry for making you all wait,” Lockhart rasped, frowning at the unpleasant sound of his scratchy voice. He paused to clear his voice for a few seconds, cheerful demeanor and sunny smile slapped back in place before Harry could even respond. “I’ve got a little something for you, Harry, if that'll help. It’s not much, but I hope it gives you some reassurance."

Lockhart revealed a thin, golden chain in his hand and held it out for Harry to take. Harry warily reached out and held the chain in his hands, Ron and Hermione crowding over to examine it up close. It was a beautiful golden chain necklace with a pretty sun motif pendant. The necklace was warm in his palms, so Harry assumed it was charmed with a warming charm. But most unusual of all, the center of the sun motif featured a peculiar symbol with two arcs tangent at their centers over a cross in the middle.

“This necklace is a special one, I made and charmed it myself! If you ever need to call for help, touch the pendent and say or think the words, “I call the Guardian of Light, Phoebus Apollo”.

Hermione's eyes widened but both Ron and Harry were too preoccupied with the necklace to notice.

Apollo? Is Lockhart religious or something? Harry absently thought as he gave the necklace one more suspicious look before slipping it on over his head. The necklace felt warm and comfortable, giving off a faint pulse of magic against his collarbone. Huh, not cursed then. I could get used to this.

Lockhart gently smiled before abruptly steering the three towards the door, offering more advice along the way.

“I won’t hold you all back much longer, but before you go, just remember, If you need archery advice, you can come to me! I’ve taught a great many students to shoot arrows that can pierce armor a hundred feet away! They’re at summer camp, but they’re the most wonderful children that you’ll ever meet. Especially my cabin and all my little sunshines who've inherited my skills and brilliance. I’ve even taught a famous swordsman hero friend of mine all he knows! Well, technically, Chiron did, but I taught Chiron and then he taught my cousin, so technically I indirectly taught him too-”

Harry sighed as Lockhart rambled. Hermione was, of course, paying absolute attention to every word he said. Ron was desperately reaching for the door to get himself out of Lockhart’s speaking range.

“- swear to Hades, no one up on Olympu- erm- my workplace has any sense of taste! Does no one appreciate art these days? My dear younger sis (A sister? Harry pities Lockhart’s sister for dealing with this all the time) does not have a poetic tongue as esteemed as mine! Not even Dio, the dramatic inventor of theater himself, could bother anymore! Everyone's busy panicking themselves into knots and threatening to blast (What?) every innocent to bits! Throwing fingers of blame around, ignoring threats rising right from under their noses, and spending all their time arguing over which poor mortal -I mean muggle- to turn into a dolphin (WHAT?) instead of thinking that perhaps not everyone's out for their paranoid hide-”

The golden trio could not have rushed out and closed the door faster. Lockhart was gibbering about inane nonsense and Harry did not even want to think about what sort of twisted cult Lockhart was part of to talk about his coworkers turning people into dolphins.