"What... what... what... what is this?!"
Watching Lockhart bathe in a sea of pink love letters, Lyla huddled in a corner, absolutely terrified and completely unable to move.
"Ah... is this the blessing sent by those who adore me?" Amidst the shocked expressions of the student body, Lockhart picked up one of the letters and began reading it aloud.
"Handsome, dashing, elegant Lockhart, I love your sunny smile, your silky golden hair, and your genius mind..."
'Mr. Lockhart... was... was he really that amazing... when he was a student here at Hogwarts?' Lyla felt her thoughts fragmenting, like a highly stressed bowstring about to snap. 'To actually receive... so many love... love letters...' Lyla estimated this was something she might never see in her entire life. She subconsciously felt a little envious.
But watching the young Mr. Lockhart loudly recite the dramatic prose, Lyla quickly shook her head. She definitely didn't want this kind of attention.
'This is simply... some kind of psychological torture!'
"Mr. Lockhart!" A sharp, stern voice suddenly interrupted Lockhart's loud recitation.
Lyla carefully peeked over her hands and saw a much younger Professor McGonagall striding forward with a thunderous expression.
'Ah... thank goodness... Professor McGonagall is here...' Seeing her stern face brought Lyla an unusual sense of safety and familiarity.
"Mr. Lockhart, what exactly is the meaning of this?" Professor McGonagall marched up to him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Were all of these sent to you by others?"
"Ah, good morning, Professor McGonagall." Lockhart smiled, his lips curving handsomely. "Of course they were. As your student, you should already know..."
"just how dazzling I, Gilderoy Lockhart, truly am."
"..."
Lyla distinctly saw Professor McGonagall's lips twitch.
The stern Professor reached out and plucked a pink love letter from the pile. Seeing her action, Lockhart's confident smile faltered slightly.
"Mr. Lockhart." Professor McGonagall paused, holding the letter up to the light. "The handwriting on this particular envelope seems a bit familiar."
"Ah... is that so?" Lyla noticed Lockhart slowly stepping down from the table.
"Of course it is," he added, a bit awkwardly. "After all, my admirers are all your students, right?"
"Is that so?" Professor McGonagall's tone at this moment sounded infinitely close to Professor Snape's cold drawl.
She casually picked up another letter and glanced at the ink. "Mr. Lockhart, I don't think you should be using the pronoun 'they', should you?"
"Rather, it should be 'he'."
'Hmm?' Lyla cautiously crawled closer to the pair, subtly craning her neck to peek at the letter in McGonagall's hand.
'Indeed... the handwriting on all of these letters is completely identical... Could they have all been written by the exact same person?'
Lyla pursed her lips, staring at the name Gilderoy Lockhart scrawled across the envelope. The sweeping loops felt increasingly familiar the longer she looked.
'Wait, isn't this Mr. Lockhart's own signature?' The notebook she used for her Magic Array Studies currently had Lockhart's autograph across the cover.
'Wait... if this handwriting belongs to Mr. Lockhart...'
'Doesn't that mean...' Lyla subconsciously looked up at Lockhart.
She found that his previously triumphant face was far from calm. Instead, he looked incredibly flustered and deeply uneasy.
This was the first time Lyla had ever seen Mr. Lockhart look so vulnerable. 'It seems... Professor McGonagall is right?'
'No way... Mr. Lockhart? You actually wrote eight hundred love letters to yourself on Valentine's Day?' 'This kind of thing... it's just a bit too... Ah...'
A chaotic storm of emotions mixed in Lyla's mind all at once. There wasn't just secondhand embarrassment, awkwardness, and shame, but also a profound hint of pity.
'I haven't even written a letter to myself...' Lyla gasped, whimpering slightly as she stared wide-eyed at Mr. Lockhart. She felt as though she had entirely lost the ability to speak.
However, at that exact moment, the silver mist quietly began to dissipate. After it completely cleared, Lyla's vision slowly returned to the reality of her dark office.
"Hmm?"
Professor Dumbledore's imposing figure was no longer standing in front of her. Instead, the only person remaining was Mr. Lockhart, who was currently wearing a Memory Headband of his own.
'Huh? Why is Mr. Lockhart suddenly sitting in my office?'
'Oh, he must be here to give me those Defense Against the Dark Arts memories... But wait! Why did he put on the Memory Headband by himself without even greeting me?'
'And where did Dumbledore go?'
'Wait... does that mean the memories I just saw... those were Mr. Lockhart's personal memories!'
Lyla stared blankly at the blond man sitting there with the silver artifact secured over his eyes. Her mind was racing with questions.
Her current level of confusion was no less than the day she woke up to find she had been in a magical coma for fifty years.
"Ah!" Mr. Lockhart suddenly gasped, violently shivering as he ripped the Memory Headband off his face.
"Mr. Lock... Lockhart?" Lyla looked at him, momentarily completely unsure of what to say.
'Should I ask why he's here, or should I comfort him first?'
'Ah, he surely wouldn't want anyone else to know about the fake love letters... So maybe I should just pretend I didn't see anything?'
"What did you see?!" The moment Lockhart locked eyes with Lyla, he frantically jumped up and rushed toward her.
His sudden, aggressive approach terrified Lyla, causing her to scramble back and collapse into her office chair.
"Lock... Lock... I didn't! I didn't see anything at all!" Looking up at the towering figure looming over her, Lyla frantically shook her head.
She raised her hands defensively to protect her chest. "I only saw... ah... absolutely nothing!"
"You..." Mr. Lockhart was far angrier than Lyla could have ever imagined. His handsome face was flushed a dark, furious red, and his perfectly styled golden hair was completely disheveled.
"You... you definitely saw it... you saw it," he muttered frantically, speaking more to himself than to her. "You saw what I did to them..."
He glared down at Lyla, who was trembling violently in her chair. His hand subconsciously twitched, tightening his grip on his wand.
But... he seemed to suddenly remember something terrifying, and he flinched.
"..."
He fell completely silent for a few seconds, chest heaving as he desperately tried to calm himself down.
Lyla, meanwhile, kept her head tucked down, absolutely terrified to look him in the eye.
'Mr. Lockhart is angry... he's furious!'
'But... didn't he put the Memory Headband on by himself?'
'Why is he so mad at me? He's so scary! So... so terrifying!' Lyla tightly clutched the wand hidden within her sleeve. It was the only thing giving her any sense of security.
"Hmph..." Lockhart let out a long, shuddering breath, finally seeming to regain a sliver of his composure.
He lowered his voice into a dangerous whisper. "This matter... how can I ensure you won't report this to the Ministry of Magic?"
'The Min... the Ministry of Magic?' Lyla's violently trembling body suddenly froze.
She looked up, her blue eyes filled with pure confusion behind her silver mask. "Why... why would I... ever tell them... about this kind of thing?"
'It was just a deeply embarrassing incident from his school days... Why on earth would I involve the Aurors at the Ministry of Magic?'
"This... kind of thing?" Lockhart was completely stunned.
His lips twitched as if he wanted to elaborate, but the words seemed to physically stick in his throat.
"I... I promise I won't tell anyone!" Lyla squeaked, terrified by his shifting expression. "I... I didn't see anything just now... I definitely didn't see you..."
"...your conversation with..."
"My conversation with who?" Lockhart practically lunged forward, his eyes wide and eager. "Me... my conversation with who?!"
"Nothing! Absolutely... absolutely no one!" Lyla shook her head desperately. Out of pure fear, she refused to even speak Professor McGonagall's name out loud.
Lockhart's expression rapidly cycled through pure panic, suspicion, and finally, deep desperation. He stared intently into the unblinking eyes of Lyla's white mask.
After a long, suffocating silence... He slowly spoke. "Professor Hamilton... I am willing to exchange absolutely anything for your silence regarding what you just saw."
"Anything."
'No... there's absolutely no need to be so incredibly dramatic! It was just some fake love letters...' Lyla stared at Lockhart's deadly serious expression, utterly baffled. She could only frantically shake her head. "No need... I..."
"I really won't tell... anyone else..."
"..."
Lockhart pursed his lips tightly.
He subtly twitched his wand arm, as if preparing to cast an Obliviate charm, but quickly aborted the movement—likely terrified of Lyla's rumored, lethal reputation.
Finally, he spun on his heel, his robes flaring, and stormed out.
Bang! The office door slammed shut.
Watching Lockhart's retreating back, a horrifying realization suddenly struck Lyla.
'Wait, that's not right!'
'Didn't you promise to give me your memories about defending against dark creatures?!'
'I didn't want that kind of... that kind of terribly embarrassing memory!'
...
"Ah, Professor Lockhart. Have you already finished your conversation with Professor Hamilton?"
Out in the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore watched the panicked Lockhart hurrying by with extreme interest.
"Ah... haha... Professor Dumbledore." Lockhart forced a highly distracted, sweating smile, not stopping as he rushed back toward his own office.
"There is no need to rush, Professor Lockhart," Dumbledore called out warmly to his retreating back. "You haven't forgotten about the Duelling Club demonstration this afternoon, have you?"
"Ah... of course not..." Lockhart froze, his handsome face turning a sickly shade of pale as he looked back at the Headmaster.
"Excellent. I will be in attendance as well," Dumbledore nodded gently, his blue eyes twinkling. "After all, Professor Flitwick will be stepping in to assist you today, won't he?"
"Ah... then I... I look forward to it."
Lockhart awkwardly twitched his arm, as if trying to make his usual grand, sweeping gesture. In the end, he just flailed it haphazardly in the air before turning and practically sprinting away.
"..."
Watching the fraud flee in terror, Dumbledore's gentle smile grew significantly wider.
"Ah... I believe I deserve an extra glass of mead with lunch today."