"All staff to the second-floor corridor!"
"All staff, report to the second-floor corridor immediately!"
Professor McGonagall's voice grew more urgent with each call.
"Did something happen again?" Every young wizard who heard it was buzzing with questions.
"Listen up—all Gryffindors stay inside! Back to your dorms!" Percy barked orders from the side.
Harry and Ron were hovering by the dorm door, debating whether to sneak out for more intel, when Hermione came rushing up the spiral staircase.
"Hey, Hermione, what are you doing in the boys' dorm?" Ron asked, surprised.
"It's Ginny—she's missing."
"What?! Ginny." Ron's face twisted in disbelief.
"No time to waste—you two, come with me!" Hermione took charge, decisive as ever.
The three slipped out of the Gryffindor common room and headed to the second-floor corridor. Most of the school's staff was already gathered there.
"Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever."
The blood-red words were scrawled huge on the wall, impossible to miss.
"Who? Who's gone?" Madam Pomfrey asked.
"Ginny Weasley. Confirmed missing." McGonagall's face was grim.
"Sorry, had a little emergency—what'd I miss?" A flamboyant voice cut in.
"See the writing? And Ginny Weasley's vanished."
"Oh, how tragic!"
"So, about time you step up, Lockhart?" Snape asked, his face dark.
"Yeah, Lockhart. Weren't you bragging you could find the Chamber entrance no problem?" McGonagall added, sarcasm dripping.
"Right, uh, sure—I'll just... prep first." Lockhart spun around, his smile vanishing. "My contract doesn't cover Chambers."
Once the staff cleared out, the three kids emerged from behind a suit of armor.
"What now? Why Ginny?" Ron whined, face crumpled.
"Come on—we need Julien." Hermione yanked them toward the Ravenclaw tower.
"Why Julien?" Ron asked, confused.
---
"Listen to the riddle."
Just as the trio got blocked at the Ravenclaw common room door, it swung open from inside. A silver-haired head poked out.
"Huh? You guys looking for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks too?" It was Luna.
"Crumple-what beasts?"
"No, we're looking for someone." Hermione cut off the guys' confusion. "Is Julien in? Can you grab him?"
"Oh, bad timing. I saw him head out just now."
"Where'd he go?"
"No clue. But he sneaks out at night every other day—you don't need to worry about him."
"Who's worried about him? Cough—running out of time, let's go!"
"Should we tell McGonagall?" Hermione looked to Harry; when she was unsure, he was the anchor.
"Let's hit up Lockhart first." Harry decided firmly.
"Why that loser?" Ron puzzled.
Hermione shot him a dirty look but stayed quiet. After dealing with him, even she knew Lockhart was all flash, no substance.
"At least he's a professor, and he's supposed to find the Chamber. We should share what we know—saving Ginny comes first."
They found him in the Defense Against the Dark Arts attic—the spot he used for fan mail.
Door unlocked. Pushing it open, the three froze.
Lockhart's luggage was packed. Two big trunks sprawled open on the floor, stuffed with signed color photos, a dozen banner-like things, and bottles of his personal hair care line.
He was bent over, shoving a gold-trimmed peacock-blue robe into one trunk. Too hasty—the sleeve dangled out like a dying tail.
"Professor, where you headed?" They all asked at once. He looked like he was bolting, not rescuing.
"Ah." Lockhart straightened, flashing his trademark grin, but his twitching eye gave him away. "Kids. Perfect timing—I was just—"
"Uh, stepping out... temporarily." He jammed the sleeve in and snapped the trunk shut. "Ministry business. Urgent call, top secret, can't say more—"
His voice trailed off under their stares, smile freezing.
The room went quiet for two seconds. Then Ron let out a weird sound between "ha" and "oh."
"You're bailing." Harry stated flat.
"Strategic retreat." Lockhart corrected quick. "A writer needs a safe spot to create—you're too young to get it—"
"What about the Chamber?" Hermione pressed. "Ginny's down there."
"Right! That!" Lockhart slapped his hand like it just hit him. "That's why I'm leaving—I mean, getting backup! You don't know—handling this level of dark magic needs special international creds. I know a Greek expert, he—"
"You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Last week you said you could handle anything." Harry cut in cold.
"Did I?" Lockhart blinked. "Must've misremembered. Nobody's perfect—"
He edged toward the door mid-sentence. Half a step in, Ron blocked him with his wand raised.
"But you wrote all those books, had all those adventures." Hermione still couldn't wrap her head around it.
"Idiots! Those are stories! Other people's stories!" Lockhart finally dropped the act, fuming.
"So you're a total fraud!" Hermione's eyes widened in fury.
"Fraud? It's artistic license! Who'd read about some old geezer hooking up with a banshee?"
"But my sister's life is on the line—you can't do anything?" Ron yelled, desperate.
"I get where you're coming from, really." Lockhart raised his hands, faking sincerity.
"But think logically—a celebrity dying here versus a student? Which tanks the school's rep more? Me sticking around helps no one—"
"Speaking of what I can do, I am a pro at one thing. Memory charms... how else do you think I sell other folks' tales?" He reached for his wand.
"Don't move!" Hermione's wand jabbed his head.
"Easy, kids—oh, oof!"
He didn't finish—Harry swung first. Not a spell, a punch.
The move Julien taught him for Dudley: "Step forward in a horse stance, left hook, right hook."
Ron swore later he counted—three hits total.
First to the gut, Lockhart doubled over. Second to the face, he straightened. Third to the gut again, back down.