Lockhart of The Kaleidoscope

As Gilderoy Lockhart descended the spiral staircase from Dumbledore's office, his mind churned. The conversation had gone better than expected, but there was no denying it—Dumbledore knew something. The headmaster's casual inquiry about the Pensieve was more than a simple curiosity; it was a subtle probe, a test of Gilderoy's truthfulness.

"That old man," Lockhart muttered under his breath as he turned a corner, heading toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts wing. "He's more perceptive than I gave him credit for."

For a moment, a flicker of doubt gnawed at him. Dumbledore wasn't the sort to let things slide. If he suspected something deeper—if he caught even the faintest whiff of the truth—he would dig. And once Dumbledore started digging, he seldom stopped.

The corridor was quiet, the sounds of students fading as classes were still in session. Lockhart slowed his pace, glancing out the tall, arched windows that lined the hall. The view beyond was serene—the sprawling Hogwarts grounds bathed in golden sunlight. It was a stark contrast to the storm brewing in his thoughts.

He ran a hand through his blonde hair, pushing aside the charm and façade that everyone else saw. Beneath the polished exterior, the real Gilderoy—the one who carried the knowledge of multiverses—contemplated his next move.

"I need to be careful," he murmured. "Dumbledore's no fool. If he continues to pry, it could complicate everything."

His thoughts wandered back to the artifacts he had projected during his class. The Fool tarot card, the lightsaber of Kylo Ren—each object had been a calculated choice. A lesson in fear, yes, but also a demonstration of the power he wielded. Power that none of these students or professors could begin to comprehend.

The spell he had crafted, the one he'd told Dumbledore about, was no simple projection. It was a far more complex magic, rooted in the deep knowledge of the Kaleidoscope. The ancient Pensieve had been a partial truth.

But he couldn't let Dumbledore know that.

Gilderoy reached his office and pushed open the door, stepping into the familiar space. The room was filled with his usual trappings—framed portraits of himself, countless signed books, and a collection of magical trinkets that had once belonged to far more deserving wizards. He moved to his desk, leaning against it as his mind continued to churn.

He knew Dumbledore wouldn't let this rest. The headmaster had been kind, yes, but his questions lingered like an unspoken warning. Lockhart would have to tread carefully from now on, keep his true capabilities hidden beneath layers of charm and deceit. But something about their conversation nagged at him.

"The Pensieve…" Gilderoy whispered to himself. "Why did he ask about that?"

He tapped his fingers against the desk, recalling the subtle shift in Dumbledore's tone when the ancient memory device was mentioned. Could Dumbledore suspect the true origin of Gilderoy's spellcraft? Did he know about the Kaleidoscope? or there actually is an ancient pensieve out there that hold some valuable information

Lockhart's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Startled, he straightened, slipping back into his well-practiced persona. With a quick flick of his wand, the lights in the room brightened, casting a warm, inviting glow.

"Enter!" he called, his voice once again laced with its usual enthusiasm.

The door creaked open, revealing none other than Severus Snape, his dark robes billowing as he stepped into the office. His sallow face was impassive, but his black eyes gleamed with barely concealed disdain.

"Lockhart," Snape said in his usual cold drawl. "The headmaster has asked me to speak with you regarding your… recent lesson."

Lockhart's smile faltered for the briefest of moments before he quickly recovered. "Ah, Severus! What a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in. What can I do for you?"

Snape stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. He did not sit, nor did he offer any pleasantries. Instead, he simply stared at Lockhart, his gaze penetrating.

"I don't know what game you're playing, Lockhart," Snape began, his voice low and dangerous. "But I suggest you tread carefully. Dumbledore may be lenient, but the rest of us are not so easily fooled."

Lockhart's smile stiffened, though he kept it in place. "I'm not sure what you mean, Severus. I was simply teaching the students a valuable lesson in defense—"

"Spare me the theatrics," Snape cut him off, his voice dripping with contempt. "You know as well as I do that what you showed those children was far beyond simple defense techniques. You spoke of artifacts none of us have heard of."

For a brief moment, Lockhart's mind raced. How much did Snape know? Was he bluffing, or had he seen through the façade as Dumbledore had? He needed to respond carefully.

"I see you've been listening to gossip, Severus," Lockhart replied smoothly, though there was a subtle edge to his tone. "The artifacts were harmless replicas. My own creations, modeled after legends I've encountered on my journeys."

Snape's lip curled. "You may fool the children, Lockhart, but not me. There's something… unnatural about your magic. The headmaster may have his reasons for tolerating your presence here, but don't think for a second that everyone in this castle is so easily charmed."

Something unnatural about my magic.Lockhart felt a surge of irritation but kept his expression calm. "Is there something you'd like to accuse me of, Severus?"

Snape's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. "Not yet. But I will be watching you, Lockhart. And when the time comes, I will ensure that your true nature is revealed."

With that, Snape turned sharply on his heel and strode out of the room, his black robes sweeping behind him like a shadow.

As the door clicked shut, Lockhart let out a slow breath. The encounter had been tense—too tense. Snape was onto something, and if Dumbledore hadn't already raised suspicions, Snape certainly had. Lockhart couldn't afford any more slip-ups.

Moving to the window, he gazed out at the grounds below. In the distance, he could see students milling about, laughing, and practicing their spells, blissfully unaware of the secrets lurking within the walls of Hogwarts.

He clenched his fist, feeling the weight of his hidden power thrumming beneath the surface. For now, he would have to play the part of the charming, bumbling professor. But he knew that the game he was playing was dangerous. One wrong move, and everything could unravel.

"I must be more careful," Gilderoy whispered to himself. "Dumbledore, Snape… they're watching. But they haven't seen everything yet."

With a flick of his wand, he dimmed the lights and retreated to his desk. There were plans to make, secrets to guard, and above all, a growing sense that time was running out.