The Twin Who Lived: Secrets of the Serpent - The Case of the Carnivorous Autobiographies

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom carried a peculiar atmosphere that morning. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows overlooking the Hogwarts grounds, illuminating rows of desks arranged neatly before the professor's platform. Dust motes drifted lazily through the golden beams, creating an almost peaceful scene. The shelves along the walls were packed with books, many of which featured the same smiling face grinning from the covers. Copies of Voyages with Vampires, Year with the Yeti, Wanderings with Werewolves, and numerous other titles sat proudly on display. The scent of parchment, ink, and old leather filled the room. Students gradually trickled inside, taking their seats while exchanging quiet conversations. Several glanced toward the front of the room where a large stack of Lockhart's books rested atop his desk. Those books looked perfectly normal. That was precisely what made them dangerous.

Mira sat beside Draco near the center of the classroom.

Both appeared completely innocent.

Neither was.

Draco leaned slightly toward her, "Everything ready?"

His voice barely rose above a whisper.

Mira nodded.

A faint spark of amusement flickered in her bright teal eyes.

The spellwork had taken considerable effort.

Not because the enchantment itself was difficult.

Because the targeting had to be perfect.

The books would bite exactly one person.

Only one.

No accidental victims.

No collateral damage.

Just Gilderoy Lockhart.

Draco's grin widened.

He appreciated quality craftsmanship.

Especially when it resulted in chaos.

Students continued arriving.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered together.

Neville followed shortly afterward.

Theo and Blaise settled into nearby seats.

Daphne sat elegantly beside them.

Conversations flowed naturally throughout the room.

Nobody suspected anything.

At least not yet.

Mira glanced toward the professor's desk.

The books remained still.

Patient.

Waiting.

Like predators disguised as literature.

The thought almost made her laugh.

Almost.

The classroom door burst open dramatically.

Gilderoy Lockhart entered.

Naturally.

Everything Lockhart did seemed dramatic.

His robes flowed behind him as though caught in a heroic breeze that existed only for him. His smile gleamed brightly enough to rival the morning sunlight. Several students immediately exchanged knowing looks. Others simply prepared themselves for another lesson centered entirely around Lockhart's accomplishments. The professor strode confidently toward his desk. Completely unaware that a dozen copies of his own autobiography had developed strong opinions regarding his existence. He set down a stack of parchment. Adjusted his sleeves. Smiled at the class. Then reached for the nearest book.

The book bit him.

Hard.

"YAAAH!"

The scream echoed through the classroom.

Students jumped.

Lockhart jumped higher.

The book remained attached to his hand.

Its leather cover flapped wildly like an angry creature.

Its pages snapped like jaws.

Lockhart shook his arm violently.

The book refused to let go.

Students stared.

Nobody spoke.

For several seconds, the entire classroom seemed frozen.

Then the book finally released him.

Lockhart stumbled backward.

The class erupted.

"What in Merlin's name?"

Lockhart stared at the book.

The book stared back.

At least it felt that way.

Slowly, cautiously, he reached toward it again.

Students leaned forward.

Curiosity overwhelmed caution.

The book waited.

Patiently.

Silently.

Then—

CHOMP.

It bit him again.

This time directly on the finger.

Lockhart yelped.

Several students immediately lost control.

Laughter exploded throughout the room.

Ron nearly fell from his chair.

Harry buried his face in his arms.

Even Hermione appeared dangerously close to laughing.

Lockhart glared at the book.

The book glared right back.

Or perhaps it merely sat there.

At this point, it was difficult to tell.

The professor cleared his throat.

Attempting to recover dignity.

"Just a minor enchantment."

Nobody believed him.

Not even slightly.

Lockhart carefully picked up a quill instead.

The book remained still.

Relieved, he reached toward a second book.

A mistake.

A terrible mistake.

The second book lunged.

Its cover opened.

Pages snapped together like teeth.

Lockhart barely avoided losing part of his sleeve.

The attack triggered something.

Every book on the desk suddenly awakened.

One by one.

Then all at once.

Covers opened.

Pages fluttered.

The entire stack began moving.

Students watched in astonishment.

Lockhart watched in horror.

The books appeared united by a singular purpose.

Destroy Gilderoy Lockhart's peace of mind.

The first book launched itself from the desk.

Lockhart ducked.

The second struck his shoulder.

The third attached itself to the back of his robe.

A fourth targeted his leg.

A fifth attempted to bite his hair.

Chaos erupted instantly.

Lockhart spun around.

Trying desperately to remove the attackers.

Every movement only attracted more books.

The classroom transformed into a battlefield.

One man.

Twelve autobiographies.

The autobiographies were winning.

The most confusing aspect quickly became apparent.

The books ignored everyone else.

Completely.

A copy of Break with a Banshee landed directly in front of Harry.

Nothing happened.

Neville cautiously poked one.

Nothing.

Hermione picked up another.

Perfectly harmless.

The moment she handed it toward Lockhart—

CHOMP.

The book attempted to eat his cuff.

Hermione immediately dropped it.

Students began laughing harder.

The books clearly had standards.

Very specific standards.

Draco maintained remarkable composure.

At least externally.

Internally, he was struggling.

Watching Lockhart flee from his own published works was one of the funniest things he had ever witnessed. Theo wasn't faring much better. Blaise had abandoned any attempt at dignity several minutes ago. Daphne's shoulders shook suspiciously. Mira remained calm. Mostly. The occasional twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. Across the room, Harry looked genuinely impressed. Ron appeared to be experiencing the greatest moment of his academic career.

"Why are they only biting him?" Ron asked.

Nobody answered.

Mostly because nobody wanted to ruin the mystery.

Lockhart finally managed to corner several books against the wall.

Victory seemed possible.

Then one bit his ankle.

The professor hopped.

Lost balance.

Tripped over another book.

And collapsed into a chair.

The books immediately swarmed.

Not aggressively.

More enthusiastically.

Like excited puppies.

If puppies possessed sharp paper teeth and deeply personal grudges.

The classroom dissolved into complete laughter.

At that precise moment, the door opened.

Professor Snape entered.

Silence fell instantly.

Well.

Almost silence.

The books were still growling.

Snape paused.

His gaze moved across the room.

Lockhart sat trapped beneath several biting autobiographies.

Students struggled not to laugh.

Books chased their author around the classroom.

For several seconds, Snape simply observed.

His expression remained perfectly blank.

Then he looked at Lockhart, "Your fan club appears unusually enthusiastic today."

The classroom exploded.

Again.

Even some of the books seemed pleased.

And beneath the thunder of laughter, Mira quietly exchanged a glance with Draco.

Neither spoke.

Neither needed to.

Because the look said everything.

Another successful prank.

The Great Hall was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight. Golden beams poured through the enchanted windows, painting long patterns across the stone floor and making the floating candles appear almost unnecessary. Students filled the house tables, enjoying the lull between classes and dinner while discussing homework, Quidditch, and, most notably, the spectacular incident involving Lockhart's carnivorous autobiographies. Every few minutes, fresh bursts of laughter erupted from one table or another as someone retold the story with increasingly exaggerated details. The atmosphere felt lighter than it had in weeks despite the looming threat of the Chamber of Secrets. Even the professors seemed slightly less burdened for the moment. Near the staff table, Dumbledore sat serenely while reviewing correspondence, Flitwick chatted animatedly with Sprout, and McGonagall maintained her usual dignified posture. Only Lockhart appeared particularly uncomfortable. He had the distinct feeling that everyone was looking at him.

Unfortunately for him, they were.

Lockhart attempted to focus on his pumpkin juice.

Perhaps if he ignored the students, the students would ignore him.

It was a deeply flawed strategy.

Because Dumbledore had just set down his teacup.

And whenever Dumbledore looked that pleasantly interested in something, trouble often followed.

"My dear Gilderoy."

The Headmaster's voice carried effortlessly down the staff table.

Lockhart froze.

Several professors immediately looked up.

"So glad to see you've recovered from this morning."

Lockhart's smile became strained, "Recovered?"

Dumbledore nodded pleasantly, "From the book incident," A dangerous sparkle appeared in his blue eyes, "I heard it was quite memorable."

Flitwick immediately brightened, "Oh yes!"

The Charms professor nearly bounced in his chair, "Several students described it to me."

McGonagall adjusted her spectacles, "The descriptions were remarkably consistent."

Lockhart looked trapped, "Merely a minor enchantment," His voice carried forced confidence, "A teaching demonstration."

Flitwick blinked, "A demonstration?"

"Indeed," Lockhart nodded quickly, "To teach students vigilance."

Several professors exchanged looks.

Sprout looked unconvinced.

McGonagall looked even less convinced.

Dumbledore smiled, "Fascinating."

The single word somehow sounded incredibly suspicious.

At the Slytherin table, Mira sat beside Draco while Fred and George occupied seats nearby under the pretense of discussing homework.

Nobody believed they were discussing homework.

Especially not the four of them.

Mira's eyes briefly flickered toward the staff table.

Everything was proceeding perfectly.

Draco followed her gaze.

A small house-elf stood hidden behind one of the serving stations.

The elf gave the slightest nod.

The exchange lasted less than a second.

Nobody noticed.

At least, nobody except the four conspirators.

Fred grinned.

George grinned identically.

The second phase had begun.

Lockhart continued attempting to redirect the conversation, "As I was saying, when I battled the Wagga Wagga Werewolf—"

McGonagall interrupted, "Was the werewolf also a book?"

Several students overheard.

Laughter spread immediately.

Lockhart visibly deflated, "No."

Flitwick cleared his throat politely, "Did the books perhaps mistake you for an overdue library fee?"

More laughter.

Even some older students joined in.

Lockhart looked increasingly desperate.

The professors, meanwhile, appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.

Especially Dumbledore.

Then Lockhart reached for his pumpkin juice.

The movement seemed entirely ordinary.

Unremarkable.

Routine.

His fingers wrapped around the goblet.

He lifted it.

Took a generous drink.

Swallowed.

And continued speaking, "As I was saying, true courage is—"

He stopped.

Something felt strange.

Very strange.

His sleeves suddenly seemed larger.

His chair seemed taller.

His goblet seemed enormous.

The Great Hall appeared to stretch upward.

Students blinked.

Confused.

Then somebody gasped.

Lockhart was shrinking.

Rapidly.

His robes folded inward.

His chair grew around him.

His hair diminished.

His arms shortened.

The transformation happened so quickly that nobody reacted immediately.

The staff table fell silent.

Students stared.

Goblets seemed to become cauldrons.

Plates became serving trays.

Within seconds, Lockhart had become tiny.

Then smaller.

Then smaller still.

Until finally—

He stood approximately mouse-sized atop his chair.

The entire Great Hall froze.

Absolute silence descended.

Lockhart looked around.

His tiny face filled with horror.

An absolutely gigantic Severus Snape slowly looked down.

Snape’s expression remained perfectly neutral.

Which somehow made it worse.

Tiny Lockhart pointed upward furiously, “FIX THIS IMMEDIATELY!”

The squeaky voice made several students collapse all over again.

Snape leaned slightly closer, “…I can barely hear you.”

Then Fred started laughing.

That was all it took.

The Great Hall exploded.

Students howled.

Several older Ravenclaws nearly fell from their benches.

Hufflepuffs buried their faces in their arms.

Even some professors struggled.

Flitwick looked moments away from tears.

McGonagall removed her glasses.

Again.

A familiar response whenever reality became inconvenient.

Dumbledore watched the miniature professor with enormous interest, "Remarkable."

Tiny Lockhart pointed accusingly around the hall.

“I HAVE BEEN SABOTAGED!”

His tiny, outraged squeaks only made things worse.201Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmEClYLO2Fo

The sound carried very little authority.

Unfortunately, the situation became significantly worse.

Because Mrs. Norris had noticed.

The castle cat had been prowling near the entrance.

As she often did.

Her yellow eyes narrowed.

She spotted movement.

Tiny movement.

Mouse-sized movement.

Mrs. Norris immediately became interested.

Very interested.

Lockhart noticed.

The tiny professor turned pale.

Or as pale as a mouse-sized wizard could.

"Oh dear."

Mrs. Norris began walking toward the staff table.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Each step felt terrifyingly measured.

Lockhart backed away.

She continued forward.

The cat wasn't trying to eat him.

Merely investigate.

Unfortunately, Lockhart didn't know that.

To him, she appeared approximately the size of a dragon.

Students noticed immediately.

The Hall erupted into renewed laughter.

Ron nearly fell off his bench.

Harry couldn't breathe.

Hermione abandoned any attempt at dignity.

Lockhart turned.

Ran.

Mrs. Norris followed.

Not quickly.

Not aggressively.

Simply curious.

The distinction mattered very little to Lockhart.

Tiny robes fluttered behind him as he sprinted across the length of the staff table.

The cat followed at a leisurely pace.

Like someone enjoying a pleasant afternoon stroll.

The contrast proved devastatingly funny.

Students pounded tables.

Fred and George clung to each other for support.

Draco hid his face behind a goblet.

Mira remained calm.

Mostly.

"Someone help me!" Lockhart's squeaky voice echoed through the Hall.

Mrs. Norris swatted gently at his robe.

Lockhart shrieked.

Several portraits along the walls started laughing.

Even the ghosts seemed entertained.

Nearly Headless Nick floated through a nearby wall to investigate.

One look at the scene was enough.

He immediately burst into ghostly laughter.

The spectacle had transcended embarrassment.

It had entered legend.

Eventually, Dumbledore decided mercy was appropriate.

Though not immediately.

A little later.

After everyone had fully appreciated the situation.

The Headmaster rose gracefully.

His wand appeared.

A soft counter-charm drifted across the staff table.

Golden light surrounded Lockhart.

Slowly, the tiny professor expanded.

Mouse-sized.

Cat-sized.

Child-sized.

Then finally normal.

Lockhart collapsed into his chair.

Disheveled.

Traumatized.

And thoroughly defeated.

Then Snape calmly asked—

“…How were the trolls?”

The hall exploded again.

Lockhart closed his eyes in suffering.

The Hall gradually settled.

Though occasional laughter continued.

Lockhart remained completely silent.

A rare achievement.

Mrs. Norris sat nearby looking mildly disappointed that her new toy had vanished.

At the Slytherin table, Draco leaned toward Mira, "That might be worse than the Griffin."

Mira considered carefully.

Then glanced toward the staff table.

Lockhart stared blankly into the distance.

Clearly reliving every horrifying second.

She smiled faintly, "Perhaps."

Nearby, Fred and George exchanged matching grins.

The four conspirators returned to their meals.

Meanwhile, at the staff table, Gilderoy Lockhart made a silent promise to himself.

He was going to find out who kept doing this to him.

Unfortunately, he was Gilderoy Lockhart.

Which meant he had absolutely no chance.

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