When the scenery around him settled, the Room of Requirement looked very different—an entire study was missing, the one that housed Slytherin's collection of books.
It was an afternoon in the first week. He remembered Lockhart's schedule from the previous year: after finishing a soporific third-year Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, Lockhart would usually head to his office for "a little rest" and to "plan the next chapter of his adventures."
My past self should be in another class right now. I haven't had my first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson yet, Will thought. He transformed into a silver sparrow and flew straight to Lockhart's office.
The office was every bit as flamboyant as Lockhart himself: the walls were covered in photographs of him from every angle, all constantly smiling, waving, and flashing gleaming teeth; the shelves were crammed with beautifully bound copies of his own books; and a cloyingly sweet perfume hung in the air.
The room was empty for the moment.
Will quickly inspected it, then sat behind an enormous screen decorated with feathers and waited patiently.
A few dozen minutes later, the door handle turned, soon followed by the sound of someone humming a tune.
Gilderoy Lockhart walked in wearing violet robes. His golden waves of hair were as immaculate as ever, and his face wore his signature perfect, eight-toothed smile. Apparently, he had just "successfully" bluffed his way through another lesson.
Will reflected that the Lockhart of 1994 should be keeping the Dementors company in Azkaban. The Lockhart before him would never imagine he could meet such an end.
He had just closed the door and turned around when something unexpected happened.
A wand was pointing straight at his face.
Its owner was a boy with cold silver-gray eyes that made him rather uncomfortable.