Harry did not want the setback with Moaning Myrtle to impede his investigation. The very next day, he decided to put Professor Lockhart's knowledge of dark magic to the test. Harry didn't have any faith in Gilderoy's ability as a teacher, but Harry reasoned that Lockhart couldn't have written so many books on the subject without some knowledge.
Harry still remembered the way Lockhart had bragged about knowing just the counter-charm that could have saved Mamon if he had only gotten there sooner. While Harry was sure he knew of no such thing, it made him wonder if there was in fact a spell that could have cursed the cat in that particular way. Harry thought that if he had a clue as to how the feat had been accomplished, then perhaps that would reveal who had the skill to cast such a dangerous curse.
Harry shared his idea with Blaise, who evinced even less faith in Lockhart than Harry himself, but for Millie's sake, he agreed that they must make the attempt.
Increasingly, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become little more than a venue for Professor Lockhart to reenact some of the exciting scenes from his books, so that class had become more theater than classroom. As the bells signaling the end of class sounded, Lockhart was just finishing up a particularly touching account of how he performed a homunculous charm on a werewolf that had been terrorizing a small village. Harry, to worm his way into Lockhart's good graces, agreed to play the part of the werewolf, and he was busy wriggling about on the floor, mimicking the excruciating pain a werewolf under the effects of the charm was said to undergo.
Harry remained on the floor, panting slightly from the effort of his performance, while the rest of the class gathered their books and papers to leave. The girls were all deeply moved by Lockhart's account of his own bravery and compassion. All except Millie, of course, who couldn't repress several scoffs and giggles during the scene. Harry merely swallowed his shame, knowing that Malfoy would not soon let him forget this most recent indignity.
"Capital performance, Harry," Lockhart said when he stopped fixing his hair in the mirror and noticed Harry still lying on the floor. He offered his hand and helped to pull Harry to his feet. "If you're looking for a career that will catapult you to fame, I'd say you have a promising career on the stage."
Harry could have reminded him that he was already famous, but thought better of it. Lockhart did not like anyone to shine brighter than himself. Instead, he shot a glance at Blaise. His friend was still in his seat, shooting a hostile look at Lockhart and looking like he wanted to back out of this plan. Instead, seeing Harry's pointed gaze, he stood and made his way reluctantly toward the teacher.
"Mr. Zabini!" Lockhart said with genuine delight. "How are you doing? Your mother is well I trust?"
Harry could tell that it took all of Blaise's willpower to turn his cringe into a smile.
"She's well, Professor Lockhart. I think she's enjoying your book."
"Oh? Which one?" Lockhart said with a delighted grin.
"The one I've just had the privilege of seeing you perform, sir."
"Ah! Wanderings with Werewolves. Indeed, one of my favorite adventures."
Blaise, usually oozing with charm, especially when he knew he stood to gain something, gave Lockhart a tight smile.
"She seems to be particularly interested in the homunculous charm you so excellently exhibited for us just now. I'm sure she'd love to know how you managed such a difficult spell."
Lockhart cleared his throat in obvious discomfort and quickly redirected his attention to Harry.
"Yes, well... I would be delighted to tell her, but perhaps that's a discussion for another time. I'm sure Harry here did not wait around just to ask about the homunculous charm! What is it I can do for you? Some advice about the ladies perhaps?"
"What? No!" Harry exclaimed. He quickly modulated his tone and started again, "No, professor. Actually, we did have a question, but it's about the Dark Arts."
"The Dark... Arts..." Lockhart replied slowly. "Yes... I see..."
"You are the Dark Arts professor, aren't you?" Blaise asked, sensing Lockhart's increasing trepidation.
"Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm afraid when it comes to dark, er, practices, I haven't much practical knowledge... For which I am very fortunate! That's not something for young boys to be dabbling in, and certainly nothing fit for upstanding wizards such as yourselves."
"Please sir, it's theoretical knowledge we're looking for," said Harry in his most wheedling tone. "It's about what happened to Millie's cat."
"Ah yes..." Lockhart said, trying a pitying expression the way some people might try on a mask, "I had forgotten that the poor creature belonged to one of your friends. It's natural for you to be curious, Harry, but as I said, such things are not proper for young people to know about."
"Please, Professor," Blaise added, after Harry shot him a glance, "If we knew how it happened, maybe we could find a way to reverse it. Perhaps you know a spell...?"
"The best thing for it is the mandrake potion, and that will take time to produce," Lockhart said definitively, "I'm afraid there is no charm that can restore a petrified individual."
"But what could have done it?" Harry pressed, "If a charm can't reverse it, then it couldn't have been a spell or hex that caused it to happen in the first place, could it?"
Lockhart squirmed under the force of their joint interrogation. Harry realized that no matter how noble their intentions may have been, they were right not to put their faith in Lockhart. It was clear he didn't know anything, practical or otherwise. Harry wasn't sure how he'd managed to write his books, but he was sure they were more fiction than fact.
"Nevermind, Professor," Harry said, deciding it would be useless to force him to answer a question for which he clearly did not have an answer.
Harry motioned to Blaise, who was only too willing to leave it at that. He turned to follow Harry out the door, when suddenly they were called back by a wild cry from Lockhart.
"Wait! Wait, I think I've just thought of something!"
He seemed almost frantic not to lose Harry's respect, hardly knowing that he never had it to begin with. Perhaps he realized his mask of confidence was slipping, and he didn't want to consider the consequences of having Harry Potter speak badly about him to the other students. If word of his incompetence got out, there was a good chance Dumbledore would give him the sack. Whatever his concern, Lockhart pleaded with them to wait a moment, and dashed through a door at the back of the class, leading into his private office. Harry and Blaise exchanged a glance, silently asking one another if they should just leave, or see what Lockhart had thought of. They were spared making a decision by the sudden reappearance of the professor, clutching a stack of parchment in his hands.
"Yes, yes! I have it here! In Gambling with Gorgons."
"Gambling with Gorgons? I don't remember that on the reading list," said Blaise.
"Ah ha! That's because it's my new book. I haven't published it yet, but look for it in stores near you next Autumn! Ha ha!"
He saw that Harry and Blaise were not laughing, and with an awkward grin, he flipped through some of his manuscript and gave a satisfied sigh.
"You see, I thought of it when Harry said it couldn't have been a spell. There are creatures, like the Gorgon, who can cause damage with just a look. Meeting the Gorgon's eye is fatal to the viewer, for even a glance turns one to stone."
He looked at them with a grin that practically begged for their approval, but Harry was less than convinced.
"But Mamon didn't turn to stone," said Harry, "And he isn't dead. Just petrified."
"Well, yes... But you must admit, being petrified is rather similar to being turned to stone..."
He trailed off, seeing the unconvinced expressions on Harry and Blaise faces.
"Alright, so maybe it isn't a Gorgon," he conceded, "But it may be a creature rather like a Gorgon, or at least one that has similar abilities... The point is, Harry, perhaps there's some truth to these rumors after all, and we're not dealing with a man, but a beast."
Perhaps he meant to impress them with his theory, and his subtle reference to the legend of the chamber, but Harry had already heard this horror story. He shrugged his shoulders, no longer caring if the professor believed he was a fan or not.
"Someone had to write those words on the wall, Professor," Harry said simply, turning to leave once again. He paused only long enough to see the small illustration Lockhart had doodled of the Gorgon on the cover of the manuscript. She seemed to be a beautiful woman, but for the mass of twisting snakes instead of hair. Something about the image gave Harry a feeling of foreboding, and he turned away with a shudder, thankful that the image of a Gorgon wasn't enough for him to be petrified himself.