Lockhart's memories emerged in Sean's mind like a slideshow—one scene after another flashing by in rapid succession.
Sean slowly turned his right wrist, the wand steady in his hand, as though adjusting a dial or guiding a remote control. The memories began to move faster, the images flickering past like a movie played in reverse. Sean focused intently, searching through the mess for the fragment he needed.
Everything Lockhart had done, every lie, every stage performance, every shallow ambition—it all flew past. His vanity, his hunger for fame, his constant need to be admired.
Then something changed.
A section of memory after Lockhart's graduation stood out—blurry, inconsistent, buried deep within the farthest recesses of his mind. It was different from the rest, clearly tampered with. Sean could feel it: someone—or something—had intervened.
He dug deeper.
After some effort, pieces of that hidden memory began to surface.
A small town in Scotland, quiet and remote, with a beautiful river winding through it.
An abandoned old house, its stones dark with age, perched near the riverbank.
Strange magical relics hidden within that house.
And it was there—there—that Lockhart had obtained the ultimate Oblivion Charm.
The final clip in the memory was a name, clear as day, glowing faintly in Lockhart's mind.
Rowena Ravenclaw.
Sean's eyes snapped open.He had pulled out of the Legilimency state.
Sean looked down at the unconscious Lockhart, a slightly complicated expression flickering across his face.
After delving into Lockhart's memories, Sean had seen a different side of the man. Once, Lockhart had been genuinely curious, even daring—an eager adventurer, not just a fraud. As a student, he had shown little promise beyond charming smiles and clever quills, but after graduation, he stumbled upon something unexpected: a hidden clue in his old college notes that led him to the birthplace of Rowena Ravenclaw—possibly even the ancient Ravenclaw ancestral home.
What followed was fragmented and unclear. The memory blurred, skipping time like a scratched record. But then it sharpened again—Lockhart, returning from his travels, now wielding an unusually powerful form of Obliviate.
From that point on, everything changed.
Lockhart began using Obliviate not just to protect himself, but to erase and claim the stories of others—real witches and wizards who had lived through the adventures he later published as his own. As time passed, his dependence on the memory charm grew. He practiced it obsessively, while letting all his other magical abilities wither.
He was never a powerful wizard to begin with. His success at Hogwarts had come mostly through written exams. In actual spellwork, he had been mediocre at best. And now, dulled by years of negligence, he could barely cast a proper jinx without flinching.
Could it have been a magical relic left behind by Rowena Ravenclaw?If I become strong enough... maybe I can return there myself. There might still be something worth uncovering.
The thought lingered for a moment, but Sean pushed it aside. There were more pressing matters now.
He glanced one last time at Lockhart—still slumped, still unaware—and silently raised his wand.
"Obliviate."
The cold February air drifting through the corridor roused Lockhart from unconsciousness. He blinked slowly, letting out a long yawn as he sat up.
He was sitting by a window, half-shivering, unsure how long he'd been there.
"I must've dozed off while watching the stars," he muttered to himself. "That moonlight always puts me in a reflective mood."
Stretching, he stood up and smoothed out his robes.
"Too many late nights responding to fan mail. I really must start sleeping earlier."
Standing up, Lockhart suddenly felt a dull ache in his body. He frowned slightly and looked himself over, relieved to find no injuries—his robes were spotless, not a thread out of place. With a contented sigh, he straightened up and made his way back to his quarters, none the wiser.
From a quiet corner in the shadows, Sean watched him disappear around the corridor. Without a word, he turned and walked off in the opposite direction. He returned to the Slytherin common room, washed up quickly, and slipped into his room, ready to sleep.
"What have you been doing?"
The sudden voice startled him. Sean looked up to see Kulkan, coiled in the corner of the room, her serpent eyes glowing faintly in the dark. He'd almost forgotten she was there—back when he couldn't understand Parseltongue, he could pretend she was just a harmless decorative snake. But now, with the ability to speak and comprehend the snake language, there was no avoiding her.
"I just went out, beat up Lockhart, learned his Memory Charm, and erased his memory so he wouldn't remember me beating him up."
Kulkan stared at him, unimpressed. Her forked tongue flicked once, then she narrowed her eyes in disdain.
"You lie too much. If you don't want to tell me the truth, just say so. Don't insult my intelligence." She yawned in that slow, serpentine way and added coldly, "I'm going to sleep."
With that, she curled into a loose coil and shut her eyes.
Sean stared at her for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.
This world is ridiculous. Tell the truth, and no one believes you.
The next morning, the sea was calm.
After breakfast, Sean was on his way to Transfiguration class with Blaise, chatting idly as they walked the corridor. On the way, they happened to run into Harry, who was also heading to class alone.
Harry looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his expression was distant—almost comparable to Blaise when he hadn't slept the entire night.
"Harry, didn't sleep last night?" Sean asked.
Harry shook his head slightly. "Had some nightmares… so, yeah."
Sean nodded in understanding. "You should take care of your health. Don't worry too much about Hermione and Ron. Professor Dumbledore said that Professor Sprout can use mandrake roots to make a restorative potion. Once they're mature, it should bring Hermione and Ron back to normal. So don't stress yourself too much."
Harry gave him a faint smile. "Yeah. I know. Thanks, Sean."
Sean could tell there was more going on—Harry's expression made that clear—but he wasn't going to press him. If Harry didn't want to talk, Sean wouldn't ask. Either way, the outcome wouldn't change.
That evening, Sean sat in the Slytherin common room, his gaze calm and distant as he watched Miles quietly slip out. The crowd around him didn't seem to notice, but Sean did. He knew exactly what that meant—Miles couldn't hold back any longer.
At dinner, Sean had noticed Miles sitting unusually close. There were still two students between them, but it was obvious Miles had positioned himself to overhear Sean's conversation with Blaise, Andy, and the others.
So Sean had dropped a hint—something vague, just enough to stir the diary's interest. He mentioned that Dumbledore and the professors had already found the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and that the basilisk wouldn't be a threat for much longer.
It was bait—and Miles had taken it.
Now, under cover of night, he made his move.
------------
Miles crept into the girls' bathroom on the third floor. He strode straight to the sink and knelt before a copper faucet engraved with a tiny snake.
He hissed in Parseltongue.
"Hisss... (Open)."
The faucet glowed with a faint white light and began to spin. Moments later, the basin behind it shifted, transforming into a swirling drain. The water spiraled away, revealing a massive stone pipe—wide enough for a person to slide through.
Without hesitation, Miles jumped in.
Sean, waiting quietly outside, stepped forward, ready to follow.
But just as he reached the entrance, a door behind him slammed open—Harry burst out from one of the stalls, eyes blazing with determination.
Before Sean could react, Harry lunged forward and dove into the pipe, disappearing into the depths after Miles.