Chapter 168: Strange Visitor
Time quietly slipped away.
In the days that followed, nothing particularly strange happened at Hogwarts, which was actually the norm for a magic school.
Magic was indeed dangerous, but the presence of professors, these magical masters, was sufficient to handle all sorts of troubles and disasters created by students.
Unbeknownst to them, it was the last day of May.
This day felt like a distinct watershed, dividing the students' school lives. There was less laughter and more busyness.
The House Cup Quidditch tournament had ended.
The individual, small team, and House fairytale adventures had also concluded. The adventure grounds established at the edge of the Forbidden Forest were even powerfully sealed by Professor McGonagall, no longer allowing young wizards to enter.
In June, fifth-year students would face their Ordinary Wizarding Level (OWL) exams, which would determine whether they would enter N.E.W.T. advanced classes or regular classes, as well as their course selections for their sixth year.
Seventh-year students would also face their Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test (N.E.W.T.) exams. Their results would determine their possibilities for various job selections in society, effectively deciding their future.
Other grades, not participating in these two exams, would also enter their final exam period. Exams would be held in the first week of June, with results released on the night before students left school in the second week.
Whether it was Harry Potter, who believed adventure was everything, or the Weasley twins, who thought invention and creation were the future, they all had to rein in their restless minds and dedicate themselves to these exams.
Hogwarts had always maintained high teaching standards.
Magic essays in various subjects were written from first year to seventh year, with theoretical and practical classes running in parallel, continuously unearthing all possibilities for students in every field.
Seven years of education were enough for talented young wizards to embark on their own magical paths, and also enough for those with average talent to recognize their limitations and begin contemplating their future lives.
The extensive deployment of spiritual power, including emotions, desires, and will, made young wizards exceptionally mature compared to Muggle children of the same age. Many sixth and seventh-year students had already found their future life partners at this stage.
Yes, at the age of sixteen or seventeen, something many Muggles could hardly imagine.
Lockhart, having nothing to do during this period, flipped through the manuscripts he had accumulated since becoming a professor at Hogwarts and found that one book project had been put on hold: "Stories I Had to Tell with the Boy Who Lived: My Time as a Professor at Hogwarts."
This book became somewhat dispensable after he successfully researched the Thunderstorm Mountain Fire magic and established his status as a Magical Master.
His original self's planned life path had begun to deviate from his own plans.
Or rather, he no longer needed to climb higher by relying on the name of the Boy Who Lived, nor did he necessarily have to participate in Harry Potter's fairytale adventure.
He was no longer the newcomer who only had a reputation to lean on, wielding a wand like chopsticks.
He had his own fairytale adventure.
Thus, the book's title was once again changed to: "My Time as a Professor at Hogwarts."
He sporadically organized some records, which included his observations of the differences between young wizards and Muggle children of the same age, using this perspective to contemplate the distinctions between wizards and Muggles.
He was not in a hurry to publish the book, merely maintaining the habit of writing and recording. Perhaps it would be published in the future, or perhaps it would simply be left as scattered manuscript fragments.
Lockhart had to admit that he was quietly stepping into a new phase of life.
Even though he hadn't yet left his professorial position.
Since he no longer needed to instruct the Duelling Club students in the evenings, and the N.E.W.T. advanced classes had ceased, he returned to his new home in Hogsmeade Village almost every night.
The trees in his school office had finally dispersed their magically catalyzed transformations, reverting the office to its original appearance.
Snape, upon seeing this one day, felt a touch of reluctance. It was rare to have such a friend in life, and it seemed that soon, he too would leave the school.
"Life is still very long," Lockhart said, seemingly unconcerned. "I plan to live for several hundred years; there's still plenty of time in the future."
"And you, my friend, if you no longer dwell in the past, your life has only just begun."
Having been at Hogwarts for nearly a year, Lockhart was 28 years old, and Snape, before him, was actually only 32.
This was clearly another significant difference between Muggles and wizards: wizards matured early, and capable ones could live much longer. The internal state of such a group was sometimes difficult to explain using Muggle social theories.
Snape clearly disliked discussing this issue. He instinctively clutched a small glass vial suspended from his collar, containing his regret potion.
Perhaps, after finding self-redemption and gaining the power to defeat Voldemort and exact his revenge, he would drink that regret potion, returning to the time he spent day and night with the Patronus doe, and never move forward again.
But...
Would he truly pursue self-destruction after finding self-redemption?
Lockhart smiled, offering no comment.
Life is still long, my friend.
Subsequently, all the professors entered their busiest period.
During this time, Professor Kettleburn of Care of Magical Creatures naturally couldn't continue as Lockhart's assistant. Older students also couldn't help him anymore. Every exam concerning Defense Against the Dark Arts during the exam season required his personal involvement.
Theoretical exams, grading, practical exams, grading.
He stayed busy late every day.
However, one busy day, before the exams had even finished, Lockhart returned to his cottage in Hogsmeade Village under the moonlight. Before he reached home, he saw lights on in the cottage from a distance.
"!!!"
Lockhart's expression hardened. He slowly drew his wand, then inverted it and tucked it back into the wide sleeve of his wizard's robe. He exchanged a glance with the Banshee chatting beside him, signaling her to hide within his red magical cloak, then continued towards the cottage.
The wind and snow howled, and Hogsmeade Village was somewhat silent in the dead of night.
Upon arriving at the cottage, he saw the front door wide open. A person draped in a black wizard's robe and wearing a large hood sat gracefully on the sofa, flipping through his copy of "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," which lay in the living room.
"Gilderoy Lockhart..."
The person seemed to sense the arrival, their voice muffled with a strangely sharp undertone. They gently placed the book on the small round table beside them, looked up at Lockhart standing in the doorway, and elegantly gestured to the sofa with a bandaged, mummy-like hand. "Sit."
Within the large hood was an equally bandaged, mummy-like, eerie face, revealing only a pair of deep eyes that faintly glinted red in their sockets.
"Tom..."
Lockhart's expression was somewhat solemn.
"Tom?" The person softly uttered the name, seemingly with some emotion. "No one has called me that in a long time."
"I still prefer to be called—Voldemort."
Lockhart rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You cursed your own name; how do you expect others to call you?"
Voldemort chuckled, a chillingly grim sound. "Those who don't even dare to speak my name, what right do they have to address me?"
Emmm...
That seemed to make sense.
Lockhart raised an eyebrow, casually closed the door to keep out the wind and snow, then walked briskly forward, also gracefully sitting on the sofa.
His elegance was different from Voldemort's.
Old Voldemort looked like a dozing tiger, a hibernating viper, elegant and dangerous. Lockhart's elegance lay in the freedom of his soul, appearing more lazy and lighthearted, like a bird perched atop a towering tree.
"I apologize, I've been busy all day, and I don't have house-elves here, so I can't offer you tea," Lockhart said casually, looking at the other person. "I wonder what you..."
"I feel you've done something to me," Voldemort's voice was very low. "Something I don't know about, but I can feel my own changes."
Lockhart was startled. "Have I? You must be mistaken. How could I have such ability? Perhaps it was Professor Dumbledore?"
"I can feel it!" Voldemort's gaze was cold, fixed intently on Lockhart. "You don't need to argue. My statement is the final explanation. You just need to tell me what you did?"
No sooner had he asked than he suddenly grunted, uncontrollably clutching his head in pain as his body began to swell.
He started to breathe heavily, his form reverting to its thin appearance.
How truly interesting. In his current spectral state, sealed by Dumbledore within the body of the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, he actually had a way to transform this sentient body into his own likeness.
And even more interesting was...
"Legilimency?" Lockhart asked with a hint of playful doubt, barely suppressing the urge to draw his wand and attack the other.
"Damn it!" Voldemort cursed, looking at Lockhart with immense disgust. "What in the world have you shoved into your head! Are you treating it like a rubbish bin?"
"Actually, it's not bad. At first, the voices in my head kept me from sleeping well, and sometimes I'd get a bit confused processing audio when talking to people..." Lockhart spread his hands. "But I overcame it later."
The disgust was genuine. Someone as extremely proud as Old Voldemort truly couldn't stand the idea of stuffing other people's memories into his mind. In his eyes, no one's thoughts were worth entering his brain without his own deliberation. Garbage, all garbage.
But disdaining such methods didn't mean he wouldn't be vigilant. He was now terrifyingly weak, and this man's power would undoubtedly pose a great threat to him.
He wasn't afraid, though. At worst, if Fenrir Greyback's body were destroyed, he could be freed from Dumbledore's seal.
But there were still things he hadn't done, and he didn't want to show his weakness to anyone, so he became extremely cautious.
He naturally found a way to view the scene of Lockhart casting "Thunderstorm Mountain Fire." In his eyes, the magical intensity of that flamboyant display was naturally insufficient, but it had to be said, it was no longer weaker than many Death Eaters and Order of the Phoenix members.
"Tell me the answer!" He didn't bother beating around the bush, stating directly, "Following the path of a Magical Master, you should know that we cannot give up pursuing the answers we desire. You absolutely don't want to experience some things only to have to tell me in the end anyway. I believe communication between intelligent people doesn't need to be so troublesome; let's skip these meaningless things."
Lockhart was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"Corban Yaxley, as you know, he fell into my hands. While I was trying to deal with him, he somehow transported me back to a past time."
"That damned 'Time-Turner'; such a power that fills one with helplessness is truly disgusting."
He sounded somewhat helpless. "I made a friend there, but thankfully, I realized in time and broke off contact with him."
Voldemort's eyes flickered, his body rapidly twisting and shifting. The wide black wizard's robe oddly writhed and billowed. In the end, he said nothing, just scoffed.
Lockhart didn't know why he was laughing, and he couldn't be bothered to guess. "I've told you the answer. May I ask you to leave? I have to go to Hogwarts early tomorrow to proctor exams for the young wizards, and you know how busy that is."
"I want to make a deal with you," Voldemort said in a low voice.
"A deal?" Lockhart was surprised.
"Corban Yaxley!" He slowly stood up. "My people ventured into the Department of Mysteries and couldn't find him, so I knew you must have hidden him."
It was not uncommon for Old Voldemort to rescue his subordinates. Later, after his resurrection, he even orchestrated a mass breakout from Azkaban.
The only strange thing was...
A deal?
Oh, that truly was strange.
Lockhart couldn't help but recall that somewhat messy time-travel adventure. Clearly, some things had truly changed, and perhaps Dumbledore's actions with the Horcrux during the full moon also played a part.
But regardless, Voldemort had changed!
....
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