Dumbledore was a busy man and left quickly.
Looking back on the original story as he recalled it, Lockhart realized that even Harry Potter, the "Chosen One" so highly regarded by the Order of the Phoenix, didn't actually spend much time with the Headmaster. In fact, when it became clear there was some kind of "mind connection" between Voldemort and Harry, Dumbledore didn't step in to teach Harry himself. Instead, he passed the job to Snape.
A lot of people might not realize just how much Dumbledore did for the wizarding world after defeating Grindelwald and taking on the mantle of change. When a student at Hogwarts ran into trouble, once he confirmed the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic had a way to help and a professor was there to supervise, he didn't linger.
Next, it was Dolores Umbridge, the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, who greeted Lockhart.
Her attitude was surprisingly warm—almost too warm. Her tone carried a hint of flattery and deference that made Lockhart feel, for a moment, like he was the Minister of Magic. She was practically bubbling with enthusiasm.
As she led Lockhart toward the Department of Mysteries, she chattered nonstop. The thing was, she clearly didn't know much about the place. Her attempts at conversation were awkward, to say the least. This wasn't surprising—most Ministry employees weren't even allowed near the Department of Mysteries' floor. Even Kingsley, who'd been escorting them, was told he didn't have clearance to enter.
"Minister Umbridge, you…" Lockhart was tempted to tell her to hush. He wasn't here for her flattery, and frankly, he wasn't a fan of it.
"You can just call me Dolores, Professor Lockhart," Umbridge said, trying to tone down her overly humble demeanor. She knew her value lay in her position as Undersecretary, and being too servile might undermine that. Still, she clearly didn't know how to strike the right balance.
Lockhart gave a small smile and shook his head. "Alright, Minister Umbridge, I think you've got something wrong. The 'mysteries' in the Department of Mysteries aren't just about secret work that seems mysterious to the public. The real meaning, I believe, is tied to understanding magic itself."
Umbridge blinked, her expression blank.
"Mystery is what makes magic so fascinating," Lockhart continued. "It's when magic is at its most mysterious that it's also at its most powerful." He steered the conversation toward something more academic, which successfully silenced Umbridge, who'd long since given all her knowledge back to her professors after school.
"Oh, you're so learned," she said dryly, clearly unsure how to keep the conversation going.
Lockhart was brimming with curiosity about this place but also felt a twinge of unease—why was he allowed in here? Could Umbridge be bending the rules by bringing him along?
He stayed on guard.
The only way into the Department of Mysteries was through a special elevator, which opened into a circular room. Inside, there were twelve identical doors, each unmarked and indistinguishable from the others. When Lockhart tried to focus on them, he got the dizzying sensation that the room was spinning.
"The Department of Mysteries has twelve halls," Umbridge whispered, unable to resist offering some commentary. "But I've heard many of them haven't had Unspeakables working in them for ages. They're just sealed and empty."
She went on, "You know, between Grindelwald's war over the Statute of Secrecy and the First Wizarding War with You-Know-Who, Britain lost a lot of talent in the higher fields of magic."
They passed through one of the doors and entered the Hall of Brains.
The room was vast and brightly lit, with a massive table at its center. On the table sat a large tank filled with dark green liquid, inside which floated several brains covered in wriggling tentacles.
Lockhart's eyes locked onto the tank immediately.
It was utterly fascinating. The magical energy it gave off was the complete opposite of a Pensieve, almost like it was the other extreme of the same craft. If a Pensieve was designed to "contain" memories, mimicking a human skull, this tank seemed to simulate a "society," exposing thoughts stripped of all biological instincts to a kind of collective environment. Its purpose was to let those thoughts "bloom."
Curiously, the thoughts didn't turn into silvery liquid like in a Pensieve. Instead, they took on biological traits, forming brain-like masses with "thought tentacles." These tentacles swayed in the liquid, some even taking on vaguely human shapes.
Could it be…?
Could thoughts alone, fully formed, create a complete biological human—one with all their innate bloodlines, ailments, talents, and environmental influences?
This idea came to Lockhart through the lens of Tom Riddle's theories on resurrection. His mind buzzed with possibilities.
For instance, if he stripped away all his magical memories and relied only on his pre-transmigration thoughts, could he recreate a body with his original, pre-wizarding bloodline and traits?
Or take Tom Riddle, who was obsessed with purging the Muggle blood of the Riddle family and keeping only the Gaunt lineage tied to Salazar Slytherin. Was he following a similar path?
Going deeper, could Voldemort's snake-like features—his beastly transformation—have come from experiments conducted here, possibly involving the Basilisk? Did Voldemort's desire to return to Hogwarts tie back to Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets and further experiments with the Basilisk?
Lockhart began to suspect that the Basilisk, which he'd always seen as a mere tool for experiments, might mean far more to Voldemort.
Maybe Voldemort was so weakened that he could only watch as the version of himself in the diary Horcrux used the Basilisk, only to end up exposed to Dumbledore.
If that was true…
Lockhart had a sneaking suspicion that the Tom Riddle in the diary wasn't the full Tom Riddle. Perhaps the younger Tom was using the Basilisk to prepare a body for the weakened Voldemort's soul to inhabit.
Tch, scheming against yourself—how intriguing.
"Oh, we can't stay here too long," Umbridge said nervously. "They say even Unspeakables can't stare at these brains for long. If you do, they form a connection with your thoughts, leap out, and wrap those disgusting tentacles around you, turning you into an idiot."
Lockhart raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
As a master of memory magic, with plenty of hands-on experience and insights drawn from Tom Riddle's advanced work on Ginny Weasley's soul, he was hyper-sensitive to this kind of information.
"You're right," he said with a slight smile, pulling his gaze away from the tank. "Speak of it, and it might come." He motioned for Umbridge to lead on.
It was a shame, though—this tank could have opened new doors for his research into the Obliviation Charm, or rather, the broader field of memory and soul magic.
They moved forward, passing through another of the indistinguishable doors into a room with a shallow pool.
This place felt familiar to Lockhart.
The pool was essentially a massive Pensieve.
Unlike the overly bright hall outside, this room was dim, with a strange, sticky, almost fishy smell hanging in the air.
"Are we inside a giant's skull?" Lockhart whispered, marveling.
Umbridge shot him a frantic look, gesturing for him to be quiet.
Near the pool, a wizard in a black hooded robe was waving his wand over the water. Hearing Lockhart's comment, he glanced up, his eyes visible through the sockets of an ancient wooden mask, glinting with surprise.
He nodded slightly at Lockhart's friendly smile, his voice hoarse. "Not a giant. A dragon lizard."
Dragon lizards were magical creatures from ancient wizarding times, supposedly bred from fire dragons and lizards. They were massive, like small mountains, but their enormous appetites made them unsustainable, and they eventually vanished from history.
"Whoa," Lockhart said, his eyes lighting up as he studied the arched walls. In the dim glow of bluish flames, he realized the material resembled murky crystal.
This room was crafted directly from a dragon lizard's skull, using crystal skull techniques.
He wanted to talk to the Unspeakable by the pool about it, but Unspeakables were forbidden from discussing their work. The wizard's earlier response was already a breach of protocol—right in front of Undersecretary Umbridge, no less.
Of course, this Unspeakable clearly wasn't intimidated by Umbridge. Over a century ago, Minister Randolphus Lestrange tried to shut down the Department of Mysteries, only for his orders to be ignored. Not long after, he resigned, citing "health issues."
Soon, Vincent Crabbe was brought in.
A few Aurors escorted him, then quickly left the eerie place, leaving only Lockhart, Umbridge, and Scrimgeour behind.
The Unspeakable took the severed arm with the Dark Mark from Scrimgeour, eyeing it with a mix of fear and fascination. He placed it in a small pool connected to the larger one, then poured in a large amount of potion. The pool erupted with a foul, sulfurous stench and thick yellow smoke laced with tiny green sparks. The Unspeakable yelped "Werewolf!" and staggered back.
He cast a spell to clear the smoke, then had Crabbe laid flat in the large pool. Tying a snakeskin drum to his waist, he shook a rattle in one hand and beat the drum with the other, circling the pool while chanting in what sounded like an ancient African tribal language.
The chant was haunting and vast.
Soon, bubbles began rising in the pool where Crabbe lay. A pale, blurry shadow shot out from the severed arm in the smaller pool, passing through the connecting channel's gate and diving into Crabbe's body.
"Hng-ya-ya!" the Unspeakable sang, continuing for who-knows-how-long before suddenly casting a spell on Crabbe.
"Hah!" Crabbe gasped, bolting upright in the pool, panting heavily.
"Professor Lockhart!" he said, his voice tinged with panic as he took in the strange surroundings and the odd old man still chanting and dancing. His eyes darted around until they landed on Lockhart, and he visibly relaxed.