Lockhart reluctantly left the Department of Mysteries, escorting Crabbe to the Ministry of Magic's main hall for a press conference. But to his surprise, Minister Fudge pulled him aside again, leading him back to the Department of Mysteries.
The reporters and other groups were left in Umbridge's hands to deal with.
They passed through the circular room lined with doors again, arriving at a place filled with various coffins. It was eerily quiet yet strangely noisy, with a ceaseless, ghostly wind howling in their ears.
Fudge carried an old-fashioned kerosene lamp, its warm yellow glow keeping the chilling winds at bay.
Lockhart followed, noticing the floor beneath him no longer felt like the Department of Mysteries' usual stone tiles. It was softer, almost like the rich, decaying soil of a forest.
He wasn't sure why Fudge had brought him here, so he curiously scanned their surroundings.
There was even a massive golden coffin, large enough to hold an entire dragon.
"That's a giant, Juliana Evans. Her name," Fudge said, noticing Lockhart's interest. He paused and pointed to a plaque nearby. "The magic here keeps these bodies as fresh as the moment they died, even if it's a giant from three hundred years ago."
Lockhart let out an impressed whistle, looking around. It felt like he'd stepped into a giant funeral parlor.
Fudge kept leading him deeper, the lamp in hand. The eerie winds faded, replaced by a thick fog that carried a suffocating, dizzying sensation, even scattering the mind with just a whiff.
"Damn it!" Fudge quickly adjusted the lamp, making it burn brighter to shield them from the fog's effects.
"The Hall of Bloodlines hasn't had an Unspeakable tending to it for over eighty years. Even this crucial lamp's starting to act up," he said, noticing Lockhart quietly gripping his wand. "Don't cast anything like a Bubble-Head Charm. The winds and fog here will attack anyone who uses magic!"
Lockhart nodded, glancing at the dark soil beneath their feet. "The ground does too, by the way."
Fudge froze, looked down, and swallowed hard. Clearly, he didn't know this place as well as he thought.
They pressed on. In the fog, massive shapes moved silently, their presence unnerving in the deathly quiet.
The deeper they went, the harder it was to see—Lockhart could barely make out the ground or even Fudge. He just followed the orange glow of the lamp.
Finally, a structure appeared ahead, like an oversized forest cabin, three stories tall and sprawling over a hundred square meters.
The cabin had few windows, each glowing with the same orange-red light.
"We're here," Fudge's voice echoed, sounding distant but relieved.
He opened the cabin door, revealing a cozy interior. The warm glow of a fireplace chased away the chill that had somehow settled on them.
They stepped inside, and Fudge led him up a wooden staircase, as if in a charming home.
Pushing open a trapdoor, they climbed to the second floor, which looked like a hospital ward. Iron beds lined the room, each holding a werewolf bound with dragonhide straps.
The sight was unsettling, to say the least. They continued upward to the third floor.
The third floor was empty, save for the windows. Looking out, the fog vanished, revealing countless coffins clearly arranged outside.
"What do you think of this place?" Fudge asked suddenly.
Lockhart blinked, unsure why Fudge was asking. He glanced around curiously. "The Hall of Bloodlines, right? You mentioned the name earlier. This is where they study bloodlines?"
Fudge nodded. "This cabin? The Ministry moved it here, whole and intact, from a dark wizard's lab deep in the Alps, where they researched werewolf bloodlines."
"There's no proof werewolves originated here, but it's the earliest evidence any Ministry has found of werewolf research."
He gestured toward the coffins outside. "What's the difference between wizard and Muggle blood? What about the offspring of wizards and magical creatures—giants, Veela, goblins, even house-elves? How do their bloodlines differ?"
"It's something wizards have always wanted to know."
"But the problem is, we've always lacked talent in this field. The ones willing to do these experiments are usually dark wizards, chasing twisted goals rather than exploring life's true depth and breadth."
Fudge explained that the Hall of Bloodlines was odrinally founded by the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families, eager to unlock the secrets of their genius-prone lineage while avoiding the growing issue of mentally deficient descendants.
"The Weasley family, you know them," Fudge said, without a hint of envy. "Everyone's jealous of them now—their kids are practically all geniuses. But there's an old Eastern saying: things at their peak turn to their opposite. A lot of us aren't optimistic about the Weasleys' future."
"Pure-blood inbreeding…" Lockhart shrugged. "Even Muggles know that's a bad idea."
Fudge gave a mocking smile, nodding toward the coffins below. "You know, the Sacred Twenty-Eight don't want Muggle blood tainting their lines. To avoid inbreeding, they'd rather mix with beasts."
"Rumor has it the Malfoys once had their eye on a dragon."
Lockhart struggled to keep a straight face. This wasn't exactly casual chat material, especially since he'd been dabbling in dark magical creature breeding himself, inspired by magical beasts.
"I want to put you in charge of this place," Fudge said, turning to Lockhart. "People make the Department of Mysteries sound like some grand, shadowy alliance above the Ministries, a global network or whatever."
He waved a hand dismissively. "But follow the money, right? Check the books, and it's obvious. The Department is bankrolled by the Sacred Twenty-Eight and other wealthy pure-blood families."
"But they don't trust each other, so the Department's often beyond their direct control."
"It's like Hogwarts—a prime example of funding and influence being disconnected."
"Once you get that, it's easy to see whether a Minister can influence the Department of Mysteries." Fudge smirked, gesturing to the room. "I can pull enough strings to get you appointed Head of the Hall of Bloodlines."
"As an Unspeakable here, you'd be on equal footing with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Wizengamot, and the Auror Office. They couldn't touch you. Unspeakables have that privilege."
"Of course, the Minister's office could request a Wizengamot review of an Unspeakable's secrecy status, but that's rare. You'd basically be untouchable."
"And you wouldn't answer to anyone. I wouldn't give you orders, and no one in the Ministry has the authority to boss around an Unspeakable. Though, some of the big families might approach you with… offers."
"If you get along and agree to research what they want, you'd have endless resources." He chuckled. "If not, don't worry—they can't touch you."
Fudge's eyes gleamed as he looked at Lockhart. "What do you think? Like the sound of it?"
Lockhart had to admit, he really did.
He hadn't had a clear plan for life after his stint as Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor ended. He'd been at a loss.
But now, looking around, he was genuinely tempted.
Especially when he glanced at the trapdoor, thinking of the werewolves strapped to the beds below. It was perfect for his next research project.
"The Ministry will issue a warrant for Corban Yaxley," Fudge added, sweetening the deal. "That's how the game of power works—take the loss and move on. No family will stick their neck out for him now. Remember, little Barty Crouch and a bunch of Sacred Twenty-Eight members are still rotting in Azkaban."
"But Yaxley won't go to Azkaban."
Fudge tapped the cabin wall with his chubby finger. "He'll be sent here as a werewolf…"
He looked up at Lockhart, grinning. "As your test subject!"
"No one will care what you do to him. Everything's under the Ministry's protection. You can experiment freely, try whatever you want."
Lockhart sucked in a breath.
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