The Pacifist Necromancer of Hogwarts

Chapter 370: The Standard Configuration of an Adventure Story

Harry blurted out, "You can't do that!" He immediately regretted it, but Snape already had a cold, satisfied look on his face.

“Good heavens, Potter, I’m afraid it’s not my place to tell a professor what he can and cannot do,” Snape said softly. “You probably think that just because you’ve gained a little fame, the whole world should revolve around you…”

Harry took a deep breath, the scar on his forehead throbbing. He reminded himself that arguing with Snape would only waste more time. He just needed to find an excuse to get rid of Snape so he could go find Dumbledore. Dumbledore definitely knew where Sirius and Professor Anthony were, and Harry had a feeling Dumbledore would believe him.

“Oh, hello there!” came a voice that was hard to mistake from behind him. Lockhart strode over with a bright smile and tucked Harry under his arm. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Harry—if you don’t mind, Severus—”

“Actually, I do mind,” Snape said coldly. “I’m just reminding Potter not to get arrogant because of a little bit of fame.”

“Well said, Severus!” Lockhart said kindly, seemingly without a trace of sarcasm. “In that case, I think you can say with certainty that Harry is with the person most suited to give him advice—come here, Harry, I have a word to say to you.” He put his arm around Harry and walked in another direction. Harry turned around and saw Ron and Hermione following behind. Snape remained in the corridor, staring at them gloomily, fiddling with the two-way mirror in his hand.

“No, I won’t tell you your Defense Against the Dark Arts final grade, Harry,” Lockhart said, beaming. “But I must say, I was quite surprised to see that you got the year I visited the banshee wrong. Did you confuse it with the Wren’s Ghost, huh? Harry, Harry, how could you make such a mistake? But don’t worry, that’s not why I’m here. Actually, I have some good news for you: my new book, *The Happy Hogwarts*, is finished, and I’ve decided to send a few copies to my lovely colleagues and students ahead of time. This morning, when I was randomly selecting from the list, you were lucky enough to be chosen. I don’t need any thanks, but of course, I won’t refuse a sincere review…”

Harry stopped walking as soon as they were out of Snape's sight.

“Thank you, Professor Lockhart,” Harry said, pulling himself firmly and laboriously from under his arm. “But I have other things to do now, Professor. I’ll go get my books later…”

Lockhart looked surprised: "What's wrong, Harry? Where are you going?"

“The Headmaster’s office, I need to see Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said hurriedly. “Thank you for your help, Professor Lockhart, it will surely be a good book…”

“But the principal isn’t in his office,” Lockhart said.

Harry's heart sank: "He's not here?"

“He’s not here.” Lockhart shook his head. “I was planning to send him a copy of my new book, but Minerva told me the headmaster went to St. Mungo’s this morning and probably hasn’t come back yet. What a pity, I’m sure he would have liked Chapter Five, where I described how the Forbidden Forest reminded me of my adventures in the Black Forest…”

Harry felt a chill run through him, except for the burning pain in the scar on his forehead. Sirius was suffering, his fate unknown; Snape had taken the Two-Way Mirror; Dumbledore, who might know Sirius's location, wasn't at school. He gritted his teeth, hoping to think of something else. What else could he do?
Suddenly, the pain in his scar intensified, feeling as if it were splitting his head open. Harry clutched the scar, feeling as if the corridor and Lockhart's incessant chatter had vanished.

He walked on the thick, soft carpet, past rows of closed doors along the corridor. Several people, expressionless and preoccupied, carrying piles of messy parchment, brushed past him, muttering "Good day," without giving him a second glance. At the corner of the corridor, he opened a door and went inside… an empty conference room, dimly lit, curtains drawn… He sat down at the end of the long table, toying with his familiar wand, waiting…

The door opened again… A cloaked figure appeared in the beam of light and slowly walked in, followed by another. He sat down, scrutinizing them. The two men paused for a moment upon seeing him, then the door opened again, and several cloaked, masked figures entered. Two of them immediately knelt down upon entering, crawling to his side and repeatedly kissing his robes. The first person to enter also reacted, kneeling down as well and coming to his side.

“Get up, get up, Rodolphus… get up, Bella…” he said softly, and one of them let out an excited sob. “Your loyalty deserves to be rewarded… sit down, sit here.”

"Harry, Harry!" Someone was slapping his face.

The person kneeling on the ground said in a hoarse voice, "Master, I know... I knew all along... you would come back and rescue us..."

“Let me tell you,” he said coldly.

"Yes, yes, Master..." The man gripped the hem of his robe tightly, kissed it several times with piety and excitement, before slowly standing up and walking to the seat designated by him.

"As for you, McNeil..."

"I came as soon as I received the message, Master—"

He raised his hand, interrupting the man. The man immediately lowered his head, exposing the back of his neck, his posture growing increasingly stiff as he pondered and scrutinized him. The door opened again, and several more people entered the conference room, immediately kneeling down and joining the circle around him. The Lestranges looked at them with disdain.

"What have you been doing for the past eleven years? Holding an axe high, chopping off the heads of wild beasts?" he said slowly. "In these past eleven years, have you ever missed... some more interesting killings? Some more glorious times..."

“Every moment, my master,” McNeil replied.

A voice said, “There’s no need to go to Ms. Pomfrey, Mr. Weasley, or Miss Granger. Let me handle this. I know exactly how to handle this situation…”

“Very well,” he said. “But you never tried to look for me, did you? When the Lestranges proved their loyalty in Azkaban, when Barty Crouch Jr. died in that prison, my friends, I found many of you eager, ecstatic, to distance yourselves from the past… I was deeply disappointed. I was disappointed by the current situation, by the rampant calls in the wizarding world to forgive Mudbloods, to associate with Muggles, to marry Muggles; and I, of course, by you, by the fact that you swore allegiance to me and yet have abandoned me; but none of that disappointed me the most…”

“I am disappointed in myself. I tell myself that people betrayed me because their faith wavered… They didn’t believe I could rise again, didn’t believe I could transcend death. Didn’t I mention that killing makes me stronger, death works for me, and I have achieved immortality? Perhaps they have already believed others who say that there is an even greater power in the world, powerful enough to defeat Voldemort… I am disappointed that I cannot make you believe it.”

"Forgive us, master, merciful master! We have disappointed you—forgive us!"

"Forgive? Hmm." He sneered, "It'll rip your heart out!"

"No, Professor Lockhart! Harry, Harry! Oh my god!"

“I believe in you, Master!” Bellatrix cried out fervently, leaning forward. “I believed from the very beginning that you would return!”

"What have you done, Professor Lockhart?"

“Don’t panic, kids, screaming is a normal reaction…it means, uh, he’s releasing his pain…” “Normal? Hell! Come here, Hermione, forget about him, give me a hand! I can’t get Harry to the hospital by myself!”

"No, no, we can't just leave him like this..."

His head throbbed, and terrifying screams echoed in his ears. After a while, he realized it was his own screaming. Harry opened his eyes slightly and saw Ron and Hermione struggling to lift him from the empty hallway floor. He blinked away some tears, squinting, and saw Lockhart standing not far away, wand pointed at them. His heart was still pounding, as if he really was the one tormenting him…

“Look, he’s better now,” Lockhart said. “He’s not screaming anymore.”

Ron said, “Oh, yes, I think he’s probably passed out. Madam Pomfrey will be very grateful to you.” He lifted Harry up a little.

That tormenting fellow was the one who fought Sirius Black and Professor Anthony earlier. The one being carried in mid-air by the snake.

Lockhart sounded flustered: "No, no, you can't misunderstand me like that. You know, I just wanted to help... In fact, if you insist on thinking that way..."

That was Voldemort. Realizing he had just been torturing his godfather, professor, and Death Eaters from Voldemort's perspective, realizing he was practically inside Voldemort's mind, Harry almost vomited immediately. He suppressed his nausea, forcing himself to concentrate, to focus, to think about Sirius… Sirius… When fighting Sirius, Voldemort had seemed very weak, but now his hand holding the wand, the sound of him chanting the Crucifixion Charm, was much stronger… Had he taken some power from Sirius?

Hermione demanded sharply, "What are you going to do, Professor Lockhart?"

Harry slightly opened his eyes again. Lockhart's wand was now pointing at Ron... and his lilac robes were slowly approaching...

“I’m sorry, kids, I can’t let you spread such rumors everywhere, especially with my new book about to be published… I believe you understand that I have no ill intentions, but I have to cast a forgetting spell on you.”

Hermione said, "You can't cast spells on students, Professor Lockhart!"

“Oh, just a slight alteration of memories, Miss Granger,” Lockhart said. “You won’t remember this, so let’s just pretend it never happened, okay? Alright, Mr. Weasley, forget it—”

"Wingardim Leviosa!"

"All petrified!"

Ron and Hermione chanted the spell almost simultaneously. Lockhart's eyes widened, his body stiffened, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud. Harry also fell to the ground with him.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, kneeling down beside him. “What’s wrong, Ronald?”

"Just like you didn't let go—"

"Do you need your left hand to cast spells? Also, what's the use of the levitation spell?"

He reminds me of trolls—

“I’m fine,” Harry said, grabbing Ron’s arm that was supporting him. “Listen to me, Voldemort (“Don’t say that name.”) tortured Sirius, and it’s possible—” he choked up, then said quickly, “It’s possible he killed him.”

"what?"

“Voldemort said killing would make him stronger,” Harry repeated. “He’s stronger now… I saw it, I saw him…”

“I didn’t know you had a talent for divination.” Ron’s voice revealed a hint of worry.

Harry looked at his freckled face and suddenly felt a surge of anger and resentment: "You don't believe me? You think I'm crazy? That I've broken my brain?"

“Harry, you fell off the broom, woke up and started saying Sirius was in danger and you were going to tell Dumbledore,” Ron said. “The next moment, you passed out in the hallway and started screaming again, and now you’re telling me that the Man from Nobunaga has come back to life and killed Sirius… The Man from Nobunaga has been gone for eleven years.”

“And even if what you’re saying is true, Harry,” Hermione gestured to stop him from arguing, “are you going to St. Mungo’s to find Professor Dumbledore? Where do you expect him to find Sirius—or Voldemort?”

“Voldemort was in a conference room,” Harry recalled. “It had a long corridor with thick, crimson carpets, and wooden doors on both sides with little signs on them… but I couldn’t make out what they said…”

Ron stared at him with his mouth slightly open.

"What's wrong?" Harry said irritably. "I know what I'm saying, okay?"

“No, what I mean is…” Ron swallowed hard, “I know the place you’re talking about.”

"you know?"

“I’ve been there,” Ron said. “When I was very young, my father took us there a few times… It was the Ministry of Magic. On the first floor.”

(End of this chapter)