Chapter 170. Recovered Lockhart and the Attack
The first day of term, the students who'd gone home came pouring back to Hogwarts, and the castle grew lively again.
One of the Mandrakes Wesson had been tending also reached maturity over the Christmas holidays.
That meant Lockhart could likely be restored from his long Petrified state.
That afternoon, in the Hospital Wing.
Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Wesson stood around Lockhart's bed.
"You may begin, Professor Wesson," Professor McGonagall said gravely.
Wesson nodded and poured the potion brewed from Mandrake over Lockhart.
The potion worked at once; the ashen grey of Petrification began to fade the moment it touched him.
Soon, Lockhart awoke.
The instant he opened his eyes, he saw several pairs of eyes staring at him. He sprang upright on the bed, blinking around in confusion. "Where am I…?"
Seeing this, Professor McGonagall let out a breath, stepped forward, and explained, "Professor Lockhart, you were attacked by a monster and have been unconscious for quite some time—out in the courtyard."
"Er…" Lockhart stared for a moment, then shook his head. "Really? I don't remember anything at all."
"Wait!" He seemed to think of something. His eyes widened and he instinctively touched his face. "A monster? An attack? Merlin's beard! I'm not hurt, am I?"
"Don't worry. You're just as you were—no injuries," Professor McGonagall said, frowning. "Do you recall what happened before you lost consciousness?"
Lockhart bowed his head in thought for a moment, as if he'd remembered something. He looked up and said, "Well… I think I was taking a walk in the courtyard at the time."
"And then?" Wesson fixed him with a sharp look.
Lockhart hunched his shoulders. "I was only out for a walk, and then I think I saw something flash by, and after that I knew nothing."
Something was off. Wesson narrowed his eyes.
He still remembered how Lockhart had looked when he was found Petrified—arms flung wide, muttering something.
That obviously didn't match a casual stroll.
Lockhart had definitely been doing something else.
He was hiding something.
At that moment, Lockhart seemed to realise he'd said the wrong thing.
"Ah—" he corrected himself at once. "I remember now. A fan had sent me a letter with a poem. I was reading it aloud in the courtyard. Would you like to hear it? Ahem—'My dearest, your eyes…'"
"There's no need, Lockhart," Professor McGonagall hurriedly cut off the saccharine verse and continued, "Did you see the attacker's true appearance?"
Lockhart shook his head.
"But it must have been a most powerful fellow," he said firmly. "You know I've dealt with any number of villains, but none of them ever left me in such a state—"
Professor McGonagall ignored the rest and said to Dumbledore, "It seems we've no more information."
Dumbledore nodded slightly.
"How long was I out?" Lockhart suddenly asked.
"Close to a month," said Madam Pomfrey.
Wesson saw the tension ease a little from Lockhart's face.
Clearly, a month's coma was not beyond what he could accept.
Then Dumbledore said calmly, "Professor Lockhart, you need proper rest. Madam Pomfrey will give you a thorough examination."
"Oh, of course!" Lockhart immediately sat up straighter and smiled. "But I expect I'll be back at the lectern soon. The scoundrel didn't do me any real harm; I'm sure my students have missed their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor…"
Wesson muttered inwardly that, in truth, the students hadn't missed him that much.
After that, they left the Hospital Wing together, leaving Lockhart alone.
Lockhart let out a long breath and collapsed back onto the bed.
Out in the corridor, Wesson asked Dumbledore, "By the way, Professor Dumbledore—has the Basilisk returned to the Chamber?"
"Fawkes has kept watch," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "but nothing has been found—Fawkes is in a bit of a sulk now, you know. Being kept in the dark so long has made his eyes rather uncomfortable."
"Let's hope we find the culprit soon," Wesson said.
Three days later, Lockhart moved out of the Hospital Wing.
Wesson handed Defence Against the Dark Arts back to him.
Students grumbled a bit in private—they were back to days of staged performances.
Lockhart did not disappoint, returning with even more scripts.
Perhaps a month's coma had sparked a burst of inspiration.
Of course, the stories still all came from his self-aggrandising memoirs.
Time continued to pass peacefully.
Just when Wesson thought the calm would last, trouble struck.
The last day of January, a Sunday.
That evening, after marking homework and heading for the Great Hall, Wesson found the second-floor corridor in an uproar. Several students were running in a panic—one of them even crashed into him.
Wesson recognised the one who'd bumped him: Hufflepuff's Ernie Macmillan, in the same year as Harry.
He could name most of the Hufflepuff students.
"Professor!" Ernie said, shaking. "Justin's down… just ahead… the Chamber… the Heir…"
Wesson's heart sank, but he still soothed him: "Calm down. Take me there, all right?"
Wesson's words steadied Ernie quickly, and he led Wesson on at once.
By the time they reached the scene, a crowd of students had already gathered. Wesson spotted several familiar faces among them, but it was obviously no time for greetings.
Seeing a professor arrive, the crowd parted at once.
Wesson walked forward, face set, and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley lying on the ground—the Hufflepuff boy was rigid from head to toe, his face frozen in an expression of sheer terror.
And there was another figure beside him.
Nearly Headless Nick floated motionless in midair. Stranger still, he was no longer his usual transparent white, but pitch-black from head to foot, with eerie black smoke curling off him.
Clearly, both Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been struck by the Basilisk's Petrifying gaze.
On the flagstones beside them, someone had scrawled several glaring words in some red, unknown pigment:
"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware."
Another typical Petrification.
Counting the previous two, this made the third.
And this time, the victim was a student—that made it an entirely different matter.
"Everyone, back!" Wesson barked. At the same time he drew his wand and traced a protective circle around Justin.
He knelt to examine the boy and, after confirming Justin was not dead on the spot, allowed himself to breathe a little easier.
It seemed that, just as in the original, the child had seen the Basilisk's eyes through Nearly Headless Nick and been Petrified.
Truly… unlucky and lucky at once.
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