Chapter 196. Lockhart's Breakdown
"Let's not worry about that for now."
Adrian Wesson tossed the other Lockhart he was holding casually onto the floor. "Professor Dumbledore, you need to see this."
Only then did Dumbledore turn his gaze to Lockhart.
At first, he was puzzled about who this old man was.
Not until he put on his half-moon spectacles did he realise, with surprise, that this seemed to be… Lockhart?
Lockhart's face now looked like an apple left for weeks—wrinkled and shrivelled. His golden curls had gone sparse and grey. He looked at least fifty years older.
"I asked you to keep an eye on Lockhart," Dumbledore said, eyes fixed on Adrian. "What happened?"
"I did exactly as you asked, Professor Dumbledore," Adrian spread his hands, helpless. "But Lockhart gave himself away. I had no choice but to arrest him."
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes and looked at Lockhart again.
That aged face was impossible to ignore.
"Tom drained his life force," Adrian went on. "Tom needed it to sustain himself and to escape. Oh, and Tom's already been eliminated by me."
"The Horcrux?" Dumbledore's expression did not ease in the slightest.
"I brought it. For the record, it was a diary at first—I got it from Lucius Malfoy."
Adrian took a crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and handed it to Dumbledore. "But the soul fragment is gone now."
Dumbledore took the paper, his face complicated.
It was just an ordinary wad of paper.
He knew perfectly well Adrian wasn't lying.
Even so, was Lord Voldemort's Horcrux truly dealt with so lightly?
For a moment, Dumbledore felt dazed.
"I suggest dosing him with Veritaserum as soon as he wakes," Adrian shrugged. "But you'll have to hurry. He probably hasn't got long."
"I'll see to it," Dumbledore said evenly.
When it came to anything concerning Voldemort, he could not afford to be soft-hearted.
Even without Adrian's reminder, he would extract enough information from Lockhart.
Harry, meanwhile, was watching with a solemn expression.
Clever as he was, he had already gleaned enough from Adrian and Dumbledore's exchange.
Voldemort had controlled Lockhart—just like Quirrell last year.
Voldemort had even drained Lockhart's life force; that was why he now looked so terribly old.
Just then, Lockhart stirred.
He began coughing violently, braced himself on his withered arms, and slowly opened his clouded eyes.
"Whe… where am I?" Lockhart's voice was as rasping as sandpaper on floorboards.
Harry couldn't help taking a step back.
Adrian looked at him with a trace of pity.
Dumbledore crouched down and spoke gently. "Gilderoy, tell us what happened."
Lockhart did not seem fully conscious yet, but he instinctively sensed something wrong with his body.
He looked at his gaunt hands and froze.
"No… no…" Lockhart stared in disbelief. "What's happened to me?"
It seemed he still didn't understand what Voldemort had done.
Adrian waved his wand and considerately summoned a large mirror from the corner to float before Lockhart.
Lockhart raised his head, trembling. When the unfamiliar yet familiar, withered, old face in the mirror met his eyes, he let out a heart-rending scream. "No! That's not me! It can't be!"
He clawed madly at his own face, fingernails leaving bloody tracks through the wrinkles.
Harry felt a stab of pity.
A man like Lockhart, who cared so much about his looks, would never accept becoming an old man.
Adrian, however, could only sigh.
This had been Lockhart's own choice; he had only himself to blame.
Adrian glanced at Dumbledore and found the Headmaster watching quietly.
"Friendly reminder," Adrian said to Lockhart, "Professor Lockhart, Lord Voldemort has taken your life force—what's left will probably only keep you alive for a few days."
Whether Lockhart heard him or not, no one could tell.
Perhaps he was tired, or perhaps merely old; soon he stopped his hysterical screaming and slumped to the floor like a punctured ball.
He lowered his head; his eyes went vacant. He sat motionless, as if all life had left him.
He had broken.
"Veritaserum may not work on him now," Adrian said with a shrug, regret in his voice.
After Lockhart's collapse, Adrian recounted everything he knew about him to Dumbledore.
When he reached Lockhart's memory-theft magic, Dumbledore sighed softly.
He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with his robe, his voice full of regret. "Everyone is born with their own gifts. Lockhart's gift for memory magic is truly astonishing. If he had studied his own magic with the same zeal he poured into those adventure tales…"
He put his glasses back on, his gaze through the lenses settling on Lockhart. "He might have had endless possibilities."
"I agree," Adrian nodded, then looked to Harry and said sternly, "I hope you can learn something from this, Harry."
Harry nodded vaguely, unsure whether he had heard Adrian's lecture at all.
He was still sunk in everything that had happened tonight.
Dumbledore looked up at the clock on the wall; the hour hand was pointing to one.
He patted Harry's shoulder lightly. "It's very late, Harry. You should return to your dormitory and rest."
Adrian nodded. "I'll take you back, Harry. Then tomorrow morning you need to go to the Hospital Wing for a full check-up. Basilisk blood and venom may have some adverse effects on your body."
Only then did Harry come back to himself. "I'm all right, Professor. Fawkes's tears work very well… Right—how's Ron?"
Indeed, they had been talking all this time, and Ron was still slumped against the wall, unconscious.
"He'll probably wake up tomorrow morning," Adrian said. "I'll take him to the Hospital Wing."
Harry finally relaxed.
After that, Adrian took Harry back to his dormitory, then brought Ron to the Hospital Wing.
When he arrived, he laid Ron on a bed—just as Madam Pomfrey, on her rounds, spotted him.
"Merlin's beard!" Madam Pomfrey hurried over and began checking Ron in a flurry of concern. "Professor Wesson, what happened? Has another student been attacked by that monster?"
"Don't worry, Madam," Adrian smiled slightly. "Professor Dumbledore has already sorted it out. Mr Weasley will probably be the last."
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