Chapter 190. Memory Plunder
Finally, Lockhart stopped, his voice gone hoarse.
"Ah, truly eye-opening." Wesson gave a token round of applause. "So this is your true face."
Hearing Wesson's flat, line-read reply, Lockhart instantly levelled his wand at him, a vicious glint rising in his eyes.
"Do you really think you can still handle me?" He cocked an eyebrow, smug. "Don't be so at ease, Professor Wesson—you're teetering on the edge of life and death! I daresay my Memory Charm is quicker than any spell; if you so much as twitch, you can bid your memories farewell forever."
"All right," Wesson shrugged.
"Good." Lockhart nodded, satisfied.
Wesson didn't move—but the Devil's Snare did.
A canopy of Devil's Snare suddenly erupted off his body and shot forward.
At the instant the tendrils were about to coil round Lockhart, Wesson felt a needle-sharp stab lance from his temple—Lockhart had breached his mind without an incantation!
This was no ordinary Obliviate, not even standard Legilimency, but a more brutal, more invasive plundering of memory!
Could this be the "talent" Lockhart so liked to boast of?
The Devil's Snare sensed its master's distress; its assault faltered for a beat. Lockhart seized the moment to dodge the plant's strike.
Wesson, however, froze in place, his gaze turning vacant.
"It's over, Professor Wesson," Lockhart sighed with feigned regret. "You shouldn't have come looking for me. That was a fatal mistake."
He knew that, once struck by his spell, even the most powerful witch or wizard could not defend against it.
Not even You-Know-Who had managed it.
What was more, his own strength had grown markedly of late, and he had just cast with nothing held back.
Any moment now, Wesson's memories would flow into his mind.
But… how should he conceal what he had done today?
It wouldn't fit the shining image he had cultivated all this time.
Except… all of this existed only in Lockhart's wishful thinking.
The Devil's Snare, hanging mid-air, lunged again, snaring him in a blur and binding him tight—his wand whisked away for good measure.
"What?"
Lockhart stared, wide-eyed, at his body wrapped in vines. "Impossible—you should al—"
By then, Wesson had come back to himself and was rubbing his temple.
Lockhart's Obliviate packed a punch; even having fended it off, it left him a touch woozy.
As for how he had defended… well, naturally—
[You're welcome, sir.]
Hearing the voice of the Tree of Wisdom in his mind, Wesson smiled faintly.
Yes—being Wesson's bonded guardian, anything trying to invade his mind had to break through the Tree of Wisdom first.
And the Tree's protection was extraordinarily tight; Wesson had never met a witch or wizard who could force their way into his mind.
It seemed Lockhart couldn't either.
And even if he could, the Devil's Snare would have twisted off Lockhart's neck in a heartbeat—though Wesson was directing it, the plant had a mind of its own and could recognise an enemy.
In short, Lockhart never had any chance at all.
Wesson walked up to Lockhart, trussed like a zongzi by the Devil's Snare, and looked down at him, cold. "Anything else you want to say, Professor Lockhart?"
Lockhart appeared to grasp that his fate today was grim.
Head bowed, he pleaded in a low voice, "Let me go, Professor Wesson. I can give you so many benefits—fame, money, anything I have. You know the things I've done. Use them to threaten me if you must, just don't spread them around."
Wesson couldn't help but shake his head at so spineless a Lockhart.
The arrogant braggart from moments ago had vanished without a trace, leaving only this pitiful cur, wagging his tail for mercy.
In the instant Wesson's focus drifted, he felt that all-too-familiar intrusion again.
Lockhart was still struggling on the brink!
It seemed he hadn't given up hope of turning the tables.
Wesson had to admit, this did surprise him—Lockhart's Obliviate had reached the point of wandless, wordless casting, without even a gesture.
Compared with the Lockhart in the original account, the man before him was far more dangerous.
If the person in front of him weren't Wesson, they would likely have been caught.
"Still not giving up, Professor Lockhart?" Wesson looked at him with a half-smile as the Devil's Snare coiled round the man's neck. "I advise you to drop any other ideas."
This time, Lockhart finally sank into utter despair.
He forced a twisted smile. "I surrender. You… how do you intend to deal with me?"
Wesson didn't answer at once, but the vine round Lockhart's neck cinched tighter and tighter.
At last, Lockhart's face began to turn purple. Struggling, he forced out a few words through his constricted throat, "You… you won't… kill me, will you?"
The tendril slackened a fraction, letting him breathe.
Wesson looked down at the wretched, fox-like man—of course he wasn't truly going to kill Lockhart.
"All right, Lockhart," Wesson suddenly gentled his tone, though his eyes stayed cold. "No need to be nervous. I won't harm you. Answer a few of my questions, will you? As for what happens to you, I doubt it's mine to decide."
Instantly, Lockhart exhaled in relief, his taut body going limp.
As long as he was alive, there was hope.
"Of course, of course!" he nodded frantically, rasping. "What do you want to know? I'll tell you everything."
Wesson had the Devil's Snare weave itself into a chair and sat down with unhurried grace.
"First question," he drawled, "what did you do to the remnant of You-Know-Who's soul?"
Lockhart's eyes flicked uneasily; his Adam's apple bobbed.
At last, he answered with care. "I took all of its memories."
"Even though it was only a fragment?" Wesson arched a brow.
Lockhart nodded, adamant.
Wesson sighed.
He had to admit, Lockhart's talent was impressive. Even a born Legilimens likely couldn't read the memories of a disembodied soul.
But Lockhart could—not merely read, but seize.
Which meant he might now possess part—or even all—of the memories from when Lord Voldemort was in his teens.
That was rather alarming.
"The Petrification incidents at Hogwarts were all your doing, weren't they?" Wesson pressed on.
Lockhart nodded, admitting it.
"And Hallowe'en? Why did you Petrify Rai then, and Petrify yourself the second time?"
"Because…" Lockhart swallowed. "Hallowe'en was an accident. As for the second time… I only meant to lessen suspicion on me."
Wesson nodded, thoughtful.
Even so, he suspected Rai's Petrification hadn't been mere accident—there had likely been a measure of Lockhart's personal spite involved.
After all, Lockhart had been nursing a distaste for both Wesson and Rai at the time.
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