Chapter 188. Let's Have a Chat, Professor Lockhart
"Come along then, Professor Lockhart."
Adrian Wesson kindly held the door to Lockhart's office open.
"Thank you." Lockhart forced a smile and followed Wesson into his own office.
Once inside, Wesson began to look around.
In fact, this was his first time entering Lockhart's office.
It was much as he had imagined.
Lockhart favoured gaudy, bright colours; his office was a blaze of hues, the walls lined with gilt-edged self-portraits, each one showing off his toothy grin.
There was even a life-sized statue of Lockhart himself standing in the corner.
After Wesson sat down on a purple sofa, Lockhart said, a bit stiffly, "Why don't… you get on with your work? I'm feeling much better… really…"
Wesson strolled about at his leisure and, hearing Lockhart "shoo" him away, gave him a genial smile. "Oh, I'm in no hurry. Let's have a chat, Professor Lockhart."
"Alr… all right," Lockhart replied dryly.
To think, at the very beginning, Lockhart had spent his days dragging the professors into conversation to brag about his "astonishing" exploits and achievements.
But today it was the opposite—he was unusually quiet.
Wesson knew Lockhart was probably cursing him under his breath.
To be honest, it felt rather good.
Wesson unhurriedly used the tea on Lockhart's desk to brew two cups, and naturally handed one to Lockhart.
"…Thank you?" Lockhart took the tea Wesson had brewed, looking baffled.
At that moment, Wesson suddenly spoke. "Professor Lockhart, who do you think that 'heir' inside the castle is?"
At Wesson's words, Lockhart's head jerked up; tea nearly splashed onto his cuff.
But he quickly collected himself.
"The heir? Hasn't that big fellow already been taken away?" he said with certainty. "It's Hagrid! Since the Ministry has arrested him, there must be something wrong with him!"
"But all the professors trust Hagrid. He just doesn't seem like that sort," Wesson said, taking a sip of tea.
"That's where you're wrong, Professor Wesson." Lockhart suddenly perked up and rose from his chair. "In this world, a person's surface and what's inside can be utterly different. Who knows… oh, I'm not speaking ill of Hagrid, of course, but in my extensive experience, the Ministry is most likely not mistaken."
"Oh, very well. I think we should change the subject," Wesson said.
Lockhart seemed to let out a breath of relief.
It appeared the topic was a touch sensitive for him.
"Did you know Hogwarts has many interesting rooms?" Wesson asked all of a sudden.
"Interesting rooms?"
Lockhart looked puzzled; he had no idea why Wesson would bring this up now.
"For example, on the eighth floor of the castle," Wesson looked at Lockhart with a half-smile, "near a silly-looking tapestry, there is a marvellous room. We all call it the Room of Requirement."
"Oh," Lockhart said, putting on a show of composure, "the Room of Requirement? Sounds fascinating. I must go and have a look some time."
Beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow.
"Tsk." Wesson set down his teacup and shook his head in regret. "I thought you could keep up the act a bit better than that, Professor Lockhart."
Wesson was no Dumbledore, but he could plainly sense that though Lockhart's tone was calm, his breathing was panicked.
Obviously, he was lying.
"Wh… what do you mean by that?" Lockhart still refused to admit anything. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Wesson gently placed the cup down; porcelain base and tea table met with a crisp clink.
He looked at Lockhart slowly; beneath his robes, the tendrils of Devil's Snare were already coiling, ready to spring.
"I lost something there," Wesson said with a slight smile. "A sheet of paper. Any idea where it might be, Professor Lockhart?"
Lockhart's expression darkened at once.
The temperature in the office seemed to drop sharply.
Then Wesson took an empty vial from his pocket and set it on the desk.
Lockhart stared at the vial in disbelief. "You actually—?"
He knew that vial all too well.
Before his words had finished, the Devil's Snare whipped from beneath Wesson's robes, lunging straight at Lockhart.
In the nick of time, Lockhart dived forward and narrowly dodged the tendrils.
He sprawled on the floor, hair in disarray over his brow. Looking up at Wesson, a glint of coldness flashed in his eyes.
Yet Wesson did not see fear in them.
"Ah, so you did find out," Lockhart got to his feet, dusted off his robes, and looked at Wesson coolly. "But I must say, peeking into someone else's memories is rather impolite, Professor Wesson."
Seeing Lockhart so unfazed, Wesson knew he must have some sort of backup plan, and he immediately drove the Devil's Snare to close in.
However, Lockhart did not counterattack. With a single bound he darted behind the statue in the corner.
There was a sharp click, and he vanished.
Wesson stepped closer and discovered a pitch-black opening in the floor, just large enough for a person to pass through.
He truly hadn't expected that.
Even so, where could Lockhart possibly flee?
"Lumos!"
A ball of light shot into the hole, its glow illuminating the tunnel.
At once, Wesson brought the Devil's Snare forward as a living shield and jumped down without hesitation.
The passage wasn't long; within seconds Wesson was standing on solid ground.
The light orb lit the entire space; wand raised, Wesson scanned the area warily.
It was a basement—small, damp, and gloomy. The room was empty, save for the "drip, drip" of water beading down the walls and falling to the floor.
Wesson looked down and spotted many strange marks—like the trail of a Basilisk.
He even saw traces of the Basilisk's blood, likely left from when it had been injured earlier.
Clearly, Lockhart had been hiding the Basilisk here all along.
No wonder they couldn't find it in the Chamber; Lockhart had already moved it.
"Lockhart?" Wesson's voice echoed in the enclosed space.
In the shadows at the back of the room, Lockhart was standing before a massive stone door.
"Oh? You actually dared to follow me in, Professor Wesson. Do you know what you're facing now?" Lockhart shook his head, sounding almost regretful. "If you'd turned back just now, you might still have had a chance to live."
Before Wesson could answer, a hissing sound spilled from Lockhart's mouth.
Wesson knew that ability all too well.
It was Parseltongue.
At this point, Wesson could be almost certain that Voldemort was on Lockhart right now.
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