"For close-quarters combat, two points will be deducted from each person!"
Sagres announced expressionlessly, "I'll say it again: wizard duelling is not a street brawl. If I see anyone biting again next time, I'll throw them into the Black Lake!"
"But Professor, didn't you say to abandon all rules?" George Weasley rubbed at his torn robe, speaking casually without looking up.
"Gryffindor, minus five points," Sagres said calmly. "For ears that 'selectively' listen to instruction."
Malfoy, rubbing his bruised arm, immediately burst out laughing. He had just given Potter a sneaky kick during the chaos, but seemed to have taken a punch from Crabbe in the confusion—though the latter wouldn't admit it.
Sagres then waved his wand, and the Great Hall, which had been blasted apart by spells, began to repair itself automatically: crooked candelabras straightened, scorched floors became pristine again, and even the glistening slug slime at Ron's feet vanished without a trace.
"That's all for today." Sagres glanced at the clock on the wall; the hands were nearly at curfew. "Prefects, lead your houses back to the common rooms. Anyone caught wandering will be given a month's detention."
Within minutes, the crowd dispersed like a receding tide, and the staff table was empty. After a moment's thought, Sagres decided to spend the night in the library.
…
Lockhart stumbled into his office, the door slamming shut behind him.
He staggered to the mirror and was startled by his reflection—his meticulously styled curls were a mess, as if they had been blasted by a cannonball, and green traces of healing potion still clung to the corner of his mouth, the taste reminding him of rotting swill.
"This is outrageous, absolutely outrageous!" He slammed the crystal vase on his desk into the fireplace, the glass shards crackling sharply in the flames. "Sagres, that vile bastard—how dare he… how dare he treat Gilderoy Lockhart like this!"
He paced back and forth in front of the gilded mirror, muttering to himself, his dragon-hide boots leaving deep indentations in the Persian rug.
Suddenly, as if possessed, he opened the notebook again, picked up his quill, and began scribbling messily:
Today, I was brutally ambushed in the Duelling Club. Snape, that filthy old bat, attacked me from behind and ruined my fifty-Galleon hair potion! And he rolled his eyes at me more than once!
He paused abruptly. The ink bled into an ugly black smudge on the paper—much like his twisted expression at that moment:
Snape is indeed very annoying; no one likes him!
Lockhart nodded heavily, then his face contorted again as he continued to write:
Not only that, but also Sagres, that despicable scoundrel. He actually teamed up with Snape to deal with me. Although I fought back with all my might, in the end I couldn't win two against one and was defeated.
They are jealous of your fame and talent, just like fireflies are jealous of the sun! They are nothing but a bunch of despicable wretches…
Lockhart's fingers trembled: Yes… you're right! You're absolutely right—they are all jealous of my talent, which is why they are trying every possible way to target me, to humiliate me…
Yes, it's a pity they succeeded…
Lockhart eagerly continued to write:
Should I do something? Otherwise, what will my fans think? So many students were watching today—will they think Lockhart is just a superficial show-off…
You need a new achievement to prove yourself, a greater feat…
Lockhart froze for a moment, then grew agitated:
New achievement? What achievement—write another book? But I'm at Hogwarts now; I have no opportunity… no material.
The handwriting in the diary stretched elegantly, like a snake flicking its tongue:
Esteemed Lockhart, you forget—you don't just write books. After all, you are a great wizard, and there are many other ways to help you regain your honour…
Lockhart thought deeply, but in the end gave up and simply scribbled in the diary: Other ways? What ways?
The handwriting in the diary slowly appeared: For example… solving the Chamber of Secrets crisis…
Lockhart jumped in fright, his face paling: The Chamber of Secrets? There's a Basilisk in there—it's too dangerous. And more importantly, I don't even know the exact location of the Chamber of Secrets.
The handwriting shimmered enticingly: I happen to know some clues about the Chamber of Secrets… and I also know how to subdue the Basilisk. I will help you—help you solve the Chamber of Secrets crisis together. Just imagine… when you walk out holding the Basilisk's head…
"...Ah.."
Lockhart's breathing quickened, and his eyes behind his spectacles began to shine. He could almost see the headline in The Daily Prophet: Gilderoy Lockhart Single-Handedly Saves Hogwarts!
He swallowed, and his trembling quill once again touched the diary: How exactly do I do it? I have no way to deal with that Basilisk; after all, looking into its eyes is fatal.
The handwriting suddenly became blurry, as if struggling to breathe:
Don't worry… I have a way to make the Basilisk as docile as a kitten, but this requires your help. You know, I am just a poor diary, after all, and without your help, I can do nothing…
Lockhart took a deep breath, as though making a decision: Can we… really solve the Chamber of Secrets problem?
Of course! A great practitioner like you, combined with my humble knowledge—solving a small Chamber of Secrets is simply a piece of cake… and then you will announce the truth to the world and save the school. This will be a new heroic epic entirely belonging to you! And I only ask to be mentioned as an insignificant footnote in your legend…
Lockhart licked his dry lips: Tell me, what exactly should I do?
The ink on the page suddenly grew faint, the handwriting intermittently forming new sentences:
Maintaining such communication… requires energy… As a mere magic item, I need magic to keep functioning, and I also need a little bit of blood to find the answers for you…
Lockhart's trembling fingertip traced the page, and the edge of the paper nicked his skin, leaving a tiny wound. The moment the blood seeped into the page, the ink suddenly came alive again.
Thump!
Lockhart suddenly collapsed onto the desk, his quill slipping from his fingers.
After a moment, he lifted his head, picked it up again, and wrote crookedly in the diary:
I… feel… so tired…
This is just creative fatigue, dear Lockhart. Do you want to know the true entrance to the Chamber of Secrets?
Yes, that fool Sagres searches for the entrance every day, and I can know the answer effortlessly… Haha
Of course—because you are far more outstanding than him, a thousand times better than him. I will tell you the answer, but before that, you still have to give me something…
What do you want?
A little blood, just a little…
Haven't I already given it to you?
You haven't—you misremembered. Just give me a little, and then I can help you become a hero, a true hero…
Okay, I'll give it to you…
When Lockhart cut his finger again, he didn't notice that the blood seeped in faster than last time.
A satisfied sigh came from deep within the pages, and he naturally attributed his exhaustion to the "toil of conceiving new book chapters."
Lockhart once again collapsed onto the diary and fell into a deep sleep. In the silent night, the diary began to plant new thoughts in his mind:
Why does that scar-headed boy always appear at the scene of the crime? Is he the real culprit who opened the Chamber of Secrets?
The professors' so-called protective measures are nothing but troll tricks—absolutely idiotic…
Only we understand the truth. Only we possess the real solution…
These thoughts, like poisonous vines, quietly took root in Lockhart's mind.
When he faced Sagres the next day, his eyes held a strange new hostility and… an eerie confidence.
______
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