"Everything's basically ready. I found a very good target—we can implement it today." Umbridge's voice dripped with saccharine sweetness as she looked at Lockhart. "What about your end?"
"Me?" Lockhart shrugged helplessly. "I've searched through every abandoned classroom and storage room in the entire castle, but I haven't found any particularly special old objects." His tone carried a note of frustration. "Are you sure those things are even here?"
"They're definitely here." Umbridge's expression hardened with absolute certainty, though she offered no explanation.
After all, this person was just the master's puppet, and possibly not a very obedient one at that.
The master had sensed the aura of the same origin. Only when three or more fragments gathered in proximity could such a powerful resonance occur.
Especially today, the aura's intensity had been extraordinary—at least four pieces had manifested in this school.
Thinking of this, "Umbridge" couldn't suppress a shudder. She had personally witnessed the master creating Horcruxes—that vile ritual, the excruciating agony. Even as a mere observer, her soul had trembled at the sight.
Such torment – the master had endured it at least four times?
Having the soul ripped into four separate pieces, that sense of emptiness and anguish—how had he survived it?
Reverence swelled in "Umbridge's" chest.
Truly worthy of being the world's greatest dark wizard!
"Why must it be?" Lockhart's tone carried a strange edge.
Seeing that the woman across from him had no intention of explaining anything, displeasure flickered across his face.
His mood had been deteriorating recently. For so long, he'd helped that notebook and that woman accomplish countless tasks, yet that so-called ritual that could make him stronger still showed no sign of materialising.
If he hadn't personally experienced the intoxicating benefits that ritual had brought before, he would've assumed those people were deceiving him.
That sensation of magical power flooding his entire body, as if he were the most powerful wizard in existence, fascinated him beyond measure. At that moment, he'd even believed that not even Dumbledore could match him.
Recalling that feeling of invincibility, Lockhart couldn't help but lose himself in the memory.
But after the euphoria faded, carefully examining that experience, doubt had crept into his mind.
Before obtaining that sensation, he'd experienced a period of inexplicable confusion. Only after the disorientation ended had that power flooded his entire being.
He hadn't personally witnessed that ritual. It was only afterward that the notebook had informed him he'd undergone the ceremony, which explained his newfound benefits.
But without seeing it with his own eyes, suspicion inevitably took root.
Had that feeling of magical power truly been granted by that so-called ritual?
Perhaps sensing Lockhart's emotional turbulence, the notebook in his hands suddenly snapped open, lines of flowing text materialising before him:
[Great Professor Lockhart, don't trouble yourself with such trivial concerns. We have far more important matters at hand.]
[Today, you will once again obtain the power you've dreamed of, and I will grow stronger.]
[As long as we continue this ritual, one day you will truly possess that power—I'm absolutely certain of it.]
Looking at the text appearing on the diary, a strange sensation slowly washed over Lockhart, and his mind completely relaxed.
That's right—how could he possibly doubt the diary's words?
It had helped him immeasurably, from teaching magical techniques to various methods for manipulating people's emotions, not to mention the endless stream of praise it bestowed upon him daily.
He would always trust the diary's words. After all, they were friends, weren't they?
"Let's begin preparations." Seeing Lockhart's eyes gradually cloud with confusion, Umbridge's tone turned gentle, as if speaking to Lockhart yet simultaneously murmuring to herself. "This school needs some chaos."
Sir Podmore?
Feeling that cold, ghostly touch covering his hand, fragmented information flashed through Harry's mind.
He'd heard this name somewhere before, but the memory was frustratingly vague.
After thinking hard for several moments, Harry's eyes finally brightened with recognition.
He remembered—about a month ago, when he'd attended Nearly Headless Nick's birthday party, he'd heard this name mentioned.
Just thinking of that birthday party made Harry suppress a shudder.
That had truly been an unforgettable experience. During what should have been an extremely joyful Halloween feast, he'd taken Ron and Hermione to that large windowless chamber in the underground classroom. The candles there had burnt with black flames, the music was nauseatingly discordant, and the air was frozen like ice, permeated with the frigid breath of a meat locker.
The food had emitted a putrid stench, over a thousand milk-white ghosts had floated through the room, and there had been those unsettling phantoms with blood-red eyes like death-seekers. They'd removed their heads and hurled them at each other through the air like grotesque balls—that terrifying sight still made Harry tremble when recalling it.
Only then had he understood why Professor Kahn's expression had been so peculiar when he'd heard Harry was planning to attend a ghost's birthday party.
That truly had been a nightmare.
However, he did have some recollection of Sir Podmore. Although he'd also been one of those ghosts using heads as projectiles, before Harry had attended the party, Professor Kahn had mentioned that if he encountered any danger, he could ask this Sir for assistance.
They hadn't stayed at the party long, so they hadn't established much connection with this Sir.
Shaking his head, after confirming the ghost's identity behind him, Harry breathed a slight sigh of relief.
At least this ghost that Professor Kahn knew shouldn't mean him any harm.
But having confirmed this, another question arose in Harry's mind.
He'd clearly come here wearing the invisibility cloak—why hadn't his invisibility cloak worked?
Was it because ghostly eyes could see through invisibility cloaks, or had he made noise while walking?
He scratched at the palm covering his mouth, but Sir Podmore didn't seem inclined to acknowledge him, instead concentrating intently on listening to the movement inside the bathroom.
But having cooperated with Harry for so long, Alice on his head could roughly interpret the meaning of some of Harry's gestures. She extended her claws and scratched at the ghost's translucent hand.
"?"
Feeling another sensation on his palm, Sir Podmore glanced down in confusion, moved his hand from Harry's mouth, felt around on the boy's head for a moment, then spoke softly, his tone carrying surprise:
"What manner of creature is this?"
"How dare you call me a thing, meow! So rude, meow!"
Alice angrily materialised on Harry's head, glaring with indignation at the red-eyed ghost.
"A talking cat?" Interest flashed in Sir Podmore's eyes, but he still had important business and couldn't allow this lost young wizard to disturb those two people inside.
With this thought, he extended his hand again, intending to cover that young wizard's mouth and drag him aside.
Sensing the red-eyed ghost's intention, Harry hurriedly spoke in a hushed whisper:
"I'm Professor Kahn's student, Sir Podmore. I know you—the Professor said that if I encountered trouble, I could ask you for help!"