Professor Snape, that peculiar chap, was acting quite strangely. For some inexplicable reason, he'd abandoned his own duties, left his manuscript—the very one that could 'prove his worth'—unmodified, and instead, he was constantly loitering in the 'Duelling Club'. He'd completely usurped Lockhart's role.
Could it be that with the monster in the Chamber of Secrets on the loose, he wished to safeguard the school's elite students from harm?
Alas!
What could be done about it?
Lockhart could only respond with a hearty, "Hee hee hee!" of pure delight. How glorious!
He simply stood by, watching Snape put on a show, secretly picking up tips while listening in on lessons with the younger wizards. Sometimes, he'd be perched at his own desk, meticulously revising the manuscript for Where Are the Dark Creatures?, and other times, he'd simply slip out of the office.
As for his destination…
Heh heh, it was, of course, the Chamber of Secrets within the castle, a place the young wizards were all whispering about with hushed excitement.
He intended to construct a Chamber of Secrets scenario within the magical artifact, the Carro's Bedtime Story Fairytale Book. Riding this wave of excitement, he hoped to elevate the young wizards' immersion in 'fairytale adventures' to an even higher plane.
The Chamber of Secrets needn't necessarily contain a Basilisk; the specific monster featured in this scenario would depend on the curriculum progress of each year group.
He was confident everyone would be filled with boundless enthusiasm.
You see, Professor Lockhart truly poured his heart into his teaching.
Naturally, the most crucial aspect was to provide these young wizards in the 'Duelling Club' with more experience in 'grouping up to conquer the Basilisk'. They'd repeatedly overcome it, clearing the scenario again and again, until they could complete it with astonishing speed.
Then, he'd spring a delightful surprise on Tom. This could be considered a small recompense for all the wisdom he'd "borrowed" from Tom.
Hahahahaha!
You're most welcome!
Professor Snape had no idea that Lockhart's mid-lesson departures were due to his desire to avoid working late into the night on this very project. Upon overhearing a few tiresome students (primarily Harry Potter) grumbling behind his back about him driving Lockhart away, Snape actually felt a pang of guilt.
But he simply wouldn't change.
He'd seized the opportunity; did they expect him to give it back? The Defence Against the Dark Arts position was far too fascinating. Why on earth would he relinquish it?
In that case, compensation was the only option.
"Done?"
Lockhart, quite surprised, offered the collected dew and the Sound-Collecting Herb. He'd assumed it would take Professor Snape far longer to brew the potion for him. He'd even noticed the potion, bubbling with an eerie green like a seafood stew, still simmering beside them.
Snape, disinclined to explain, uncorked the small vial of dew and poured it into a murky, egg-white-like solution, stirring it thoroughly. Finally, he added two drops to a cauldron emitting wisps of pink smoke, then carefully peeled a small section of Sound-Collecting Herb stem with a sharp knife and dropped that in too.
"Now it's ready," he declared, tidying his workbench. He returned the dew-infused, egg-white solution and the remaining Sound-Collecting Herb to Lockhart. "These are enough for a dozen more portions, and if you have the inclination, you can allow the Sound-Collecting Herb to gather even more vocalizations."
He retrieved a parchment scroll from beside the workbench, unfastened the hemp twine, and unfurled it. After a careful inspection, he used his quill to jot down a note beside a particular detail, then re-rolled it and handed it to Lockhart.
"These are the simplified brewing instructions for this potion, refined by me. It's so straightforward that even you can brew it successfully. I imagine you'll find it quite useful."
He noticed Lockhart's eagerness to take it, but Snape held onto the scroll, his gaze fixed piercingly on Lockhart. "I don't know why you require this peculiar concoction, but it's essential that I reiterate my warning: 'Magic is the expression of self-will; lose yourself, and you will lose magic!'"
"Furthermore, I must solemnly caution you: do not use this more than twice within a single year. Otherwise, even if the potion's effects are perfect and you don't lose yourself, it will lead to utterly terrifying, unforeseen consequences."
Lockhart nodded with a serious and solemn expression. "Yes, I'll remember that, indeed."
He was immensely grateful to Professor Snape. With the memories of over a dozen powerful wizards swirling within his mind, he understood perfectly the immense cost of finding a magical master in wizarding society to refine a potion and dedicate vast amounts of time and energy to produce a finished product. They were all adults; it wasn't as simple as a student asking a professor for help. He could imagine that even if Lucius Malfoy, who shared a good personal relationship with Snape, were to request such a favor, the price and the social debt would be considerable.
All Lockhart could do in return was to do his utmost to refine Professor Snape's manuscript and operate it with the greatest effort.
The Meddlesome Brain Matter
Clutching the simplified Pensieve containing the potion, Lockhart returned to his office, pondering which wizard's wisdom he should absorb using this precious concoction.
Snape had truly been an immense help. He yearned desperately for a more complete spell-casting ability.
Only…
Whose should he absorb?
His initial thought was to delve into the original Lockhart's memories. These were the most complete of all the memories, while the others were merely fleeting snippets. This was, after all, the most complete 'life of a wizard'.
But he quickly dismissed this notion.
There were two reasons.
Firstly, apart from his extraordinary proficiency in Memory Charms, the original Lockhart possessed virtually no other commendable magical abilities. No, it would be more accurate to describe them as abysmal. Even the most basic 'Vanishing Spell,' a charm that even novice wizards could master with ease, the original Lockhart managed to botch spectacularly.
The second reason was that he already had his own approach to absorption. A more effective method than this 'Playful Brain Matter' potion was the path of 'entering a fairytale adventure, where magic blossoms naturally.' He could now master the 'Vanishing Spell' far better than the original Lockhart. He was already pursuing this very approach, and Where Are the Dark Creatures? was being prepared for this exact purpose.
So, whose memories should he absorb?
Lockhart fell into deep contemplation.
He quickly settled on the memories of an ancient wizard, an old friend of Dumbledore's—a quintessential academic powerhouse who had even served as an Alchemy professor at Durmstrang Institute for a time. Such memories would grant him a comprehensive, fully systematized spell-casting ability.
Only…
Was this truly the ability he needed most at this stage? Lockhart understood one thing with absolute clarity: the power of magic lay not in its 'strength,' but in its 'mystery.'
This old friend of Dumbledore's was undoubtedly the most powerful among the dozen-plus wizarding strongholds in his memories, bar none, but certainly not the most mysterious. Using his abilities to contend with Voldemort would be entering Voldemort's chosen battlefield. If everyone knew what he could do, and Voldemort excelled in every aspect compared to him, how could he possibly prevail? Any small maneuver would be glaringly obvious to such a formidable opponent. What good would it do?
Following this train of thought, he quickly found his answer. It was the witch known as the 'most wary witch of the American Ministry of Magic'—the Forest Witch.
These witches who followed a spiritual path were always like this. In a wizarding society where the majority of wizards were academically trained, their magical abilities were shrouded in an unpredictable enigma, far too difficult to comprehend.
It was much like the impact Newt had on the American Ministry of Magic back in his day. The Aurors of the Ministry could collectively cast Memory Charms on an entire street of people, but they couldn't modify the memories of an entire city. Not only would it be an arduous task fraught with potential oversights, but the Aurors simply couldn't accomplish it in such a short span of time. Yet, Newt, with the help of the Swooping Evil's secreted venom and the coordinated rainfall from the Thunderbird, could effortlessly achieve it.
The Forest Witch was precisely the same. She was the kind of witch who could effortlessly infiltrate the American Ministry of Magic's most highly secured archives and mysteriously obliterate her top-secret files. No matter how stringent or powerful the protective magic, it would prove useless against her. If not for her lingering fondness for the vibrancy of human society, causing her magic to become less pure and leaving behind a few conspicuous vines and flowers in the archives, the American Ministry of Magic wouldn't even have known she had been there.
Of course, the American Ministry of Magic viewed leaving traces as an act of provocation.
Lockhart had finally made his definitive decision.
He began to summon his companions to help guard him.
The little golden-haired creature leapt onto Lockhart's shoulder, vigilant against all possible dangers, and watchful of other magical creatures.
The Banshee floated in mid-air, the fiery stake of her torment once again manifesting behind her. Blood flowed through the 'small forest' in the office like a stream, and the trees vibrated with renewed life. Vines sprouted from seeds, slithering about like sentient serpents.
The Boggart, transformed into the 'Hanged God's Corpse,' wielded an oversized axe, its tall, imposing figure blocking the office door.
The Swooping Evil flew to a branch by the window, spreading its cerulean wings, guarding against any potential disturbances from outside.
Excellent.
Lockhart expressed his gratitude to his companions, then drew his wand, beginning to extract all memories of the 'Forest Witch' from his mind, depositing them into the simplified Pensieve containing the potion.
The 'Playful Brain Matter' potion appeared rather grotesque; it wasn't clear like water. Instead, it looked somewhat like swollen paste.
Viscous, fluffy, and springy.
Indeed, its current appearance resembled a brain resting in a basin. And it was playfully wiggling about. If not for Snape, who, understanding the potion's properties, had instructed Lockhart to prepare this simplified Pensieve to 'contain' it, it would have mischievously darted out of the cauldron and scurried around the room.
As the silver threads of the 'Forest Witch's' memories dissolved into it, it even began to open and close its cerebral fissures, singing:
"If you intend to consume me, Then you'd best add a touch of honey and milk, That will render my texture more refined. But mysterious wizard… You had best be cautious, For your rashness will lead you to utterly lose yourself, You…"
Its song was abruptly cut short as it let out a sharp peal of laughter, trembling wildly. "It tickles, oh, it tickles so!"
"!!!" Lockhart's expression was a peculiar blend of disgust and surprise as he lowered the spoon in his hand, utterly at a loss as to how to begin consuming this preposterous substance.
Good heavens…
The bizarre reality of wizards, the act of devouring another's memories, was unfolding before him in such a grotesque and concrete manner.
He unrolled the scroll given to him by Professor Snape once more, confirming the method of using this potion: consume it with a silver spoon, ensuring absolutely nothing is left behind (Warning: Any unconsumed potion will escape with the memories, and you wouldn't wish to witness that!).
Gurgle gurgle…
The sound of flowing liquid echoed in his ears.
Lockhart turned his head to see large patches of blood oozing from the cracks in the wooden ceiling, collecting and dripping down into a teacup on a nearby table.
The Banshee's body split open with a dozen fanged mouths, smiling at him. "You might require some water," she said.
"Oh, thank you."
Lockhart cradled a cup of blood, silver spoon in hand, and looked back at the playful brain in the Pensieve. He swallowed hard, secretly encouraging himself not to be defeated by this sight. He could overcome it.
"Oh, oh, oh!" The playful brain began to wail again. "It hurts, your spoon is hurting me!"
"Silence!" Lockhart finally snapped, unable to contain himself.
The playful brain began to sob. "You're bullying me, you're bullying me!"
(End of Chapter)