The lesson wasn't lengthy, as the study of the mind is an incredibly intricate and conceptually nebulous subject, difficult to fully explain in just a class or two.
Moreover, it truly demands a deep understanding of life to genuinely comprehend.
Regarding the mechanisms of the mind, there are many intriguing distinctions. For instance, there are three main categories closely linked to the **id**, and seven major categories connected to life's activities, with countless further extensions.
**Ghosts** formed after a wizard's demise, souls venturing into the **Veil of Death**, **Patronuses** emerging from emotions, how **blood magic** influences society through connections between different minds – all these are profoundly complex topics.
The part Lockhart elucidated merely guided the young wizards and Madam Marie to the very threshold of understanding the mind, memory, soul, and the essence of existence. Should they choose to truly grasp these concepts throughout their future lives, the remaining knowledge would naturally unfold before them.
For this knowledge isn't defined by humans; it's an inherent function of the mind itself. All names given to these concepts, upon closer inspection, contain inaccuracies; they cannot be articulated, fully described, only experienced.
"Your minds already possess all information. If you are willing to delve into your minds, it will naturally reveal itself to you."
Lockhart concluded his small class.
For now, he only needed the young wizards and Madam Marie to grasp this much. It would aid them in retrieving Madam Marie's lost life from Corban's memories.
Next, he led the young wizards and Madam Marie towards a staircase in the corner, bypassing the misty second floor. They ascended a vertical ladder through a trapdoor, finally emerging into a spacious laboratory on the third floor.
Indeed, no one could truly discern if the third floor was spacious, for it, too, was permeated by thick mist.
Only near the trapdoor was a cleared area, where a peculiar, ancient-looking **torture chair** stood. Corban Yaxley was bound to it.
He appeared far from well, his pupils vacant, his head lolling to one side. They could even discern a perplexing medley of emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and delight—all simultaneously etched upon his face.
"His mind has been opened," Lockhart explained. "This is what I was just telling you: the brain and the mind are vastly different, yet they also share many overlaps."
"We can delve into the depths of his mind through his thoughts to explore the part he stole."
As he spoke, he looked at Madam Marie. "I must solemnly ask you, I believe I have clearly explained the dangers of the mind. Memories are not simply a collection of information; they are traces of life. And when we step into another's life traces, our own life traces will also be affected."
"This will be an exceedingly perilous journey!"
Madam Marie hesitated. She had initially believed that some of her memories were merely obscured by mist, and that by simply sweeping away the fog, they would naturally return to her mind, or perhaps be extracted and reinserted as one might with a Pensieve.
But during the recent lesson, Lockhart had thoroughly expounded upon the dangers of this endeavor.
When these memories became part of another's life-traces, inevitably tainted with their information, reinserting them into one's own life-traces could lead to dreadful consequences.
*Boom!*
By the fireplace near the torture chair, Crabbe ignited a **soul bonfire**. He was becoming increasingly adept at this spell, performing it with considerable flourish.
"This soul flame will protect our souls from external forces attempting to invade our minds," Lockhart explained to the slightly anxious young wizards. "Furthermore, since all of you can proficiently cast the Patronus Charm, I believe that as long as you do not succumb to greed for others' memories, you will remain entirely unaffected."
Well, this didn't include Goyle, the only one of the six who still couldn't conjure a Patronus. He was currently assigned a potion, standing by nervously, ready to assist everyone at a moment's notice.
Crabbe, meanwhile, could already produce a faint, silvery Patronus, but he needed to maintain the soul bonfire at its optimal state and had no intention of delving into Corban's life-traces himself.
Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco, the four young ones, were all somewhat nervous, clutching their wands tightly.
"So I must ask you one last time," Lockhart's gaze deepened as he looked at Madam Marie. "Are you truly determined to recover your lost life? If it's merely out of dissatisfaction with what's missing, then I am willing to help you. I can write down these events, presenting everything you once experienced in written form."
"I don't know..."
Madam Marie's face was pale as she muttered weakly, looking at Corban. "My bloodline carries a terrible curse, which has prevented me from finding love my entire life." (Mentioned in Chapter 141)
"I know I must have loved someone in the past, but I can't recall who it was. All I know is that this love did not end well; it was cursed, and it utterly left me."
Madam Marie's eyes looked blankly ahead. "I just want to know who I loved back then, and why it ended the way it did. Was it because he didn't love me, or because he died or something happened that prevented him from continuing to love me...?"
"As for that magnificent past life, I don't necessarily need to know about it. My intuition has told me that during that period, I was exhausted and deeply depressed. I found liberation in losing those memories..."
Indeed.
Lockhart, of course, understood.
His former self was exceedingly clever. Stealing memories wasn't just about magical ability; it was also about understanding human nature.
The Forest Witch, deeply ashamed of her past as a wildling in the Amazon rainforest, was utterly infatuated with the splendor of modern Muggle cities and had no desire whatsoever to recall that part of her life. This made for the most suitable memory theft.
Because the person herself didn't truly want it back.
Of course, this didn't imply that taking without consent was right; it merely meant that such a heinous theft was executed rather smoothly.
Madam Marie's relationship with Lockhart used to be quite simple: a social outsider, an ambitious fan pursuing a celebrity. Her obsession wasn't so much with Lockhart himself, but rather with his rise to fame and entry into high society.
It was a distant dream for her, a self-deceptive infatuation with the internationally renowned author Lockhart. By approaching him, she hoped to use him as her own stepping stone.
This was not a pleasant story.
Both the deceiver and the thief ended up with no good outcome.
It was merely that Madam Marie was willing to give a bit more; she didn't mind becoming the famous Lockhart's wife, enjoying the status that his success brought, and was also willing to be a good wife and mother.
The human heart is sometimes incredibly complex. It's difficult to judge whether love with an agenda is truly not love. Many people cannot confront their own inner selves; a self-deception can persist until the very end of life, concluding as the most beautiful love story.
One might not live authentically, but one could live beautifully, like an actor on life's stage, faithfully playing their assigned role, never stepping out of character.
"I am certain!" Madam Marie finally declared.
But she would likely be disappointed. The Gilderoy Lockhart who once existed in her life-traces was gone, and due to the current Lockhart's presence, that connection to society was utterly severed. It would be impossible for her to find that particular Lockhart from her past life-traces.
"Very well, everyone, gather around Corban. We shall now begin."
Lockhart waved his wand, and lines delineated by vines began to appear on the floor, instructing everyone to sit within a vine-woven circle and place various objects at other points along these lines.
First, an ancient grandfather clock. Lockhart had found it in one of Corban's safe houses. It was an exceptionally powerful Time-Turner from a forgotten era, preserved by the Yaxley family and never recorded by the Ministry of Magic.
He also pulled out a small alarm clock with its alarm adjusted, purchased from a Muggle street, simply for telling time.
"Only ten minutes left..." Lockhart murmured. "The hour of the full moon is almost upon us."
With swift movements, he began setting up more items, finally looking at Crabbe. "Vincent, you can manage this, yes?"
Crabbe nodded vigorously, thumping his chest. "Don't you worry, Professor, I've been practicing the soul bonfire diligently."
A very strenuous practice, indeed.
Of course, to him, it wasn't quite 'strenuous.' Every evening, he would secretly slip out of his dormitory, come to the common room, light the bonfire in the fireplace, and stare at his parents within the flames, lost in thought.
"Excellent," Lockhart said, then turned to Goyle.
Goyle appeared somewhat nervous. Seeing the professor look his way, he quickly gestured to the potion bottle in his hand. "If anyone starts shouting, just drip a single drop of this potion into their eyes!"
The potion's composition wasn't complex; it was simply **Doxycide**, possessing potent Memory Charm effects.
It could erase and conceal unpleasant experiences from one's life's journey.
Lockhart was willing to trust Goyle, but he also had a contingency: the **Doxy** lurking in the mist nearby. If Goyle faltered, the Doxy would intervene.
"Excellent."
Giving these two lads such crucial tasks, rather than having them participate in a more demanding adventure requiring sharp wits, would be more beneficial for their growth.
"Then, let us begin..."
Lockhart gently waved his wand, and a wave of silvery light rapidly filled their surroundings. Within the silver glow, a dense, dark aura subtly permeated the air.
**Obliviate!**
The silent spell swiftly enveloped the individuals nearby, following the mental pathway opened by Tom Riddle, and quickly entered Corban's life-traces.
A few minutes later, Corban began to convulse rapidly.
"Merlin's beard!" Goyle exclaimed nervously. "What's happening to him?"
Crabbe rolled his eyes. "Relax, mate. The professor said Corban would turn into a werewolf on the full moon. This is perfectly normal."
"Oh, right, right." Goyle swallowed hard, still watching nervously as Corban rapidly transformed, quickly becoming a hulking, ferocious **werewolf**.
"Werewolves are truly terrifying, aren't they?" he asked.
Crabbe said nothing. He was already immersed in the power of the soul bonfire, his entire being in a state of profound peace and serenity, feeling the warmth of his parents' presence, his heart overflowing with goodness and joy.
He had no desire to break free from this blissful sensation; he simply gazed at the flames in a daze.