Although Lockhart found Harry's speech unnervingly archaic, he weighed the bag of coins, felt its heavy reassurance, and sat back down.
Why pass up a bag of Galleons for a few words?
At worst, I'll just hit the three of them with a Memory Charm. I can't handle three second-years?
Lockhart's confidence surged. "I trust you, Harry. Please, ask. What can I answer for you?"
"Does the scholar know how to capture a soul?"
Lockhart processed the question. He racked his brain, but found nothing.
Tsk. It seems I will definitely be using a Memory Charm today.
He gripped his wand inside his robe. "If I may be curious, Harry, why do you ask this question?"
Harry clasped his hands. "Only to ensure that scoundrel Voldemort's soul is scattered to the winds."
As the saying goes: More skills don't weigh you down. Although Harry's own blood and flesh could destroy the dark lord, that scoundrel knew many dark arts. Harry feared he might use some evil trick to resist, and he needed a backup plan.
Hearing the name "Voldemort," Lockhart looked as if he'd seen the King of Hell. His bones went soft, and he nearly dropped his wand.
"Er... Harry. You-Know-Who is dead."
Harry said, "That scoundrel's stinking flesh has rotted in the ground, but his soul has escaped. This one saw it with his own eyes. It is no falsehood."
Hearing Harry's serious tone, Lockhart pushed his fear aside, replaced by an irrepressible excitement.
You-Know-Who isn't dead, just a soul?
Hiss! If I could write a book about this, it would be bigger than all my other books combined!
Listen, reader: This Lockhart loved to ferret out the world's secrets, not from curiosity, but to "fish for fame and reputation."
He called himself a wandering hero, but he was really a common thief. He would find the true heroes who had risked their lives, and visit them, feigning camaraderie.
After three bowls of wine, he would extract every detail of their harrowing tales. Then, he would hit them with a Memory Charm, making them forget their own deeds.
He would then write the book, taking credit for their adventures, and transform himself into a world-famous hero.
Now, seeing that Harry held such a massive secret, Lockhart felt his insides burn. He wanted to drain every drop of ink from Harry's belly and write an earth-shattering legend.
Lockhart licked his lips. "Can you tell me the details, Harry? The more I know, the better I can analyze it and give you an accurate answer."
Back at the House Cup, Dumbledore had only said Quirrell was "driven off," not that his head was separated from his body, for fear of causing a panic.
Harry knew this matter was serious. He shook his head. "It is enough for the scholar to know the gist. The specific details cannot be spoken."
The more he refused, the more Lockhart's curiosity itched. "Please, Harry, I am perfectly cleared to know this."
He took a letter from his robe and handed it over.
Harry opened it. It was Dumbledore's handwriting, inviting Lockhart to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
The three of them looked at it, stunned.
Ron stared. No wonder the entire booklist is his. Now it makes sense.
"You see, I am part of the school. And..." Lockhart lowered his voice. "I heard the last professor, Quirrell, tried to resurrect You-Know-Who and was driven off. This is related, isn't it?"
Harry handed the letter back. "What the Professor says is both yes and no."
"What does that mean?"
"That scoundrel Quirrell was indeed involved. But he was not 'driven off.'"
Lockhart leaned in. "Then where did he go?"
"This one chopped off his head, and he went to see the King of Hell."
"Harry, don't joke. I need the real story."
"Why does the Professor not believe me?" Harry slapped his saber. "If this one speaks half a lie, may my guts burst!"
With that, Harry recounted the entire incident of Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone. Lockhart's forehead broke out in a sweat.
This fellow was a master plagiarist. Harry spoke in detail, with Ron and Hermione adding corrections. How could he not tell it was the truth?
Not a single lie. It's all true!
Damn it! Dumbledore didn't tell me Quirrell had his head chopped off by Harry Potter!
He quickly took a sip of tea to calm himself. "So that's how Quirrell died. He truly brought it upon himself."
Harry, seeing him calmly discuss a beheading, was impressed. "When discussing the heroes of the world, only the Professor and this one, Harry, deserve the top seats."
Lockhart heard this, and his heart trembled. His hand went limp, and his wand clattered to the floor.
He didn't pick up the wand. Instead, he pulled the bag of gold from his pocket.
This scoundrel was a coward. Seeing that Harry was a vicious child who killed without blinking, he feared that if he took the money, he would end up like Quirrell.
He put the gold on the table. Harry asked, "What is the Professor's meaning?"
"Oh... apologies, Harry. My research into souls isn't very deep."
Harry narrowed his eyes and gripped his saber. "The Professor just begged for details, and this one told you everything. Now you say you haven't researched it? Are you toying with this one?!"
That one shout sent Lockhart's soul scattering. He felt a cold ring around his neck.
His heart hammered. He frantically racked his brain, using all his strength to squeeze out a few words related to souls.
"Ah! I remember!"
"There is a creature called a Dementor that can suck out human souls! But you can repel them if you learn the Patronus Charm!"
Harry was about to ask for details when he heard a commotion downstairs.
Seeing Harry frown, Lockhart called for an assistant. "Why is it so noisy in your shop? Can't you see I'm discussing important matters with Harry Potter?"
The shop assistant, not daring to talk back to such extravagant wizards, bowed.
"Apologies, Mr. Potter, Mr. Lockhart."
"There's a red-haired little girl and a white-haired little boy arguing downstairs. Then their parents came over and started arguing... no one can break them up."
Harry didn't know who the white-haired boy was, but as for "red-haired," in the entire wizarding world, it could only be the Weasleys.
He grabbed his saber, called to Ron and Hermione, and stormed downstairs, roaring, "This one would like to see who has the nerve to provoke my sworn sister!"
And so it was, a commotion arose downstairs, a red-haired girl versus a silver-haired boy. Harry, hearing of it, flew into a rage, ready to charge down with his saber. But who were these two children? You must listen to the next chapter.
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