Chapter Twenty-Five: The Target Appears
"Professor—please don't…"
Just as things were heating up and something irreversible was about to happen, a sudden uproar broke out outside the tent. A green light flashed, followed by screams tearing through the night.
Lockhart jolted back to reality.
He hadn't come to the World Cup to flirt—he was here to sabotage the plot. If he killed Barty Crouch Jr, the Triwizard Tournament would collapse entirely, and as long as he protected Harry, Voldemort's resurrection would be a distant dream. He could remain a professor peacefully for years.
He helped Pandora to her feet; the girl looked dazed, her clothes rumpled.
"I'm sorry, Pandora—are you hurt? There's some trouble outside; we need to check it out."
As he quickly straightened her clothes, he pulled the weak-legged girl out of the tent. Pandora leaned limply against him.
Outside, chaos had already erupted. Wizards and families ran screaming as tents were set ablaze one after another.
"Come on—stay close."
Lockhart lifted the trembling girl and ran with the fleeing crowd towards the forest.
As he neared the trees, he heard the voices of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
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"Hermione's a witch," Harry shouted.
"Mind your own business, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "If you think they can't tell a Mudblood apart, keep going."
"Watch your mouth!" Ron yelled. Everyone present knew that "Mudblood" was a deeply offensive slur.
Lockhart stepped forward and coughed pointedly.
Draco shut up at once the moment he saw Lockhart.
Hermione gasped with relief. "Professor! I'm so glad you're alright!"
Harry snorted.
Lockhart wiped cold sweat from his forehead.
"Of course I'm fine, Hermione. Couldn't you at least change your line?"
"Well… all right, I am happy you're fine."
Hermione then noticed Pandora—still red-faced, leaning on Lockhart.
"What's wrong with Fudge's granddaughter?" Hermione's heart twisted.
"Ahem—Pandora was in my tent talking to me about the match when the riot started."
"Talking about the match?" Hermione said sharply, but caught herself. She had no right to ask.
"Oh… yes. The match was exciting…"
"Yes, it was, but Professor—I've lost my wand!" Harry cut in.
"You WHAT?" Lockhart snapped. "What did I teach you? You can lose your head, you can bleed, but you NEVER let your wand leave your hand!"
"It's probably in the tent," Ron said.
"Or it fell out while we were running," Hermione said anxiously.
"Yes—maybe…" Harry muttered.
Something rustled violently in the bushes, making all three jump.
Winky, Mr Crouch's house-elf, came staggering through the undergrowth in a desperate struggle, as though some invisible force were dragging her back.
"There's bad wizards everywhere!" she squeaked, fleeing blindly. She stumbled past them and ran on into the forest.
"What's she doing?" Ron muttered. "Why doesn't she run down the path?"
"I bet she wasn't allowed to hide," Harry said. "When a house-elf disobeys, they get punished."
"You know, servant elves are treated horribly," Hermione said fiercely. "It's slavery. When Mr Crouch called her up at the Top Box she was terrified. He scared her so much she couldn't even walk when they were taking the tents down! Why won't anyone DO anything?"
"Well, elves like it like this, don't they?" Ron said. "You heard her—'house-elves can't be happy' unless they're bossed about."
"That's exactly the kind of thinking," Hermione snapped, "that keeps an unfair, abusive system alive—because people like you are too lazy to care!"
"Shall we keep going?" Ron growled. Harry saw him glowering at Hermione.
Perhaps Malfoy was right—Hermione was more frightening than they were.
They moved on. Harry kept patting his pockets even though his wand was obviously gone.
Suddenly a strange incantation echoed through the forest.
"Morsmordre!"
A jet of green light shot from deep within the woods, blazing upward and forming a huge glowing shape. Harry squinted as it rose—past the treetops and into the sky—a monstrous skull with a serpent for a tongue.
"What's THAT?" Ron asked.
Lockhart's heart lurched.
His target was here.
He released Pandora, drew his Wand, and summoned every ounce of magic he had. In a flash of blinding white, he shot into the air towards the source of the spell, leaving everyone stunned.
"Professor—what's wrong? What IS that?" Pandora cried.
"It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Hermione gasped. "It's—it's—You-Know-Who's sign!"
"Voldemort?" Harry whispered.
"Can the Professor beat whoever cast it?" Ron muttered.
"No—Professor can't beat the Dark Lord! Go after him!" Hermione cried. Even though she idolised Lockhart, she was very clear-headed at this moment.
Lockhart streaked through the trees and arrived just as a shadowy figure dropped a wand and tried to flee.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Without hesitation, Lockhart unleashed the Killing Curse. A true Killing Curse required real murderous intent—and this was the first time Lockhart had ever felt such a powerful urge to kill. If he succeeded, it would prove he could change the plot. He desperately needed that reassurance.
The shadow flinched, snatching up a wand and firing the same curse—deflecting Lockhart's spell.
Lockhart pressed forward relentlessly.
If he couldn't defeat Barty Crouch Jr…
How could he possibly alter the story?
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