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Chapter Twenty-Six: The Failed Assassination
"Impedimenta! Avada Kedavra!"
Lockhart hurled spell after spell, magic roaring from his wand like a storm. The shadowy figure dodged frantically, barely blocking in time, forced to retreat further and further. The relentless barrage left him no chance to Apparate.
Barty Crouch Jr. had only just escaped his father's mind-draining curse and had not recovered his strength; all he could do was throw himself behind trees and rocks to avoid Lockhart's ferocious attacks.
The Killing Curse required enormous magical force, and Lockhart's power was draining rapidly—but as long as he killed this man, everything would be worth it.
"Expelliarmus!"
Lockhart finally saw an opening and fired the disarming charm, but Barty twisted aside at the last moment and avoided it.
"Diffindo!"
Barty's cover was shredded again, forcing him to roll clumsily behind another tree.
"Sectumsempra!" The tree he hid behind split viciously down the middle.
Just as Lockhart was about to pin him down completely, several figures arrived at a run.
"Professor! We're here to help!"
Hermione, the fastest, sent a sharp Expelliarmus from the side. It struck the shadowy figure squarely, sending his wand flying.
Lockhart halted. Without a wand, the man was helpless—keeping him alive to interrogate him might be more useful.
But Barty Jr.'s cunning ran deeper than that. From nowhere, he pulled out a second wand and pointed it straight at Harry and Pandora.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Lockhart reacted instantly. He couldn't let his student be struck down before his eyes. He redirected his aim and fired another Killing Curse to intercept Barty's. Green met green in mid-air—giving Barty just enough time to twist away and Apparate with a harsh crack.
Lockhart's next Avada Kedavra slammed into empty darkness.
The children froze, horrified. Only then did they realise how badly they'd messed up.
"P–Professor…" Harry whispered.
Lockhart stormed over, swallowed in fury.
"You! What on earth are you doing here?!"
A rapid series of loud cracks announced the arrival of Ministry wizards. They materialised from thin air, wands raised. Lockhart had to summon his armour spell at once, spreading it over himself and shielding the children behind him.
"Stop! It's Mr Lockhart—and my children!"
"Ron, Harry, Hermione—are you alright?" Mr Weasley called, breathless with fear.
"Step aside, Arthur."
A cold, clipped voice cut through the air.
Mr Crouch approached, Aurors at his back. Harry straightened instinctively. Crouch's expression was grim to the point of murderous.
"Who did it?" he demanded, eyes flicking sharply between them. "Who conjured the Dark Mark?"
"Shut up, Crouch."
Lockhart—already furious beyond reason—rounded on him, wand raised.
"I now suspect you of aiding your son's escape. Put down your wand."
The Ministry wizards stared, uncertain whom to support.
"That—just now…" Crouch's gaze shifted to Sparkle the house-elf, who stood trembling, staring in the direction Barty had fled.
"…Was that my son?"
Though phrased as a question, understanding had already dawned. Slowly, stiffly, he lowered his wand. The Aurors followed suit.
Lockhart was momentarily thrown; he had not expected Crouch to surrender so quickly. Scowling, he lowered his wand as well.
"If anything happens to Harry, I'll kill you myself. The rest of you—take Crouch in for questioning. 'Helping his son escape', is he?"
"Where is the attacker now?" an Auror demanded.
"Barty has already Apparated," Lockhart said sharply. "I seriously question Azkaban's ability to guard prisoners. Don't tell me Peter Pettigrew has escaped too."
"I'm sorry, Mr Lockhart," said a witch in deep blue robes. "The Dementors… forgot that Peter is an Animagus."
Lockhart felt as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He forced himself to breathe.
His efforts to catch Pettigrew had been ruined—though at least Sirius's innocence was now beyond doubt.
He was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor now. If he monitored things closely and prevented Barty Jr. from infiltrating Hogwarts, the Triwizard Tournament wouldn't be derailed—and disaster could be avoided.
Lockhart exhaled sharply.
"Pandora, I'll take you back to your grandfather."
After escorting the shaken girl to the Minister's tent, he returned to his own. Not long after, Harry and the others arrived, looking uneasy.
"Professor, are you alright?" Harry asked. Hermione, knowing she'd made things worse, kept her head down.
"I'm fine," Lockhart said, though his voice was tight. "But he got away. He'll be hiding in the shadows now, waiting for a chance to get you. You understand, Harry? You're in real danger. Don't act recklessly."
"Yes, Professor," Harry said softly.
"Ron," Lockhart snapped.
Ron blinked. "Er—yes, Professor?"
"Watch Harry. Don't let him do anything stupid this year."
"Oh—right. Yes, Professor."
Lockhart suddenly felt drained, the fight leaving him all at once.
"Go on, then. School starts soon—go prepare."
"Okay, Professor…" Hermione whispered, voice trembling. "I'm… I'm sorry. I caused trouble again."
Lockhart's expression softened; seeing Hermione looking like a scolded wife made him sigh.
"It wasn't your fault. I should've used an Illusion Cage Charm first. Go on."
Hermione covered her face and slipped out. Whether she cried or not—Lockhart didn't bother to check.
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