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Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Phoenix Society
With only a few days left of the summer holiday, Lockhart—still on edge after the attack and wary of Crouch Jr.—took down his tent at the Quidditch grounds, Apparated to the outskirts of Hogwarts, flew part of the way, walked the rest, and entered the castle.
The moment he stepped into his office, a message from the Headmaster arrived, summoning him to Dumbledore's office.
Albus Dumbledore's office looked as though time had stopped inside it.
The fireplace crackled warmly—cosy and almost sleep-inducing. Portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, the occasional snore echoing softly. Every surface was cluttered with odd little instruments whose purposes were impossible to guess at. Standing there again, Lockhart felt as ignorant as he had eighteen years ago.
"Gilderoy," Dumbledore said, emerging from behind his desk. "I heard you encountered real Death Eaters at the World Cup. Are you unharmed? Crouch has already been suspended for investigation."
Instead of taking his usual seat behind the desk, Dumbledore led Lockhart to the sofa by the low table with unusual warmth and poured him tea.
"Sugar? A biscuit, perhaps, Gilderoy?"
Lockhart shook his head, took a sip, and wondered why Dumbledore suddenly seemed so attentive.
"Gilderoy," Dumbledore said again, when Lockhart stayed silent. "Time flies. I still remember, faintly, what you were like twelve years ago. And now, you've grown into a wizard capable of great responsibility."
Lockhart couldn't understand why Dumbledore was attempting such friendly familiarity. He glanced up and noticed how pale those forget-me-not blue eyes had become—so pale they were almost transparent. Dumbledore had aged; twelve years had left no visible mark upon the pillar of the wizarding world.
"What happened after the match, Gilderoy?" Dumbledore asked, seemingly casually.
Lockhart felt a tug—an unexpected urge to confess everything to the old man. But years of secrecy and caution pulled him back. He chose harmless details.
"To avoid the chaos, I took a few students into the forest," Lockhart said. He could hardly admit he had intended to kill Barty Crouch Jr., so he steered neatly past that. "Crouch's son conjured the Dark Mark nearby. I went after him, fought him, but he still managed to escape."
Dumbledore peered at him over his glasses, disbelief flickering across his face.
"You let him escape?"
Lockhart snapped.
"Headmaster! Do you think I'm one of them? If it weren't for your precious saviour and his friends barging in at the worst moment, I would have finished him—"
He stopped abruptly. He never lost control in front of others. Never raised his voice. Something was very wrong.
"Gilderoy, don't be rash," Dumbledore said quickly. "He's not my saviour—he's our student."
Dumbledore's calm, deliberate probing made Lockhart's stomach sink.
He realised the truth.
There must have been Veritaserum in the tea.
Dumbledore pressed on gently:
"Gilderoy, the Dark Lord seems to be returning. What are your intentions?"
Lockhart lost his temper completely.
"Dumbledore, I have no interest in joining Voldemort—and no interest in fighting your war against him either! I despise his views on Muggles and half-bloods, yes—but all I want is to stop him coming back. If I fail, I'll leave. I love my job, but I value my life even more!"
"I've got every skill I need. Worst case, I write a few more books and live comfortably anywhere in the world!"
His voice rose into a roar.
"And I have no idea what I've done to make you drug me with Truth Serum!"
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I'm sorry I had to be so blunt.
Dumbledore held Lockhart's gaze, calm and unwavering.
"But whose side are you on, Gilderoy? That is important—especially now."
"I'm not choosing sides! Will that satisfy you, Headmaster?" Lockhart leaned back, sneering. "Shall I drop my Occlumency completely and let you rummage through my mind as well?"
"I apologise again, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said, unfazed. "These measures were necessary because I trust you."
He sighed.
"I've formed a small group—wizards who share certain principles, who help one another. To keep it pure, everyone who joins must undergo a few small tests. They weren't aimed at you specifically—"
He added, almost kindly,
"Everyone who is tested has already earned my trust beforehand."
Lockhart laughed coldly.
"So that's how it works? Those who can't use Occlumency sit here for a while, unknowingly subjected to Legilimency, feel 'trusted', and join your club. And those who can, are forced to drink Truth Serum and—flattered—spill everything, then join?"
He stood abruptly.
"I'm not that gullible. And forgive me for pointing this out, but your personal charm is not quite as irresistible as you seem to believe."
Dumbledore remained serenely thick-skinned.
"So, Gilderoy, may I now formally invite you to join my little club?"
"Absolutely not! I've not forgiven you! The last thing I want is to be ordered about by someone who's just insulted my dignity!"
"No, no, Gilderoy, there is no hierarchy," Dumbledore said quickly. "Members help each other when needed. And if you ever wish to leave, you may do so freely. Nobody will force you to remain."
He produced a small piece of parchment, walked around the table, and offered it to Lockhart.
"This is where the members usually meet. I hope you'll join us for the next gathering."
"I haven't agreed to anything!" Lockhart snapped.
"Yes, yes," Dumbledore said mildly, still extending the note, "but I believe you've already made up your mind."
Lockhart snatched the paper, stormed to the door, shoved it open, then barked over his shoulder:
"Headmaster, if my life is at risk, I'm leaving Hogwarts immediately. Then you can hire a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor every year, as usual."
Without waiting for a response, he marched out.
Behind him, Dumbledore called,
"Gilderoy, I look forward to forging a steadfast comradeship with you!"
Once Lockhart was out of sight, his fury dissolved like mist. He unfolded the parchment.
A tiny phoenix flitted across it.
12 Grimmauld Place.
The paper hummed faintly with magic. Through Dumbledore—the Secret Keeper—Lockhart now knew the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
He guessed the parchment was enchanted like a written version of the Two-Way Mirror: a discreet way for members to communicate.
A clever method indeed.
No wonder the Order never had traitors—they were shamelessly effective when it came to dealing with Voldemort.
Originally, Lockhart had feared Dumbledore suspected him over his prophetic-seeming actions. But he soon realised the Headmaster had simply been testing his allegiance. Fortunately, Lockhart had quickly improvised and played dumb, sidestepping further probing.
Now, with Veritaserum still in his system, all he wanted was to hide until the effects wore off. He even walked straight past Professor McGonagall without so much as a greeting.
"You let him go without obtaining anything?"
"Severus," Dumbledore said, settling behind his desk once more, "all we need is his cooperation. Certain secrets can remain his."
"I sincerely hope you'll learn to get along with him. You've made no friends since… Lily."
"Mind your own business and your precious saviour," Snape snapped, sweeping out of the office in a billow of black robes.
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