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Chapter Thirty-Three: Night Raid on Visitors from a Friendly School
Anyone could be a suspect. First of all, the Hogwarts professors were generally far stronger than Barty Crouch Jr., and they had been on the grounds all year, giving him little chance to impersonate any of them.
That left the two visiting headmasters and the Ministry officials as the most likely suspects. But after close observation, none of them had behaved oddly or drunk anything suspicious in public—meaning Barty Jr. wasn't pretending to be one of them.
Among the visitors, the two headmasters and Scrimgeour were clearly too strong to be held under the Imperius Curse for long. Bagman was the weakest link, so Lockhart added him to the suspect list—but even then, he hadn't detected any sign of the curse.
Which meant… it had to be students.
Students from the other two schools were the most likely candidates: fewer restrictions, more movement, easier to hide among.
Lockhart decided he wouldn't sit and wait.
"Severus, I need Veritaserum," Lockhart said bluntly. "Fifty doses. Immediately."
Snape looked up, incredulous. "Excuse me, Gilderoy… fifty? Planning to drown the Goblet of Fire in truth and ask it politely to confess? That sounds like something your brain would conceive."
"Don't ask so many questions. If you won't give it, I'll brew it myself."
Snape shut his book with a snap. "Come with me."
Snape's brewing was flawless—near perfect success rate, impeccable purity.
"Take it," Snape said, expression dark. "And remember—you were never here. If this blows up, you're alone."
Lockhart didn't care. He was determined to stop Voldemort's resurrection.
Tonight, he would interrogate every visiting student and official.
Dressed in black, hat low over his eyes, thunder rolling overhead—
Time to move.
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Durmstrang First
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Lockhart burst into the Durmstrang common room, stunning the entire group before they had time to shout. Krum went first. Veritaserum. A Weakening Spell. Counter-Petrification. Legilimency. Interrogation.
Krum, being the strongest, required the most effort.
Then a clean Obliviate and Stunner.
One by one he interrogated the Durmstrang students, even Karkaroff himself—who, disappointingly, showed shockingly little vigilance. Not a single sign of Imperius. No disguised Barty. Nothing.
Lockhart left behind a room full of unconscious boys with scrambled memories and strode into the corridor.
Merlin's beard, doing illegal things was terrifying—but strangely exhilarating. If he got away with this, he'd deserve a personal suite in Azkaban.
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Beauxbatons Next
The Beauxbatons lounge was a different world entirely—warm lights, soft perfume, and a group of elegant young witches dozing after the day's events.
Lockhart sighed. Why was interrogating beautiful French students somehow more stressful than dealing with Durmstrang's walking mountains?
Still, he kept it professional—quick stunners, Veritaserum work, clear questions:
Any outside influence? Any unfamiliar magic? Anyone under Imperius? Anyone behaving strangely?
All negative.
Nothing.
Not even Fleur.
Saving her for last wasn't about flirting—it was because she was the most magically sensitive of them all, part-Veela and extraordinarily difficult to deceive.
He lifted the Petrification Charm and began the interrogation—
But before he could finish—
"Who's there?!"
A spell shot across the room.
Lockhart barely raised a shield in time.
He'd wasted too long—Madame Maxime was awake.
Soon the lounge erupted in noise: Beauxbatons girls shouting, spells flying, furniture exploding.
Madame Maxime was furious, towering in the doorway, wand raised.
"You dare attack my students?!"
"It's not what it looks like!" Lockhart shouted back, deflecting a blasting curse that cracked the stone.
The duel was fierce—Lockhart was nimble and creative, but Maxime was simply stronger. Her wandwork had weight behind it. Each spell felt like being hit with a full-grown hippogriff.
Lockhart gritted his teeth. Damn it—he couldn't overpower her, and he couldn't reveal the truth either.
So he resorted to misdirection.
"You forced me!" he shouted.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green flash burst forward—but it hit with far less force than a true Killing Curse. Maxime conjured a massive stone shield instinctively, heart pounding—only to realise the spell was weak, a bluff.
Lockhart had already flicked his wand sideways—sending a harmless Exploding Charm at a row of curtains, filling the room with thick smoke.
As Maxime and the girls shouted, coughing, Lockhart Disapparated in a swirl of black smoke.
Let the Death Eaters take the blame for this one.
Maxime, trembling with adrenaline, refused to pursue him. She grabbed her coat, wrapped it around the nearest frightened student, and glared toward the door.
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One Last Visit
"Bagman! Something's happened—open up! Students from the other schools have been attacked!"
Bagman opened the door in his pyjamas, startled.
"What?! Attacked? Impossible! Who—how—?"
"Get dressed," Lockhart said urgently. "We need to move quickly."
Bagman scrambled into his trousers. "Did you see the attacker? Any clues?"
"Yes," Lockhart said calmly, raising his wand.
"I suspect it was me, Mr Bagman."
Bagman froze.
"W–what?"
"Obliviate."
"Alter memory."
Bagman collapsed to the floor.
Lockhart exhaled.
One last loose end removed.
The night was far from over, and Voldemort's resurrection was still looming.
But at least he had cleared the field.
For now.
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