The first day of the new term dawned crisp and bright, bringing with it the familiar sounds of dozens of trunks being dragged and the excited chatter of students reuniting after the holidays. The corridors of Hogwarts, which had echoed with emptiness during the Christmas break, once again thrumd with youthful energy as returning students breathed life back into the castle.
In the depths of the greenhouses, Adrian's Mandrake had finally reached maturity during the quiet weeks of winter—one plant, at least.
This ant that Lockhart could probably recover from his petrification.
That afternoon, the hospital wing felt unusually crowded as Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Adrian gathered around the bed where Lockhart was.
Adrian held a vial containing the Mandrake Restorative Draught.
"You may begin, Professor Westeros," Professor McGonagall said gravely.
Adrian nodded and poured the potion made from Mandrake over Lockhart.
The potion was very effective. The mont it made contact, the petrified gray-white color began to fade.
Soon, Lockhart awakened.
The mont he opened his eyes and saw several pairs of eyes staring directly at him, he imdiately sat up from the bed, looking around in confusion.
"Where am I?"
Seeing this, Professor McGonagall breathed a sigh of relief, stepped forward, and explained, "Professor Lockhart, you were attacked by a monster. You've been unconscious for quite so ti. The incident occurred in the courtyard while you were..."
She paused, realizing they still didn't have a clear picture of exactly what had happened.
"Unconscious?" Lockhart's brow furrowed as he processed this information. He shook his head slowly, as if trying to remove cobwebs from his mory. "I'm afraid I don't recall anything of the sort. Are you quite certain?"
"Wait just a mont!" His voice suddenly rose in pitch as he seed to realize sothing. His hands flew to his face, and his fingers began probing frantically along his cheeks and jaw. "A monster attack, you said? Dear rlin's beard, please tell I wasn't disfigured! My face—it's my livelihood!"
"You don't need to worry about that," Professor McGonagall assured him with a slight frown, finding his priorities sowhat inappropriate given the circumstances. "You appear exactly as you did before the incident. However, we need to understand what happened. Do you have any mory of the events leading up to your... sickness?"
Lockhart lowered his head, his expression becoming thoughtful seeming to rember sothing.
Several monts passed in silence, broken only by the soft ticking of the hospital wing's clock and the distant sounds of students in the corridors.
"I believe..." He said slowly, raising his head with the expression of soone trying to rember vague mories, "I believe I was taking an evening walk in the courtyard. Yes, that must have been it—a simple walk to clear my head after a long day of... well, being brilliant."
"And then?" Adrian interjected, his voice sharp with focus.
Sothing in Lockhart's manner struck him as evasive, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what was troubling him about the man.
Lockhart seed to shrink back slightly under Adrian's sharp gaze.
"Well, I was simply enjoying the evening air," He said, his voice taking on a defensive tone, "when I noticed sothing, a flash of movent, perhaps, or a strange shadow. The next thing I knew, I was waking up here with all of you staring at ."
Adrian's eyes narrowed as he processed this explanation.
The explanation didn't match his clear mory of how Lockhart had been found—arms spread wide in a theatrical gesture, his mouth open as if he had been speaking or reciting sothing. The pose had been far too dramatic for soone simply taking a casual evening stroll.
Sothing was definitely amiss. Lockhart was concealing information, either deliberately or because his mory had been affected by the attack.
At that mont, Lockhart's expression shifted, as if he had suddenly realized the irrationality of his explanation. His eyes widened with what appeared to be genuine recall.
"Ah, wait!" Lockhart exclaid. "Now I rember more clearly. An enthusiastic fan had sent a letter containing an original poem dedicated to my various accomplishnts. I was reciting it aloud in the courtyard, you see, savoring the beautiful language. Would you care to hear it? I believe it went sothing like: 'Dearest Gilderoy, your eyes like sapphires bright—'"
"That will be quite sufficient, Professor Lockhart," Professor McGonagall interrupted firmly, her tone making it clear that she had no desire to endure one of his typical displays of vanity. "What we need to know is whether you observed anything about your attacker. Did you see who or what was responsible?"
Lockhart shook his head with what appeared to be genuine regret, though with him it was always difficult to distinguish authentic emotion from performance.
"I'm afraid not," He admitted, then his expression took on a note of pride. "However, I can tell you with certainty that whoever was responsible possesses considerable magical ability. You know, I've faced nurous dark wizards and creatures throughout my career, but none of them managed to overco my defenses and make so...so disheveled."
Professor McGonagall chose to ignore the subsequent boastful comnts that followed, and turned to say to Dumbledore with a look of weary resignation.
"It seems we've gained no useful information from this,"
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, his expression revealing nothing of his internal thoughts on the matter.
"How long was I unconscious?" Lockhart asked suddenly.
"About one month," Madam Pomfrey replied concisely.
Adrian noticed that Lockhart's tense expression relaxed sowhat. For soone who claid to have no mory of recent events, he certainly seed pleased by the duration of his unconsciousness.
"Professor Lockhart," Dumbledore said in a calm voice, "you should rest and allow Madam Pomfrey to conduct a thorough examination to ensure no lasting effects."
"Of course, Headmaster!" Lockhart replied with enthusiasm, straightening up in his bed with obvious pleasure at being the center of concerned attention. "Though I must say, I feel absolutely wonderful. Remarkably refreshed, actually! That fellow didn't really hurt at all.
I suspect I'll be ready to return to my classroom duties very soon. After all, my students must be simply devastated by the absence of their beloved Defense Against the Dark Arts professor…...!"
Adrian suppressed the urge to mutter that the students had, in fact, been coping well with Lockhart's absence and were likely to be less than thrilled by his return to their daily routines.
The group left the hospital wing shortly afterward, leaving Lockhart alone with Madam Pomfrey's attentions.
The mont the door closed behind them, Lockhart's theatrical deanor dropped like a discarded mask. He collapsed back onto his pillows with a genuine sigh of relief.
In the corridor, Adrian asked Dumbledore, "By the way, Professor Dumbledore, has there been any sign of the basilisk returning to the Chamber?"
"I've had Fawkes maintaining surveillance of the area," Dumbledore replied, his voice carrying a note of concern. "Unfortunately, we've discovered nothing of significance. I'm afraid the continued exposure to the Chamber's dark environnt has been rather annoying for Fawkes. Phoenix eyes are particularly sensitive to such conditions, and the experience has left him... sowhat temperantal."
"I hope we can find the culprit soon," Adrian said.
Three days later, Lockhart moved out of the hospital wing.
Adrian also returned the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes to him.
The students complained sowhat privately about this, as they would have to return to the days of performing stage plays every day.
Lockhart, however, seed oblivious to his students' lack of enthusiasm. If anything, his absence had sparked what he claid was a surge of creative inspiration. He returned to his classroom with an armload of new scripts, each more bragging than his previous ones.
The stories remained faithful to his established pattern, all drawn from his supposedly autobiographical works, all featuring himself as the brilliant and courageous hero who single-handedly overca impossible odds through superior magical skill and dashing charm.
For several weeks, life at Hogwarts settled into sothing resembling normalcy. The daily routines of classes, als, and howork continued without major incident.
Just when Adrian thought the tranquility would continue, an accident occurred.
This hopeful illusion was shattered on the last day of January.
In the evening, Adrian had finished grading assignnts and was preparing to go to the dining hall when he discovered a commotion in the second-floor corridor. Several students were running in panic, and soone even collided with Adrian.
Adrian recognized the student who had bumped into him as Hufflepuff's Ernie Macmillan, in the sa year as Harry. He could still na most of the Hufflepuff students.
"Professor!" Ernie said tremblingly, "It's Justin—he's fallen! Just ahead in the corridor! The Chamber—it's the Heir!!"
"Take a deep breath, Ernie," Adrian's heart sank, but he still comforted firmly, placing hands on the boy's shoulders. His calm deanor seed to have an imdiate effect, and Ernie's panicked breathing began to slow slightly. "I need you to stay calm and lead to the scene. Can you do that?"
Adrian's words quickly cald Ernie down, and he imdiately led Adrian forward.
When they reached the scene, it was already surrounded by students. Adrian spotted several familiar faces among them, but now was clearly not the ti for greetings.
"Step aside, please," Adrian called out as he approached.
Seeing a professor approaching, the crowd imdiately made way.
Adrian walked forward with a grave expression and saw Justin Finch-Fletchley lying on the ground—this Hufflepuff boy was rigid all over, his face was frozen in an expression of extre terror.
Beside him was another figure.
Nearly Headless Nick was floating motionless in mid-air.
But sothing was terribly wrong with his usual appearance. Instead of his usual transparent white color, Nick had turned completely black, as if he had been photographed in negative. Wisps of dark smoke curled around his suspended body.
Clearly, both Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been hit by the basilisk's petrification magic.
On the floor beside them, written in red paint of unknown origin, were several glaring large characters:
"THE CHAMBER HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE!"
This was yet another typical petrification incident.
Counting the previous two tis, this was the third. And this ti, the victim was a student—the nature of this was completely different.
"Everyone step back imdiately!" Adrian shouted, simultaneously drawing his wand and creating a protective circle around Justin.
He crouched down to examine the boy, and confird that Justin hadn't lost his life on the spot, which allowed him to breathe a small sigh of relief.
It seed that this child, like in the original story, had seen the basilisk's eyes through Nearly Headless Nick and was petrified.
He was truly... both unlucky and fortunate.
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