Chapter 149: Because Of The Horcrux
Hermione pursed her lips tightly, her eyes fixed on Lockhart, while Cho Chang beside her made no further moves; she truly had no strength left to continue casting spells in combat, her gaze revealing a faint despair.
Marietta stood nearby; she had just moved the petrified Neville over a few minutes ago. She turned to look at that very round face, still frozen in a terrified expression. Clearly a year below her, yet far braver than herself.
“Don’t worry. As your professor, I won’t harm you. This process involves no pain whatsoever.”
Lockhart glanced at the basilisk collapsed in the distance, already plotting in his mind how to describe his heroic conquest of the monster, turning the students’ successive efforts into a tale of him dueling the basilisk around stone pillars, firing dozens of Stupefy spells to subdue it.
His name would once again grace the front-page news, perhaps earning him another Order of Merlin; wealth and glory lay right before him.
【Obliviate】
White light flowed from the wand tip, not dazzling but deeply unsettling.
Cho Chang silently closed her eyes.
Marietta instinctively stepped back, only to be blocked by a rigid body. She glanced at Neville behind her, a thought flashing through her mind. She clenched her fist and charged forward without hesitation.
Just like Neville had charged at the basilisk earlier, Marietta ignored casting magic and surged ahead, blocking the path of that wand.
“Now’s the time! Hermione, Cho!” Marietta shouted loudly.
Cho Chang’s eyes snapped open, catching sight of a back with golden curls. Her usually timid roommate was now utterly resolute, leaving no room for retreat.
Hermione beside her had already swung her wand, stepping aside two paces, and flung that now-familiar spell at Lockhart.
【Stupefy】
The Obliviate’s white light bloomed, the Stupefy’s red light blazed brilliantly.
The two spells crossed paths, following the direction of the wand tips: the Obliviate was blocked by Marietta, while the Stupefy would strike Lockhart.
When Lockhart saw Marietta lunging, his heart sank. In his peripheral vision, not only was red light flowing, but the Obliviate he had cast also seemed to hit an invisible barrier and quietly rebound.
He saw both spells sink into his body, followed by Marietta’s fist smashing heavily into his face.
Lockhart’s vision went black, and he lost consciousness completely.
Marietta also fell to the ground, her head dizzy, yet a joy welled up inside her—she had finally been reliable once.
Unfortunately, she was about to lose her memory.
Marietta closed her eyes, feeling the world spin rapidly. External sounds reached her ears, stretched out like tinnitus, echoing repeatedly; the silent Chamber of Secrets felt somewhat noisy.
“Marietta… Mari…”
Cho Chang seemed to be calling her name.
Professor McGonagall’s voice came from behind, laced with anger and concern:
“Good heavens… how dare you…”
……
Marietta opened her eyes, as if waking from a great dream. Noisy sounds flooded her ears again, chaotic and excited, like tinnitus.
“She’s awake! Madam! Madam Pomfrey!”
Someone shouted at the bedside—it was Cho Chang’s voice.
Marietta had only heard her shout like that during Quidditch matches, utterly devoid of ladylike poise.
A witch carrying a silver tray hurried over; it was Madam Pomfrey. She pried open Marietta’s eyes, scrutinizing her pupils as if checking if her memory was intact.
“Child, do you remember who you are?”
“Marietta… Ekko.”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Hogwarts, Hospital Wing.”
“Do you remember what happened before you passed out?”
“…”
Marietta nodded slightly.
Madam Pomfrey examined her very carefully. After a series of questions, she seemed finally convinced that her memory was undamaged, patted her shoulder, and made her drink a vial of strange-tasting potion.
It was clearly sweet, yet utterly undrinkable, like honey-fed slugs ground and juiced.
Marietta scrunched her face tightly; she barely heard Madam Pomfrey’s instructions until Cho Chang fed her some ice water, and her foggy mind slowly cleared.
“Merlin be praised! Lucky goddess be praised…”
Cho Chang muttered these words, pulling her head into her embrace, shedding tears of joy.
Only then did Marietta learn what happened afterward: someone noticed the entire Drama Club missing at lunch and reported it to Professor McGonagall, who traced them to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.
“Professor McGonagall arrived at the Chamber of Secrets just in time to see you punching Lockhart… The professor brought all the wounded to the Hospital Wing…”
As Cho Chang recounted this, she spoke with heartfelt relief: “Lucky goddess be praised—no one lost their life. Even Cedric, the most severely injured, only had over a hundred bones broken, no danger to his life. The petrified ones can be saved with mandrake.”
Marietta listened quietly, feeling an unprecedented calm.
……
In the transparent glass cup was Skele-Gro glowing with a blue halo; on the adjacent silver tray lay bandages stained with blood.
Hogwarts Hospital Wing, boys’ ward. Around a simple sickbed stood the school headmaster and deans in silence, with Melvin, the mastermind behind the scenes, also standing at the back.
Madam Pomfrey had called them here for accountability; the matron could no longer tolerate this major safety incident. Quidditch matches were one thing—worst case, broken limbs and concussions, or a few cracked ribs—but this was completely unacceptable.
Nearly twenty students petrified by the basilisk, plus one ghost.
The worst case, Cedric Diggory, had multiple fractures all over his body, wrapped in bandages and gauze like an Egyptian mummy, only his two eyes exposed, staring plaintively at them, stirring guilt in the hearts of these professors and headmaster.
“Poor child, it was the Slytherin founder’s Chamber of Secrets basilisk that did this to you.” Professor Sprout said sympathetically. “Though he was a founder, I must say this is too much.”
Snape’s face was expressionless, his peripheral glance sweeping over the student on the bed. Injuries of this degree looked severe but were minor—only needing one night’s rest. The blood on the bandages was just from scrapes; he’d be discharged tomorrow.
Of the dozen students who held off the basilisk, only Cedric had multiple fractures because he stayed calm and kept his eyes closed throughout, even when swept away by the basilisk’s tail at the end. The others had been petrified before that.
“Mr. Diggory will be discharged tomorrow. I think he probably doesn’t want us crowding here disturbing his rest.” Snape said coolly. “The petrification the other students suffered isn’t fatal; it can be cured with potions brewed from mature mandrakes. I recall the greenhouse has some.”
Professor Sprout looked troubled: “The greenhouse mandrakes won’t mature until after Easter.”
“Can’t we procure some, Pomona?” Professor McGonagall asked, her brow furrowed in anger; she was thoroughly furious with Lockhart.
“Not available in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Britain’s climate isn’t suitable; only the school’s greenhouses cultivated a batch, originally for teaching.” Professor Sprout explained. “We’d have to procure from other countries, but with holidays approaching, it might take until they’re over.”
Melvin cleared his throat and volunteered: “I’ll handle the procurement. I have channels in Budapest; should be able to get them shipped before the holiday.”
Snape glanced at him impassively.
Professor Flitwick’s eyes darted about, holding Cedric’s wand in his hand: holly, 12 inches long, unicorn hair core—tough material, pure kernel.
Dumbledore’s gaze was somewhat subtle as he nodded: “Very well, then.”
The ward door was pushed open, and Madam Pomfrey entered the room, glaring at them angrily with an unfriendly tone: “The girls’ side has all woken up too. I’m not stopping you from asking about the situation, but please keep your voices down and not disturb the patients’ rest.”
The matron’s expression was stern; even the headmaster could only nod with a smile.
The Hogwarts Hospital Wing was well-equipped, occupying nearly half a floor: outermost was the consulting room, inside were the dispensary and storeroom, with wards in the center.
Normally, two or three students with minor injuries didn’t need admission; if admitted, white curtains could separate them, with only one ward. But this time was different—nearly the entire Drama Club had been brought in. For easier care, they were divided into separate wards.
One for petrification patients, one for minor abrasions and exhaustion.
The last time the Hospital Wing had so many patients was also because of the Drama Club—Professor Kettleburn’s Great Hall fire.
The deans and headmaster moved between sickbeds, talking with the injured little witches and wizards.
The little witches and wizards leaned against their bedheads, reconfirming from the professors’ mouths that no one had lost their life, finally relaxing completely. Seeing each other bandaged, they even found it amusing.
The room’s atmosphere lightened considerably. Melvin pulled back the dividing curtain and approached Marietta’s sickbed, finding not only Ravenclaw’s Cho Chang but also his tutoring students there.
Hermione, Cho Chang, and Marietta huddled together, whispering and occasionally covering their mouths to giggle softly.
“How are you, little witches? Anywhere still uncomfortable?” Melvin conjured a chair casually and sat by the sickbed.
“I’m fine, just mild exhaustion—already rested up.” Hermione answered, then shrank to the side, quietly scrutinizing the professor’s expression like an otter that had stolen fish.
“Professor Levent.” Cho Chang was somewhat reserved, the normal student reaction to seeing a professor.
“Professor Levent…” Marietta was even more nervous, shaking her head quickly. “I’m fine. Lockhart’s Obliviate missed; I passed out from falling myself.”
“Not from falling yourself—it was to stop an evil wizard stealing memories, selflessly throwing yourself in the way. In Gryffindor’s words, that’s unparalleled courage. I’ll write to your mother; Mrs. Ekko will be proud.”
Melvin said mildly.
“I’m in Ravenclaw House…” Marietta buried her head, somewhat embarrassed.
“This has nothing to do with houses. Courage, like wisdom, is one of humanity’s most precious treasures.”
Melvin glanced around; no fruit basket at the bedside. He pulled an apple from his pocket, then a fruit knife, and patiently peeled it: “The first time I saw you in class, you didn’t even dare introduce yourself, always hiding your thoughts, following behind Cho Chang…”
The three students listened nearby; Marietta was the most attentive. She had initially thought the professor noticed her because of his cooperation with her mother, but he had spotted her even earlier.
Hermione wore a suspicious little look.
How did the professor know so many details?
As if he had witnessed the scene himself, clearer than her, an eyewitness.
“Remember this experience, remember the moment you lunged and punched Lockhart, that terrified look in his eyes. When facing others’ oppression or tough choices in the future, this courage will guide you to the right decision.”
Melvin handed over the peeled apple.
Marietta took the apple dazedly and nodded; she didn’t quite understand, as the professor’s words seemed pointed.
“Rest well…”
Melvin stood, meeting Hermione’s gaze nearby. He paused, pulled out some candy and handed it over, then glanced at Cho Chang beside her and did the same.
Cho Chang and Marietta wore similar expressions, watching the professor leave, once again feeling how different this professor was from the others.
On the other side, the four deans and headmaster had nearly finished their visits and learned what they needed. With a certain Potter still petrified, the headmaster had no mind to linger.
After chatting with a few lower years and confirming with Professor McGonagall about contacting parents, the headmaster prepared to return to his office to deal with the troublesome Board of Governors.
“Oh, right…” Dumbledore turned back. “Melvin, could you come to my office?”
Melvin raised an eyebrow: “Of course, Headmaster.”
……
Three in the afternoon, Headmaster’s Office.
Portraits of past headmasters hung on the walls; the current headmaster sat behind the desk, holding steaming black tea, his bright blue eyes slightly narrowed. Exquisite silverware on the desk emitted white mist.
Silence lasted the length of half a cup of tea. Melvin said nothing, guessing the headmaster was also choosing his words.
“The heir legend has circulated for a millennium. From Moaning Myrtle’s death until now, fifty years. Since my old friend Tom vanished, no one has found the Chamber of Secrets. I’m very curious…”
Dumbledore sipped his black tea: “Melvin, how did you find and open the Chamber of Secrets?”
His tone wasn’t grave, nor his expression stern; Dumbledore was genuinely asking out of curiosity, not interrogation.
“Why suspect me?” Melvin was equally curious.
Dumbledore smiled: “A club dragged into the Chamber incident, untrained students facing the basilisk, a despicable writer lurking to steal memories—thirty-odd students, yet not a single death… I don’t believe in any lucky goddess.”
He paused: “Also, Hagrid told me recently that Harry and the others were investigating Moaning Myrtle because they saw a fifty-year-old moving picture in the projection mirror.”
“Fair enough…” Melvin set down his teacup. “I also thought that moving picture’s hints were too obvious, but I couldn’t think of a better way.”
“Now it’s your turn to answer: how did you find the Chamber?”
“Simple—because of the Horcrux.”
