Chapter 325 — The Aging Lockhart
The first floor was the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, the second floor was the Creature-Induced Injuries Department, the third floor was the Spell Damage Department, the fourth floor was the Poisoning by Potions and Plants Department, the fifth floor was the Magical Bugs Department, and the sixth floor contained the tea room and shops.
Hermione thought back carefully.
To avoid worrying them, Professor McGonagall had not revealed much about Arthur Weasley's condition, leaving Hermione to make her own deductions.
Harry's snake-like transformation had not been particularly noticeable at the time.
That was why Hermione had reached the wrong conclusion.
She chose to go upstairs and quickly climbed the stairs.
All the way to the fifth floor.
She speculated that Arthur had probably suffered some kind of cursed injury, since Professor McGonagall had indicated that he had been attacked.
There were no Healers walking through the corridor, perhaps because all the patients were in stable condition.
There were several recesses along the corridor, with white curtains blocking Hermione's view, while some iron racks of unknown purpose had been placed in the passageways.
The otherwise bare white walls on either side were decorated with portraits of famous figures. Hermione recalled that they were all people who had made outstanding contributions to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
At the very center of the ceiling, a glittering crystal bubble hung there, serving as a light source.
The doors to the rooms around her were not closed, but merely left slightly ajar. There were no special markings on them, so Hermione quickly ruled them out.
She slowed her pace, walked to the end of the corridor, and carefully pushed open a wooden door bearing the sign "Critical Care."
In addition to the sign, a pair of unusually bright flowers had been placed on the door, emitting a faint fragrance.
There was another door on the opposite side, but it was made of iron. A large padlock hung from its bolt.
It didn't look like part of a hospital at all.
It looked more like a prison.
A sign on it read:
"No Entry Without Permission."
Hermione, of course, had no intention of going inside on her own. Instead, she first chose the unlocked door.
"Is anyone there?"
Hermione cautiously pushed open the wooden door, peeked inside, and called out before taking a step forward.
However, when she saw the empty room, she immediately realized that she had come to the wrong place.
If nothing unexpected had happened, there should have been a large family here.
She must have made a mistake somewhere in her deductions.
"I'm sorry to bother you. I'll be leaving soon."
Hermione quickly bowed, but when she looked up and caught sight of the patient lying on the bed, her apologetic expression suddenly froze.
A familiar face.
An unexpected person.
Someone both familiar and strangely unfamiliar.
Gilderoy Lockhart, dressed in a simple white hospital gown, sat on the pristine white bed, reading the latest issue of The Daily Prophet.
The reason he was familiar was that he had once been their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
Hermione had an excellent memory, and even Neville, who was famous for being forgetful, could hardly have forgotten a teacher who had taught him.
The unfamiliarity came from his age.
He looked frighteningly old.
His once-golden, wavy hair had completely fallen out. Under the light of the crystal bubbles hanging from the ceiling, his bald head looked particularly dazzling.
His forget-me-not-blue eyes were filled with weariness, as though their color itself had faded.
"Uh… Miss Granger? Long time no see. I've been thinking about getting a new hairstyle."
The man smiled awkwardly, touched his bald head, and waved at Hermione.
"Professor Lockhart?"
Hermione stared at the patient in astonishment.
She felt slightly dizzy.
How could that handsome professor have become so old?
The wrinkles around his eyes were deep and dense, his eye sockets sunken. When he smiled, the muscles in his face seemed loose and devoid of vitality, as though he were forcing himself to smile.
But most importantly, there was something hidden in his eyes.
They were lifeless.
Completely devoid of vitality.
Hermione's parents were both dentists, and she occasionally visited elderly patients at their workplace. She had seen all kinds of patients, from children and young adults to middle-aged people and the elderly, and each age group had a different look in their eyes.
Children's eyes were often innocent and naive.
The eyes of the elderly often contained the wisdom that came from understanding the philosophy of life. There was also a certain contentment in them, along with the calm acceptance that came from knowing one's fate.
But what had happened to the man who had once taught them Defence Against the Dark Arts?
In his eyes, there seemed to be nothing but a flickering candle in the wind—a tiny flame that might be extinguished at any moment.
"Who are you? Who let you in?"
A tall, thin man pushed open the half-closed door with a creak and suddenly appeared in front of Hermione, questioning her from above.
With his serious expression and plain, non-prescription spectacles, Hermione couldn't immediately determine his actual age.
He was wearing the same uniform as the Healers downstairs, so he must have been a Healer from St Mungo's.
A card identifying him was clipped to his white robes. It was handwritten:
"Healer: Hiberkrates Smeesik."
Before Hermione could explain herself, the situation changed again.
"Augustus! You've stolen my clothes to deceive people again!"
A medium-built man suddenly burst into the room, startling the man named Augustus.
Hermione watched as he pulled the identification card off Augustus's robes and pinned it to his own, along with the spectacles.
Then he smiled at Hermione.
"I'm the attending Healer here. My name is Hiberkrates Smeesik. I hope this intern hasn't caused you any trouble."
Hermione then watched as the man called Augustus pulled out a white coat from somewhere and put it on, along with his own name badge.
He looked at her with a grin, completely oblivious to the fact that his prank had already been exposed.
"Uh… it's just that this gentleman…"
The attending Healer glanced at Lockhart somewhat hesitantly.
"Rarely does anyone come to visit him."
"Oh, he's my student. I don't mind."
Lockhart, still lying on the bed, squinted, nodded, and said lightly.
"That's good. You two can chat. I'm just doing my routine rounds."
Hiberkrates then led the intern toward another door, marked with the number 49 and secured with an iron lock.
As they left, he muttered under his breath, "That's strange. They always told us to keep it a secret."
The middle-aged man frowned, then shook his head and decided to drop the matter.
Hermione was finally left alone and turned her attention back to her former teacher.
How could a vibrant middle-aged man become old and frail in just a few years?
What kind of Dark Arts had he fallen victim to?
"I know you must be very curious."
Lockhart nodded wearily. The movement seemed less like something he consciously controlled and more like a consequence of his exhaustion.
"I don't have many years left to live," he said sadly.
The truth of that statement was already apparent from his face.
"Are you under some kind of curse?"
Hermione asked cautiously.