Chapter 326 — The Story of Lockhart
"Maybe."
He sighed.
Nowadays, he was completely different from the man who had once loved showing off, indulging in extravagant displays, and seeking attention.
He had come to understand the weight of life.
"Every gift that fate bestows has already been secretly marked with a price."
Perhaps this was the price he had paid for gaining power.
After leaving Hogwarts, he held many more book-signing events, attracting the attention of countless young girls and even middle-aged women.
Then, one day, he suddenly fainted at a book signing.
After being taken to the hospital, he gradually faded from people's sight and eventually disappeared from public view altogether.
Looking at the horribly aged man before her, Hermione felt as though a string had suddenly been plucked inside her mind, like an electric current racing through it.
Those memories, sealed away in a box by someone, seemed to be bouncing around inside her mind, ready to burst out from some tightly closed corner at any moment.
She took a deep breath and prepared to ask more probing questions.
For example, what had really happened in the Chamber of Secrets back then?
She still wanted to try to recover those distant memories.
"What exactly happened in the Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione asked directly.
Lockhart's expression suddenly stiffened.
Dumbledore's warnings were still fresh in his mind.
Moreover, he didn't actually know the truth himself. He merely had a vague feeling that the truth was something he could not bear.
"You are very perceptive, Miss Granger," Gilderoy Lockhart said approvingly. "But unfortunately, I don't know anything more. I'm sorry."
He apologized.
"Lo—"
Hermione was about to say something when a sudden noise behind her startled her, interrupting her words.
"We've finally found you, Hermione! What are you doing here? We were all worried about you."
It was Ron's voice.
The Weasley twins were standing behind him.
Before Hermione even had a chance to say goodbye to Lockhart, the three of them hurriedly pulled her away.
Ron and the twins seemed somewhat flustered, perhaps because Mrs. Weasley had given them quite a scolding.
They had not even noticed the patient inside the room.
Their former teacher.
They quickly descended to the second floor, the cries of patients echoing in their ears.
"Creature-Induced Injuries Department?"
Hermione frowned.
She later learned that Mr. Arthur had been attacked by a snake.
But in reality, her deduction had not been wrong.
It had not been an ordinary snake, but a creature created through a derivative of Transfiguration. In essence, it was still damage caused by a curse.
For the sake of hospital management, however, Arthur Weasley was being treated on the second floor.
But that wasn't entirely accurate either.
The attack had been caused by a composite spell derived from both Transfiguration and curse magic.
The wound was extremely difficult to heal.
The ward on the second floor was quite small and dim, with only a narrow window high up on the wall opposite the door.
It seemed that much of the lighting at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries came from the crystal bubbles hanging from the ceiling, their light gentle rather than glaring.
Several beds stood side by side, covered with clean white sheets.
An ominous-looking portrait of a male wizard hung on the oak-paneled wall.
Beneath it was an inscription:
Ectrahalo (1612–1697), inventor of the Entrail-Expelling Curse.
"I'm sorry for causing you trouble."
Hermione lowered her head apologetically as she slowly walked inside.
"It's all right," Mrs. Weasley said kindly.
Mr. Weasley's bed was at the far end of the room, beside a small window.
He was comfortably propped up against several pillows, carefully reading a publication.
It wasn't The Daily Prophet.
It looked like The Quibbler.
Mrs. Weasley must have brought it especially for him.
It seemed that Mrs. Weasley had already spoken with her husband and was now sitting quietly in a sturdy wooden chair, slowly peeling an apple with a knife.
"Mum, where's your peeling spell?" George reminded her.
Only then did Mrs. Weasley realize that she had been doing something completely unnecessary.
She hurriedly slapped her forehead in annoyance and waved her wand.
The entire apple was quickly peeled, its skin removed cleanly, and then sliced into eight pieces before being neatly returned to the bowl.
Mrs. Weasley had a unique understanding of household magic and was particularly skilled at dealing with everyday domestic spells.
She then took a plate, used toothpicks to spear the apple slices, and fed them to her husband.
Arthur's arms were covered in bruises and wrapped in thick white bandages. His neck was bandaged as well.
Except for his legs, which had fortunately escaped injury, almost his entire body was wrapped in white.
He looked like a giant white rice dumpling.
"Oh, darling, you might have to take your medicine again."
Mrs. Weasley glanced at the quartz clock on the wall, then quickly moved the apple slices aside.
She handed him a bowl filled with bright-red liquid that carried a faintly bloody smell.
"Blood-replenishing potion."
In reality, it was made entirely from herbs and helped his body produce more blood.
Every time the bandages were removed for dressing changes, a large amount of blood flowed from the wounds, almost impossible to stop.
It was a very vicious curse.
"Children, we should go now. Let your father get some rest. The Healers say he's been very sleepy lately."
Mrs. Weasley sounded worried.
She then led the group out of the ward.
A huge weight seemed to lift from their shoulders.
Although they were still worried about Arthur, there was a difference between known worries and unknown ones. At least now, they knew his condition and could keep their anxiety within certain limits.
Mrs. Weasley planned to take them around London to see the sights and do some sightseeing.
After all, it was their holiday, and there was little point in spending the entire time worrying while they were in one of the busiest parts of London.
Being overly worried wasn't good either, was it?
The Weasleys managed to recover some of their spirits.
"I'm sorry. Something's come up, so I can't come with you."
Hermione spoke apologetically.
It was actually not a small matter.
She planned to ask Professor Lockhart a few more questions.
After explaining her reason, she hurried back up to the fifth floor, where Gilderoy Lockhart's hospital room was located.
"Miss Granger?"
Lockhart placed the newspaper back on the bedside table, raised an eyebrow, and looked somewhat surprised.
"You're very persistent," he said.
His tone was ambiguous. It was difficult to tell whether he meant it as praise or something else.
"But I really don't have any more information to give you."
Lockhart spoke continuously, then paused to take several breaths.
He was so old that even speaking a few sentences left him short of breath.
"Would you like to hear my story?"
Lockhart changed the subject.
"When people are about to die, they always seem to enjoy reminiscing."
"Actually, I don't have much to reminisce about."
He shrugged, making a helpless expression.
Hermione looked at the man before her with pity.
Compared with Mr. Weasley's serious injuries, this kind of aging seemed even more despairing.
She nodded.
She was compassionate by nature.
"Oh, you can find somewhere to sit and listen to my rambling. It might take a while, and standing for too long will be tiring."
Hermione pulled out a stool and sat down, preparing to quietly listen to Lockhart's story.