My partner at Hogwarts is Tom

Chapter 98 Lockhart's Choice

Lockhart regained consciousness amid a chill that was a mixture of tingling, dizziness, and intense unease.

The first sensation was the tightness of being bound and unable to move, along with a dull ache in the back of the neck.

That was a memento left by Tom when he saw that the man was about to wake up, and then he precisely struck him with the "Sword of Physics".

Then, I heard faint whispers of conversation, as if they were coming from behind a layer of water.

"So, will he agree?"

"There was no other choice, was there? He either became a hero or a prisoner. We gave him the second path, which was merciful enough."

"I still think sending him to Azkaban would be easier—but if it really helps Frank and Alice—"

"The prerequisite is that he can control his vain mind and truly master the 'harmless' memory manipulation techniques he claims to possess."

"Poppy will oversee the initial treatment, and the Ministry of Magic will also send a specialist—"

The voice was intermittent, but every word struck Lockhart's heart like a hammer blow.

He struggled to lift his heavy eyelids, and his vision gradually focused from blurry.

An unfamiliar ceiling — the warm glow of a fireplace — several faces gathered around, each with a different expression —

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Madam Pomfrey, and—that Professor Scamander who always stole his thunder, and the grey-blue cat perched on his shoulder, staring at him with great interest through its big green eyes.

Most importantly—he himself was bound like a dumpling by magic ropes in an extremely undignified and uncouth posture, sprawled on an unfamiliar sofa!

"Uh—I—" Lockhart tried to force a reassuring smile that showed his signature eight gleaming teeth, but his cheek muscles were stiff, his throat was dry, and the sound he made was hoarse and unpleasant.

"Where am I? What happened? I think I had a nightmare? I dreamt of an evil diary—"

His gaze darted around, trying to find a friendly way to "persuade" him with his charm.

But Professor McGonagall's eyes were sharp as ice, Snape's lips curled into an undisguised sneer, Madam Pomfrey frowned with a scrutinizing look, and Dumbledore's expression was frighteningly calm.

Viktor, on the other hand, simply crossed his arms, looking like he was watching a show and saying, "Please begin your performance."

The cat even yawned and licked its paws with its pink tongue, as if to say, "Keep making things up."

"Gilderoy Lockhart," Dumbledore spoke, his voice not loud, but with a strange penetrating power that instantly overwhelmed the "confused victim" atmosphere Lockhart was trying to create.

"I think the nightmare is over. Or rather, it's time for your part of the nightmare to come to an end."

Lockhart's heart skipped a beat, but he forced a smile.

"The end? Headmaster, I don't understand—I was just investigating the secret room, trying to protect the school, and I might have accidentally stumbled upon some kind of dark magic trap—"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle's Diary," Dumbledore said calmly, tapping the name lightly with his wand.

Then, the image of a somewhat old black diary appeared before Lockhart, as if silently confirming the existence of the diary.

Lockhart's face drained of color instantly, and even his feigned calm smile froze and twisted.

"It seduced you, amplified your ambition and vanity, led you to the entrance to the secret chamber, and tried to make you the discoverer" and the hero—under its manipulation, of course."

Dumbledore continued speaking, his pace steady, yet his words were like a scalpel, precisely dissecting everything Lockhart was trying to conceal.

"But you are not a completely innocent, passive victim, Professor Lockhart. You actively picked it up and became addicted to the more glamorous dream of fame it wove for you."

"Even tonight, when Professor Victor noticed the anomaly, you tried to use your masterful Oblivion Charm to attack a colleague in order to cover up your secret."

"I didn't! That was—that was me controlled by the diary! I lost my mind!"

Lockhart screamed at Dumbledore's revelation, his voice rising with fear, his body twisting futilely in the ropes.

"Is that so?" Professor McGonagall finally spoke, her voice trembling slightly with disappointment and anger.

"So, what about your previous adventures? 'Breaking Up with the Ghost,' 'Wandering with the Werewolf,' 'Walking with the Troll'—those feats you erased the true heroes' memories with the Oblivion Curse and then claimed as your own—were they also under your control?"

Lockhart looked as if he were being choked; his mouth was open, but he couldn't make a sound.

The undisguised disappointment and contempt in Professor McGonagall's eyes stung and terrified him more than any spell.

Snape strolled forward slowly, the hem of his black robe trailing on the ground like bat wings.

He looked down at Lockhart on the sofa and said in a slick, whispering voice, "Azkaban, Lockhart. There are no glittering medals, no screaming worshippers, no headlines in the Daily Prophet. Only Dementors, endless cold, and the despair of having all your joy, all your vanity, all the charm you depend on for survival slowly drained away."

"While your memory magic might allow you to adapt better than others," believe me, it will only prolong your suffering—you'll feel that emptiness and coldness more acutely, for a year, two years, perhaps—

ten years?"

Snape's description was not exaggerated, but it accurately struck Lockhart's deepest fears.

His face turned ashen, fine beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead, and his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

Viktor added at this opportune moment, his tone calm, yet it was like the last straw that broke the camel's back.

"An attack on a Hogwarts professor, caught red-handed. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be very interested in this case, especially when the victim is a Scamander."

Lockhart looked sharply at Victor, his eyes filled with despair and pleading.

He knew the weight of that name, and knew that it meant it was almost impossible to escape punishment through public opinion or connections.

"I—I was just tempted—I didn't expect it to turn out like this—"

He tried to explain incoherently, his voice growing softer and softer until it was reduced to a faint, almost sobbing whimper.

All the pretense and all the performance collapsed completely in the face of the irrefutable facts and the overwhelming "audience".

Dumbledore waited quietly for a few seconds, allowing Lockhart's fear and despair to fully fester.

Then he spoke again, his voice returning to its previous gentleness, but the content was entirely different: "Gidero, we are not denying you a chance. Punishment doesn't only take the form of Azkaban. Atonement can also be done in more meaningful ways."

Lockhart raised his tear-filled face and looked blankly at Dumbledore, as if grasping at a floating straw.

"Your talent in the realm of memory magic is beyond question," Dumbledore said slowly. "If this talent were used for theft and deception, it would be a crime; but if used for healing and comfort—it could be priceless."

"St. Mungo's Hospital for the Magical Injuries and Wounds has long been a haven for patients suffering from psychological and memory trauma due to dark magic or horrific experiences. The Longbottoms are just the most famous examples. There are many more nameless individuals who struggle with painful memories and cannot find peace."

Dumbledore looked into Lockhart's eyes.

"You can use your memory magic to help them. Shield them from pain, untangle the chaos, and give them a glimmer of peace."

"This is not just a simple service; it's about becoming a true, respected memory trauma therapist—perhaps the best in the magical world today."

The world's leading healer—a respected doctor—St. Mungo—

These words seeped into Lockhart's mind like a spell.

He knows fame and status all too well!

A bestselling author may be glamorous, but how can they compare to an authoritative physician who saves people from suffering and is genuinely appreciated by patients and colleagues?

It's a more stable, more "noble" aura that can better satisfy some deep-seated vanity!

The despair in his eyes was gradually replaced by a glimmer of disbelief, a mixture of longing and hesitation.

Snape gave a cold snort from the side.

"Of course, that is, on the condition that you can prove, under the close supervision of Bobby and the St. Mungo's healers, that your fancy tricks can actually be used for healing, rather than creating more chaos."

"Furthermore, all your ill-gotten gains—your royalties, speaking fees—must be returned as compensation to the true heroes whose memories you stole. Not a single Nat can be spared."

Lockhart's face twitched.

Money—he did love money, but compared to the Dementors of Azkaban and utter disgrace—

"And," Victor added, "you need to publicly acknowledge your mistakes, apologize to all known victims, and do everything you can to help them recover their memories."

"The Ministry of Magic will have a contract waiting for you, ensuring that you cannot leave supervision or return to your old ways until you have completed a sufficient period of service and achieved a specific assessment of the therapeutic effect."

The conditions are harsh, and the road ahead is difficult, but—at least there is still a way to go.

A path that might lead to another kind of "fame" and "respectability," a path that doesn't have to rot under the kiss of Dementors.

Lockhart slumped on the sofa, his chest heaving violently, his mind in turmoil.

Fear, the fear of losing everything, greed for another possibility, a lingering trace of shame —

He was torn apart by a mix of emotions.

After a long silence, as if he had exhausted all his strength, he slumped down and lowered his head, his voice barely audible: "I—I agree. I will make amends—I will go to St. Mungo's—I will—do my best."

As soon as he said those words, he felt as if all his bones had been ripped out.

But strangely enough, the nerves that had been stretched to the limit relaxed slightly. At least, the worst outcome was temporarily avoided.

Dumbledore nodded, his face revealing neither joy nor anger. "A wise choice, Gilderoy. I hope you remember today's lesson and choice. Magic can both cause harm and heal. I hope that from now on, your magic will only be used for the latter."

He waved his wand and released Lockhart from the binding spell.

Lockhart swayed as he sat up, rubbing his wrists which were marked with red welts from being strangled, and dared not look up at anyone.

Tom jumped off Victor's shoulder, walked gracefully to Lockhart's feet, looked up at him, a sly glint in his large green eyes, and then meowed, as if to say, "Why didn't you behave this well earlier? It would have saved me the trouble of tying you up."

Lockhart looked at one of the "culprits" that was causing the lingering pain in the back of his neck, his lips twitched, but he didn't dare to say anything in the end, he just shrank his neck.

Outside the window, the sky was already bright.

A new day at Hogwarts begins, accompanied by the resolution of a secret, the averting of a crisis, and the commencement of an uncertain path of redemption for a conman.

The official explanation for "why Professor Lockhart was found unconscious in Professor Scamander's office in the early morning" is...

According to Dumbledore and several professors, the story quickly turned into "Professor Lockhart accidentally went mad while researching a new method of Defense Against the Dark Arts late at night."

Fortunately, Professor Scamander, who was on night patrol, discovered and restrained him in time. After treatment by the principal and the school doctor, he is now out of danger.

However, the version that "requires rest and reflection on teaching safety" sounds reasonable and retains some of Lockhart's dignity.

How the professors and a few students who knew the truth viewed the matter privately is another matter entirely.

Tom smugly enjoyed the extra portion of smoked fish breakfast that Victor had rewarded him with, his tail swaying contentedly.

For it, it was another fulfilling and successful night.

They caught a bad Tom, solved a problem for their owner, and even "encouraged" a bad guy to turn over a new leaf.

He really is the best cat!

In the following weeks, Hogwarts seemed to return to its former tranquility.

Professor Lockhart was "on sick leave," and the Defense Against the Dark Arts class was taught by several professors in rotation.

Professor McGonagall's practical application of Transfiguration, Professor Flitwick's precise spell counters, and Professor Snape's still somewhat eccentric but undeniably useful methods for identifying and protecting against dark magic.

Victor also interspersed several lectures on "how to deal with large, dangerous magical creatures".

The students were initially happy to be without Lockhart's fancy "practical classes," but they were quickly drawn to the more intensive and content-rich course material.

In particular, older students have keenly noticed that this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts training has become significantly more practical and targeted.

The "Battle Royale" game has quietly been upgraded.

On the training grounds at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, "large threat units" simulated by shapeshifting and magical golems began to appear.

For example, there's the "Mini Norwegian Ridgeback Dragon" that breathes fire, the "Magic Vine Swarm" that moves quickly, is adept at entanglement, and is poisonous, and the "Light Bat Swarm" that can release blinding flashes.

Tom played a crucial role in these training sessions.

It sometimes acts as an "enemy raiding unit," appearing out of nowhere in cowboy clothes and using ropes to "capture" lone students.

At other times, it acts as a "rescue mentor," pointing out overlooked weaknesses or gaps in collaboration with its claws or tail tip when student teams are stuck in a stalemate.

Every now and then, he would play some pranks with the twins and Peeves that made the young wizards grit their teeth.