From Azkaban to Hogwarts.

“Take your time, we have plenty of time.” Lockhart laughed. “I’ve always been good at this, and believe me, this will be a good story.”

Chapter 214 The Great Adventurer? How many Dumbledores could he take on?

Harry never imagined that one day he would be forced into the girls' restroom with a wand.

“Slow down, son,” Lockhart called after him. “Don’t leave my sight. It’s all for our own good.”

'Damn it…' Harry tried to save himself, but even without losing his wand, he couldn't handle Professor Lockhart behind him—the legendary adventurer.

You don't need that.

He tried to distract Lockhart with words, though he didn't know what would be the point: "Professor Lockhart, you're already a great adventurer, you don't need to—"

“Shut up, Harry,” Lockhart’s words fell, and Harry felt as if he had been whipped hard on the back, nearly falling over. “I’ve put up with one chatterbox already, so be quiet.”

"Okay, you're right."

Harry tried a different way to delay, slowing his pace to the extreme—but the secret passage to the bathroom was too short, and no matter how slow he went, he still reached his destination.

Someone's there!

But this joy was shattered before it could spread in his heart. Two wizards dressed as professors, whom Harry didn't recognize, lay there, their bodies stained with blood...

"You said you wouldn't hurt Ron and the others!"

Harry turned around, no longer intending to cooperate. He rushed toward Lockhart, trying to do something with his fists—but he hadn't even taken two steps before he was firmly immobilized by a spell. Lockhart simply waved his wand and easily extinguished his resistance.

“Quiet down, Harry,” Lockhart flashed his white teeth. “I don’t kill anyone. When it comes to dead people, book reviews are pretty difficult. They were just unconscious. It was just chicken blood.”

Lockhart was right—although the scene was bloody and looked like a murder scene, all the blood came from the roosters lying on the ground.

“You can take a look at those two professors. To be honest, I quite like them,” Lockhart released the magic that was controlling Harry. “Don’t think about doing anything bad. Although I don’t really want to hurt anyone, if anything goes wrong, I believe the magic that kills chickens can be used in other places as well.”

The sight of blood on the ground clearly aroused Harry, and he readily went to the so-called entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

“Over there,” Lockhart said, pointing his wand firmly at Harry before lowering his head slightly, “open it.”

Nothing happened...

"Open!"

"Open!!"

"Open it for me!!!"

Lockhart became furious, which almost made Harry burst out laughing.

But Lockhart quickly gave him a cold look, then lowered his head again. "Open it."

Harry couldn't help but shudder—this wasn't a sound a human could make; it was a strange hissing sound, but what was even stranger was that Harry could hear it.

'I've heard similar sounds!'

Harry racked his brains, memories churning within him—'That's it, the basilisk! I heard its voice in the pipes earlier! That's exactly what it sounded like!'

“What are you standing there for, Harry?” Lockhart’s voice interrupted his reverie. “You go down now!”

Harry then realized that in the instant he was lost in thought, the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets had already opened.

A very thick water pipe, big enough for a person to crawl through, appeared in front of them. Harry reluctantly went into the pipe under the threat of the wand, but the strange hissing sound in his mind never stopped.

-

"This is a problem. With so many suspects, which one should we investigate?"

He copied down the names of the suspects one by one and began to plan his next move.

"They're definitely going to do something. The month that Dumbledore mentioned is getting closer and closer; they certainly can't just sit idly by. If I were the murderer, when would I make my move?"

"Check the schedule!" William yawned, slightly covering the form. "Bart, could you bring me something to eat?"

An investigation is one thing, but we still need to eat. These past few days, I've been investigating until late at night, and my stomach is growling with hunger—wait a minute!

William suddenly remembered something and looked at the visiting house-elves with anticipation.

"Butter, which professor has been having a particularly high demand for late-night snacks lately?"

Putting yourself in his shoes, he must be unable to eat or sleep well as the murderer. But people always get hungry, and it's perfectly normal to find yourself hungry at night and have a late-night snack—especially since Hogwarts professors usually have a housekeeper or elf in charge of their food and lodging.

Who knew that the little elf, who could do almost anything in the past, was in trouble today.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Bart said, his face full of embarrassment. “We can’t possibly ask about such a thing. School rules stipulate that elves who serve professors are subordinate to professors. Even if the headmaster asks, it won’t make a difference. This is a rule that has been in place since the founding of the school, and Dumbledore can’t change it.”

"Is there really no other way?"

“No,” Bart said, almost crying with embarrassment, “we don’t tell anyone about the professor’s preferences for decorations or anything else. We never discuss these things. Even during the busiest times in the kitchen, the elves who serve the professor aren’t assigned any tasks, so no one would ever know what the professor eats when he’s not in the dining room…”

Perhaps because he was in such a hurry, Bart's speech was so incoherent that it was almost impossible to understand.

But William didn't pay attention to that—"Wait, you mean, even when the kitchen is at its busiest, you're still summoned?"

“Yes, Professor,” Bart looked up, “I will prepare meals for you whenever you want, even if Pimp makes a mess of the kitchen.”

"Wait a minute, what were you busy with that noon?"

"What noon, Professor?"

“The day I discovered the crown.” William stared at Bart, his eyes suddenly sharpening.

“The crown? The crown…” Bart repeated, his eyes glazed over. “No, Professor, you didn’t summon me that day…”

"caught you!"

Bart was startled by William's cryptic words. "Professor?"

"It's alright, thank you Bart. You can go back now; I think I'll have a better late-night snack."

William grinned, casually drawing his wand—'I thought I overreacted, but Professor Lockhart, I've got you now!'

'First, secretly find Professor McGonagall, then inform Dumbledore!'

'A great adventurer, huh... I wonder if you can beat Dumbledore?'

The moment this pleasant thought crossed William's mind, he couldn't help but smile. "Calm down, calm down, William. It wouldn't be good if we got caught. Professor Lockhart is a great adventurer; if he has any scouting, he'll be exposed."

'Leave home calmly, find the professor calmly, and then surprise Professor Lockhart!'

Chapter 215 Hissing…

"What? Dumbledore isn't here?"

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall looked at William, “Albus has been busy looking for a way to open the secret room and has been away from school for several days.”

“What about Lockhart—” William rubbed his forehead with his hand. “I found out, it was Lockhart who opened the secret room!”

Lockhart?

Professor McGonagall froze, stunned. "How is that possible? What would he do with the secret chamber?"

“I don’t know, Professor,” William shook his head. “Bart has amnesia—the house-elf that the school assigned to me has lost a day’s memory, and the symptoms seem similar to Ron Weasley’s.”

"Professor William, are you sure?"

Professor McGonagall looked at William with a solemn expression.

"It's pretty certain that Professor Lockhart's name is on every list of suspects; he was a suspect all along."

“Then we’ll take him under control,” Professor McGonagall said, recovering from her shock. “We need to notify all the student lounges and tell the students not to run out.”

“We don’t have enough people, so we need to call two more professors to help,” Professor McGonagall said, as she sent the portrait to find the prefect to notify the closed lounge.

-

"Professor Lockhart is a master of adventure, we need to be careful."

Beside Professor Lockhart's office, William couldn't help but give him another hint.

“Relax, Professor William, Professor Flitwick is the dueling champion,” Professor McGonagall said softly from the side. “Go, Felius.”

“I still can’t quite accept it,” Professor Flitwick shook his head, then knocked on Lockhart’s office door. “Professor Lockhart, are you there? There’s a problem with the door knocker in the Ravenclaw lounge. Students who sneak out can’t get back in. Could you try to unlock it?”

'What kind of shouting is that?'

The thought had barely crossed William's mind when it was interrupted by the sound of a spell—after shouting and knocking repeatedly without response, Professor Flitwick pulled out his wand with astonishing speed and forced open Lockhart's office door.

William instantly charged in with the Iron Mantle and followed Professor Flitwick inside. As soon as he reached the door, he lowered his body, rolled forward, and rolled directly into the room.

Before he could even stand up, William cast another Ironclad Spell on himself.

"He's not here!"

“Everything is normal,” Professor McGonagall added, glancing at the office decor as she entered.

"The news couldn't have leaked—wait, who's on duty today?"

The four exchanged glances, and Professor Taylor, who had been pulled over, finally remembered, "It's Lockhart!"

"Damn it, a locked room!"

William's expression changed immediately. "We need to hurry. He's worked the shift before. Hopefully, today will be the same as before."

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Professor McGonagall called over the painting beside her. “Inform Professor Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn that we need their help.”

"Let's go to the secret room."

-

'I'm late.'

This was William's first reaction upon seeing the blood on the ground. He quickly ran to the professor on the ground, cast an Ironclad Charm on himself, and began to examine the wounded.

'No traps, no external injuries—'

William turned the unconscious professor over and began examining him with his wand.

"Professor William, how are they?"

“He was knocked unconscious, but his memory is also damaged. It was a forgetting spell, the kind that wasn’t disguised at all. It looks completely different from the previous spellcasting level, but,” he paused, “he probably still can’t recover this memory.”

“Professor Taylor, don’t step over there—” William said, glancing out of the corner of his eye as Professor Taylor tried to walk over. “Those bloodstains should show how many people have walked over there.”

"Professor McGonagall, Professor McGonagall, something terrible has happened!"

Just as William was speaking, a familiar voice came from outside.