HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Sagles remained unmoved, because the other party was still faking it.

He didn't have any special purpose in bringing Pipi Ghost along; it was purely to relieve boredom on the road. Listening to this clown play "Sichuan Opera face-changing" between extreme fear and bluffing gave him the illusion of going back to before his time travel and listening to silly netizens bragging.

A massive stone door blocked their path, its surface adorned with several winding, snake-like reliefs. Sagres pondered for a moment, then uttered "Open" in a Parsleyan accent. A venomous snake began to slither along the edge of the doorway. After coiling once, the door swung open with a resounding thud.

As Sagres stepped inside, a colossal stone sculpture stood prominently, coldly overlooking the entire space. The sculpture's face appeared particularly sinister and imposing in the cold light, its hollow eye sockets seemingly staring at the intruder.

This is very different from the handsome Slytherin that Salazar Slytherin remembered. If this was his own work, it can only mean that Salazar Slytherin's self-perception was completely different from others.

The flying bird of light moved slowly and finally landed on the open space in the center of the secret chamber, below the huge stone sculpture.

There was a person lying there.

Or rather, a mere shell of a person, barely breathing.

Gilderoy Lockhart.

Chapter 93 Multi-Party Game

The afternoon in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office should have been peaceful.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows, dancing on the swirling silver of the meditation basin, the golden-red feathers of Fox, and the humming, exotic silverware.

However, a cold, heavy atmosphere permeated the air, like the low pressure before an approaching storm.

boom!

The office door was practically kicked open.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, with his top hat askew on his sweaty forehead, charged in like an eager bull, followed by a grim-faced Professor McGonagall.

“Albus!” Fudge’s voice was almost a shout as he waved the Daily Prophet’s front page, which was covered in news of the attack. The pages rustled as they went. “It must stop! Now! Immediately! Dozens of students have been petrified! Right in your school, right under your nose!”

Dumbledore looked up from behind his large desk. He nodded to the vice-principal, gesturing for her to leave, then said calmly, "Please sit down, Cornelius. Would you like some tea? I understand your concerns..."

"understand?"

Fudge didn't even look at the chair; instead, he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table, his spittle almost landing on the surface. "What good is understanding? The public needs an explanation! The Ministry of Magic needs to see action! Hogwarts can no longer be seen as a dangerous place where students could be killed at any moment!"

Dumbledore looked at him at that moment, and Fudge's voice immediately lowered unconsciously, carrying a hint of barely perceptible apprehension and an eagerness to distance himself.

"So, Connelly, what do you expect me to do?"

Fudge seemed to have been waiting for these words. He immediately straightened up, his tone becoming urgent and resolute: "It's simple! Hand over the murderer. We need someone who can quickly quell the situation—Rupert Hagrid! He's right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, isn't he? We released him fifty years ago, but now the attack has happened again. What a coincidence! Hand him over to me, and that will be the fastest way to calm people down and reassure the parents!"

The office temperature seemed to drop several degrees. Dumbledore's voice suddenly turned icy, carrying an unquestionable authority: "Connelly, Rupert Hagrid is innocent. He was fifty years ago, and he is now. I will not allow you to send an innocent man to Azkaban for political gain."

Fudge's face instantly turned a deep shade of liver: "Then you have to think about me too! I'm under a lot of pressure, and I have to do something. The situation is out of control, and the ministry won't stand idly by. Someone has to take responsibility for the consequences!"

“Ah, Minister, Professor Dumbledore! What a ‘timely’ meeting!”

A sickeningly sweet voice broke in.

The office door was pushed open at some point, and Professor McGonagall walked in once again with a stern face, while Rita Skeeter leaned against the door frame with a professional fake smile on her face.

Her bright green shorthand quill was already floating above the parchment, its tip trembling slightly with excitement, ready to capture any word or phrase.

"Looks like I've stumbled upon the heart of a major news story?"

She swayed in, her gaze sweeping over the two of them like a searchlight. "For the sake of the millions of worried readers of the Daily Prophet, for the sake of the parents who can't sleep at night, please allow me, Rita Skeeter, to conduct a... um... in-depth interview with you two about this horrific locked-room attack?"

Her gaze was fixed firmly on Dumbledore.

Upon seeing the reporters, Fudge grasped at a straw. He immediately straightened his askew hat, attempting to project an air of control: "Ms. Skeeter! Yes, the department is actively involved to ensure student safety, we..."

"Active intervention?"

Rita's quill immediately flew off. "Minister, does this mean you believe Headmaster Dumbledore is incapable of handling this crisis? After all, such a large-scale attack is happening right in his supposedly most secure fortress..."

Her gaze instantly shifted to Dumbledore, her smile filled with malice. "Professor, regarding the Chamber of Secrets, regarding the legendary monster of Slytherin, do you possess crucial information unknown to the outside world? The vast majority of parents and the public have an unquestionable right to know!"

Her quill drew an exaggerated question mark in the air.

Dumbledore looked calmly at Rita and her malicious quill, his voice still steady: "Mrs. Skeeter, the monster in the Chamber of Secrets has been dealt with, but the truth has not yet come to light. Any irresponsible speculation or insinuation at this point will only create unnecessary panic. I advise you not to spread unverified rumors, because that would only make you an accomplice to darkness."

"Oh, dear professor, 'rumors'?"

Rita's smile deepened, and a strange light flickered in her eyes.

"The public craves the truth! Especially when a highly respected principal seems... well... inadequate. If the school cannot provide the public with convincing answers and assurances, I think the public and the gentlemen of the board of trustees will have their own judgment. My pen,"

She gracefully pointed to the excited quill pen, "Just faithfully recording the facts of what is happening."

The quill pen spun triumphantly in the air.

As if to confirm Rita's prophecy, the office door was pushed open for the third time.

This time, Lucius Malfoy entered silently. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, and his silver snake-headed cane made a crisp, rhythmic click on the floor, each step carrying a cold, oppressive weight.

His pale face was expressionless, and his grey-blue eyes were devoid of any emotion. He arrogantly swept his gaze over the slightly disheveled Fudge and the excited Rita, and finally, his cold gaze landed on Dumbledore as if it were a physical object, filled with undisguised scrutiny and contempt.

“Good afternoon, Minister. Ms. Skeeter.” He drew out his voice before finally turning to the person behind the desk, “and Professor Dumbledore…”

He deliberately omitted the title "principal," making each syllable seem to emphasize something.

Fudge seemed a little uneasy: "Lucius! You've come at the right time, we were just discussing..."

Malfoy slightly raised his hand, a subtle movement that stopped Fudge, while his gaze never left Dumbledore.

“No need for formalities, Minister. I am here on behalf of the entire Hogwarts Board of Trustees.”

His voice was calm and cold as he unhurriedly took a parchment scroll sealed with dark purple sealing wax from his pocket and gracefully placed it in the center of Dumbledore's desk.

“Given the recent…extremely disturbing and utterly unacceptable attack at Hogwarts,” Malfoy’s voice echoed clearly in the office, “and the resulting…widespread and unquenchable panic, and serious doubts about the school’s current administration…”

He paused deliberately, as if appreciating the solemnity beneath Dumbledore's calm face.

“The Board of Trustees held an emergency meeting last night and, after consultation, unanimously determined that the current situation poses a significant threat to the reputation of Hogwarts and the safety of its students. This document,” he tapped the roll of parchment with his cane, “is a suspension order jointly signed by me and eleven other trustees.”

The air seemed to freeze.

Rita Skeeter's shorthand quill danced wildly across the parchment, almost sparking.

Lucius's lips curled into a very slow, upward curve as he continued, "It demands that you, Albus Percival Woolflick Brian Dumbledore, suspend all powers of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, effective immediately."

He placed his hands on the snake-head cane, his tone curt, "Until... the board of directors determines that the school has returned to safety and order, or you yourself find and completely resolve the true source of the current crisis."

He spoke his last few words with unusual slowness and a strong sense of sarcasm.

Dumbledore didn't immediately look at the suspension order on the table, which resembled a venomous snake. He slowly and steadily stood up.

“Lucius,” Dumbledore’s voice remained steady, “the Board of Directors exercising the oversight powers granted by the bylaws is perfectly justifiable.”

His gaze swept over Fudge and Rita, whose expressions varied, before finally settling on Malfoy. "However, the crisis facing Hogwarts right now cannot be resolved with a mere suspension order. The monster in the Chamber of Secrets has been eliminated, but the real culprit has not yet been caught."

He gently patted the large headmaster's chair. "Whether I sit in this chair or not, protecting the students, uncovering the truth, and fighting against all darkness that tries to taint this castle are the inescapable and unavoidable responsibilities of me and everyone who truly cares about the future of Hogwarts."

He reached out his hand, his movements calm and unhurried, and gently picked up the heavy suspension order.

He didn't break the sealing wax seal, but simply placed it in his aged yet powerful palm, weighing it as if he were weighing the contempt and conspiracy it contained.

“I have received this order.” Dumbledore’s voice sounded somewhat tired. “But before I leave this office, I must remind you all: the real crisis does not originate from this chair in the Headmaster’s office.”

His gaze, through his half-moon glasses, swept over everyone with unwavering calm. "Expelling me may be easy. But expelling the darkness lurking deep within the castle requires true wisdom and fearless courage. After all, this is not about political maneuvering or venting personal grudges."

He had barely finished speaking when a raven landed on the windowsill. It tilted its head, looked at everyone in the office, and then coldly uttered a sentence:

"The entrance to the secret room is located in the washroom where Myrtle is."

Chapter 94 A Long-Awaited Reunion

Sagres snapped his fingers crisply, and with a soft "poof," the torches stuck in the walls of the secret chamber instantly ignited, their warm and bright light dispelling the heavy darkness.

"Merlin's stinky socks! Isn't that Lockhart the Peacock? What's he doing here, and dressed like this... this..."

Pipi Ghost's voice faltered; he clearly couldn't find the right words to describe the scene before him.

Sagres put the bottle containing Peeves into his pocket.

He had already seen the figure curled up on the ground. But the Lockhart before him was completely different from the radiant, smiling, flamboyant writer he remembered.

The other person was still wearing that signature violet-colored gorgeous robe, but now the dazzling silk looked like a shroud, loosely draped over his body.

Her once radiant golden hair is now withered and dry, like straw, tangled and unkempt, having lost all its luster.

The most shocking thing was that face. That once meticulously maintained, handsome face that had captivated countless witches now looked like a parchment that had been drained of moisture and collagen, appearing terrifyingly so.

He was so thin he was unrecognizable, his skin a lifeless, ashen gray. And in the arms of this dying body, he used his last ounce of strength to clutch something tightly—a seemingly ordinary black notebook.

His withered fingers dug into the hard edge of the notebook cover, as if it were the last straw he was grasping before sinking into the abyss.

But Sagres felt that the thing might be the chain that would drag him into the deepest abyss.

Lockhart was not dead, though his breath was so faint as to be almost imperceptible. If he were to die at any moment, no one would find it strange.

He lay there quietly, like a mummy that had been dried up for a thousand years, only his out-of-place ornate robe silently mocking his current misery.

Sagres shifted his gaze from the "living corpse," and with a gentle tap of his wand, the black diary that Lockhart had been clutching tightly floated up and hovered in mid-air.

With a flick of the wand, the diary was opened.

On the yellowed title page, a line of clear handwriting catches the eye:

Tom Marvolo Riddell

“Voldemort…” Sargeras murmured softly, his voice calm and even, as if he were simply reciting an expected answer.

Sure enough, it was him again. He's like a persistent ghost.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, carefully examining the seemingly ordinary diary, sensing the rich aura of dark magic emanating from it.

In an instant, an ancient, taboo word flashed through Sagres's mind.

"Hornet..."

His pupils contracted slightly, a flicker of disbelief and astonishment crossing his eyes, but it vanished in an instant, replaced by a deep, almost pitying disappointment.

Is this the secret to the Dark Lord's immortality? Tearing apart his own precious soul and then stuffing the fragments into a so-called container?

No wonder people couldn't figure out Voldemort's secret to immortality; it's because it's so ridiculous that it's hard to believe.