"But let's forget it. Mr. Longbottom is just too dim," Lockhart said breezily, waving his wand with a Vanishing Spell to clean up the spit Ron had left on the floor. "I'm a bit worried that if I took his magical talent, I'd end up dim myself. So, even though he'd be easier to catch than you, I passed on him… Hmm, I must say, it's a pity for him."
"Neville's not dim!" Ron roared, though his ears, buzzing from the ordeal, could barely make out Lockhart's words. "He's a hundred times smarter than you! A hundred times greater!"
"Him?" Lockhart let out a scornful chuckle. "Oh, Mr. Weasley, that kind of taunt is so juvenile it wouldn't even—haha—make Longbottom mad. No one would believe you if you said he's better than me! Honestly, that's hilarious."
"You've got a lot to learn about provocation, Mr. Weasley," Lockhart continued, adopting a mock-professorial tone. "Let me teach you what real provocation looks like. For instance, aren't you curious about what I meant when I said I'd take your talent?"
Lockhart was practically itching to boast. Keeping something like this to himself felt like buying a stunning new robe only to leave it hanging in the wardrobe, unworn—a terrible waste. And there was a twisted thrill in revealing it to his soon-to-be-sacrificed victims, one that made him giddy.
"That's exactly why you're here," Lockhart declared, throwing his arms wide. "This is a grand sacrifice! Because of your selfless contribution, the world will gain a true protector. You'll have the supreme honor of helping the great Gilderoy Lockhart become the most powerful wizard in the world, reaching the pinnacle of greatness—oh, and thank you for that!"
"Are you dreaming?" Ron burst out laughing, a genuine, heartfelt laugh. "The most powerful wizard? Have you asked Professor Dumbledore about that? Or Harry?"
"Oh, such narrow-mindedness," Lockhart replied, surprisingly calm, wagging a finger. "I'll admit, Headmaster Dumbledore and our Professor Potter possess talents and power most wizards can't even fathom. One person's talent isn't enough—but what about two? Three? Four? Five?"
"Unlike you naïve, clear-eyed, foolish young witches and wizards," Lockhart went on, "I've been clawing my way through the magical world for over a decade—smugglers, poachers… No one knows better than I do how vast the gap is between wizards!"
"In your eyes, studying hard might make you stronger. Ha! What a joke!" Lockhart sneered. "Let me be blunt: every wizard's magical capacity is set the moment they're born. No matter how much you study, all you can improve is your technique. But no matter how hard you try, an ordinary wizard's magic will never match someone like Dumbledore!"
"Yes, a wizard's mind is critical to advancing magical study," Lockhart ranted, raising his arms in fervor, "but even more critical is their magical power! Those legendary wizards—Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or You-Know-Who—their magic, in both quality and quantity, far surpasses that of ordinary wizards. Their spells are so potent that no ordinary wizard's magic can stand against them! That's the secret of their power!"
"So, do you understand?" Lockhart took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming. "With enough magical power, even a simple Stunning Spell could defeat an army of Aurors! Once I've absorbed your magical talents, the great Gilderoy Lockhart will wield power to rival Dumbledore himself!"
When Lockhart's voice finally fell silent, the underground classroom grew eerily quiet. His words were so far beyond the students' comprehension that, while their ears had heard him, their minds were still catching up.
But they would catch up eventually.
"Th-then, Professor Lockhart?" a Hufflepuff student stammered, voice trembling with tears. "What'll happen to us? After you take our magical talents?"
"You might become Squibs," Lockhart said with a dismissive shrug. "But no need to be upset—your sacrifice is noble."
As if savoring the cries he knew were coming, Lockhart gleefully used the leftover blood to complete the missing parts of the magical array on the floor.
"No! I don't want to be a Squib!" The students, who had tasted the wonders of magic, erupted in panic. The thought of losing it forever was unbearable. They thrashed against their bindings, desperate to escape, but Lockhart merely flicked his wand, tightening their restraints. Ignoring their cries, he turned to Ron.
"Well? You're about to become a Squib," Lockhart taunted, hoping to hear the defiant boy beg for mercy.
"You'll die horribly," Ron said, his swollen eyes straining to open, his voice unnervingly calm. "I'm Ron Weasley, and I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be afraid!" Lockhart exploded, hammering his fists into Ron, heedless of his own knuckles splitting open.
Suddenly, a green aura flared around Ron, enveloping Lockhart as well. The next moment, Lockhart let out a bloodcurdling scream.
To the students' astonishment, the swelling and bruises on Ron's face began to fade—not just fade, but transfer to Lockhart's body!
"I've been waiting for this moment, Lockhart!" Ron shouted, his voice clearer now, brimming with excitement. "Your biggest mistake was tying me to my totem! Spirit Link Totem!"
Under the mysterious power of the shamanic spell, Ron and Lockhart's life forces were forcibly equalized—or rather, they weren't.
Ron hadn't mastered this shamanic magic. The green aura flickered out after barely two seconds, and the injuries manifesting on Lockhart were far worse than Ron's had been. Unlike the true Spirit Link Totem, which evenly redistributes life force to mitigate damage across a group, Ron's imperfect spell had turned its flaw into an advantage.
"Aaaargh!" Lockhart wailed. He had never endured such agony, especially not to his prized face. His screams grew hoarse, almost whistling, as panic and fury consumed him.
"I'll kill you all!"
Scrambling to his feet, Lockhart lunged to teach Ron another lesson, but he froze under Ron's fearless gaze, terrified that another blow would only worsen his own pain. What kind of disgusting magic is this? he thought. Who learns a spell that takes damage and transfers it to their enemy?
Lockhart couldn't fathom the point of such a spell.
"Haha! Come on, hit me!" Ron laughed wildly, his eyes flicking subtly toward the classroom door in a corner Lockhart hadn't noticed. "What's wrong, Lockhart? Scared?"
Muttering curses to dull the throbbing pain coursing through his body, Lockhart didn't dare strike Ron again. The piercing agony radiating across his body even made him hesitate to use the Cruciatus Curse. Instead, he gritted his teeth and began dragging the students onto the magical array.
Ron's increasingly brazen laughter only deepened Lockhart's frustration. He had only wanted to gloat before ascending to Dumbledore's level of power, but now everything had gone wrong.
No longer in the mood to talk, Lockhart irritably positioned the students one by one on the array. Taking a deep breath, he began chanting the incantation given to him by some unknown entity.
"Ered'achor! Havik Revos ill ok mordanas archim maz..."
As Lockhart chanted, the eerie green glow in the underground classroom intensified. The students' cries and pleas seemed to accelerate the strange transformation, the very air warping around them.
"Harry?! You're finally here!" Ron shouted, twisting his head to look behind Lockhart, his face alight with joy. "Take him down, Harry!"
"!! Archim xi ante maz-re mish…" Lockhart's incantation couldn't be stopped mid-chant. His eyes widened in panic as he spun around—only to find nothing.
Crash!
A wall near the corridor exploded inward. A pair of earth elementals' fists tore through it as easily as ripping bread. Before Lockhart could react, Neville Longbottom leapt from behind the elementals, wielding a massive brown totem as thick as his thigh. He swung it with all his might, the weapon hurtling toward Lockhart's face.
Lockhart barely raised his wand in time. A red flash erupted as a Severing Charm struck the wooden totem, splintering it into fragments. But the remaining shards still slammed into him with enough force to send him sprawling.
Crack!
The sickening sound of breaking bone echoed through the room.
"My arm!" Lockhart shrieked, his body crashing into the magical array. His wand arm hung at an unnatural angle, pain forcing him to scream.
"Destroy the runes on the floor!" Ron shouted.
"I know!" Hermione's voice was shrill with tension as she waved her wand repeatedly. "Diffindo! Diffindo!"
To everyone's shock, Hermione's Severing Charms, powerful enough to shatter the classroom floor, hit the magical array and fizzled. The glowing runes remained untouched.
"This is impossible!" Hermione cried, switching spells. "Depulso!"
Lockhart's incantation had been interrupted, so the runes should have lost their magical protection. They should have been destructible now.
"The spell? My spell!" Lockhart stammered, clutching his broken arm, his face pale. "I have to keep going, but why—why is it still working?!"
An unseen wind stirred in the classroom. Far from fading, the runes glowed even brighter.
Snap!
The air itself seemed to twist. Old desks in the corner were wrenched apart as if by invisible hands, the space around them warping into a translucent distortion.
"This can't be happening!" Lockhart muttered, his voice growing hollow, almost as if another being—or something else—spoke through him. His words deepened, taking on a beastly, guttural tone that sent chills through the room.
The students, bound on the array, had fallen silent, their screams replaced by bated breath as they stared at Lockhart. His voice was no longer his own.
Unaware of the change, Lockhart was lost in his own world. Hermione frantically gestured to the others who had stormed in with her, signaling them to free the bound students and get out.
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