Early Saturday morning, Harry set off with the professors under Hermione’s envious gaze.
During breakfast in the Great Hall, Professor Lockhart had asked both Harry and Draco one last time whether they were willing to go; if either of them had refused, he had been prepared to choose someone else.
Hermione had secretly hoped Draco would turn out to be a coward so she could go with her idol instead.
Unfortunately, Draco looked as proud as ever; backing out had never even crossed his mind.
And so the group departed.
Professor Lockhart, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Harry, and Draco traveled by Floo Network and soon arrived at a small cottage beside a vineyard near Urquhart Castle.
Mr.
Urquhart was a tall, lean, middle-aged wizard dressed in an Auror-style tactical coat, carrying the unmistakable air of an experienced politician.
According to Professor McGonagall, he served as Director of the Auror Liaison Office for the International Confederation of Wizards, coordinating between various Ministries of Magic.
The moment he saw Professor Snape, he froze.
The smile on his face stiffened ever so slightly before he quietly glanced toward his aunt, Professor McGonagall.
Lockhart didn’t need anyone to explain what that meant.
During the war led by Lord Voldemort over a decade earlier, the cause had been pure-blood supremacy.
Old houses like the Urquharts might never have openly declared their allegiance, but it was hard to believe they hadn’t offered support behind the scenes.
It wasn’t really a matter of right or wrong; it was a matter of interests.
Not even Dumbledore could expect the old elite to willingly surrender the advantages their families had built over generations.
As Voldemort’s most trusted protégé, the only Death Eater personally taught magic by the Dark Lord, Snape had undoubtedly dealt with influential pure-blood families like the Urquharts in the past.
But the past was the past.
Voldemort had fallen; there was no reason for the Urquhart family to continue backing a defeated cause, and there was little point in dwelling on old loyalties.
At least Professor McGonagall, a longtime member of the Order of the Phoenix, clearly wasn’t interested in reopening old wounds.
Everyone exchanged polite greetings.
Mr.
Urquhart showed obvious respect toward “Aunt Minerva,” and with two powerful family wizards accompanying him, he led the group toward the castle.
As they left the vineyard behind, the ancient fortress soon came into view.
They hadn’t even reached it before an inexplicable sense of dread began creeping into everyone’s hearts: darkness, gloom, sorrow.
That was the greatest difference between Dark Creatures and ordinary magical beasts: their influence was almost tangible, filling people with negative emotions before they ever laid eyes on the creature itself.
Everyone unconsciously slowed their pace.
Even under the bright summer morning sun, approaching the castle felt like walking into a damp, shadowy cave steeped in evil.
Lockhart, however, carried a small potted sapling bursting with healthy green leaves in one hand and his wand in the other.
He never slowed down, and within moments, he had walked far ahead of everyone else.
Fear came from the unknown.
Most people would have lost their nerve long before reaching the entrance, especially after learning that the ‘Wrongfully Slain Fairy’ haunting the castle had already killed one of the family’s house-elves.
But Lockhart understood; he understood it all too well.
When he reached the castle gates, he didn’t go inside immediately.
Instead, he crouched beside the wall, carefully examining the narrow cracks where the castle’s stone foundations met the earth.
“Professor Lockhart…
is something wrong?” Mr.
Urquhart looked at Professor McGonagall in confusion.
Receiving no answer, he walked over nervously and asked the question himself.
“Look at the flowers growing by the wall.” The blossoms were tiny, not even as large as a pinky fingernail, and looked like nothing more than ordinary weeds.
Mr.
Urquhart blinked, completely lost as to what he was supposed to be seeing.
Lockhart beckoned Harry and Draco over.
“In ancient wizarding traditions that worshipped nature, the cycle of life and death was closely tied to the earth itself.
The soil embraces both decay and new life at the same time.” “So whenever you’re dealing with a Dark Creature connected to life and death, the first thing you should do is examine the condition of the land around it.
The state of the earth often tells you what state the creature is in.” As he said this, a strange expression crossed his face.
The unusually vigorous weeds growing here reminded him of Hogwarts.
Recently, similar weeds had quietly begun appearing between cracks in the castle’s stones and stairways, though fortunately the hardworking house-elves cleaned them away every day.
Seen from that perspective, it was actually easy to conclude that the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets had probably already begun moving through the castle’s pipes.
Of course, very few people understood this kind of knowledge, especially after Voldemort placed his curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
Most genuine experts in the field had avoided teaching at Hogwarts altogether, leaving the school with a serious lack of expertise in Dark Creatures.
In the original story, neither Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, nor any of the other professors had any effective way to deal with the Basilisk.
Dumbledore could only watch helplessly as the Ministry of Magic arrested Hagrid as a scapegoat, after which the Board of Governors seized the opportunity to remove him as Headmaster.
Really, in a school year when a creature like the Basilisk was lurking around, a monster that was practically half Dark Creature already, Hogwarts was incredibly fortunate to have someone like Lockhart, an actual Dark Creature specialist.
Well…
not the ‘original’ Lockhart, of course.
That one knew plenty in theory but couldn’t put any of it to use, and lacked any real sense of responsibility.
“Now look at this.” Lockhart reached into the crack in the wall and carefully pulled out part of the weed’s root, handing it to Professor Snape, who had leaned over to examine it.
“This kind of weed…” Snape began.
Then his expression suddenly sharpened.
He crushed the root between his fingers, squeezing out its sap, and after rubbing it thoughtfully, lifted it to his nose.
“…It’s already reached the standard for use as a potion ingredient?” Lockhart smiled and nodded.
“In wizarding fairy tales, there’s a wicked witch who uses the juice from a certain grass stem to make a queen beautiful, allowing her to manipulate the queen into committing evil deeds.
It’s actually this kind of plant, one overflowing with vitality.
“The essence of a Dark Creature is a phenomenon.
The phenomenon changes the environment, and the altered environment gives rise to companion plants.
It’s a field that Herbology and Potions, at least from the academic side of magical research, haven’t seriously explored yet.” He dusted the dirt from his hands and stood up.
“Fortunately, judging by these roots, the ‘Wrongfully Slain Fairy’ inside the castle isn’t in an enraged state.
We may actually be able to communicate with it.” He picked up the potted sapling, gave his wand a flick, and mist rolled across the ground.
A faint grey wolf emerged from the mist, trotted over, wagged its tail at him, then turned and ran into the castle.
“Come on.
Keep up.” Without another word, Lockhart led the way inside.