Harry Potter: Westeros's Plant Life

"I'm deeply moved that you all still trust me," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "The doors of the headmaster's office will not bar those who believe in me."

'I see,' Adrian thought, nodding thoughtfully and asked. "Then the Board of Governors has no objections to your... unofficial presence here?"

Dumbledore's response was a knowing smile and a gentle shake of his head, his blue eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous glint.

Clearly, the Board of Governors had no idea their supposedly suspended headmaster was still very much in at Hogwarts.

Of course, their ignorance didn't matter.

"Ah, but let's address the matter at hand," Dumbledore said, settling behind his desk. "What brings you to seek my assistance today?"

"The Pensieve, Professor," Adrian said directly, his voice carrying an urgency that made Dumbledore's eyebrows rise slightly. "I need to borrow it for something rather important."

"Please, help yourself," Dumbledore gestured graciously toward the stone basin in the corner. "Do you require privacy for this viewing? I can easily step out if the matter is... delicate."

Adrian walked over to the Pensieve in the corner, which was empty. Using his wand, he extracted the silvery memory from Lockhart's crystal bottle and watched it flow into the basin like liquid starlight. Soon, the Pensieve was filled with white swirling substance.

At that crucial moment, Adrian suddenly paused in his preparations and turned back to face Dumbledore. "Professor, perhaps you should see this with me."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore's curiosity was immediately piqued. He rose from his chair and approached the Pensieve as well. Though he wouldn't casually pry into others' privacy, since Adrian had invited him, there must be a special reason for it.

Both men leaned forward simultaneously, bringing their faces close to the swirling silver memory in the Pensieve.

The world dissolved around them like mist, reforming into the dim corridor of Hogwarts' eighth floor.

Lockhart was pacing nervously back and forth in front of a seemingly blank stretch of wall. Adrian immediately recognized their location—they stood near the entrance to the Room of Requirement, showed by the tapestry hanging nearby that depicted "Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls" in vivid, if somewhat disturbing, detail.

'So Lockhart actually knew how to access the Room of Requirement' Adrian realized with growing interest. This was unexpected.

Suddenly, a memory from earlier in the school year appeared in Adrian's mind. That night when he had visited the Room of Requirement, he had encountered both Lockhart and Filch lurking in the nearby corridors. At the time, he had dismissed it as coincidence.

'Perhaps Lockhart had been watching from the shadows when I entered,' Adrian thought, as pieces of puzzle began to fall into place. 'That would explain why he was wandering the eighth floor so late at night.'

Now everything was becoming clear.

In the memory, Lockhart's method of accessing the Room of Requirement appeared clumsy and uncertain—he was obviously unfamiliar with the proper technique. This clumsiness only strengthened Adrian's growing suspicion that Lockhart had learned of the room's existence by observing someone else's entry.

But how had he determined which specific room Adrian had entered? The Room of Requirement could become anything its user needed.

Under Lockhart's increasingly frantic attempts, the door to the Room of Requirement finally appeared. He approached the door with an expression of curiousness mixed with nervous excitement, as if he wasn't entirely sure what he would find beyond it.

However, the moment he pushed open the door, Lockhart let out a scream of absolute terror. He staggered backward several steps before losing his balance and crashing heavily to the stone floor.

Adrian couldn't help but be genuinely amused as he looked into the room. No wonder Lockhart had been so thoroughly terrified—at that precise moment, the Fiendfyre that Adrian had conjured to destroy Voldemort's diary was still raging inside the chamber.

One could only say that if Lockhart had been even slightly slower, he might have gone to meet Merlin.

The instant Lockhart crashed to the floor in terror, the magical door immediately snapped shut. But in that brief moment of chaos, something happened—a single, tattered piece of parchment came fluttering out from within the chamber.

The paper drifted down like a dying leaf and landed directly in the trembling hands of the panic-stricken Lockhart.

Now, the truth finally came to light.

Adrian hadn't completely expelled Voldemort's soul from the diary at that time. Voldemort's soul might have hidden part of itself through some means—even the Tree of Wisdom hadn't detected it.

Then, through Lockhart's accidental intervention, that remaining fragment hadn't been consumed by the Fiendfyre as intended. Instead, it had found a new host through the most unlikely sequence of coincidences imaginable.

After briefly organizing his speculation, Adrian felt somewhat speechless. Was this bad luck or good fortune for the unfortunate Lockhart?

Such a coincidental series of events had actually occurred.

When Adrian finally lifted his head from the Pensieve, he found that Dumbledore had also completed his observation.

Dumbledore slowly straightened his body, his blue eyes were flashing with a sharp light never seen before and his fingers unconsciously moved to stroke the Elder Wand at his side

Obviously, he had reached the same conclusions.

"What was that object?" Dumbledore stared at Adrian and said slowly. "You must know something more about this, don't you?"

Adrian also frowned and nodded saying a word, "Horcrux."

The temperature in the office seemed to plummet several degrees at the utterance of that word. Fawkes flapped his magnificent wings uneasily on his golden perch and let out a low, mournful trill.

"Horcrux... Horcrux..." Dumbledore repeated the word like a curse, beginning to pace around his office. Suddenly, as if struck by lightning, he turned to face Adrian. "That Fiendfyre we witnessed—that was your doing, wasn't it, Professor Westeros?"

Adrian nodded, his tone carrying a note of frustration. "Yes, that was my doing. I had destroyed the Horcrux with Fiendfyre. But I didn't expect the cunning bastard to have other plans. Now he must be in Lockhart's body, just like Quirrell last year."

Dumbledore stopped in place, and frowned.

After a long while, he sighed and said to Adrian, "You must have hidden many things from me, haven't you, Professor Westeros."

Adrian could only respond with an apologetic smile. In fact, he had shared almost everything with Dumbledore.

Well, perhaps there was one exception. Dumbledore still didn't know about Ravenclaw's diadem. But that was a conversation for another time, when the immediate crisis had been resolved. After all, the diadem would eventually need to be returned to Hogwarts where it belonged.

Adrian leaned casually against the edge of Dumbledore's desk. "So, Professor Dumbledore, what's our next move?"

In fact, the situation was now clear to Adrian. He could arrest Lockhart this very moment if he chose to do so. Lockhart certainly couldn't resist at all, even with Voldemort possessing him.

Dumbledore pondered for a moment, then said, "I need to make some preparations, and besides, it's not convenient for me to act openly right now. Adrian, during this time, could you please help me keep an eye on Professor Lockhart?"

"Of course," Adrian agreed readily, though privately he had no intention of following Dumbledore's cautious approach completely.

He had only one goal: Voldemort's soul fragment.

He just wanted to quickly capture Lockhart and take away the Voldemort soul fragment in his body.

Because he still had his regular teaching duties, Adrian decided not to rush into immediate action. After all, Lockhart wasn't going anywhere—the man was trapped within Hogwarts'.

That evening, Adrian asked Professor McGonagall to arrange for him and Lockhart to patrol together.

In fact, throughout this period of tension, Lockhart had been assigned to patrol with various other faculty members each night. Perhaps it was precisely because of this increased vigilance that the basilisk had remained quiet.

At precisely eight o'clock in the evening, as the last traces of daylight faded from the windows, Adrian and Lockhart began their scheduled patrol of the castle.

Throughout their journey, Adrian noticed that Lockhart seemed unusually nervous and agitated. He kept glancing over his shoulder, jumping at shadows, and responding to Adrian's attempts at conversation with distracted, short answers. His usual narcissistic charm had been replaced by anxiety.

After two hours of patrolling, during which they encountered nothing more threatening than Mrs. Norris marauding the corridors, Lockhart suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His face was drained of all color, becoming almost ghostly pale in the torchlight, and he clutched his forehead with both hands as if experiencing sudden, excruciating pain.

"Professor Westeros," He said in a strained voice. "I suddenly don't feel well at all. I think I might be getting ill—I've been working too hard lately, staying up too late with these patrols..." He pressed his palm more firmly against his temple. "I believe I need to return to my office immediately to rest."

Seeing Lockhart's obvious desire to escape and be alone, Adrian felt a secret smile appear at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh my, you do look absolutely dreadful," Adrian said with exaggerated concern, moving closer to examine Lockhart's pale, sweating face. "Your complexion is ghastly! Let me accompany you back to your quarters immediately. I insist—I have considerable experience caring for the sick and injured. No one understands better than I do how to properly tend to someone in distress."

"No... no, that's really not necessary," Lockhart protested quickly, waving his hands in frantic refusal while backing away slightly. He forced trying a reassuring smile. "The patrol duties can't be interrupted—the students' safety depends on our vigilance. I can certainly manage on my own. It's probably just a headache."

But Adrian had no intention of letting him escape so easily.

"Come now, Professor Lockhart," He said with false cheerfulness as he placed a firm but seemingly friendly hand on his shoulders. "I absolutely insist on seeing you safely to your office. Your health is far more important than one night's patrol—there are other professors still making rounds, so the castle's security won't be compromised."

Lockhart's face grew even paler at Adrian's insistence. A look of panic flickered in his eyes as he realized he had no plausible way to refuse such seemingly innocent assistance.

In the end, despite his reluctance and growing desperation, Lockhart had no choice but to allow Adrian to escort him through the darkened corridors toward his office.

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