Harry Potter: Westeros's Plant Life

"Never mind that for now," Adrian said with casual dismissal. He released his grip on his other burden, Professor Lockhart to crumple unceremoniously to the office floor. "Professor Dumbledore, there is something you need to see."

Only then did Dumbledore shift his gaze from Harry and Ron to the figure sprawling across his office floor.

At first, his brow furrowed with genuine confusion as he studied the strange old man who had been brought into his office.

It wasn't until Dumbledore carefully adjusted his half-moon spectacles as he leaned forward for a closer examination, that the shocking truth struck him. His eyes widened behind the spectacles, and his usually composed features registered obvious shock and disbelief.

"Dear Merlin," He whispered.

The old man in front of them had only the faintest resemblance to the once-magnificent Gilderoy Lockhart.

Where there had once been a face of striking handsomeness—smooth skin, a charming smile, and sparkling eyes that had won the hearts of witches across Britain—there now lay the face full of wrinkles.

Lockhart's face resembled an apple left forgotten in a cellar for months, its surface wrinkled and collapsed. His famous golden curls had been transformed into sparse, brittle strands of gray and he appeared to have aged at least fifty years.

"Didn't I ask you to keep an eye on Lockhart?" Dumbledore focused his gaze intently on Adrian. "What in Merlin's name has happened here?"

"I certainly did as you requested, Professor Dumbledore." Adrian replied, spreading his hands in a gesture that managed to convey both innocence and resignation. "However, Lockhart revealed his true nature when pressed, leaving me with no alternative but to catch him."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he observed Lockhart's transformed face once again. That old wrinkled face was particularly striking.

"His life force," Adrian continued, "was drained by Tom Riddle's memory. Tom needed that vital energy to maintain his existence and eventually escape its paper prison. Oh, but however, Tom has been destroyed by me."

The seriousness in every wrinkle of Dumbledore's face didn't diminish by even the slightest degree at this news. If anything, his expression grew more troubled.

"And what of the Horcrux?"

"I got it, naturally," Adrian said, reaching into his robes. "Incidentally, it was originally in the form of a diary—I obtained it from Lucius Malfoy."

From his pocket, Adrian pulled out what appeared to be a crumpled ball of ordinary parchment and handed it toward Dumbledore. "But as you can see, the soul fragment that once occupied it has been completely eradicated."

Dumbledore accepted the paper ball with a complex mixture of relief, disbelief, and lingering concern. He turned the innocent-looking object over in his palms, his magical senses probing for any trace of dark power.

This was indeed just ordinary paper.

Dumbledore knew that Adrian wasn't deceiving him.

It was just that one of Voldemort's Horcruxes had been eliminated with such apparent ease? The simplicity of it left him feeling unexpectedly off-balance and dazed.

"I suggest feeding Veritaserum to Lockhart once he regains consciousness," Adrian added with a casual shrug. "However time is not on our side. Given the extent of the life force drain he's suffered, I estimate he has perhaps days remaining, possibly less."

"I will handle it properly," Dumbledore said calmly.

When it came to anything connected with Voldemort, Dumbledore's capacity for mercy evaporated completely.

Even without Adrian's tactical reminder, he would have extracted every useful piece of intelligence from Lockhart's mind, using whatever methods were necessary.

Throughout this conversation, Harry had been listening with the intense focus of someone whose world was rapidly expanding in dark and frightening directions. His face had an expression of grave seriousness.

The intelligent boy had already begun piecing together the fragments of conversation between Adrian and Dumbledore.

Voldemort had possessed and controlled Lockhart—exactly like Quirrell during the previous school year.

But this time, Lockhart's life force had even been absorbed by Voldemort, which explained his current old appearance.

Just as these thoughts were appearing in his mind, Lockhart began to stir. His first sign of consciousness was a harsh, rattling cough that seemed to tear at his throat like broken glass.

With tremendous effort, using arms that shook, Lockhart managed to prop himself up against the base of Dumbledore's desk. When he finally managed to open his eyes, they were clouded with confusion and pain.

"I..." His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper, rough as sandpaper scraping against stone. "Where... where am I??"

Harry instinctively took several steps backward.

Adrian observed the awakening man with an expression of pity. He had seen the aftermath of dark magic many times, but witnessing someone discover the price of their own choices never became easier to bear.

Dumbledore crouched down and said in a gentle tone, "Gilderoy, tell us what happened."

Lockhart seemed not yet fully conscious, his mind was still struggling to bridge the gap between his last clear memories and his current reality. But some instinct warned him that something was terribly wrong with his body.

He looked at his withered hands and was momentarily stunned.

"No... no..." Lockhart looked incredulous. "What happened to my body?"

It seemed that Lockhart's mind had not yet processed or retained memories of Voldemort's possession and its actions.

Adrian, observing this scene, made a subtle gesture with his wand. The large, mirror that was in the corner of Dumbledore's office began to float through the air, and came in front of Lockhart.

Lockhart raised his head, and when his gaze met his own reflection, he let out a scream of pure anguish.

"NO! THIS ISN'T ME! THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!" His voice cracked and broke on the words.

With frantic desperation, he began clawing at his own face, his fingernails leaving angry red scratches between the wrinkles and age lines.

It was as if he believed he could physically scrape away the years, could tear off the mask of age to reveal his true, handsome face beneath. Blood began to well up from the self-inflicted wounds, but he seemed oblivious to the pain, lost in a madness born of vanity destroyed.

Harry turned away, unable to continue watching the horrific scene. His stomach churned with a mixture of pity and disgust.

For someone like Lockhart, whose entire identity had been built upon his physical appearance and charm, this transformation was perhaps a fate worse than death itself.

Adrian felt a complex mixture of emotions as he observed the scene.

There was pity, certainly—no one deserved to suffer such a complete destruction of their sense of self. But there was also a grim satisfaction in seeing justice served.

Lockhart had chosen his path. The consequences, however severe, were of his own making.

Adrian looked at Dumbledore and found him calmly observing the scene.

"A friendly reminder, Professor Lockhart," Adrian said to Lockhart. "Your life force has been drained by Voldemort. What remains of your natural lifespan will likely sustain you for only a few more days at most."

Whether Lockhart truly heard or understood Adrian's words was unclear. The revelation of his transformed appearance seemed to have overwhelmed his capacity to process additional information.

Perhaps from sheer exhaustion, or perhaps because his aged body could no longer sustain such intense emotion, Lockhart's frantic movements gradually slowed and then stopped.

Like a balloon suddenly deflated, he collapsed in on himself, settling into a motionless heap against the base of Dumbledore's desk. His head dropped forward until his chin nearly touched his chest, and his eyes became empty.

He had broken down. The psychological foundation upon which Gilderoy Lockhart had built his entire existence had crumbled to dust, leaving behind only a hollow shell that bore his name.

"I fear that Veritaserum will be ineffective in his current condition," Adrian shrugged regretfully.

After Lockhart's complete mental collapse, Adrian took it upon himself to provide Dumbledore with a complete account of everything he had discovered about the man's activities.

When the discussion turned to Lockhart's talent for memory magic, Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles, began to clean the lenses and sighed in regret.

"Everyone possesses unique gifts," He said softly. "Lockhart's natural talent for memory magic was truly extraordinary. If he had devoted even half the energy, he spent crafting false personas to studying and developing his own magical abilities..."

He put his glasses back on, and his gaze settled on the broken figure through the clear lenses.

"He could have had unlimited possibilities….."

"I agree," Adrian nodded, then looked at Harry nearby and said meaningfully, "I hope you can learn some valuable lessons from Professor Lockhart's cautionary tale."

Harry nodded with automatic obedience, though his expression showed that his mind was still struggling to process everything he had witnessed and learned in a single night.

At this moment, Dumbledore glanced at the clock on the wall—the hand was pointing to "1."

He gently patted Harry's shoulder. "It's very late, Harry. You should return to your dormitory and rest."

Adrian nodded in agreement. "I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry. And tomorrow morning, you must report to the hospital wing for a comprehensive magical examination. Exposure to basilisk blood and venom can have delayed effects on the human body—effects that might not manifest immediately but prove to be dangerous if left undetected."

Only then did Harry seem to fully emerge from his absorbed trance. "I feel perfectly fine, Professor. Fawkes's tears were very effective in healing my injuries..."

His voice trailed off as his gaze fell upon Ron, "But what about Ron? How is he doing? When will he wake up?"

Indeed, throughout their lengthy discussion of Horcruxes and Lockhart's downfall, Ron had remained unconscious.

"He should regain consciousness tomorrow morning," Adrian assured him. "The potion I administered will need the full night to counteract the magical shock his system suffered. I will transport him to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey can monitor his recovery."

Only with this reassurance did Harry finally allow the tension to flee from his shoulders.

Following this plan, Adrian first accompanied Harry back to Gryffindor Tower. After ensuring Harry was safely returned to his dormitory, Adrian then collected Ron from Dumbledore's office and took him to the hospital wing,

Upon reaching the hospital wing, Adrian placed Ron on one of the beds. Just as he was ensuring Ron was comfortable, the sound of approaching footsteps revealed the arrival of Madam Pomfrey, making her routine late-night rounds to check on any patients who might need attention.

"Merlin's beard!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, her voice sharp with alarm as she hurried forward. Her hands moved with efficiency as she began her preliminary examination. "Professor Westeros, what has happened here? Has another student fallen victim to the monster?"

"Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey," Adrian smiled slightly. "Professor Dumbledore has successfully resolved the matter. Mr. Weasley is likely the last victim."

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