Chapter 93 - 93: 93: Missing Lockhart

o(*≧▽≦)ツ????Support & read up to 12+ chapters ahead on P@treon/DarkDevil1???? Join to get early access and exclusive content!✨ _________ Bad news followed one after another, but this had nothing to do with Sagres; he was not the Principal, so it was not his responsibility to worry. However, one matter still made him call Harry and the other two over to ask for a clear explanation. "You mean Lockhart never appeared in the corridor? You never saw him encounter the Basilisk at any point?" "No, Professor, we never saw him from start to finish." "Understood…" Sagres nodded slightly, his thoughts racing. Lockhart was missing. Since the Basilisk attack yesterday, he had become the only person to disappear from the Castle. But why? Too unlucky, swallowed by the Basilisk? If that were true, his fire… well, there probably wouldn't even be ashes left. Or did he escape? Was he the Heir lurking in Hogwarts? Thinking of the man's flamboyant style, Sagres really couldn't match him with the image of a Slytherin Heir. After all, if it really was him, then he had hidden far too well, deceiving almost everyone. "Professor… is Lockhart…" Harry asked hesitantly. "Hm?" Sagres raised an eyebrow slightly. "…Nothing." "Don't worry, you can tell me any clues," Sagres said calmly. "As for the whereabouts of your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, I believe we will eventually find the answer." "Will Hogwarts really be closed?" Ron asked worriedly. "The Daily Prophet said—" "That is not something you need to concern yourself with, Mr. Weasley." Sagres smiled. "Hogwarts has stood for a thousand years. Even if it does close, it will only be temporary. I assure you of that." Ron nodded. Hermione, however, was almost completely silent. Since the attack, the little witch seemed to have become a different person—always quiet, looking preoccupied and lost in her own thoughts. "Miss Granger?" Sagres noticed her unusual behaviour. "Do you have anything you wish to say?" "Uh, me?" Hermione seemed to suddenly wake from her daze. "No… nothing to say, Professor Greengrass." "I hope you don't resent Noctis's actions at the time." Sagres looked into her eyes, his tone calm. "The situation was critical, and it had no choice." "You misunderstand, Professor!" Hermione quickly waved her hand. "I'm too grateful! Noctis saved my life. I just… I just feel…" Her voice dropped, carrying a note of frustration. "Feel that you are always dragged down by instinct at critical moments?" Sagres finished the words she could not bring herself to say. Hermione nodded silently, her fingers unconsciously intertwining. "Everyone has weaknesses, Miss Granger, just as everyone has their strengths." Sagres's voice softened. "Especially when one's power is still insufficient, weaknesses are more easily magnified by instinct." He looked at the three young wizards who had survived the ordeal and spoke earnestly: "Developing strengths requires tempering, and overcoming instinct also comes at a price. This will be a long process—no one is born strong." The three of them looked thoughtful. "Besides, your performance this time was not terrible," Sagres added, with a trace of understanding. "After all, very few people have the experience of being chased by a Basilisk. Looking back? That's simply human nature, perfectly normal." Hermione nodded silently, saying nothing. "Professor," Harry asked, unable to hold back, "when you were in your second year, you must have been much more powerful than us, right? We heard you got full marks in all your subjects when you were at school." "Hm, that question…" Sagres paused to consider. "'Powerful' is relative. As for grades—indeed." A smile curved his lips. "Even if some professors didn't appreciate me much, as long as I ensured they couldn't find fault, they naturally couldn't deduct my marks." "Oh…" the young wizards responded, their faces betraying their disappointment. "Of course," Sagres changed the subject, "if you always feel like you don't have enough time, I can share a trick." "What trick?" Hermione immediately pressed, her eyes lighting up at once. "Two spells. Master them, and they can give you nearly twice as much time as others." As he spoke, he pulled out a piece of parchment and lightly tapped its surface with his knuckles—dense handwriting instantly appeared across it. He tapped again, and the parchment split into three. "Awakening Requiem, Sleep Evaporation." The three papers floated lightly into their hands. "Learn them, and you can sleep only once every ten days. Of course—" He added with a casual smile, "learning them is entirely voluntary." The three looked somewhat taken aback, especially at the idea of "sleeping only once every ten days." They all seemed to find it difficult to accept. Sagres noticed and smiled. "This isn't a requirement; I'm simply giving you a choice. After all, it doesn't matter even if you don't pass your OWLs, since making a living in the wizarding world is fairly simple. Of course, learning more is always better." With that, he gave them a small nod, bringing the conversation to a close. … He still needed to find Myrtle. Originally, Sagres had planned to ask her for clues about the Chamber of Secrets, but he had been delayed by the sudden Basilisk incident. If he could find the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, it might greatly help in catching the true culprit. However, when he entered Myrtle's bathroom with the bottle containing Peeves, he was met with an unexpected sight. The ghost Myrtle was petrified! She no longer appeared as a milky-white transparent ghost, but was instead completely black, like charcoal, surrounded by semi-solid smoke, floating motionless a few inches off the ground. Her face showed more surprise than fear. Sagres had never seen such a thing before; even with his extensive knowledge, he had never heard of it. He didn't know whether Myrtle should be considered lucky or unlucky—having the "honour" of facing the Basilisk's gaze twice in a row was surely unique. He reported this bizarre situation to Dumbledore, but at that moment the headmaster was overwhelmed; the Castle was already in chaos, and panic was spreading like a plague. He had no time to deal with a petrified ghost. Yet the sight sparked a thought in Sagres: could the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets be in this bathroom? With that in mind, he immediately acted, speaking "Open!" in Parseltongue to every toilet in every stall more than once. But only cold silence answered him. The toilets remained toilets, completely unresponsive, showing no signs of concealing anything that could be passed through. Sagres frowned deeply. Had he guessed wrong? He paced restlessly, his fingers unconsciously tapping the glass bottle that held Peeves.