You can read ahead up to 60 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395
It was not Voldemort or someone pretending to be Voldemort nor any of his soul parts!
And it was definitely not a Death Eater!
Silver light shimmered freggom the wand and the suffocating chill and creeping despair in the air eased considerably. A warm, potent magic surged forth— the kind that only those who can truly embrace beauty may master. The Patronus Charm.
"An Acolyte, is it…?"
Ian's rigid hand remained suspended in mid-air, his gaze locked onto Gilderoy Lockhart's wand where wisps of silver mist flowed continuously from its tip, looking delicate and ethereal.
A majestic silver creature began to take shape, though its true form remained veiled in shimmering mist. Ian caught only fleeting glimpses of a proud stance, a commanding presence, and an aura brimming with strength.
The Dementor in the cage let out a shrill, bone-chilling cry. Ian could sense its fear— raw and desperate. And yet, the selfish adult wizards made no move to dispel it with the Patronus.
The concealed Patronus circled Gilderoy Lockhart, gathering its power, shrouded in mystery.
Let's continue to call him that.
After all, he had the same face.
"The Patronus Charm is not particularly complex magic. The incantation is as I recited earlier, but the key lies in concentration— summoning the happiest memory you can muster."
"Some claim it is a reflection of one's inner light, and you may well believe that. But personally, I see it as something else entirely. I believe we are merely evoking a response." Lockhart's wand continued to radiate silver luminescence, his expression composed once more.
And then—
"Expecto Patronum!"
Ian seized the moment their gazes met, activating a technique he had learned from his sharp-witted senior. A fleeting pulse of purple flickered in his eyes.
The magic worked.
But—
Ian could not breach Gilderoy Lockhart's mind. Not only was he unable to alter or view his memories, but even the emotions Lockhart had displayed upon entering the classroom had become eerily imperceptible.
"That's quite a piece of Ancient magic. You've learned quite a bit." Lockhart arched an eyebrow, stepping aside to reveal the reason Ian's assault had failed.
Right where Lockhart had stood, a translucent, glassy shell remained— a discarded layer of magical residue. As he moved, the brittle casing lingered momentarily before crumbling into dust.
It was clear.
This unknown magic had intercepted Ian's intrusion.
"While we converse, you're free to launch another attack if you wish. I'm rather curious about the extent of your abilities." Lockhart's voice carried no hint of irritation.
He merely smiled, tapping the fractured shell. The delicate structure shattered with a faint crackle, dissipating into the air like brittle wax exposed to flame.
"Hmm?"
Ian suddenly felt the restraints on his body vanish.
Lockhart was inviting him forward. After a moment of deliberation, Ian chose not to strike again— his suspicions were already solidifying.
"Professor, what do you mean by 'response'?"
Ian flexed his arm nonchalantly, feigning casual curiosity.
Lockhart's smile deepened.
"Every soul has its counterpart, a soul form child. The darkness you fear does not sever that bond— only the loss of self, the decay of one's soul, can make that connection fade."
Lockhart reached into the mist, his fingers grazing the barely visible Patronus as though he were petting a familiar companion. His words carried an unsettling ease, a philosophy that diverged from the established teachings of the wizarding world.
It was Heresy.
"Do you have any proof?" Ian asked, letting the glow of his wand spread to illuminate the younger students. Now that Lockhart's Patronus was present, the room's suffocating dread had receded.
Now, it merely felt like the onset of winter.
"An excellent question. Even Dumbledore would struggle to answer it. He is forever preoccupied with grander matters— lacking the time for such intricate study."
The man who bore Gilderoy Lockhart's face showed no irritation. If anything, he seemed amused, pleased to indulge Ian's curiosity.
"You may have heard that Azkaban was originally the domain of a dark wizard named Ekrizdis. He constructed the fortress in the fifteenth century, luring Muggle sailors to the island to torture and experiment on them."
"When the Ministry of Magic finally uncovered the island, it was already infested with Dementors. Some believe these creatures were the result of Ekrizdis's twisted experiments— some form of grotesque alchemy performed upon the Muggles he captured."
"This, in turn, led to an age of paranoia— an irrational fear of biological alchemy… Ha! Fools, the lot of them. Ever eager to be misled by equally foolish conjecture."
"Anyone with a proper grasp of alchemy would see through such nonsense. The idea that one could conjure an entirely new species from nothing? That is a power reserved for the gods."
"We cannot even conquer death. And yet, people truly believe that a mere wizard could create beings that defy both life and death…"
Lockhart's gaze shifted toward the caged abomination.
The Dementor let out another piercing wail.
"According to records about Ekrizdis, he was not a particularly exceptional Dark wizard. In truth, he performed a sacrificial ritual on that island— the very place that would later become a prison."
"He brought forth entities that do not belong to our world, and due to his lack of mastery, he lost his life in the process. That is the real reason behind his mysterious disappearance."
Gilderoy Lockhart's tone was filled with certainty, as if he were recounting events he had witnessed firsthand, making one wonder what gave him such confidence in these ancient occurrences.
"And how does this relate to the Patronus being able to combat Dementors?" Ian found the story intriguing, but it clearly did not answer his question.
Gilderoy Lockhart shook his head.
"It relates in every way. Dementors are tied to the world beyond— the world we all must eventually journey to. A Patronus, in turn, is not just a shield against them; it is a guide, paving the way for its counterpart in that distant realm." His words, so at odds with conventional wizarding beliefs, would likely be deemed heretical by the magical community.
Ian frowned slightly.
"You haven't died. How do you know?"
He recalled carefully.
While the Twilight Realm harbored many strange creatures, every wizard's soul he had encountered there had been alone, their Patronus nowhere in sight.
"In time, I will die, won't I? And when that moment comes, I will know for certain." Gilderoy Lockhart did not refute the skepticism, merely shrugged, his expression unconcerned.
"…"
Ian felt unsettled by Gilderoy Lockhart's calm certainty. Was it possible that the scenario described by this imposter— or acolyte— lay beyond the reach of the Twilight Realm?
After all—
If this man truly was 'that' person…
He wouldn't be feeding them mere fantasy without some foundation, would he? Then again, long imprisonment had been known to unravel minds, breeding delusions and madness.
"Muggles cannot see Dementors, nor can they resist them. Are you suggesting they have no Patronus or Soul Form as you say of their own?" Ian pressed further.
Gilderoy Lockhart merely smiled, his amusement deepening.
"Child, only through death and rebirth can true miracles manifest."
His words were spoken with crisp clarity, yet their meaning was shrouded in ambiguity. Ian felt a strange sense of familiarity— Aurora had mentioned something similar during their first encounter in the bookshop.
Did one have to die and return to obtain a Patronus? That couldn't be— not when countless wizards across the world had summoned one. Surely they hadn't all been pulled back from death itself!
Just as Ian wrestled with this notion—
"Questioning time is over, Mr. Prince. It is now your turn to try." Gilderoy Lockhart suddenly shifted the conversation, his voice laced with anticipation.
The silver mist surrounding him was thick, almost dazzling. Ian had no way of seeing that one of his eyes had turned a stark, unnatural white.
(To Be Continued…)