Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

"How would you know if you don't try?"

"Maybe it will work."

"In matters like this, Professor, your knowledge pales in comparison to mine. Why not trust me?"

"Lockhart" squinted his eyes mischievously, reaching down to stuff his intestines back into his gaping stomach. His smile twisted into something unnervingly amused as he glanced at the hourglass.

"The sand is half gone, Professor Dumbledore. Are you still hesitating?"

"He's just a worm of a Minister, like a slug, so small and insignificant."

"There isn't another Dumbledore to step in and stop you."

Fudge's face was now a ghastly shade of pale, his fear bubbling over.

"Enough of your poisonous words, Tom," Scrimgeour snapped, raising his wand. "Surrender now and confess everything. When you're sent to Azkaban, I'll personally see that you're—"

He didn't finish.

"Cruciatus!"

The spell shot from "Lockhart's" wand, striking Scrimgeour squarely in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, his body curling in agony as he let out hoarse screams of pain.

Dumbledore swiftly cut off the connection with a flick of his wand. "Tom!"

"Lockhart" sneered, peering down at Scrimgeour writhing at his feet. "And what was your name again? Something like Jack?"

"Know your place, will you?"

"You're overstepping boundaries. The only one here with the authority to act against me is Dumbledore. Only he is worthy."

"As for you..." He chuckled, curling his lip disdainfully. "Perhaps you can kiss my boots instead. Shall I offer you the honor?"

He paused, then suddenly shifted his gaze to Harry. A glimmer of intrigue danced in his eyes.

"And maybe our dear Mr. Potter also has what it takes to challenge me. That gesture of yours..."

"Is that some little spell?"

"Why don't we play a game to pass the time?"

Harry remained silent, his eyes locked on "Lockhart" with sharp vigilance.

"Only a fifth of the sand is left now," "Lockhart" observed, twirling his wand idly. "Still no decision? Are you out of practice with the incantations?"

"I can teach you."

"Avada Kedavra, for the Killing Curse."

"Fiendfyre, for the hellish flames."

Scrimgeour was still on the floor, clutching his chest and trembling. Even a few seconds under the Cruciatus Curse had left him shattered.

Dumbledore remained steadfast, unmoving.

The last grains of sand trickled down the hourglass.

Harry made his move.

"Yrden!"

A circle of violet runes appeared on the floor, emanating a magical aura.

Harry followed it up immediately with Aard, sending a powerful wave of force crashing into "Lockhart".

The combined might of the signs caused "Lockhart" to stagger backward. From his body, a ghostly black shadow emerged, semi-transparent and clinging to his form with tenuous, sinewy strands.

Harry slashed at the apparition with Gryffindor's sword.

The shadow darted back into "Lockhart" at lightning speed, evading the blade and leaving Harry striking air.

"Lockhart" turned his astonished gaze to Harry, his face lighting up with what appeared to be genuine delight.

"Soul magic?"

"Interfering with me, no less. That's not a skill any second-year student should have."

"I didn't expect it, but it seems that even the bright and righteous Savior of the Wizarding World, Harry Potter, dabbles in such clandestine practices. Does Dumbledore know?"

Dumbledore's expression remained impassive.

"Lockhart" clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly as he watched Harry lift his hand to cast another sign. "Mr. Potter, now isn't the time for us to meet properly."

"Well then, Professor Dumbledore, farewell for now."

With those words, black smoke erupted from "Lockhart's" form. His body crumpled to the ground like a discarded puppet whose strings had been cut.

Fudge, sweating profusely, reached for his handkerchief, clearly preparing to say something.

Before he could, "Lockhart" sprang back to his feet.

But this time, it wasn't Tom.

It was Gilderoy Lockhart himself.

He wore his trademark bright, albeit twisted, smile as he spoke in an unnaturally calm tone: "I almost forgot. I have one last gift for you all."

"Awaken—"

Before the words fully left his mouth, the light in his eyes shifted. A moment later, Lockhart's own consciousness reemerged, and his face crumpled into terror.

"Professor Dumbledore, help me! Save me!"

"I was wrong. I never should have listened to him."

"He's trying to kill me now."

"I'm in so much pain, Professor. I'm so cold… I just want to live!"

Even as he pleaded, his body began shambling toward the Slytherin table.

His organs shifted grotesquely, his intestines trailing behind him in a macabre display.

"Professor, you must stop him. You can stop him!" Lockhart's voice cracked as his head twisted unnaturally, his desperate, contorted face turned toward Dumbledore.

"He's afraid of you."

"He kept asking questions about you, over and over."

He paused, his eyes darting to Harry.

"And about Harry—he asked a lot about Harry, too!"

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses, his voice steady and cold. "Where is Tom's object? Where did you put it?"

"It's in my stomach!" Lockhart shouted eagerly. "That night, when I returned to my office, it was just sitting there on my desk."

"He told me that you would find it and told me to hide it inside myself."

Harry interjected, his voice flat. "Your stomach is empty. Even your organs are missing."

Lockhart looked down, his eyes widening in abject horror. "My stomach? Where's my stomach?"

"No… when did this…?"

"I should have known. My stomach—"

Dumbledore cut him off. "Then where were you this morning? At eight o'clock, you were still in your office."

Lockhart faltered. "I… I don't know."

"I remember… around half-past eight, he told me to leave, and then suddenly, there was pain—he attacked me. I tried to come for help."

"And then… nothing."

"Where were you going?" Dumbledore pressed.

Lockhart shook his head, bewildered, before clutching his body in agony.

"Professor, help me! Save me! It hurts so much. My body—it's burning…"

Dumbledore's expression remained icy. "I am merely the headmaster of Hogwarts. You were dismissed last night."

"Rufus, do something!" Fudge barked, turning to the Auror director still sprawled on the ground.

But before Scrimgeour could respond, Lockhart's body began to swell.

His head, arms, and legs ballooned grotesquely, his skin stretching to its limit.

"Stop him—" Fudge began, but it was too late.

BOOM!

The room shook with the sound of the explosion as Lockhart's body burst apart. Blood and viscera sprayed outward like fireworks.

No one was harmed.

A shimmering barrier stood between the onlookers and the gruesome spectacle, holding the gore inches away from their faces. It was Dumbledore's work.

Harry's voice was cold and detached.

"A man who stole the lives of others to bask in their glory…"

"To die in such a dazzling display. How fitting."

Dumbledore turned to Fudge, his tone soft but firm.

"Cornelius, you've seen it with your own eyes."

"I cannot leave Hogwarts now."

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Powerstones?

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