Lockhart cleared his throat importantly and struck a pose he undoubtedly considered highly heroic. He aimed his wand steadily at Harry's awkwardly bent right arm and announced the incantation in a loud, dramatic voice.
"Brackium Emendo!"
Maurise was absolutely certain he had never heard of that specific spell in his life.
A sharp, blinding bolt of red light shot from the tip of Lockhart's wand, striking Harry's forearm with absolute precision.
"No—"
Harry let out a weak, desperate groan of protest, but it was far too late.
Right before everyone's horrified eyes, the sleeve of Harry's Quidditch robes rapidly deflated. His entire right arm went completely limp, dangling from his shoulder like a thick, floppy rubber hose.
Every single bone in his arm had been completely vanished.
"Merlin's beard!" Several students shrieked in terror.
Maurise was utterly speechless.
Outstanding. In a highly technical, profoundly twisted sort of way, Lockhart had successfully solved the problem of the broken bones.
"Ah... well..." Lockhart stammered. He likely realized he had made a colossal blunder, but he remained utterly brazen, puffing out his chest defensively. "Mending bones can be such a tedious process! Is it not much better to simply start fresh with a brand new set? All it requires is a touch of advanced Transfiguration, coupled with..."
Seeing the fraud raise his wand to attempt another spell, Madam Hooch lunged forward and physically grabbed his wrist.
Are you absolutely insane? If she let Lockhart cast another spell, Harry might lose his entire torso.
At this point, Harry had mercifully fainted from the shock, lying entirely motionless in the mud.
Madam Hooch swiftly conjured a sturdy stretcher and carefully levitated the unconscious boy onto it. Lockhart stood awkwardly to the side, his trademark smile frozen stiffly on his face, looking entirely useless.
Watching the ridiculous scene unfold, a sudden, paranoid thought flashed through Maurise's mind.
Was Lockhart... intentionally pretending to be this incredibly stupid?
It was the exact same strategy Quirrell had used last year! If Lockhart was genuinely that terrible at magic, why on earth would he volunteer to cast a healing spell in front of the entire student body and several professors? Any idiot would know that a botched spell would completely destroy his reputation.
Maurise narrowed his eyes.
Exactly. No ordinary person could possibly be this spectacularly idiotic. Lockhart was definitely hiding something! He was purposely playing the role of an incompetent clown to lower everyone's guard!
Maurise decided it was time to thoroughly investigate the flamboyant professor.
That evening, shortly after the Quidditch match concluded, Maurise knocked firmly on the door to Lockhart's office.
"Come in!" Lockhart's voice called out brightly.
Maurise pushed the door open. He immediately noticed that the framed portraits had all been replaced by massive, wall-sized posters of Lockhart striking various heroic and seductive poses.
What kind of absolute narcissist plastered their own face over every square inch of their living space?
Lockhart was currently standing in front of a silver vanity mirror, meticulously combing his golden hair with a golden comb.
He spun around, flashing his impossibly white teeth. "Ah, Maurise! One of my most devoted fans! What can I do for you? Oh, let me guess. You are here for an autograph. I just had a new batch of photographs developed..."
"Professor," Maurise interrupted, his tone perfectly flat and direct. "Do you know anything about the Heir of Slytherin?"
"The Heir..." Lockhart paused, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second. He walked around his desk and placed a comforting hand on Maurise's shoulder. "Are you worried about being attacked, my boy? You are not the first student to ask me about this."
Maurise nodded silently.
"Well, you can rest entirely easy!" Lockhart laughed, giving Maurise's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "The Heir would never dare strike again! I guarantee it! As long as I am residing within this castle, you are perfectly safe."
He strolled over to one of the massive posters on the wall. It depicted a highly stylized rendering of Lockhart valiantly battling a terrifying werewolf. In the poster, the werewolf lunged repeatedly, but Lockhart, maintaining a perfect smile, casually flicked his wand, blasting the beast back again and again.
"You can always place your absolute trust in your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," Lockhart declared proudly.
Maurise let out a slow, internal sigh.
Interrogating him normally was completely useless. The man was a brick wall of narcissism.
Whatever. Desperate times call for extreme measures.
Maurise had never been a hesitant or indecisive person.
Without a second thought, he subtly aimed his wand and cast a very mild Agony Curse directly at the professor.
Lockhart suddenly gasped, clapping a hand to his forehead. He stumbled backward and collapsed heavily onto his velvet sofa.
The curse was clearly taking effect.
"Are you feeling alright, Professor?" Maurise asked, his voice dripping with fabricated concern.
"I... I am perfectly fine," Lockhart stammered, forcing a strained, wobbly smile. He shook his head vigorously, desperately trying to clear the sudden, agonizing buzzing in his skull, but it refused to fade.
What on earth is happening to me?
"You look terribly pale, sir."
"It is likely just exhaustion. I was up quite late last night researching highly advanced magical theory," Lockhart lied smoothly, rubbing his temples. "It is nothing to worry about. For a Master of the magical arts such as myself, pushing the physical limits of endurance is perfectly normal."
"Even a Master of Magic must take care of his health, Professor," Maurise said earnestly. He picked up a glass of water resting on the desk and offered it forward. "Here. Have some water."
His mind clouded by the curse, Lockhart accepted the glass without a second thought and took a large, desperate gulp.
"Feeling any better, Professor?"
Maurise watched the man's expression closely, silently counting down the seconds for the Veritaserum to take effect.
Yes, Veritaserum.
He had spiked the water with the most powerful truth serum in existence. It was a completely colorless, odorless potion that forced the drinker into a highly suggestible, trance-like state, compelling them to answer any question with absolute honesty.
Maurise had found the complex brewing instructions in the Restricted Section and had successfully manufactured a potent batch.
Within moments, Lockhart's eyes glazed over. His posture slumped slightly, and his jaw went slack.
Maurise wasted no time.
"Are you the Heir of Slytherin?"
"No."
"Are you secretly working with the Heir of Slytherin?"
"No."
"Do you know the location of the Chamber of Secrets?"
"...No."
Three strikes. Maurise shook his head in deep disappointment.
It appeared Lockhart genuinely had absolutely no connection to the Chamber or the Heir. Had Maurise completely misread the situation? Was the man truly just a bumbling idiot?
"What is your actual level of magical proficiency?" Maurise asked.
"Abysmal."
"Exactly how bad is it?"
"Aside from the Memory Charm, I cannot cast a single spell properly."
"Then how exactly did you write all of those books detailing your heroic adventures?"
Lockhart remained silent for a long moment.
Just as Maurise began to wonder if the potion was wearing off, Lockhart's voice drifted out in a flat, monotone drawl.
"I travel... to remote, forgotten corners of the world. Shady taverns, decrepit wizarding villages... There is always someone, usually an obscure, talented wizard, who has actually defeated the dark creatures."
"I buy them drinks. I listen to their incredible stories. And then... I use the Memory Charm on them, steal their achievements, and publish them as my own."
Hearing the full confession, Maurise clicked his tongue in genuine disgust.
He had originally assumed Lockhart was just a moderately talented fiction author who exaggerated his own minor achievements to sell books. He had never imagined the man was actively stealing the lives and memories of genuine heroes.
That was infinitely worse than simply making up stories. If this ever came to light, Lockhart would undoubtedly be sentenced to life in Azkaban.
Any tiny shred of guilt Maurise had felt about illegally dosing a professor with Veritaserum instantly evaporated.
Suddenly, Lockhart's eyes darted wildly. He let out a low, confused groan. The effects of the truth serum were wearing off much faster than anticipated.
He took a sharp, panicked gasp of air, his eyes locking onto Maurise with sudden, terrifying clarity. "What... what did you just do to me?!"
"How incredibly annoying," Maurise muttered.
He smiled pleasantly and raised his wand, pointing it squarely between Lockhart's eyes.
"It seems this is the perfect opportunity to practice this specific spell."
"Obliviate!"