Flourish and Blotts was lively.
The new-book signing was so packed that shoulders bumped and people pressed in from every direction, customers filling every corner. Even more crowded than the crowd were the books themselves—stacks rose all the way to the ceiling like walls, chopping the not-so-spacious shop into a little maze.
Nobody wandered a bookshop empty-handed; even if you were just putting on airs, you'd still flip through something nearby. Skyl happened to be holding an unremarkable black notebook. He'd always liked notebooks like that for taking notes—thick, dependable, plain, and steady.
He had an entire bookshelf full of the exact same style of notebook, all made with Transfiguration.
The difference was that the earlier ones had been transfigured from his self-repairing pajamas, while the one in his hand now had a very different source material: a Daedric Prince—Hermaeus Mora.
The tightly packed crowd exhaled warm, hot breaths that baked the ink-scent out of the pages. The books seemed to breathe too, and paper dust drifted through the air.
Mora's Book was unusually active. A thin, suspicious black mist seeped from the gaps between its pages, mixing with the smoke from the camera flashes and slowly spreading through the entire shop.
The twins stared at the book in Skyl's hands. "Hey, Skyl—did your book just come out of the oven? Why does it look so burnt?"
They kept staring.
Then the notebook's cover suddenly opened a single eye and stared right back at them.
The brothers looked at each other, then said in perfect unison, "We didn't see anything!"
"Don't worry," Skyl comforted them. "You won't remember."
"That makes it worse!"
In the middle of idle chatter, Mr. Weasley suddenly tipped his head back and sniffed. "Maybe it's just my imagination, but… does anyone else smell a fishy sea-stink?"
Once he said it, people around them gradually noticed too. The air, which had been stifling and hot, turned damp and cold, carrying a strange rotten-fish reek like the seaside. More and more people caught the smell, and the murmurs of confusion grew louder.
A thin film of water appeared on the floor—cloudy, almost pitch-black. Pages soaked through, turning blurred and old-looking.
The cheerful crowd from moments ago began to panic.
At some point, the street scene outside the display windows changed. Diagon Alley's pleasant buildings were gone, replaced by a deep, heavy darkness.
Outside was completely black, yet light still passed through the windows; the brightness inside didn't change at all. It was as if a curtain had dropped over the view, sealing the scenery away.
Witches and wizards near the door tried spells to open it, but nothing worked. Brute force didn't budge it either—one wizard even kicked hard enough that the sole of his leather boot started to come unstuck, while the doorframe didn't move an inch.
They were trapped.
The transformation of Flourish and Blotts accelerated. Damp made the plaster peel away, revealing vivid red brick beneath like sores. The ceiling was swallowed by darkness, distant as a starry sky, with faint green glimmers pulsing here and there—like the neurons of some colossal beast overhead. The bookshelves began to rot, and every book started bleeding ink, soaking out through the pages until the paper turned black.
The shop's layout grew wrong. Before, it only felt like a maze; now it truly became one.
Old aisles vanished. Places that had been solid walls became new corridors. At the tops of two rows of shelves, books piled into an archway that formed an entrance—silently inviting people to explore.
Some customers wandered into the shelf-maze and immediately lost their sense of direction. Then, as if they'd encountered something horrifying, they let out shrill screams. A few brave souls rushed in to rescue them—only to scream as well.
No one came back out. The people gathered in the open area hurriedly backed away from the archway.
Someone pressed to the window, staring desperately into the darkness outside, face pale with fear. Then a face surfaced from the black and pressed right up to the glass, making them jump.
The face belonged to a young passerby. She wore a lively smile, as though she were simply observing the scene inside the shop.
Everyone surged to the window, pounding the glass and shouting, "Hey! You out there—can you hear us? Help us!"
But the traveler's eyes didn't reflect the shop interior at all. She soon walked away.
People outside couldn't see anything wrong with Flourish and Blotts.
This place had been abandoned by the world.
After hope was snuffed out, despair spread faster than lightning. Children began to sob; adults wore faces full of misery.
And then—Gilderoy Lockhart stepped up onto a table like a hero. "Everyone, don't worry! I'm here!"
Witches of a certain age clutched their handkerchiefs with trembling excitement, eyes brimming. "Oh, Merlin—he's a true warrior! Mr. Lockhart, my superhero!"
Faced with something this bizarre, Lockhart looked positively thrilled. He was the kind of man who'd told a lie a thousand times until even he believed it—he probably truly thought he was an adventurer now. He shamelessly launched into a speech:
"Everyone, don't panic—so long as I'm here. As you all know, I am an experienced, seasoned explorer. You can see it clearly in my autobiographies—how I deal with terrifying situations like this, and how I always turn disaster into safety!"
"Mr. Lockhart, please guide us!" "Yes, yes—thank goodness you're here!" Mrs. Weasley pleaded along with many witches her age.
"Perhaps you don't believe me," Lockhart said, hands on hips, full of self-satisfaction, "but at this very moment I've already thought of more than a dozen feasible methods to handle our situation."
Harry and the others wore skeptical looks, huddling beside Skyl to whisper.
"Is he really that amazing?" Ron's gaze was harsh and picky.
"He looks kind of stupid, but… if he can write that many books, maybe he actually has some skill," Hermione judged. "Harry, what do you think?"
"The unlucky ones are always the people who think they know everything," Harry said succinctly.
Lockhart's speech did stir people up. Many witches and wizards followed his directions and began trying his so-called "dozen feasible methods." First, they cast the Wand-Lighting Charm together, trying to drive back the darkness in the ceiling, but it did nothing—fireflies can't light up the night sky. After that, at Lockhart's instruction, the crowd chanted a "spell" he claimed to have learned at a yeti temple somewhere in Central Asia; the result was, naturally, useless.
One half-baked idea after another failed. In the end, he started directing people to build a shelter inside the bookshop, declaring, "In a situation like this, we must consider how to spend the night. Danger may strike at any moment, but believe me—so long as we work together and build proper fortifications, we can endure this trial!"
"Oh, give it a rest—we are not spending the night here!" People finally couldn't take him anymore. He was spouting nonsense.
The doubts erupted.
Some began suspecting Lockhart was all show—and that his autobiographies were nothing but lies.
Lockhart's face went deathly pale in an instant. He looked left and right, then suddenly—like he'd thought of something—said with grand righteousness, "Very well. Then there is only one method left. I believe the exit must be within those bookshelves. Now I, the recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class—honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League—Gilderoy Lockhart, brave and fearless, shall personally enter the maze to scout a way out for everyone!"
The shop fell silent.
Lockhart flashed his dazzling smile. "But even the bravest knight needs a squire. A great explorer is never without assistants. I need a courageous person to enter the maze with me."
Not a sound.
He looked toward a cluster of witches and wizards near the door. At their front stood Lucius Malfoy. Pure-blood families had their own circles, and from the start they'd been unmoved by Lockhart's performance.
"May I—"
Lucius immediately shook his head, refusing without warmth.
Lockhart's eyes flicked, and he locked onto someone else near the shelves—Skyl.
"Then, as a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class," Lockhart announced, "are you willing to follow me into danger, to seek a ray of hope and light for everyone here?"
Skyl hadn't even opened his mouth when Lockhart rudely declared, "How courageous! I knew you'd be willing to sacrifice yourself to save everyone!"
He hopped down from the table and took Skyl by the arm. The Daily Prophet photographer actually raised the camera again—click, click, click—snapping a whole batch of pictures. That level of dedication was almost touching.
Lockhart leaned in and whispered to Skyl, "Don't be afraid. I'll protect you." The sour tang of fermented food on his breath mixed with the sea-stink, becoming a nauseating reek.
Mrs. Weasley said anxiously, "Hey—he's only a student! You can't do this, Mr. Lockhart!"
But the cheering, surging crowd blocked the Weasleys' path and drowned their voices. All they could do was watch as the two of them stepped through the archway and were swallowed by the darkness beyond.
Mrs. Weasley's expression changed. She pulled out a hair tie and bound her hair back.
"Molly—what are you doing?" Mr. Weasley asked, panicked.
"Going to save that child!" Molly Weasley took a deep breath. "Listen, Arthur, dear—if I don't come back, take care of the children… No. You stay here, alright?" Her plump, kindly face was full of a gentle farewell. "I love you."
After that, she pushed through the crowd without looking back and broke into a run, charging straight into the maze.
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