After crawling along the wall for about five minutes, the light ahead grew brighter and broader, until at last they reached the very top. Judging by the distance, it had to be at least as high as a hundred-storey building.
Like three little mice, they peeked over the edge to observe the world beyond.
"Merlin above," Mrs. Weasley murmured, clutching her chest in stunned awe.
Before them was a vast spherical space. Countless green "neurons" intertwined into a complex three-dimensional network, while the indentations along the inner walls were the maze's corridors—shaped like the folds and grooves of a cerebral cortex.
This was Mora's head.
The moment they entered the spherical area, gravity disappeared.
Skyl leaned forward and floated lightly into the air, drifting ahead with inertia.
"Wait for me, dear," Mrs. Weasley called out. She planted her plump legs against the wall and kicked off hard—shooting up like a rocket, quickly overtaking Skyl as she flailed and drifted forward.
Skyl summoned a current of air to carry himself, moving with ease through the weightless space. Mrs. Weasley copied him right away.
Only Lockhart's magic went wrong again. He failed to conjure any airflow at all—instead, he blasted out dubious jets of yellow liquid. With each spurting burst providing a bit of recoil, he managed to maneuver freely too… it just came with an aggressively pungent smell.
"I think there's a building up ahead," Mrs. Weasley said, flying in front. She slipped through the web-like nerve bundles and pointed toward the sphere's center.
At the very heart of it floated a flat-topped, Aztec-style pyramid. All the neurons radiated outward from the altar on its summit—meaning this was the brain's central hub.
They flew up one after another and landed on the pyramid's flat top, where gravity seized them again and they could finally stand on solid ground.
This was clearly an altar. The idol enshrined here looked fossilized—countless twisted tentacles coiled together into something like a ball of vines.
Mrs. Weasley was thoroughly spooked by the enormous, grotesque statue. Lockhart strutted up to it, putting on a show as he rambled, "I've traveled the world, ventured deep into lands most people can't even imagine. I've studied many pagan faiths. This idol—if I'm not mistaken—must be some indigenous belief from the Mesoamerican region."
He reached out to touch it, then turned back to grin smugly at Skyl and Mrs. Weasley.
A single eyeball snapped open in a gap between the statue's tentacles.
Mrs. Weasley pointed behind Lockhart.
"Hm? What is it?" Lockhart asked.
A weary, sluggish voice seeped out from within the idol. "Mortals… you stand within my domain."
Lockhart jolted, then threw himself to the ground like he'd been shot, rolling away from the statue as fast as he could.
Mrs. Weasley asked shakily, "M-may I ask who you are?"
"I am… the Daedric Prince of knowledge and secrets, master of the tides of fate—Hermaeus Mora. A god of ancient, lost ages. I was harmed by treacherous hands and fell into slumber. Your arrival has awakened me."
Skyl suddenly coughed twice.
Mora immediately shifted topics with suspicious haste. "Ahem. Mortals—you passed through the barrier of dreams and came before me. This is worthy of reward. I may grant you one wish."
Mrs. Weasley's eyes lit up. "Honored Prince of Knowledge—earlier we were in Flourish and Blotts, and we don't know why we ended up here. Could you send all of us back out?"
A deep, lazy chuckle rumbled from the idol. "You do not understand. My realm is the great library—Apocrypha. Any space connected to books may serve as a vessel for Apocrypha. So this is your wish? To bring everyone out of the aberrant codex, yes?"
Their short, terrible journey had reached its end.
All they had to do was nod, and everyone would be saved. If nothing went wrong, the three of them would return as heroes.
And yet—there was still an accident.
"No! That's not it!" Lockhart objected without even thinking.
Mrs. Weasley stared at him, stunned. "What are you talking about? Mr. Lockhart—we're about to leave this awful place!"
Lockhart's gaze sharpened. "Hmph. Foolish woman. Your trick is clever—you might deceive ignorant housewives, but you can't fool me."
"What are you saying?!" Mrs. Weasley snapped, offended.
"I don't believe in any 'Prince of Knowledge.' There has never been a religion on Earth that worships Mora. We're being conned—there are plenty of spells that can do this," Detective Lockhart declared with great confidence, laying it out like a master analyst.
Mora fell silent for a moment.
Then one tentacle of the idol animated, lashed out, and slapped Lockhart across the face—sending him spinning like a top.
"Think again," Mora said.
Lockhart went limp with shock, then suddenly shouted, "I want to make a wish! I want to become the most famous person in the world!"
"Oh?" Mora drawled. "You would rather be trapped in Apocrypha forever?"
"No, no—I want to leave. And, while I'm at it, I want to become the most famous person in the world. You can send only me back out. The others can stay here with you."
"Gilderoy Lockhart!" Mrs. Weasley roared.
Skyl's expression twitched, but he still didn't say a word. He'd been waiting to see this.
After Flourish and Blotts was assimilated by the aberrant codex, Mora's Book had recorded all of Lockhart's fates. Among hundreds of possibilities, the best ending was that he successfully led everyone out and became famous as a hero. The worst ending wasn't death—just stabbing Skyl in the back.
"Greedy mortal," Mora chuckled. "But I do not hate your audacity. If you can entertain me with a secret, I can grant your little extra wish as well."
Lockhart perked right up and began gushing about his romantic escapades with female fans—like a top-tier gossip, spilling the woman's private details one after another.
Skyl produced a slice of watermelon from who-knew-where, munching with relish, and even handed a piece to the furious Mrs. Weasley.
Mora cut him off. "Boring. I want secrets no one knows. If it's written in a diary, spare me the petty gossip."
Lockhart struggled, then clenched his teeth and said quietly, "My adventures are fake. I plagiarized them from other people."
"Can't hear you," Mora said languidly.
"My adventure stories are stolen!" Lockhart blurted, louder. "I got the details out of the original owners, then used the Memory Charm to erase their memories! That secret—only I know it!"
Mrs. Weasley looked at him like she was staring at a heap of kitchen waste.
Mocking laughter drifted from within the idol. Pleased pulses rippled through the space, and every neuron glowed brighter. The surrounding walls shuddered again and again, as if they were about to collapse.
Lockhart had really told a world-shaking joke.
"A worthy secret—and it amused me. Very well. I shall grant your wish: I will send everyone back… and I will make this Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart the most famous person in the world."
The idol began to tremble. The maze collapsed. Blinding white light surged from all directions, flooding the pyramid.
At the final moment, Lockhart yanked out his wand, wildly pointing it at Skyl and Mrs. Weasley as he yelled, "[Obliviate]!"
The Memory Charm struck Mrs. Weasley. The anger vanished from her face like smoke.
"Mr. Lockhart? Where am I? What's going on?"
The white light swallowed them—
And the next instant, the three of them were back inside Flourish and Blotts, restored to normal.
Everyone stared at one another, dazed and unfocused.
"I think… I just had a dream."
"Me too."
"That was such a weird feeling…"
They were back. All of them.
The shop's earlier transformation felt like nothing more than a shared hallucination.
Gilderoy Lockhart, uneasy and restless, searched the crowd for Skyl—and spotted the young man slipping out through the front door.
"Wait!" Lockhart chased after him like a madman, wand clenched tight, desperate to catch up and hit him with another Memory Charm.
He burst out of the shop—
Then froze.
Lockhart's face was everywhere.
Posters plastered the street. Newspapers in the hands of passing witches and wizards were packed with Lockhart headlines from top to bottom.
Cardboard standees of Lockhart stood outside shopfronts, and every slogan had been replaced with "Recommended by Gilderoy Lockhart." Even Ollivanders, which had once boasted Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C., now declared: The wand used by Gilderoy was made right here!
Behind him, Flourish and Blotts erupted with startled cries:
"Huh? Why did this book turn into Lockhart's autobiography?"
"My textbooks changed too!"
"Every single book on the shelves turned into his autobiography!"
From Diagon Alley to Hogwarts, from the wizarding world to the Muggle world, from the British Isles to the Amazon rainforest—Lockhart's photo appeared on every media screen. His life story was carved into every book, every monument, every stone tablet. Even the Code of Hammurabi had been rewritten into Gilderoy Lockhart's ten favorite things and ten most hated things.
Lockhart's face glowed with bliss as he whispered, "Merlin's mum's boots… I did it. I'm the most famous person in the world."
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