Lockhart lifted the cup of tea in front of him. When the rim touched his lips, he paused for a moment, as if checking the temperature. He took a sip and set the cup back beside its saucer. "I don't know. I merely said what I saw. As for whom that pattern belonged to, and who should interpret it, that is for the readers to judge."
The corner of Rita's mouth twitched slightly. It was not a smile, but more like confirmation of an expected answer.
"You never tried to trace the origins of that organization afterward?"
"I chose to leave," Lockhart said. "Some roads do not need to be walked to the end for you to know where they lead."
Rita's pen began moving across the page again. She lowered her head, and every so often, the nib lifted from the paper as it glided along, as though she were changing lines or adding a word. "I also obtained the record of your defense at the trial. You seem to believe that the motive behind the trial was not caused solely by your Memory Charm."
Lockhart looked toward the fireplace. The firewood was nearly burned out, and the flames licked at the edge of the last piece, making faint crackling sounds like something breaking apart.
"At the time, I thought I was merely protecting myself. I erased some memories, thinking that would let me turn the page on the past. Later, I realized memories were not the only things that could be traced. The choices you made would be recorded as well. Some people would remember those choices forever, waiting for the right moment to settle the score." He paused.
"All I want to say is that even after the public trial ended, I still did not know what