Louis felt that his journey to take up the post of Hogwarts professor should more accurately be described as being escorted under guard.
Dumbledore had gripped his arm firmly with one hand while waving his wand to cast Apparition, whisking them directly from Louis’s doorstep to the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.
There was truly no experience more wretched than that.
The nauseating vertigo brought on by Apparition, swirling together with the already chaotic mess of memories in his mind, left him feeling as though he might be sick at any moment.
Fortunately, he held it together, narrowly avoiding the disaster of vomiting on Dumbledore.
That, he was certain, would have been an express ticket to an early grave.
As his feet touched the solid stone floor, Louis could barely keep his legs from buckling.
He slumped, gasping for breath, his heart thudding against his ribs as if trying to tear its way out of his throat.
His suitcase clattered to the floor, snapping open and spilling clothes and trinkets in a disorderly heap.
He felt pathetic.
Absolutely, utterly pathetic.
“I had thought that someone with your years of magical travel would not be so easily unsettled,” Dumbledore’s voice drifted over, sounding as if it were coming from a great distance.
!
Louis felt a jolt in his chest, and his mind suddenly snapped into clarity.
He knew all too well how a person was treated if they had no utility.
Dumbledore was by no means a warm and fuzzy man—certainly not to him.
Louis didn’t reply to the dig; he simply kept his head down and began gathering his scattered belongings.
His brain raced at breakneck speed.
He didn’t know why Dumbledore hadn’t used Legilimency on him—perhaps it was pure disdain, or perhaps he was simply too repulsed to let Louis’s scrambled thoughts contaminate his own mind.
Either way, it was a fortunate turn of events.
Dumbledore’s guard was down, which meant Louis had to guard his secret all the more fiercely.
Show your value.
Earn his recognition.
Survive.
Stay put.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts tenure was only for one year.
Once he made it through that, he could return to the life of luxury he had inherited.
As he packed his bags, Louis finally slipped fully into his role.
No, he was Lockhart.
Yes, he was Gilderoy Lockhart.
Whoever asked, he was Lockhart.
He understood perfectly well what his only true leverage was: the sheer presence, the aura, of being an “internationally famous figure, author, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award.” He realized that this aura was built on three pillars: unshakeable confidence, extraordinary experience, and a smile that feared no difficulty.
Come on, he told himself.
Face the first challenge of this new life.
Lockhart quickly sifted through the information in his mind, categorized it, and slowly stood up.
“Life is full of little surprises, isn’t it?” He lined his suitcases up against the wall, flashed his signature, dazzling smile, and shrugged at Dumbledore.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through this week.” Dumbledore clearly had zero interest in what he had been through.
He simply sat down behind his desk and gestured toward the portraits of past headmasters on the wall, instructing them to fetch Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.
“Oh, I haven’t slept for days…” Lockhart did his best to project his predecessor’s persona.
He gestured familiarly at the high-backed chair opposite the desk.
Seeing that Dumbledore didn’t object, he swept his robes behind him and sat down with elegance, launching into a stream of self-aggrandizement.
“You know, I know everything about Defense Against the Dark Arts.
I’ve dueled banshees, subdued ghouls, hags, trolls, vampires, werewolves, yetis…” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, sighed with a hint of resignation, and clasped his hands on the desk, finally looking him in the eye.
“And what is your point?” Lockhart grinned.
“I know so much that I simply didn’t know what to choose as teaching material.
My experience is, quite frankly, too vast.” He gestured flamboyantly with his hands.
“Merlin’s beard, there is simply no one who understands the Dark Arts better than I do!” Dumbledore’s expression shifted, turning somewhat peculiar.
Even if that were true, to brag about it in front of him?
The portraits on the wall were all snickering behind their frames.
Professor McGonagall arrived quickly.
She looked at Lockhart with a stony face, clearly unimpressed by the professor Dumbledore had chosen.
Naturally, seeing Lockhart wearing the exact same shade of purple robes as Dumbledore didn’t help matters.
As the saying went: it wasn’t the outfit that mattered, but who looked worse in it.
Well, neither looked bad, really.
But looking at the elderly Dumbledore and remembering his glorious youth, the sight was a little melancholic.
Dumbledore nodded for her to sit, then looked at Lockhart with a scrutinizing gaze.
“Very well.
Since you believe you are the most suitable candidate for this position and have had ample time to reflect, I am curious: what sort of remarkable insights can you bring to our young students?” This was clearly what McGonagall wanted to know as well; she sat, watching him with a probing look.
The real challenge had arrived.
But Lockhart didn’t panic.
In fact, he felt that sitting in the chair was hindering his performance, so he stood up, filled with passion.
“More authentic magic!” “More deep-rooted, time-tested magic!” “Magic that is actually relevant to the real-world life of a wizard!” Lockhart punched the air for emphasis.
“Yes, practical life.
Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, you both know I graduated from Ravenclaw.
I received a thorough, academic education here.
But when I traveled the magical world, I discovered that the most traditional, effective magic out there isn’t necessarily what we learned in textbooks.” Dumbledore looked at Lockhart with a spark of genuine curiosity and gave a slight nod, his interest piqued.
Professor McGonagall, however, looked indignant.
She felt that this man, who had been a blowhard even in his student days, was now daring to undermine the very foundations of Hogwarts’ curriculum.
“Let me give you a few examples!” As McGonagall started to protest, Lockhart preempted her, though she held her tongue, biting back her irritation.
“Sometimes we are forced to face monsters conjured by the malice of Dark wizards…” Lockhart paused.
“For instance, the Serpensortia curse.
Our usual teaching suggests using a corresponding Disappearing Spell.” “But when we are faced with complex or urgent situations, unless one has the experience I do, it is very difficult to recall the exact counter-spell.” “After all, we cannot expect Dark wizards to only use snakes.
Perhaps we face a drooling black dog, or a raven meant to pluck out one’s eyes.” “A more complex problem: many people cannot immediately tell if the snake or dog in front of them is a beast kept by a Dark wizard, or a magically conjured entity.” “Sometimes, it’s neither.
It might be a Dark magical creature, such as a Boggart, which manifests based on your internal fears.” He leaned one hand on the desk and the other on the high-backed chair, his gaze burning as he looked at Dumbledore and McGonagall.
“So, is there a more universal magic to solve these problems?
Something we can cast instinctively in the heat of the moment to stop a catastrophe from unfolding?” It was an intriguing question.
It touched on the realities of combat.
Dumbledore set aside his bias against Lockhart and considered it seriously.
“Regarding the conjured objects, I suppose I would use Finite Incantatem.
Simple enough, even for young students.” He rubbed the peculiar ring on his finger.
“However, according to our traditional curriculum, we expect students to quickly assess the nature of the entity—whether it be conjured, a real animal, or a Dark creature—and resolve it with the appropriate spell.
If they cannot…” For a man of Dumbledore’s caliber, who had been brilliant since birth, such dilemmas were rare.
He hadn’t truly considered the plight of the average student.
“I have too many ways to handle it, but I fear they are not easily mastered by a novice.” He looked at Lockhart, waiting for his answer.
Lockhart didn’t rush.
He smiled at Professor McGonagall.
McGonagall, who had spent years teaching students of all ages, offered her own view.
“Our N.E.W.T.
students are taught more complex magic, though in practice, very few master it.
Of course, a well-placed Transfiguration spell can easily solve any problem.” But it lacked universality; Transfiguration was not that simple.
“Alarte Ascendare!” Lockhart announced, describing a spell he had learned from an old wizard in the Americas.
“Even a first-year student can easily master this.
At the very least, it tosses the monster into the air, buying time.” “It works in the three core domains of defense: against Dark wizards, against magical beasts, and in duels.” Lockhart knew a surplus of these slang-like spells.
For instance, the universal repulsion spell for pixies and similar creatures was: “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!” Lockhart continued to pull these bits of “folk magic” from the tangled mess of his memories, using them to bolster his argument and show off the breadth of his knowledge.
And surprisingly—truly, surprisingly—it was working.
Even the worldly Dumbledore didn’t know there were so many eccentric folk spells, and in many situations, they were indeed surprisingly versatile.
Most importantly, they were easy to cast, making them perfect for young students.
He listened, thoroughly taken aback.
He caught Professor McGonagall’s eye.
It seemed they both had to reassess the young man who was still boasting and preening before them.
—It appeared, quite possibly, that Lockhart might not be as bad as they had imagined.