The exhilarating, nerve-wracking lesson concluded with the students being rewarded with chocolate.
“The best remedy for the soul,” Lockhart beamed, his signature charm firmly in place.
“These are custom-made for me by Honeydukes.
Look closely at the back, and you’ll find my signature embossed on the foil.” Hermione, who had been on the verge of devouring hers, hurriedly smoothed out the wrinkles in the wrapper.
She tucked it away in her robes with the reverence one might reserve for a dragon egg.
The fact that she had eaten the last one felt like a personal tragedy.
It was, after all, an idol-signed chocolate!
Harry and Ron exchanged a bemused look.
In the past, they would have rolled their eyes at such vanity, but now?
Somehow, they felt Lockhart earned the right to be this insufferable.
As the students filed out, Lockhart called Draco back.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione deliberately lingered, their ears straining.
“Next time, bring Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle with you,” Lockhart said.
Draco blinked, his face twisting in distaste.
“Crabbe and Goyle?
To your class?” Lockhart smiled.
“Simple minds do not preclude magical potential.
On the contrary, I find such individuals often have a raw, instinctive connection to magic.
They have great potential.” Draco seemed to process this, then hesitated.
“Professor…
may I bring Pansy Parkinson, too?” Lockhart chuckled, causing the proud young Malfoy to blush furiously.
“Of course.” Why not?
Lockhart thought.
Expand the influence, nurture the talent.
Since the numbers were uneven now, he called out to the trio—who were moving with agonizing slowness—”Hermione, why don’t you recommend another student for next week?” Hermione hesitated, thinking of her limited social circle, but a sharp nudge from Ron and a frantic, encouraging whisper from Harry made her nod enthusiastically.
“Yes, Professor!” Harry and Ron were determined not to let the Malfoy camp have a numerical advantage.
Lockhart was pleased.
His “Dueling Club” was growing.
He understood that while networking was essential, his own strength was the foundation of everything.
For the next week, he spent every spare moment outside his teaching duties practicing his three spells: the Memory Charm from his original self, and the Healing and Summoning charms from the “Forest Witch.” The progress was tangible.
As his muscle memory and magical intent aligned, he felt a unique resonance with his wand.
Its core—unicorn hair and apple wood—began to feel less like a tool and more like an extension of his own soul.
His “Flower Healing” spell could now mend significant external wounds and minor internal injuries.
His “Grey Wolf” summoning was still limited to one, but instead of vanishing after three seconds, it could now actually hold a rhythm and perform simple tasks, like carrying trash to the bin.
The only catch was the environmental requirement—the spells thrived in forest-like conditions, which explained why the Forest Witch always warped her surroundings during combat.
It was a limitation, yes, but the power was undeniable.
Lockhart was addicted.
Every time he successfully cast a spell, it felt like a triumph.
Even Goldie grew fond of the summoned wolf, often leaping onto its head for a ride.
Lockhart would join in, laughing as he and the monster played games with flowers and shadows.
For the first time, magic felt like pure, unadulterated joy.
And he discovered something even more fascinating about his “stolen” memories.
If he simply searched his mind, he felt the memories through the eyes of their original owners.
But if he placed them in the Pensieve, he could detach from their perspective and roam the scene as an observer.
He could walk down a street in a Spanish town, listening to the ramblings of a drunkard while the original owner of the memory was asleep inside a house.
It was a boundless, unique way to explore the world.
A few days later, McGonagall received another letter from the young Urquhart.
It was confirmed: the entity was indeed a “Vengeful Nymph.” Knowing the creature was one thing; finding a wizard capable of handling it was another.
McGonagall approached Lockhart again, her hope evident.
The young Urquhart was sincere.
He promised that if Lockhart helped, he would earn the friendship of the entire Urquhart family—a dynasty with influence stretching across the European wizarding world.
More practically, he offered a choice of any single artifact or book from their legendary private collection.
These were items that couldn’t be bought at any price in Diagon Alley.
It was a deal far too good to refuse.
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