Fan-girl Hermione had far too many questions.
On the way from the Great Hall to the professor’s office, the queries tumbled out of her one after another, as if she were in a race against time.
Lockhart answered them patiently, though he was far from cheerful.
As he stood on a shifting staircase, nodding and smiling at the students who bowed and greeted him, his mood was a complicated mess.
He had intended to coast through this year.
But faced with these young students, their faces bright with adoration and a hunger for knowledge, it was impossible not to feel a twinge of guilt—could he really waste an entire year of their precious education?
“Damn this miserable conscience,” he muttered to himself, looking at the ancient, solemn castle with a heavy heart.
“Professor Lockhart, I’ve actually had a huge question for a long time.” Hermione spoke with a rapid-fire rhythm, syllable after syllable, as if someone were chasing her.
“What is the essence of magic?” “Is…
hm?” Lockhart gestured for her to step off the stairs.
He was about to give a glib answer when he paused, suddenly struck by the weight of the question.
“That is an answer you spend a lifetime exploring.
I’m afraid it’s a bit too early for you to be asking that.” He looked down at her.
“You seem like a brilliant little witch.
I can sense that pride woven into the bones of high-achievers.
You must be far ahead of your classmates, but why this question?” She was bright, yes, but she was only just starting her second year.
Hermione sighed, clutching Lockhart’s Magical Me tightly to her chest.
She hadn’t yet learned to mask her emotions, and she looked thoroughly defeated.
“I might never find the answer.
I’m not actually smart—I’m just harder working than everyone else.” Oh, my.
It was rare to see the proud Miss Granger looking so despondent.
Lockhart smiled.
“Have you sought the answer from other professors?” Hermione nodded.
“I asked Professor McGonagall, but she just told me not to rush, that I’d understand when I grew up.” “And do you agree with that answer?” Lockhart pressed.
Hermione shook her head.
“I don’t know.
I mean, I’m not sure.” Her face was set in a look of intense seriousness, so tight that for a moment, Lockhart felt like he was looking at a miniature McGonagall.
“I can always make magic perform exactly as it should, and I easily earn the professors’ approval.
But whenever I try to make the magic more powerful, I just can’t succeed.” She looked truly bewildered.
“The same spell in the professors’ hands produces a completely different result—more powerful, more flexible, more varied.
I don’t know how to break through those limitations.” A textbook Gryffindor.
Lockhart had reached that conclusion quickly during his memory scan—Gryffindors were always so rigid when casting magic, lacking the intuition and ease that true mastery required.
Of course, that was a stereotype; in combat, Gryffindors were often the best at expressing that very fluidity.
“I’ve read your biography, Professor.
You lived in the Muggle world too.
Maybe your perspective on magic would be more enlightening.” Hermione looked at him with such hope.
“Can you give me the answer?” “Of course.
Nothing is too difficult for me.
No one understands magic better than I do.” Lockhart offered a perfect smile and led her forward.
“I can give you the answer.
It’s my old secret—the one I used to easily overcome many powerful wizards.” Hermione’s eyes lit up.
But Lockhart didn’t answer directly.
He led her on with a gentle nudge.
“If you look at historical records, you’ll find that wizards who lived through major magical crises are always more powerful than those who didn’t.” “Take the four founders of this school.
They lived during the most terrifying era of witch-hunting.” “Or take the revolution against the Statute of Secrecy fifty years ago.
That era produced many powerful wizards: Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, Grindelwald, Newt, Queenie, Credence…” Hermione gasped, feeling as if she’d grasped the answer.
“You mean I need to undergo the tempering of combat?” “No, or at least, that’s not all.” Lockhart shook his head.
“Many wizards and new-generation Aurors live in a constant state of high-intensity combat, and they haven’t become stronger for it.” Aurors were the backbone of magical society, and their combat capabilities were the strongest outside of the masters themselves.
But as a man who had built a career on “stealing” the work of Dark wizards, Lockhart didn’t fear them.
As long as he wasn’t facing the true elites, he didn’t rate average Aurors at all.
Hermione looked confused.
“Then what is it?” Lockhart smiled slightly.
“Fairy tales.
My answer is fairy tales.” “???” Hermione tilted her head, baffled.
“Yes.
I believe the power of magic comes from fairy tales.” “Magical beasts come from fairy tales.
Dark creatures come from twisted, dark fairy tales.
And the magic that belongs to wizards?
It, too, comes from fairy tales.” “Magic is the ultimate romance of a fairy tale.” “If you ask me how to become stronger, my answer is this: immerse yourself in the romance of a fairy tale.” “Live your life in a romantic, storybook atmosphere, and you will soon find that your strength increases exponentially.” This was the experience of the original Lockhart.
He had grasped this truth early on, which allowed him to shine in school and, after graduating, to hunt down powerful wizards without ever failing.
The “legendary school star” was a fairy tale romance; the “evil thief of lives” was another.
A star is sometimes born from natural brilliance—like his seniors James Potter and Sirius Black, or the Weasley twins today.
Sometimes, it’s a manufactured pursuit—like those students active in clubs and Quidditch, or people like Lockhart who actively managed their own fame.
The results were remarkable; he had successfully modified Voldemort’s Dark Mark into his own portrait while still in school.
He dared say that many of his old classmates couldn’t do that even now.
And right now, Lockhart was witnessing the creation of the most brilliant legendary figure of all: Harry Potter.
He viewed Harry’s miraculous experiences and the machinations of the Order of the Phoenix behind them as the “birth of an epic hero.” That, too, was part of a fairy tale.
Becoming Harry Potter’s professor—and a highly influential one at that—was a key chapter in this epic hero’s story.
The benefits that brought were the fundamental reason the original Lockhart had accepted Dumbledore’s persuasion to teach at Hogwarts.
“Fairy tales?” Hermione’s face crinkled.
She was a deeply rational person; living in a fairy tale world…
she simply couldn’t do it.
Wizards had their prejudices, but Muggles were the same.
In fact, Muggles generally looked down on wizards, calling them freaks or madmen regardless of whether they were pure-blood or Muggle-born.
Weren’t the kind of people Lockhart was describing exactly that?
“What am I supposed to do?” Hermione took a deep breath and clenched her little fist.
She wouldn’t give up on trying.
“The simplest way is to fight a great Demon King, or become the Demon King yourself.
That is the purest fairy tale of all.” Finally, they reached the office door, and Lockhart shrugged.
“Of course, sometimes we have to realize the limits of our own abilities and luck.
Becoming the sidekick to a hero or a villain isn’t a bad choice either.”