After leaving Hogwarts Castle, Lockhart was in no hurry to return to London.
Instead, he first went to the magical village beside the school—Hogsmeade.
His trip here was not without purpose, of course.
It was to leave a deep impression on the parents of those students, so he had come to purchase some things, while also laying some early groundwork for his ambitions.
After a long round of shopping, he stuffed his purchases into his suitcase, enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm, and contentedly arrived at the village’s largest pub—the Three Broomsticks.
He had barely stepped inside when someone spotted him.
“Gilderoy Lockhart!”
The pub’s landlady abandoned the customer she had been attending to and hurried straight to the door.
“Good afternoon, Madam Rosmerta.”
Lockhart flashed his signature smile and gave the landlady a courteous bow.
Rosmerta’s eyes practically lit up.
“You haven’t been here in ages!
Recently, I…
oh, is everything going well?”
Lockhart gave a slight, deliberate blink of his left eye—more like a wink.
“Thanks to you, it couldn’t be better…
Is my reserved drink still here?”
“Of course!
I’ve kept it in the best spot in the cellar.
So…
the usual?
A large mug of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky, with an ice sphere and two spoonfuls of soda water?” Rosmerta asked eagerly.
“Naturally.
Or…
have you invented any unique new recipes lately?” Lockhart asked, already knowing the answer.
“Of course I have.
Would you like to try one?” Rosmerta asked proudly.
Lockhart smiled.
“I’m a rather shy person, not one to easily refuse a lady’s kindness, especially from a beautiful lady.”
“Still as smooth-tongued as ever!”
Rosmerta chided him playfully before heading towards the bar.
Perhaps having overheard their conversation, the customer she had abandoned earlier was somewhat displeased.
“Hey!
I want a drink personally mixed by Rosmerta too!” shouted a wizard not wearing a hat, revealing a bald head.
Rosmerta nimbly slipped past him.
“Certainly.
One Galleon per glass, or no deal.”
“What?
That expensive?
Then why does that pretty boy get one?” the wizard yelled.
Rosmerta’s favoritism towards Lockhart was utterly blatant.
“If you can single-handedly take down a werewolf and still taste the difference between vintages and regions of the same wine, I’d be delighted to mix a drink for my hero in my heart too.”
Seeing the wizard glance his way, Lockhart didn’t say anything more.
He simply found a seat by the wall and sat down.
Although he didn’t much care for the atmosphere of this pub, Madam Rosmerta was someone Lockhart wanted to befriend.
If he remembered correctly, in the original story, this woman’s social circle was astonishingly vast.
Not only was she known by many young witches and wizards who had passed through Hogwarts, but she was also on good terms with Hogwarts professors.
Even the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and goblins liked her, even inviting her to sit for a drink during their visits.
Of course, that might also have something to do with her shapely figure and pretty face.
In short, maintaining a good relationship with her would allow Lockhart to use Rosmerta as a go-between whenever he needed to meet someone in the future, which would be much more convenient.
Besides, being with a lady pleasant to the eyes was always relaxing for the senses, wasn’t it?
The roaring wizard from earlier seemed to want to come over and make trouble, but Lockhart secretly pointed his wand, concealed in his sleeve, in that direction.
The wizard then sat back down and began drowning his sorrows in drink.
Seeing that no one nearby had noticed his action, Lockhart quietly sighed in relief.
He had just cast a non-verbal Confundus Charm, making the wizard mistakenly believe he was a heavy drinker who was in a particularly good mood today.
After discovering he had inherited the original owner’s memories and that his foundational spellcasting skills were shockingly poor, Lockhart had been forced to rethink and rebuild his magical repertoire.
There was no other way.
Forget about opposing Voldemort and the Death Eaters; even for daily self-protection or maintaining his “glorious image,” he had to find a way to improve his magical power.
While there was no D&D-style “spell slot” system, a person’s energy was limited.
So even if one learned all the spells and understood their principles, a wizard would still have spells they excelled at and others they didn’t.
Even an all-rounder like Dumbledore had Transfiguration as his signature specialty.
The Memory Charm was Lockhart’s forte, so his magical system would naturally have to be built around that.
Since the core of the Memory Charm was to confuse the target’s memory and thoughts, Lockhart found his talent for its “prerequisite skills”—the Confundus Charm and various sleeping or hypnotic charms—was also quite good.
Additionally, he was quick to relearn other mind-affecting spells, like the blood-boiling curse that enraged people, the slowing charm that impeded thinking, and spells that induced hallucinations.
In contrast, Lockhart’s grasp of Transfiguration was nothing short of disastrous.
Beyond the whole range of Transfiguration, elemental spells like fireballs, water prisons, and hurricane spells were completely beyond him after he tried.
Charm-based spells like the Shield Charm, Summoning Charm, and Severing Charm were somewhat better.
For spells directly affecting the human body, like the Bone-Vanishing Spell and Stunning Spell, Lockhart’s performance was a bit better still, though far inferior to his mental spells like the Memory Charm.
So, his secretly cast Confundus Charm on the bald wizard had gone unnoticed, even with many people present—all a result of Lockhart’s careful training these past days.
‘It seems I can still hold my own in a fight’, Lockhart thought.
For someone like him, working in organization-building without particularly powerful backing, if he didn’t have some real skills himself, how could he command respect from those below him?
…
Madam Rosmerta soon re-emerged from behind the bar carrying a silver tray, placing a glass of drink and a plate of Scottish shortbread on his table.
“Lambert didn’t give you any trouble just now, did he?” Rosmerta asked with concern.
“Is his name Lambert?…
No, he’s busy drinking away his sorrows.
Probably has something on his mind,” Lockhart said, picking up his glass.
Rosmerta glanced over there.
“He does indeed…
His sweetheart ran off with someone else.”
“Oh?” Lockhart’s interest was suddenly piqued.
“Tell me about it.
Drinking alone is so dull.”
“Rogue!” Rosmerta laughed and scolded him, but she didn’t refuse.
Spreading gossip was one of Rosmerta’s innate hobbies; otherwise, she wouldn’t have chosen to run a pub.
She launched into the story with animated delight: “Lambert originally had a childhood sweetheart, a witch named Yennefer.
But recently she became infatuated with a long-haired, white-haired Muggle named Geralt or something, and dumped him.
So now he picks fights with anyone even slightly good-looking.”
“How pitiful,” Lockhart said sympathetically.
“But why do I see glee on your face?” Rosmerta saw right through him.
“Not at all.”
He took a sip of the delivered drink and firmly denied Rosmerta’s accusation—a basic quality for a civil servant: never say anything that could get you in trouble.
Then he changed the subject.
“Hmm…
You added a bit of honey.
I’m not surprised at all by that.
But you actually added some cherry juice too?
Quite unique, but the taste is excellent.
It pairs well with the faint oaky flavor of the aged spirit.”
Rosmerta’s attention was successfully diverted.
“Merlin’s beard, spot on!
I’d love to cut out your tongue and turn it into a magical mouth to collect, to taste my new brews for me every day.”
Lockhart didn’t dare take her words as a pure joke.
After all, this was the wizarding world.
But he was indeed confident in wine-tasting, as it was a classic topic in political clubs.
If he couldn’t appreciate drinks, it would be hard for him to climb the ranks.
Seeing the timing was about right, Lockhart stated his purpose for coming.
“Rosmerta, I’ve recently discovered a great opportunity to earn gold in the Muggle world, but my supply of pounds—that’s Muggle currency—isn’t very large.
Could you introduce me to Mr.
Ragnok at Gringotts Bank?”
If Lockhart remembered correctly, Ragnok was one of the leaders among the goblins at Gringotts.
During the fight against Voldemort, Bill Weasley had even tried to persuade him to join the alliance, though he ultimately failed.
Rosmerta put on a disappointed expression.
“I knew you wouldn’t come see me for no reason.”
“How could you say that?” Lockhart exercised his fundamental skill of thick-skinned persistence.
“I need to earn enough Galleons to visit the beautiful Rosmerta regularly.
Your prices here are really not cheap.”
“You get what you pay for.
You always order the most expensive drinks, so don’t blame me for the prices.
Look at those young wizards; they’re perfectly happy drinking a Sickle-a-bottle Butterbeer.”
“Butterbeer…
spare me.
That’s a calorie bomb.
As an idol-wizard, I have to watch my figure constantly,” Lockhart made a face.
“Is that so?” Rosmerta instinctively glanced at Lockhart’s chest, seeing the outline of muscles through his fitted jacket.
Indeed, whether scrawny or pot-bellied, wizards rarely had good physiques since they seldom needed to use their muscles—Quidditch players being the exception—even though muscle-growing potions did exist.
Lockhart was an exception.
He took great care of himself, so even at 28 years old, his face and physique were no different from a young man’s.
Rosmerta felt herself growing somewhat warm.
“Perhaps I can help with that,” she said.
“But Mr.
Ragnok is a very busy goblin.
Even with the lure of gold, it will take him some time to make room…
Would you like to stay here tonight?”
(End of Chapter)