Rosmerta awoke from her slumber in the early morning light.
The first thing she did upon opening her eyes was to instinctively glance at the pillow beside her, only to find it empty, the pillow and covers as neat and undisturbed as if they had never been used.
So…
last night’s passion was just a dream, after all?
Rubbing her temples, she sat up slowly, preparing to get out of bed, tidy the bar counter, and wait to open for business.
But then she noticed a glass of water on the small bedside table, with a note tucked underneath it.
The letters on the note were all written in a flamboyant, flowing script, the signature cursive handwriting Gilderoy Lockhart was so famous for.
“My dearest Rosha: You were absolutely incredible last night!
You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.
But I had promised to visit my mother today, so I had to leave early.
It’s a true shame I couldn’t greet you with a smile touched by the morning sun and dew.
I added two drops of Baruffio’s Brain Elixir to the water on your nightstand.
There’s breakfast waiting for you on the bar; I used a Concealment Charm to keep the cats from getting to it.
Just use the Revealing Charm when you’re ready.
Looking forward to our next, even more wonderful encounter.
I hope it will be by the Seljalandsfoss waterfall, or in the thermal springs of Pamukkale.
With love, your Gilderoy Lockhart”
“Hmph, smooth talker.
As if any of it were real!”
Rosmerta finished reading the message, muttered to herself, crumpled the note, and headed towards the wastebasket in her bedroom.
But after a few steps, she hesitated.
She smoothed out the paper, folded it neatly, and tucked it into a secret compartment at the back of her wardrobe.
Then, throwing on a robe hastily, skipping breakfast entirely, she went straight to the attic of her inn and began writing a letter to the goblin, Ragnok.
…
As a former civil servant by nature, Lockhart was actually quite similar to the original owner of his body – fond of being in the spotlight and willing to do whatever it took to achieve his goals.
The current Lockhart, however, believed his own moral baseline was just a touch higher, and he was certainly more cunning and skilled than his predecessor.
Since Rosmerta enjoyed this feeling of moving among important figures, Lockhart was happy to give her what she wanted.
Courtesans were hardly in short supply anywhere; he didn’t find such women particularly difficult to handle.
But compared to this fleeting liaison, another woman was far more important to him now: his mother, Mrs.
Lockhart.
Driving his Lotus, expanded with an Undetectable Extension Charm, back home, Lockhart pondered how to face this ‘mother’ in his new body.
It could be said that the original Lockhart’s love of the spotlight was entirely his mother’s doing.
Lockhart’s father was a Muggle, his mother a witch.
Of their three children, only Lockhart, the boy, possessed magical talent; his two older sisters had none.
So, naturally, as the “only wizard” and the “only son,” Lockhart received the lion’s share of his parents’ affection from a young age, fostering his need for attention and vanity.
Unfortunately, upon entering Hogwarts, he was sorted into Ravenclaw, a house brimming with talent…
which was, to put it mildly, a tragedy.
To be fair, he wasn’t stupid – otherwise, the Sorting Hat wouldn’t have placed him in Ravenclaw.
But his cleverness seemed entirely devoted to “getting attention.” His academic performance was merely average, and this disparity made his personality even more extreme.
This drove him after graduation to stop at nothing for fame: digging up stories of heroic witches and wizards, then using Memory Charms to steal their achievements and claim them as his own.
Wasn’t that just the natural extension of a personality forged in childhood?
It also highlighted a potential flaw in Hogwarts’ “teaching and nurturing” – perhaps they weren’t so good at the “nurturing” part.
And Lockhart wasn’t the only example.
In the new Lockhart’s eyes, a desire for attention wasn’t a bad thing.
It fostered a sense of honor and motivation.
The original, however, never grasped the difference between being “worthy of one’s reputation” and being “undeserving.” And among all the possible reputations to chase, he chose the cheapest kind.
To put it bluntly, without real skill, trying to look impressive just makes you look like an idiot.
But regardless of how her son boasted, Mrs.
Lockhart always chose to believe him, telling every witch and wizard she met what a great man her son was.
It was a common failing of mothers, perhaps.
Parking the car in front of the house he remembered, Lockhart called out to the door.
“Mum, I’m home!”
Mrs.
Lockhart stirred at the sound and hurried out.
“Oh, my little Gilderoy!
You’re finally back!
Why didn’t you Apparate?
Or use Floo powder, at least.”
Lockhart stepped forward and embraced the beaming middle-aged woman.
“That would have been so rude, Mum.
Besides, Cailleach and Selkie are coming to celebrate your birthday too.
After the party, they’ll need to get home, and I should see them off.”
“Their husbands have cars; they can come and pick them up.
You’ve travelled all this way, you must be exhausted.”
Mrs.
Lockhart waved dismissively, letting Lockhart escort her inside.
Lockhart thought to himself, she really plays favourites outrageously.
If his two sisters heard that…
“Oh, my dear sisters, you’re here already…
How have you been?”
Seeing the two women in the hallway with slightly forced smiles, Lockhart instinctively flashed his signature grin and went over to greet them – it was becoming second nature.
“We’re fine.”
Cailleach forced a smile, the expression tight on her face.
A mother’s favouritism – it seemed no matter how much you tried to tolerate it, you never really got used to it.
But Lockhart understood this stemmed from their mother’s own disappointments.
Cailleach was named after a giant queen from Scottish mythology, and Selkie after the swan maiden of Scottish folklore.
He himself was named after a legendary Scottish brigand.
Judging by the names alone, Mrs.
Lockhart might have once had higher hopes for her daughters’ magical abilities.
At the birthday dinner, Mrs.
Lockhart couldn’t stop admiring the enchanted ruby necklace her son had given her, but showed little interest in the Chanel handbag and silverware from her daughters.
Seeing his sisters’ sour expressions throughout the meal, Lockhart felt increasingly awkward.
But he couldn’t dampen his mother’s spirits, so he just kept saying what she wanted to hear, finally managing to get through the painful birthday celebration.
Despite Mrs.
Lockhart’s protests and his sisters’ polite refusals, Lockhart insisted on driving them home in his car.
“The streets in Britain are getting more dangerous.
We just won the Falklands War, and now all sorts of thugs are running around under the guise of celebrating.
I wouldn’t feel right letting them go home on their own,” Lockhart explained to his mother.
It was a valid point.
Even as biased as Mrs.
Lockhart was, she couldn’t ignore potential danger to her daughters, so she agreed to Lockhart’s “whim.”
Sitting inside the car, which was magically expanded and decorated to feel like a presidential suite, Cailleach and Selkie, despite their lingering resentment, couldn’t suppress their curiosity.
“The roof…
it’s not glass.
For a moment I thought London would finally have a view of the stars!”
Selkie poked at it, realizing it wasn’t a sunroof but an enchanted ceiling.
Like Ministry cars, Lockhart’s vehicle had undergone not only an Extension Charm but also other minor modifications.
While it couldn’t fly like the Weasleys’ Ford Anglia, it glided effortlessly over Britain’s terrible rural gravel roads without a bump.
“If you’d like, I could get cars like this for you.
It would make picking up the kids or going to the supermarket much easier, and you’d never get carsick,” Lockhart offered.
At this, Cailleach narrowed her eyes.
“…Alright, what scheme are you cooking up now?
Just say it straight.
You wouldn’t offer us something for nothing.
I know you too well, little brother.”
“Merlin’s beard!” Lockhart exclaimed dramatically.
“A simple act of brotherly concern, and I’m immediately suspected of ulterior motives?
What kind of person do you think I am?”
“You know exactly what kind.
Don’t change the subject…
just tell us.
Otherwise, we’ll be worried.”
Lockhart knew changing ingrained perceptions would take time, so he had to settle for now.
“I feel there must be some misunderstanding between us, but I do actually have a small matter…” Lockhart glanced at the modified rearview mirror and saw his sisters exchanging “I told you so” looks.
“…It’s like this.
I’ve come across an opportunity, thinking of doing some business with gold, pounds, and US dollars.
I wanted to have a word with William,” Lockhart said.
William was Cailleach’s husband.
Hearing this, Cailleach became wary.
“What are you planning?
He’s just a business manager.”
“He’s perfect for it,” Lockhart said.
“Tell him the pound’s value might not hold much longer.
I happen to know someone – or perhaps not quite a someone – who has a lot of pounds.
They’re useless to him; he just wants to convert them into gold.
We could work together on a big deal and everyone gets what they want.”
Cailleach eyed him suspiciously for a moment before speaking.
“I can mention it to him, but I don’t know anything about finance.
You’ll have to sort out the details yourselves.”
She didn’t agree outright, clearly still doubtful.
Lockhart kept his eyes on the road, pretending to focus on driving, but inwardly he was overjoyed.
“That’s all I ask, my dear sister.
After we pull off this deal, you two can start thinking about whether to spend your holiday in the Maldives or Hawaii this year.”
(End of Chapter)