Following his plan, Lockhart spent two days visiting all twelve Muggle families of the future young witches and wizards, and he successfully persuaded every single one of them, without exception.
His polished appearance, excellent eloquence, and the approachable demeanor he worked hard to maintain all earned him significant favour with these parents.
The wealthy cared about the “possibilities” their child might gain in the magical world; the middle class cared about the connections their child might make; the poor simply wanted to know if this could give their child a livelihood with “this trade” – Lockhart had thoroughly mastered understanding each of these perspectives.
Colin Creevey’s father, in particular, had stubbornly demanded that Lockhart “show some real magic.” After witnessing it firsthand, he joyfully embraced his son and immediately began asking about Hogwarts’ financial aid options.
“Beats delivering milk, anyway,” he told Lockhart.
This sentiment, of being defeated by a lack of funds, made Lockhart reflect that, no matter the world, class divisions always existed.
“Come find me when you get to Hogwarts,” he told Colin Creevey.
“I’ll teach you how to mix the potion for magical photographs, so the people in your pictures can move too.”
“Mm-hmm!” Colin replied, his eyes glued to the moving pictures in Magical Me.
Twelve visits, twelve signed autobiographies given away – Lockhart had taken another solid, if small, step on his path to expanding his influence.
As for the “small expenses” like the various gifts he handed out, Lockhart couldn’t care less.
Based on the estimated sizes of places like Hogsmeade, St Mungo’s, and the Ministry of Magic, the number of registered witches and wizards in England and Scotland was probably only a few thousand.
Even including Wales and Ireland, it was likely under ten thousand.
A population of less than ten thousand wizards, set against Britain’s 65 million, was like a single spoonful of pepper scattered into a bucket of soup – barely enough to add any flavour at all.
Lockhart had published several books, with total sales just under fifty thousand, including foreign sales.
His share of the royalties, converted to pounds, wasn’t enormous.
To make more money, he’d have to rely on endorsements, like his line of Runespoor egg yolk shampoo.
While this income might only represent a comfortable middle-class life in the Muggle world, compared to many in the wizarding world, especially families like the Weasleys, he was already extraordinarily wealthy.
Considering that Voldemort’s family heirloom locket was sold by his mother for a mere ten Galleons…
Lockhart could theoretically tell Voldemort he could buy 365 of them and use a different locket every day for his most undignified purposes, throwing each one away after a single use.
The poverty of wizards pointed to one thing – their population was simply too small.
While individual productivity could be immense, the severely limited overall economic output prevented any production from achieving economies of scale, thus hindering any increase in overall productivity.
Take the potions Lockhart gave as gifts, for example.
If Muggles had such formulas, they would have long ago set up factory assembly lines for Baruffio’s Brain Elixir and Glowing Confidence Potion.
They would massively cultivate ingredients and raise magical creatures, develop highly efficient methods for extracting active compounds, use computers to control stirring, temperature, and ingredient addition, and then simply have a wizard on hand to infuse the mixture with magic at the final stage.
But wizards…
spend months gathering ingredients?
Brew one single cauldron at a time?!
A potion takes a month to make?
What kind of joke is that?
Do they even want to make money?
Wizards were acutely aware that this situation couldn’t continue, but felt powerless to change it, hence their desperate search for solutions.
They were deeply concerned that Muggles, armed with even greater power, might revert to the witch-hunts of the Middle Ages.
This fear reached its peak after Muggles invented the atomic bomb and landed on the moon.
After all, no wizard had ever managed to reach the moon!
This was why Grindelwald and Voldemort emerged.
They catered to the prevailing sentiment among wizards: strike first.
Dumbledore, for all his greatness and bravery, had never proposed a real solution.
While refusing easily attainable power was noble, it could also be seen as an evasion of responsibility – a point he himself acknowledged.
Simply defeating “evil” wasn’t the end of it.
As long as the fundamental issue of wizard-Muggle relations remained unresolved, who’s to say another Dark Lord wouldn’t arise in the future?
Clearly, this was a matter for the “true saviour” – that is, yours truly – to handle.
Lockhart thought, quite narcissistically.
But one must eat an elephant one bite at a time.
He first had to prove his abilities to Dumbledore, then secure his support for a political career, and his tacit permission to build influence at Hogwarts.
Otherwise, nothing else was possible.
Lockhart summoned his owl and began to write.
“Dear Headmaster:
All twelve parents of Muggle-born students have agreed to let their children attend Hogwarts.
I will take them and their parents to Diagon Alley in mid-August to purchase their necessary supplies.
Additionally, there were incidental expenses incurred: £150 for petrol, 50 Galleons for gifts.
Labour was free of charge.
Please reimburse accordingly at that time.
Respectfully yours, Gilderoy Lockhart”
After finishing, he called his owl.
“Grey-Grey, come here!
Take this letter to Hogwarts.
Remember to avoid telephone poles and wires, and don’t let your guard down just because you see a pretty girl.
You’re so plump, you might get mistaken for a Scottish round-faced fat chicken and eaten!” Lockhart warned.
Grey-Grey hooted discontentedly, as if to say he wasn’t that stupid.
He wasn’t stupid, but like his owner, he did love to show off.
Every time he caught a mouse, he would perch proudly on a branch and sing a whole song before eating it.
There’s a rumour that pets grow to resemble their owners.
It must be clarified here – this is not a rumour.
After tucking the letter into the leather pouch on Grey-Grey’s leg, Lockhart also gave him a piece of mutton before sending off the sleek, well-fed Great Grey Owl.
Tomorrow was his meeting with Ragnok, and yesterday he had finally received a call from his sister saying her husband thought “it was worth discussing.”
Lockhart had some serious preparing to do.
…
Cailleach’s husband, William, was a trader in a bank’s securities department.
Not wealthy by any means, but his conservative approach and steady operations had earned him the trust of some risk-averse clients, allowing him to make a decent living.
In his mind, his brother-in-law was a bit of a blowhard.
Sure, he could do some strange things, but generally, they inhabited different worlds.
So when Lockhart said he wanted to introduce him to a “major client,” William was quite surprised.
Inside the bustling Three Broomsticks pub, William felt deeply uncomfortable.
The patrons coming and going were all wearing various wizard’s robes.
He didn’t need to look twice to know he was the odd one out here.
Who would have thought that less than thirty minutes after sitting in that absurdly spacious car, he would end up in such a strange place?
“When exactly is this…
Mr.
Ragnok the goblin…
going to get here?” He’d lost count of how many times he’d asked.
“Ten o’clock sharp,” Lockhart replied patiently.
“Don’t worry, goblins are very punctual…
Also, Ragnok’s surname isn’t ‘goblin’.
He is a goblin.”
“…What do you mean, ‘he is a goblin’?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.
Of course, you can’t tell your bosses that when you get back.
You’ll have to say he’s a ‘mysterious client.’ Can you manage that?”
William swallowed hard.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.
They care about the business, but they never ask where the money comes from.”
Just as they spoke, the clock struck ten.
There was a loud crack, and a grotesque face seemed to emerge from a hidden tube in the air, appearing abruptly before them in the empty seat opposite.
William was so startled he nearly fell off his chair.
The goblin paid no attention to William’s reaction.
After materializing and landing on the floor, he merely brushed some dust from his clothes and stood before them.
“Ah, you must be Mr.
Lockhart!
Griphook told me you’re a big client of ours.
I’ve put your picture on our VIP wall, so I recognized you immediately.”
To steady William’s nerves, Lockhart reached out and grasped his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Then he extended his right hand towards the goblin, intending to shake.
“Hello, I take it you must be Mr.
Ragnok.”
But Ragnok barely brushed Lockhart’s hand with his own, a gesture of impatience, and immediately got down to business.
“Time is Galleons.
Let’s skip the pointless pleasantries.
We don’t have any real respect for each other anyway…
Rosmerta said you had some gold-related business to discuss with me, is that right?
And you brought a Muggle along?”
“As long as we both respect gold, we are both friends of gold, and that makes us friends with each other,” Lockhart said smoothly, giving his brother-in-law a meaningful look, signalling him to proceed with the plan.
“Now that’s something I like to hear.
So, what’s your scheme to turn these worthless, deceptive Muggle scraps of paper I have into more lovely, gleaming, yellow Galleons?” Ragnok grumbled.
“If it weren’t for the contract with the Wizards’ Council, I’d never let those Muggle parents exchange this rubbish for our gold.”
Lockhart glanced at his brother-in-law and nodded.
William finally managed to shake off the shock of seeing a non-human creature.
Prompted by Lockhart’s signal, he drew on his professional expertise, forced himself to focus, and began addressing the client’s question.
“Mr.
Ragnok, due to the recent Falklands War, which consumed a massive amount of Great Britain’s foreign exchange reserves, the pound sterling is unlikely to maintain its value.
We estimate it could drop by more than twenty percent in the second half of this year…”
“Don’t talk to me about that!
I don’t care!” Ragnok snapped.
“I’ve lost all faith in your Muggle currencies.
Those damned Americans said their paper scraps were backed by gold, but they tore up that agreement in less than thirty years!
I lost a fortune in gold!”
“The collapse of Bretton Woods wasn’t entirely without warning…
Well, never mind, this isn’t the time for that,” William said, catching Lockhart’s frantic signalling and realizing his misstep.
“I have a method that would allow you to conduct transactions using only paper currency and still acquire a substantial amount of gold.
And it’s directly related to this devaluation of the pound I just mentioned.”
“Go on, then.
Let’s hear it,” Ragnok said, non-committal.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of something called ‘binary options trading’?” William asked.