"Weather Charm?"
Dumbledore chewed on a Cockroach Cluster, his expression peculiar. "You genuinely believe it falls under the domain of Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
That's exactly what Lockhart thought. "It involves phenomena, non-existence, and a magical influence on the broader environment. Those traits align so closely with the characteristics of dark magical creatures—how could it not be Defense Against the Dark Arts?"
"An intriguing perspective."
Dumbledore stood and walked over to a cabinet, pulling out a hand-bound book. "As it happens, I once discussed this very topic with a dear friend. I argued it belongs to Transfiguration, while he insisted it's firmly in the realm of Charms."
He gave a small smile. "In the end, neither of us could convince the other. But I doubt either of us would've imagined someone classifying it as Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Gilderoy, you always have such a unique way of looking at things."
With that, he placed the book in front of Lockhart.
The cover read Mastering Lightning.
It had two authors: Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald.
"We recorded our respective views, hoping that one day someone might weigh in and judge. I think you'll find it inspiring."
Noticing Lockhart's curious yet hesitant glance at the two signatures—clearly wary of the secrets they might hold—Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. "This is a magical notebook I donated to Hogwarts. After my passing, it'll be stored in the Restricted Section of the library for future generations to study."
"Feel free to borrow it. When you're done, just pass it along to Madam Pince. She'll know what to do with it."
Madam Pince, Hogwarts' librarian, was a witch who followed rules with almost rigid precision.
Lockhart quickly became engrossed in the handwritten notebook. For days, he carried it everywhere, flipping through its pages whenever he had a moment, even neglecting Tom in the process.
This wasn't your typical magical textbook, neatly outlining a spell's origins, effects, or variations. Instead, it was a raw, unfiltered record of the conversations between two brilliant minds as they explored magic together.
In the notebook, Dumbledore and Grindelwald shared their fascinating takes on the Weather Charm.
Dumbledore wrote, "I can harness the world's natural laws, nudging them to evolve as I wish. With my will imposed, the changes become swift, intense, and immensely powerful."
Grindelwald countered, "Yes, that gives you great power, but you're still bound by those laws, trapped within their framework. Your will isn't truly free."
He argued, "Change isn't the essence of the world. It's the infusion of a powerful will that sparks change. So, when a will intervenes, it should reshape the world's laws, making them a reflection of that will's strength."
Their discussion of the Weather Charm went far beyond the spell itself. Lockhart realized he could glean advanced insights into Transfiguration and Charms from their words, ideas that could even extend to other magical domains.
Yet, the notebook always circled back to the practical application of the Weather Charm, grounding lofty theories in real magic.
Dumbledore noted, "Will alone can't dictate everything. The clouds, rain, winds, and earth's rivers and magma all follow their own natural evolution. By gently guiding this transformation with minimal force, we can trigger vast changes in the environment."
Grindelwald disagreed. "Yes, nature has its own patterns, but those are merely its most convenient changes, not what we desire. To make magic bend to our will—turning clouds to rain, wind to air, or rivers to magma—our will must override nature, serving us, not the natural order."
Their debate culminated one stormy day, as a bolt of lightning cracked outside, leading them to the topic of Mastering Lightning.
Dumbledore demonstrated his approach, taking his friend and his wheelchair-bound sister out into the rain. The downpour parted around them, never touching their clothes. The ground's puddles dried up, clearing a path. The howling wind danced around them like playful sprites, carrying the rain.
At a high point in the valley, Dumbledore, brimming with confidence, faced the storm and waved his wand toward the flashing sky.
In an instant, lightning flared, and thunder roared. A dozen bolts streaked down, splitting and branching midair into a dazzling sea of light. The electric arcs bloomed like tree roots, their delicate sparks filling the air with an enchanting, dreamlike glow.
His sister, watching in awe, immediately sided with her brother, dismissing Grindelwald's views. "My brother's right!"
Grindelwald didn't argue. Instead, he lazily drew his wand and raised it slightly. He didn't even point it at the storm clouds, yet every lightning bolt—twisting and splitting across the sky—converged at the tip of his wand.
"This is mastery," he said, giving a gentle flick toward the sky.
A searing white light erupted from the gathered electricity, surging upward with terrifying force. It tore through the clouds, scattering them entirely. As the storm dissolved, sunlight poured through the gaps, bathing the trio in warm, golden beams.
To Dumbledore's sister, the display was magical, awe-inspiring. But for Dumbledore and Grindelwald, it was just the start of their exploration into Mastering Lightning.
Their discussions grew deeper, moving beyond the interplay of will and nature to the essence of lightning itself.
Dumbledore believed, "Lightning is the fusion of life's renewal and destruction's darkness. It's nature's grip on the cycle of life and death. To master lightning is to wield the power over life and death itself."
Grindelwald saw it differently. "Lightning is merely a trace of nature's magical energy. By redirecting that trace, a wizard alters the underlying logic of nature's workings. In this sense, a wizard becomes not just a part of nature but an equal force, shaping it."
The later pages of Mastering Lightning delved into blending different magical properties, a level of complexity Lockhart struggled to follow. These were the personal magical philosophies of two great wizards—profound, powerful, but not his own path.
Just as Lockhart often described magic as "the ultimate romance of fairy tales," their ideas could inspire students to grow stronger, but the deeper concepts wouldn't resonate with most. Each wizard had their own magical journey, and forcing these ideas on others could shake or confuse their own paths.
Absorb knowledge, but don't bow to it. Forge your own way.
Lockhart lived by this principle and began pondering how Mastering Lightning might fit into his own magical framework. But his reflections led nowhere. Lightning had no connection to his fairy-tale adventures, so there was no foundation for the magic to bloom.
He knew better than to reshape his mindset just to chase Dumbledore's or Grindelwald's mastery of lightning. Magic, for him, was rooted in life, in the world around him. He needed to find it from that angle—his own way.
"Magic is ever-changing, bending to our will…"
"Nature is eternal, but our will sparks its transformations…"
"When our will joins in, nature's power becomes the power of our hearts…"
"Controlling destruction and life, intervening in the surface to shift the complex truths beneath…"
"Magic comes from life, and I am the heart of it all…"
Lately, he'd been muttering these thoughts to himself, sometimes pausing mid-step in Hogwarts' corridors, lost in contemplation for hours.
Absorbing others' fairy-tale lives had always come easily, letting him master impressive spells with ease. But building his own path, letting magic shine uniquely through him, was a long and intricate journey.
There were no more guides to follow. He had to walk this road alone.
He could, of course, keep stealing the wisdom of other wizards, becoming them, collecting spell after spell. But Lockhart craved more. His love for magic burned too brightly to settle for anything less than making it truly his.
One day, standing on a rock by the Black Lake, he squinted into the breeze, seeking answers in the familiar pulse of the forest.
His thoughts were interrupted by a group of young wizards rushing toward him, their faces grim.
"Professor, something's wrong!" Hermione's voice was urgent. "A bunch of students have been affected by a banshee's wail. They're not themselves!"
She was deadly serious. In Lockhart's own book, Break with a Banshee, he'd clearly described how a banshee's cry foretold death. Those affected would face all sorts of fates when night fell.
This was no joke. Dark magical creatures weren't called "dark" for nothing, and entire fields of study existed to counter threats like banshees.
Hermione's panic was palpable. "Professor, you've got to come see!"