The British Ministry of Magic is tucked away in a little alley not far from Downing Street in London, and everyone knows it's buried underground, hidden from Muggle eyes.
But right now, every witch and wizard with a spark of magic can see it: smack in the middle of a street lined with rundown Muggle buildings, a pub, and a greasy spoon café, a grand Tudor-style building has popped up out of nowhere.
Its lights twinkle, practically shouting its presence in the night.
This is the Ministry of Magic in full spectacle mode, the kind of display it puts on when something big is happening—like a Triwizard Tournament-level event.
Step into the Ministry's ground floor, and you'll find it's transformed into what's usually the Atrium on Level Eight. Today, it's packed to the brim with people. There are reporters from every wizarding newspaper, parents protesting Gilderoy Lockhart's teaching stint at Hogwarts (waving banners about the dangers of breeding Dark creatures), members of groups like the "Wizarding Students' Rights Association" and the "Society for the Advancement of Wizarding Living Spaces," plus a gaggle of Ministry employees just there for the gossip.
It's a proper wizarding circus.
"Here they come!" someone shouts, pointing to a team of Aurors appearing on the horizon, escorting a Thestral-drawn carriage.
The crowd surges forward like a herd of startled Hippogriffs. Protesters who'd been lounging, playing wizard chess or Exploding Snap, leap to their feet, yanking up their banners. They cast Sonorus charms to amplify their voices, launching into passionate speeches while sneaking glances at the approaching convoy.
"Corban's really rolled out the red carpet for me," Lockhart mutters, leaning against the carriage window and peering down at the chaotic crowd, clicking his tongue like a disappointed Professor McGonagall.
No one in the opposite seat responds.
After the recent battle—and that terrifying massacre—every Auror in the carriage has a new take on Lockhart. Some, awed by his power, are suddenly all politeness and flattery. Others, clinging to their sense of justice, view him as a dangerous Dark wizard and double down on their hostility. Then there's Scrimgeour, whose expression shifts like the weather in the Forbidden Forest.
Lockhart doesn't care what Scrimgeour's thinking. He's not here to play Guess the Motive with a grumpy Auror.
Truth be told, after inventing "Thunderstorm Wildfire," a spell so fearsome it could rival Fiendfyre, Lockhart's officially stepped onto the path of a true magical master. He doesn't need to waste energy on the opinions of small-fry like Scrimgeour.
Scrimgeour, for his part, knows the score. Unless the Wizengamot issues a rock-solid arrest warrant or public outcry forces the Ministry's hand, there's no reining in Lockhart now.
Ha, Gilderoy Lockhart, a magical master?
Scrimgeour finds it absurd. He's pored over the Auror Office's files on Lockhart—pages and pages of reports that scream "fraud" at every turn, detailing how this flamboyant showman's all talk and no substance.
And yet…
He's actually a magical master!
Even if he's a Dark wizard who wields Fiendfyre like it's a Lumos charm.
But… was that spell really Fiendfyre?
Scrimgeour can't shake the image of Lockhart effortlessly commanding those fiery beasts. He's never seen a Dark wizard control Fiendfyre like that—it's impossible! Fiendfyre's classified as Dark magic precisely because it's a wild, uncontrollable force. History's littered with tales of wizards burned to ash by their own Fiendfyre spells.
So, even with the Aurors' collective memory of the battle, no one can pin the "Dark wizard" label on Lockhart just yet. Especially not when Scrimgeour's seen the files: Gilderoy Lockhart can cast a Patronus—a radiant horse, no less.
His head's spinning like a Bludger.
The convoy pulls up to a magically expanded plaza in front of the Ministry. Aurors on broomsticks dismount with a flourish, striding to the carriage to hold back the crowd and clear a path for the VIP inside.
In the throng, Rita Skeeter's practically vibrating with excitement, barking at her Daily Prophet photographer to catch Lockhart looking disheveled.
Watch him rise, watch him fall.
This is the scoop of the century: Lockhart, from global superstar to spectacular crash, like a Firebolt plummeting from the sky. It'll be brutal, beautiful, and headline-worthy.
Rita's already got the title in mind.
But deep down, a tiny flicker of unease nags at her. She knows Lockhart's secrets. Can this hidden Dark Lord really be caught looking pathetic?
She doesn't know.
She doesn't want to know.
Her most humiliating moment—wetting herself in fear—was in front of him. It's a stain on her pride she'll never scrub out. She's desperate for the Ministry to nail Lockhart for the alleged Hogwarts student murder, to lock him in Azkaban forever.
Because if they don't…
She might end up his obedient lapdog, and the thought of what that could mean chills her to the bone.
But what happens next makes her jaw drop.
Not just hers—half the crowd can't make sense of it either.
Scrimgeour steps out of the carriage first, no surprise there. But then Kingsley Shacklebolt follows, chatting and laughing with Lockhart as he steps down, acting like his personal house-elf or private secretary.
It's bizarre. Sure, Kingsley's got a reputation as the Ministry's go-to "secretary"—Scrimgeour treats him like one, Minister Fudge does too, and rumor has it even the Muggle Prime Minister thinks Kingsley's his right-hand man.
But this is Gilderoy Lockhart!
The supposed mastermind behind a Hogwarts murder!
Lockhart doesn't act like a criminal. Scrimgeour's clearing the way up front, the Aurors are holding back reporters and protesters like they're guarding a celebrity, not a suspect, and Kingsley's trailing half a step behind, all chummy.
Rita blinks, half-convinced she's seeing things. It's like Lockhart's some international dignitary inspecting the Ministry's work, not a man under arrest. Merlin's marshmallow knickers!
She can't believe her eyes. The crowd seems spellbound by Lockhart's lazy, elegant charm. Reporters itching for a quote and protesters ready to shout fall silent as he passes.
What's going on?
Rita refuses to believe they're all just that awed by Lockhart. Not even Dumbledore commands this kind of hush.
Lockhart's up to something, no question. And she's right.
As Lockhart's mastery of weather charms deepens, he's woven the soothing power of a Patronus charm into a subtle breeze, calming everyone's nerves just enough to create this eerie, captivated silence.
Magic is power!
And not just in a wand-waving, hex-slinging way. Magic seeps into every detail of life, and as a wizard's skill grows, it shows in everything they do.
That magical influence lingers until Lockhart steps into the elevator, where protective charms block his subtle spellwork.
Rita, the only outsider to slip into the elevator, feels the shift. She smirks, thinking she's caught onto something big.
But when Kingsley and two other Aurors escort Lockhart to another office for registration, acting more like tour guides than guards, Rita seizes her chance. She sidles up to Lockhart and blurts, "Anything you need help with, just say the word!"
Merlin's pink hair tie! What's she saying?
She's groveling, practically begging to serve him, with a look that screams, "This isn't a deal—I just want to help, I'm loyal!"
It's disgusting.
She hates herself for it.
But when Lockhart flashes her a gentle smile, the knot of fear in her chest unravels. For a moment, she feels… grounded.
"No need," Lockhart says, nodding toward Scrimgeour, who's heading for another elevator. "I'm quite sure he's got the scoop you're after. Better hurry."
With that, he turns, following Kingsley down a corridor.
Rita stands frozen, staring at Lockhart's back, hit by a chilling realization: she's afraid of him. She's always thought she didn't know what fear was.
Snapping out of it, Rita tosses aside her petty schemes, her face settling into a look of solemn resolve. She whispers to Lockhart's retreating figure, "You'll see I'm useful! I swear, you'll see it soon!"
This is Ravenclaw's wisdom: not fighting your weaknesses, but recognizing them, letting go of emotional baggage, and charging toward what you believe is right.
"You're the future, Mr. Lockhart!"
Rita's certain of it. This man, Gilderoy Lockhart, might just be the next Dumbledore in the making.
Ha!
She's the first to follow him!
The first!
Or so she thinks, because Rita's got it wrong. She's not the first.
Funnily enough, Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister, has been hounding Minister Fudge since the Aurors were dispatched, trying to sway him to Lockhart's side.
At first, Fudge thought Umbridge was just a fan-girl, which, sure, was weird for someone as buttoned-up as her. But he got it—chasing idols is normal. As a kid, his dad dragged him to a speech by Gellert Grindelwald, his dad's hero, and the man was wild about it. The whole family felt that obsession.
But as Umbridge kept pushing, Fudge started to sense there was more to it. Someone as ambitious as Umbridge risking her reputation and career to back Lockhart? That's not just fandom—that's something else entirely.