The clamor always fades eventually. When Lockhart returned to his office at Hogwarts, the roaring crowds were gone, and his heart slowly settled into a quiet calm.
He wasn't swayed by Fudge's grand speeches or dazzled by his newfound place in wizarding high society.
He was still himself.
He always knew exactly what he wanted—magic!
*Stay true to your roots, and you'll find your way.*
This kind of focus was almost magical in itself. He didn't need to constantly "polish the mirror to keep the dust away." His love for magic was pure, deep in his bones.
Magic made him feel alive, made everything beautiful. That was enough. He was easily satisfied.
His invention, the "Thunderstorm Blaze" spell, had earned him heaps of praise, transforming him in others' eyes from a boastful "magic master" to a genuine one.
But honestly? It didn't faze him one bit.
He knew the spell hadn't broken new ground—it was still rooted in the principles laid out in *Mastering Lightning*, that old magical notebook. He was merely walking the path paved by Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and the forest witches, adding just a spark of his own brilliance.
Oh, and let's not forget the Crabbe family's generations of research on Fiendfyre, plus Tom Riddle's insights into weather charms and that dark art of Fiendfyre itself.
What did that mean?
It meant he hadn't yet forged his own magical path. His journey was just beginning.
With that perspective, how could he get cocky? Impossible.
It only made him humbler—humble before the vastness of magic.
*No rush*, he told himself, soothing the eager, restless spark in his soul. *You've been in this magical world for less than a year. Take your time. You've got ages to savor the beauty of magic.*
Keep that beginner's mindset—full of curiosity, brimming with wonder and dreams, always eager.
So, onward he'd go, bravely chasing his magical path.
Lockhart was itching to dive into his next research project.
But hold on—his experimental assistant wasn't here yet.
Corban Yaxley… where in Merlin's name are you?
---
The next morning, Lockhart woke up lazily, savoring a fiery "hot pot" breakfast whipped up by a house-elf. Feeling energized, he was ready to kick off a new adventure.
It was Saturday, giving him two whole days to track down his missing assistant.
But before he could pack his things, there was a knock at his office door.
It was Draco, trailed by his two sidekicks, Goyle and Crabbe.
They were carrying the enchanted gramophone Lockhart had sent to old Malfoy for repairs. Fixing a magical device that could trap dark creatures in a world of sound wasn't exactly simple, and it had taken quite a while.
Lockhart had them set it down in the office. He wasn't about to stash it in his ring in front of them. After everything he'd been through, he'd learned to keep a few aces up his sleeve, hidden from prying eyes.
Draco lingered after delivering the gramophone, looking like he had something to say but wasn't sure how to start.
"Spit it out, whatever it is," Lockhart said with a warm smile, eyeing his three favorite students.
"I want to be a master of magic!" Draco blurted, his face alight with passion. "My dad's facing You-Know-Who's purge, and I feel so helpless. Then Goyle and Crabbe got attacked again, and I…"
"I want to be someone who matters. I don't want the people I care about getting hurt anymore!"
Well, now, *that* was interesting. Lockhart studied Draco, his gaze sharp but thoughtful.
He could sense the shift in Draco's mindset. The old Draco Malfoy thought he deserved powerful magic just because he was a pure-blood from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But this Draco? He wanted strength to protect his family and friends.
That kind of motivation made all the difference in the magical world.
Protection… that wasn't exactly the domain of dark magic, was it?
Lockhart's smile widened, and he nodded. "I'm planning a little adventure. Care to join me?"
"What?" Draco blinked, caught off guard. Was his professor not only agreeing to teach him more but inviting him along for an adventure?
"We're going after the creep who hurt Crabbe," Lockhart continued. "You know, dangerous type—Corban Yaxley. He's…"
Before he could finish, Draco and his two buddies shouted in unison, "We're in!"
Perfect.
But before they could set off, three more kids showed up at Lockhart's office.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron.
As Lockhart packed his things, Draco couldn't resist bragging to Harry about their upcoming adventure. Big mistake.
Instead of starting a fight, Harry and his friends got excited and ran to Lockhart, begging to join the trip.
Of course Lockhart wasn't going to say no.
The more helpers, the better.
But with six kids in tow—split into two rival groups, no less—he had no intention of playing babysitter.
So, he rounded up the gang and headed to his good pal Severus Snape.
When they reached Snape's office, he was stirring a cauldron of what looked like an endlessly troublesome seafood potion. A packed suitcase sat on a nearby table, suggesting he was about to head out himself.
"What?" Snape's face soured the moment he heard Lockhart's invitation.
*A little outing together?* You're clearly just dumping these kids on me!
Hah! Can't say no to the brats yourself, so you're shoving the job on me, eh?
But could he refuse?
On one side, there was Draco, whom he'd watched grow up, along with his two chubby tagalongs. On the other, there was Harry—Lily's son.
*Damn it.*
"Gilderoy, you're absolutely hopeless!" Snape growled through gritted teeth. "Because of you, I haven't been to Knockturn Alley in *ages*! You've been at Hogwarts for barely six months, and you've already turned my nice, quiet life upside down!"
Lockhart shrugged, spreading his hands. "If you don't want to come, I'm not forcing you."
"Maybe, Severus, it's time you stepped out of that gloomy, shadowed life you've been living," he added. "You can feel it, can't you? Your perspective's starting to shift…"
Snape cut him off with a snarl. "Rubbish!"
"Spare me your ridiculous magical theories. I don't want to hear it!"
So… was he coming?
Ten minutes later, Snape was slouched in the passenger seat of a car, looking thoroughly miserable. In the back, six kids were chattering away like they were on a school trip, their voices loud and grating. He gripped his wand, sorely tempted to silence the lot of them.
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