Severus's future, where his heart would be made whole and grand, stood in stark contrast to Gilderoy Lockhart's myriad paths. He found himself at a crossroads with ten divergent paths, each stretching into the distance, revealing a wonderland of possibilities. Some paths led to magnificent magical creations, others to potent potions, and still more to ancient spellbooks. One even featured a towering Patronus, reaching high into the clouds—a veritable treasure trove of futures.
Without a moment's hesitation, Lockhart bolted towards the path adorned with magical books. Plucking the ripe fruit from the future before its time? That sounded simply delightful! However, his own inner conscience soon gave him a sharp elbow. It wasn't the Werewolf trying to snatch the books away; instead, a tall, mature figure, the Forest Witch herself, blocked his path. "I opened the path of Wild Call magic for you, allowing you to walk the Spiritual Way," she began, "and you clearly benefited, otherwise you could not have invented the 'Thunderstorm Mountain Fire' so quickly."
"Gilderoy Lockhart," she pressed, "what about your promise to me? To help me rescue Gellert Grindelwald? Did you do it?"
"Did you even try?"
Lockhart felt a pang of shame. He hadn't yet begun; he simply hadn't known where to start. "I always remember, Ms. Benitez," he replied, his expression sincere, "but as you know, it's not an easy task."
The Forest Witch studied him intently, then nodded. "I know, for I am merely the voice within your heart, reminding you not to forget." With that, she vanished like smoke.
He walked a few more steps when another figure appeared, barring his way. It was a half-blood Haitian witch, clad in a kaleidoscope of robes, her eyes distant as she murmured, "Mr. Lockhart, do you know who stole my most precious life?" Lockhart's gaze turned icy as one figure after another materialized—wizards whose memories his former self had pilfered.
"The one who stole your memories is dead," Lockhart stated coldly, addressing the apparitions. "Your memories are indeed with me, but they are my spoils of war. Whether I return them or offer compensation depends solely on my mood, on my moral compass." He glared at them. "I owe you nothing. Dare to block my path, and I'll cut you down, one by one, without a shred of remorse!"
The Malicious Werewolf cackled by his side. "Exactly! Exactly! Being good is too much trouble. The mind should soar freely. Why bear such burdens?"
These shadowy figures clearly feared the Werewolf's presence, retreating in a panic. "We don't want them anymore, we don't want them."
"This is the perfect time to solve the problem," the Werewolf growled, licking his sharp fangs. "Let me slaughter them all, shall I?"
"You know this will work, don't you?" he pressed. "You've been waiting for magic to bloom, and now, in this passage filled with time and mental power, we can solve these problems once and for all. They will never trouble you again."
"Nonsense!" the Little Horse snorted, a cold dismissive tone in his voice. "Slaughter solves nothing, Gilderoy. Dark magic is corrupting your soul. If you let the little wolf kill these people now, you will forever bear the burden of these wicked debts!"
"Why are you always against me!" the Werewolf snarled, glaring at the Little Horse.
The Little Horse snorted, flicking his flowing mane, disinclined to argue. He turned to Lockhart. "You see, it was actually the Death Eaters, Amycus Carrow and the Dark Lord's spawn, Tom Riddle, who took your memories. Are they here? No, they're not, because you feel no remorse for what they did."
"This isn't them blaming you; this is you blaming yourself. You need to genuinely change things in the real world, truly step into life, and not just simply free your mind of any lingering regrets."
"You are not a bad person, Gilderoy, otherwise I wouldn't even exist."
"Since that's the case, are you truly willing to let magic solve everything completely?"
Lockhart was silent for a moment, then nodded, looking at the wizards whose memories his former self had stolen. "Indeed, my previous self stole your memories, and I feel no remorse for that. That is why my Werewolf wants to kill you."
"However, I am a wicked person, and I crave adventure and wish to absorb your fascinating lives. So, I have some regret, and I will make some changes, finding a way to return these memories to you. But this does not mean I will allow you to pose a threat to me."
Lockhart said no more, for this was merely a struggle within his own mind, not these people truly appearing to hold him accountable. He needed time to acquire more magical abilities to navigate a more complex life.
And so, he walked among these dozens of wizards, unhindered, arriving directly at the magical book and reaching out to take it. The title was rather amusing: Black Magic Creature Breeding, by Gilderoy Lockhart.
Black Magic Creature Breeding. This was the magical research path Lockhart had chosen, one he had already subtly embarked upon, benefiting his companions. But this particular spellbook was clearly precious—it existed in the future, a testament to his future self having discovered a viable path and compiled it into a tome.
"Nice!" he exclaimed, unable to contain his enthusiasm once more. "Severus is brilliant, creating such an outrageous potion!" Oh, and speaking of that, he suddenly thought of the venerable Gellert Grindelwald. Seers were incredibly rare among wizards, and in the eyes of someone hungry for magic like him, equally astounding. Imagine, he would only need to resolve to research a spell, then peer into the future, grasp the full effect of that magic within the limits of his own capabilities, and simply pluck the abundant fruit, skipping the research process entirely. Perhaps he ought to contact this great wizard soon.
Oh! No, no! Lockhart shook his head, quickly pulling himself from that thought. He realized he was still under the influence of Severus's 'Uncontrolled Life' potion, and its power was trying to draw him into a life of chaos as well. Reason told him that Grindelwald's escape from Nurmengard would only throw his already precarious life into further disarray. He hadn't yet solved his own problems; he shouldn't make his environment even messier.
No need to rush. One step at a time. He had a whole lifetime ahead of him.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The potion liquid echoed like the tide. Lockhart and Snape reappeared in the office. They didn't know how much time had passed in that wondrous dark passage, but back in the real world, the sunlight still streamed through the window, as if time hadn't moved at all.
Snape quickly stepped forward, waving his wand. He snatched a small glass vial from a nearby shelf and collected the swirling potion from the air, gripping it tightly.
"Welcome to an uncontrolled life," Lockhart said with a smile, looking at him. "You've clearly made your choice."
Severus's grand adventure was truly about to begin!
Snape lowered his gaze to the 'Potion of Regret' in his hand, his eyes deep as he stared out the window, his face a complex mask of emotions—some loss, some wistfulness, but also a simmering hope and fervent anticipation. Finally, he offered a faint smile, looking at Lockhart. "Gilderoy, thank you."
"We are friends," Lockhart laughed heartily, genuinely pleased to see his mate in such a state.