The pleasant warmth of an early spring afternoon filled the air.
Lockhart sat by the window, sipping a chilled tea, a gentle breeze carrying the distant cheers from the Quidditch pitch and the fainter screams echoing from the forbidden 'Chamber' near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
"Gilderoy, I don't know how to pursue goodness and joy..."
Snape's voice, no longer a low murmur, resonated with a uniquely deep tone.
Lockhart gazed at him, a touch of bewilderment in his eyes.
It was rather peculiar. Old Snape's expression wasn't one of dreary despondency or lost contemplation. Instead, it held a profound longing, as if a centuries-old vampire had just clawed his way out of a coffin, or perhaps a stumbling toddler had taken their very first steps beyond the threshold of their home.
He felt a surge of excitement.
"I mean, I found a powerful charm within my potions, the Patronus Charm. Perhaps if I master it completely, I can surely use it against the Dark Lord."
"But I need to find my own goodness and joy to truly sustain its power. Lily... Lily can't bring me that."
"I..."
Snape fell silent for a moment, then, with a yearning gaze towards the sunshine outside, he admitted, "Alright, I'll be honest, I too crave goodness and joy."
Lockhart chuckled. "Heavens, old boy, there's no shame in discussing such things! Every witch and wizard longs for goodness and joy."
"What should I do?" Snape inquired once more.
"I haven't the foggiest," Lockhart admitted, spreading his hands.
"Puzzling, isn't it?" Snape looked at him, utterly bewildered.
"Truly," Lockhart affirmed, taking another sip of his iced beverage and smiling as he looked out the window. "Every individual's life experiences are unique. If you were to ask me what brings me joy, I'd tell you that magic itself is beautiful. My magical creature companions bring me great happiness, and I even find immense pleasure in spending time with my students."
"Harry's stubbornness is quite amusing, Draco's pride is rather entertaining, and Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Black, George, Fred, Cedric..."
"Each of them is fascinating in their own way. I genuinely quite enjoy being a professor; I find goodness and joy in my interactions with my students."
"But that's my experience."
"The goodness and joy in your life, you must seek out for yourself."
Snape nodded, lost in profound thought.
Lockhart left him to his musings, his head bent over the final revisions. After half a year of diligent work, Snape's "Severus's Potions Class" was finally complete.
In accordance with the Hogwarts Potions curriculum, this tome was clearly most suitable for third and fourth-year young witches and wizards. By this stage, the students would have studied Potions for two years, acquiring a foundational understanding of Herbology and Potions, and with two years of practical experience, they could finally embark on a more comprehensive exploration of Potions and delve into deeper theoretical concepts.
This book, solidifying foundational knowledge and presenting masterful theories, would undoubtedly prove immensely rewarding for anyone aspiring to master the art of Potions.
Lockhart himself had benefited greatly from it.
He hadn't truly devoted himself to the meticulous study of Potions, yet simply by assisting Snape in organizing this book, he had quite naturally found himself entering the mysterious halls of Potions. How utterly delightful!
In truth, Lockhart's approach to writing and his previous self's differed significantly.
This stemmed from their disparate perceptions and inclinations regarding the world.
His former self had been more concerned with crafting his own image, thus devoting more ink to his self-aggrandizing adventures. This meant that while his books contained valuable information, they always remained rather superficial.
Lockhart, however, was different. He cared more about the inherent beauty of magic, and so his prose always sought to describe the dazzling and peculiar nature of magic with greater precision and intimacy. Anyone reading his words could feel his profound love for magic.
Of course, he hadn't penned it as a dry, academic treatise. Indeed, that would have been an impossible feat. In his philosophy, magic sprang from daily life and adventure; it simply couldn't be divorced from life and narrated in isolation.
Yet, would this still become a bestseller?
Lockhart didn't know.
Nor did he particularly care.
His Gringotts vault was already overflowing with Galleons, and his reputation was already world-renowned. He didn't need to continue dominating the bestseller lists.
He simply wished to write about his own goodness and joy.
Even the other treatise nearing completion, "Lord Voldemort: A Pure-Blood Supremacist with a Muggle Father?"
This was far from a mere sensational pamphlet peddling scandalous gossip about Voldemort.
As Lockhart's discussions with Tom Riddle deepened, he began to grasp Voldemort's magical philosophy, understanding the powerful wizard's perception of magic, a wizard who pursued the very mysteries of life.
Lockhart had woven all of this into his book.
Not only that, he had also included some of Dumbledore's and Grindelwald's magical philosophies as comparative examples, along with his own humble insights, hoping to present a more wondrous and complex magical world to his readers.
It was so radiant, whether white, black, or grey; all of it was so wonderfully intriguing.
Writing a book in this manner, Lockhart felt, honored his purpose in crossing over and his fervent adoration for magic.
As for what Voldemort might think, or Dumbledore, well, that was none of his concern.
Let them think what they pleased.
He was unwilling to alter himself for the will of others, even if these two great figures were undeniably powerful.
"Finished!"
He handed the meticulously organized manuscript to Snape. "Give it a final once-over. If all is in order, I'll have Rita contact a bookseller and prepare for its release."
Snape took the manuscript, his fingers gently caressing the book's cover.
Publishing a book...
This was an utterly unfamiliar experience for him. He had once told Lockhart that magic was an expression of one's own will, and truly, potions were no different. Many of the potion-making philosophies within this book were, without a doubt, a part of his inner self laid bare before countless readers.
This made him feel a touch awkward, a little apprehensive, yet ultimately, a flicker of anticipation.
He opened the first page of the manuscript, where he could see Lockhart's glowing recommendation written for him. He had seen a similar scene before, in an adventure that was far from enjoyable.
There, the magical master Lily, as a dear friend, had penned the preface for his "Severus's Potions Class."
And now, in reality, the magical master Lockhart had done the very same thing, as a good friend.
The former felt somewhat ethereal, always bringing him a pang of anguish.
The latter was far more real, so real that it felt wonderfully good.
He pressed his lips together, turning page after page. The words within were light and spirited, bearing Lockhart's unique literary touch, while the profound wisdom of Potions within was his own life's legacy, deep and weighty.
"Actually, regarding how wizards and Muggles might coexist, I once pondered this," Snape suddenly interjected, surprising Lockhart.
"Potions!"
"I had imagined Muggles' fervent desire for wizarding potions. Being needed would naturally bring recognition, status, resources, and everything else."
His eyes gazed raptly at the words on the pages, an involuntary smile gracing his features. "A bezoar-laced antidote can cure many nerve toxin injuries that Muggles still find insurmountable."
"The Draught of Peace has a remarkable effect on bipolar disorder and depression, and when appropriately combined with a Cheering Charm, the results are even better. The Draught of Living Death can calm the body's unrest, plunging one into the most soothing slumber..."
"And then there's Skele-Gro, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Burn-Healing Paste..."
"Muggle technology always faces limitations, but potions have never been confined. Theoretically, their potency can be infinitely vast, provided the potion-maker is powerful enough, or perhaps legendary enough."
Snape lifted his head, his gaze distant. "I once discussed this very topic with the Dark Lord. He was the most formidable potion-maker I had ever encountered, bar none."
"His potions always brushed the line between life and death. I never doubted that he would one day be able to create an Elixir of Life, allowing him to live for centuries, even millennia, like Nicolas Flamel."
"On one occasion, I assisted him in concocting a most extraordinary potion, named the Potion of Despair."
"This liquid, one cannot thrust a hand into it, nor can it be parted, scooped, or siphoned away. One cannot vanish it with a spell, transform it with magic, or alter its properties in any other way."
"The only way for people to make this liquid disappear is to drink it."
"But any wizard who drinks it will surely suffer immensely. It relentlessly tugs at the wizard's spirit, dragging them towards despair, ultimately leading to death."
"I once believed it to be the most terrifying potion in the world."
"However, he said that it was, in fact, also a resurrection potion, requiring only a slight alteration to one of its brewing steps."
"Life and death, the boundary blurred just like that."
Snape let out a long breath, looking at the quietly listening Lockhart. "Wizards who become overly powerful will eventually grow arrogant. When the constraints of life and death no longer apply, the spiritual bonds on many things will be utterly shattered. He grew more and more fearsome, ultimately becoming an unrestrained fiend."
"He didn't understand love," Lockhart stated.
"Hm?" Snape paused, surprised.
"Dumbledore said so, of course, I've also done a little research of my own," Lockhart explained. "The journey of life is a process of self-struggle. When that struggling force is absent, one is not far from destruction, like a wild, unbridled Hippogriff, finally charging into a bottomless chasm."
"I would never doubt that some among you who once followed the Dark Lord harbored desires to change the world. But you followed the wrong person. In the Dark Lord's eyes, there was no world, only himself."
Not every magical discipline was inherently good.
Lockhart had gleaned some memories from Corban Yaxley, whom he had captured, including a warning left by the ancestor of their family, who proudly called themselves 'Time Explorers'— "Obsession with the illusion of past time will only cause you to utterly lose the reality of the present."
The Yaxley family had always exercised extreme caution in using their bloodline's talent for Time-Turners, demonstrating remarkable restraint.
Understanding restraint—that alone was a significant foundation for a pure-blood family.
Dumbledore showed great restraint, as did Grindelwald, and Nicolas Flamel. That was the distinction between a magical master and a dark fiend.
The topic of Voldemort ended there; in truth, neither Lockhart nor Snape were particularly eager to discuss him.
Their focus shifted, concentrating more on the recently mentioned Muggles and Potions.
This was clearly an excellent starting point.
Helping more people, realizing one's own worth, and creating more possibilities in the interplay between Muggles and wizards.
"Why didn't you adhere to this philosophy back then?" Lockhart asked, a touch curious.
Snape looked down at the book, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Who knows?"