Professor Lockhart suddenly found himself with a surprising amount of free time. The two books that had consumed most of his recent energy were finally complete. Rita Skeeter was already drumming up excitement for Severus's tome, and with his own soaring reputation as co-author, he didn't have much to worry about regarding sales. What's more, Headmaster Dumbledore himself had given it a glowing review, endorsing "Severus's Potions Class" for both third and fourth-year students and intending to recommend it to other headmasters and Potions masters across the globe.
As for the other book, the one about Lord Voldemort, Lockhart planned to release it only after he'd completed his tenure and left the school. He wouldn't bother with any pre-release buzz, simply sending it straight to bookstores worldwide. After all, it was a personal biography of the Dark Lord, published while Voldemort wasn't entirely... well, gone. Even if Voldemort himself didn't bother with Lockhart, some of his supporters might just decide to demonstrate their loyalty when their master couldn't make a public statement. So, the timing of the book's release was absolutely crucial. By the time Lockhart stepped down from Hogwarts, he'd be as free as a Hippogriff in the sky, and those wanting to cause trouble would have no idea where to find him.
But witches and wizards are peculiar creatures. The more one fantasizes about travelling after leaving their post, the stronger the yearning to settle down and find a little nook of their own becomes. Lockhart took this sudden whim seriously, scrutinizing his inner thoughts until he had a realization: the ethereal path of magic had subtly led him to the current zenith of his pursuits. It was time to ground himself and truly live a life immersed in magic.
And so, he made his decision.
This wasn't an odd choice for him. His Gringotts vault was overflowing with more Galleons than he could ever spend, giving him the power to indulge every sudden, money-soluble fancy. Releasing the book after his tenure and disappearing for a bit to avoid any backlash was certainly necessary, but it didn't conflict with buying a house as a temporary dwelling before he vanished. At worst, he could simply abandon it. Even with less than three months left in his term, he was rich, and he was impulsive. Absolutely splendid.
As Lockhart made this decision, images of his former life's cramped and desperate existence swirled in his mind. This didn't bring him any sadness; rather, the freedom and extravagance of his current wealth brought him immense satisfaction. He truly didn't care for the original Lockhart's grand, magical mansion. The ostentatious decor, plastered with self-portraits, didn't suit his taste, and a place so saturated with the old Lockhart's life wouldn't suit his new, personal journey either.
Thinking of it was doing it. Lockhart had never had a problem with procrastination when it came to things that brought him joy. He quickly set his sights on Hogsmeade Village, "next door" to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. One weekend, he paid a visit to the local "expert," Aberforth Dumbledore, the owner of the Hog's Head Inn. He always sought help from the most influential person in any given place. When in Knockturn Alley, he'd seek out the owner of Borgin and Burkes and the owner of the Leaky Cauldron. At the Ministry of Magic, it was Cornelius Fudge. At Hogwarts, Dumbledore. And in Hogsmeade, he sought Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth.
Don't be fooled by the Hog's Head Inn being tucked away in the most inconspicuous corner of Hogsmeade. When Aberforth opened his pub there, most of the shop owners in the village weren't even born yet. His accumulated influence was far beyond what most people could imagine. Moreover, Aberforth himself was a powerful master of magic, specializing in combat, having been a duelling champion during his school days. Like the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, his pub was often filled with all sorts of unsavoury characters holding hushed conversations. These wizards, who constantly skirted the edges of darkness, knew exactly which places were safest.
In the eyes of his brother, Albus, Aberforth was a reclusive, peculiar, and stubborn old man. But when Lockhart visited, he found the old wizard to be quite chatty, well, at least with witches and wizards he deemed worthy.
"During the last Anti-Dark Magic Alliance gathering, Madam Merel invited you to join the 'We're Still Alive' club. Albus's face was quite a picture then, but you didn't give a fig for his opinion. That's when I thought, 'this young man is alright'," Aberforth remarked.
Lockhart blinked in surprise. "Is there something to that?"
Aberforth chuckled. "Go on, try that with any other professor!"
Oh, right... Lockhart thought back. It seemed he hadn't actually considered what old Dumbledore might have felt back then. But, who cared, he thought with a slight smile. "Headmaster Dumbledore is a broad-minded and great wizard; he wouldn't mind at all, would he?"
Aberforth gave a wry chuckle, saying nothing more.
The two walked along Hogsmeade's main road, Aberforth casually introducing the ancient village. "This is the only entirely magical village in Britain, with no Muggles whatsoever. It was founded around the same time as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Lockhart's expression grew strange. "Fudge told me that the biggest task the Ministry of Magic undertook when the Statute of Secrecy was enacted was to ensure wizards lived in their own communities, strictly separated from Muggles. Yet, there's only one pure-wizard village in all of Britain, and it wasn't even founded because of the Statute of Secrecy?" He simply didn't understand.
Aberforth sneered. "The Statute of Secrecy is a joke, though opposing it is also a joke!" This topic seemed to have touched a sensitive nerve for him, and his words quickened. "In Britain, apart from Hogsmeade and a few professors living at the Ministry, all wizards live among Muggles. It's impossible for them to be completely ignorant of Muggle affairs. But look at Hogwarts' Muggle Studies class... ha! So, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry itself is a joke now!"
Well, goodness gracious. Old man, you're one hundred and nine years old, and you're still brimming with such vibrant cynicism.
And so, the two chatted idly, passing a quaint, ancient-looking house. Aberforth casually pointed it out. "That's Minerva's place. Oh, that is to say, Professor McGonagall's house." Lockhart nodded, saying little. Professor McGonagall had moved directly into Hogwarts after her husband passed away, so it wasn't a suitable topic for light conversation.
"Over the one thousand years since Hogwarts was founded, countless professors have lived in this village. To make it easier to get in and out, they created secret passages, one after another." Aberforth gestured casually in a certain direction. "There, there, and over there... oh, this way too. In this tiny village, I know of no less than six secret passages myself..."
"Many people say Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, but it's actually ludicrously leaky, with passages leading in and out of the school everywhere."
Six secret passages in this village alone, and he knew about them? Lockhart struggled to maintain his composure. This was preposterous! Voldemort clearly didn't know enough about Hogwarts, the place he called home. Otherwise, when he attacked Hogwarts, he would have occupied this village first, leaving the school as open and undefended as if its doors were flung wide.
Aberforth led Lockhart around, showing him several vacant houses, but to his surprise, the young wizard took a liking to a small building right next to his pub. The building was two and a half stories tall, constructed of stone, with a cellar below, two floors above ground, and a small, pointed attic. Its only unique feature was that it backed onto the mountains; a small garden accessible from the back of the house offered a splendid view of the distant snowy peaks from its wooden chairs.
Naturally, it was fully furnished, impeccably maintained, and even included a fireplace connected to the Ministry of Magic's Floo Network. It was perfectly move-in ready, fitting Lockhart's needs exactly. Aberforth chuckled, looking over his pub's back sheep pen, beyond the garden's stone walls and fences. "The reason this place is abandoned is because it's haunted."
Lockhart blinked, turning back to the house, perplexed. "Wizards are afraid of ghosts?"
Aberforth's expression grew enigmatic. "Of course. There's the Shrieking Shack in the corner of the village, and because of its haunted reputation, no one dares go near it."
"But the ghosts here are even more special. They're terrifying demons."
Lockhart's heart stirred. He followed Aberforth's gaze to the adjacent sheep pen. "Are you talking about your goats?"
Aberforth's expression immediately sharpened. "Did Albus tell you?"
Lockhart spread his hands. "Do you think that's likely?"
Aberforth pondered for a moment, his face returning to its calm state. Indeed, Albus wasn't one to blab. He then looked at the young wizard with renewed curiosity. "Albus did tell me you know many secrets others don't."
Indeed. Lockhart knew Aberforth had once been accused of improper magic on goats. Dumbledore had told Hagrid about it in some inexplicable tone, but Lockhart knew that Aberforth's favourite activity with his younger sister was feeding the goats. Given his affection for his sister, he wouldn't engage in any bizarre, byzantine rituals involving goats. Interestingly, even now, Aberforth's Hog's Head Inn still carried a strong scent of goat, with strange grease stains everywhere.
"Dark Arts creature breeding," Lockhart said, gesturing to Fang (the Golden Retriever) who had suddenly appeared on his shoulder, draped in a red cloak. "That's also a field I dabble in."
What Aberforth was doing wasn't hard to guess. Goats, in ancient wizarding lore, were often seen as embodiments of demons. In modern times, influenced by Muggle anatomy and biology, the study of demons began to develop a clearer system: a path from "flesh to spirit, and then spirit descending into flesh." What was being bred was one of the most peculiar types of spirits – Wishing Spirits. The most famous examples were the genies from bedtime stories like Aladdin's lamp, and various demons that lured witches and wizards to their downfall.
These things were remarkably effective. Wizarding history records numerous cases of those who dabbled in this, attempting to resurrect loved ones and reunite with them. Without exception, they all succeeded! Because these witches and wizards were, without exception, all killed by the so-called Wishing Spirits, and thus successfully reunited with their loved ones beyond the Veil of Death. A rather macabre form of reunion, a twisted fairy tale indeed.
Lockhart suspected that the reason old Dumbledore didn't stop his brother, Aberforth, from this endeavour was simply because Dumbledore didn't believe his brother could successfully breed and summon a so-called Wishing Spirit. And that was indeed the truth. With a single glance, Lockhart could gauge the progress of Aberforth's Dark Arts creature breeding: it was merely at the "create new folder" stage; absolutely nothing had been conjured. This quintessential Gryffindor, a seasoned battle wizard, truly wasn't skilled in this particular branch of magic.
As Lockhart was pondering this, he saw Aberforth suddenly looking at him with great anticipation.
"Oh, no!" Lockhart thought. "I'm not getting involved in that!"
Fortunately, Aberforth understood the proper boundaries when dealing with others and didn't directly make any presumptuous requests. He simply went about his business, diligently helping Lockhart purchase the small building.
And so, Lockhart finally had a place to call his own in this magical world, complete with a charming, eccentric old wizard as a neighbour. His companions clearly adored this arrangement too. At Hogwarts, they'd been forced to hide in his office all day, even retreating to their individual nooks and tree hollows during Lockhart's classes, with no freedom whatsoever. Now, with such a spacious place, they too could begin to truly experience life.
"This will be our home from now on," Lockhart remarked, filled with emotion, to the Weeping Angel beside him, smiling as Fang (the Golden Retriever) and the Boggart squabbled over their new living spaces.
"Oh, that reminds me, I need to bring over the Lady Car too."
It was truly wondrous. He had initially intended to acquire a place where he might stay temporarily for just two or three months, hoping to experience what it felt like to have his own little territory. But once he had truly settled in, a profound sense of groundedness filled him. It was as if his entire, once-floating soul had finally found peace, free and serene.
Home, a haven for the soul, is sometimes just that magical. It had suddenly materialized. Perhaps this was the secret of magic woven into everyday life—simply beautiful.