He was not discouraged. Being able to clearly feel the magic stirring within his body was something that would have made his past self envious, and he knew how to be content.
"What else needs to be prepared?"
He thought deeply, his eyes suddenly lighting up. He walked over to his desk and began writing letters to the four children—Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Draco—asking them to come to his office after dinner for training.
If something happened to him, these children would help him find other professors to assist.
Originally, he had intended to ask the N.E.W.T.-level students, but the moment he thought about how these older students finally had a weekend to go to Hogsmeade or fall in love, he chose Harry and the others, who had nothing better to do all day.
After sending off the owls, he hung a sign on the door that read: *MAGICAL EXPERIMENT IN PROGRESS, DO NOT DISTURB.* He closed the doors and windows tightly, pulled the little golden retriever over in front of him, and repeatedly lectured it on what to pay attention to.
"I bought you toys, so you need to know how to be useful at critical moments, understand?"
The little golden retriever blinked its eyes, nodding obediently. It hugged its newly acquired toy magical eye, ran over to the office door, and crouched on the ground like a guard.
"Very good."
Lockhart was very satisfied with its performance. He uncorked the bottle of Felix Felicis, took a sip, and rubbed his face to calm his nervous emotions as quickly as possible.
"You need to be poised~"
He took a deep breath, trying his best to relax, and searched for a way to immerse himself in the relaxed and poised state that the original Lockhart used when casting spells.
That state was the key to casting spells with ease and success; overthinking and anxiety would only leave the magic with no idea whose commands to follow.
The technique for extracting memories was actually quite simple.
He pressed his wand against his temple, gently, slowly, and cautiously drawing out a silvery, glowing, thread-like substance.
He flicked it toward the Pensieve. The crystal Bird-Snake skull suddenly lit up, its interior teeming with mysterious patterns and rune incantations. Soon, the silvery substance transformed into a pool of silver, mist-like liquid within the empty basin.
This was a test to see if there were any issues with the Pensieve he had bought from Mr. Borgin.
Fortunately, while Mr. Borgin was greedy, he upheld a merchant's honor—the Pensieve was completely normal.
Looking down into the silver liquid, one could faintly see an aged figure carrying a pumpkin lantern walking through the streets of a village.
Lockhart watched this memory with great interest from this perspective.
He watched as the old wizard pushed open his front door, changed into his pajamas, blew out the oil lamp, and curled his thin, withered body into the warm bed.
The old wizard let out a comfortable sigh, quickly drifted off to sleep, and began to snore.
Moonlight spilled across the windowsills. In the dim room, the faint sound of clothing fabric rubbing together was heard as a hand slowly reached out from under the bed, pointing a slender wand directly at the old wizard on the mattress.
"Obliviate!"
No one knew how powerful Lockhart's Memory Charm truly was.
In fact, when many spells reached their absolute peak, the effects they produced far exceeded ordinary people's imagination.
Take the Patronus Charm, for instance. Of course, this spell could be used against Azkaban Dementors, but no one had ever done anything as absurd as Harry Potter, casting a single spell and sending hundreds of Dementors fleeing in panic.
This was by no means an effect a normal wizard could achieve, or Azkaban Prison would have been conquered long ago.
The same naturally applied to Lockhart's Memory Charm.
As the magic took effect, the old wizard on the bed gave a start, and his entire skull began to glow with a silvery light. Strands of glowing silver thread, like spiritual serpents, drilled out from his head, rapidly swaying in mid-air before diving into the head of Lockhart, who was hiding beneath the bed, just like fish entering water.
Memory theft was just that effortless!
When Lockhart quietly slipped away, the old wizard on the bed was still snoring and dreaming sweet dreams. When he woke up the next day, he would still be as powerful as ever; he would merely have forgotten the most magnificent memories of his life, and nothing more.
In fact, many powerful wizards did not even know their memories had been stolen by Lockhart.
The human mind was a very unique thing. When a part of the brain's memory was missing or altered, it would automatically smooth over all cracks and abruptness for self-protection, and even spontaneously rewrite a portion of memories to fit these changes, ultimately making everything appear entirely reasonable.
Aurors frequently did this to Muggles, yet no one had ever heard of any Muggle suffering memory or ideological conflicts because of it.
Inside the office.
Lockhart's movements grew faster and faster as memory after memory was extracted—those of the original Lockhart, and those of the dozen or more powerful wizards.
He stripped away all memories to check whether his own memory had any flaws, and to verify whether he had been influenced by these foreign memories.
Everything went extremely smoothly.
Even later on, Lockhart was able to effortlessly wave his wand, causing the strands and strips of silver light drifting from his temples to automatically fly down into the Pensieve.
This kind of operation even gave him more thoughts and inspirations based on the original Lockhart's reflections on the Memory Charm.
The more proficient he became, the more cautious he grew.
He held his wand tightly, not daring to relax for a single second.
Yet the uncanniness of the wizarding world was sometimes just like this: when only the very last fragment of memory remained in his mind, it jammed.
Or rather, an immense, involuntary surge of dread welling up from the depths of his soul frantically stimulated his brain.
Stop!
Stop right now!
Lockhart's hand froze in place, and with a flash of sudden insight, a stark realization hit him: he, this transmigrator, was just a Muggle! Completely stripped of the functions those memories played inside his brain, he was an absolute nobody!
At that point, he would face a massive problem!
If he completely stripped away the memories of these powerful wizards until nothing was left, he would turn entirely into a Muggle. And Muggles had no way of shoving the memories stored in the Pensieve back into their own heads.
In fact, in this school of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, even Dumbledore probably couldn't easily pull off something like stuffing someone else's memories from a Pensieve back into his own head!
Lockhart reacted with lightning speed. Before a look of horror even had time to form on his face, he had already expertly waved his wand toward the Pensieve. "Obliviate!"
In an instant, the memories stored within the Pensieve gushed out entirely, transforming into strands of silver light that drifted into mid-air, swaying as they flew back toward Lockhart's head.
It was rather a pity; this experiment seemed to have yielded nothing at all.
The only thing he knew for certain was that he had been a Muggle in his past life, but that hardly counted as a harvest.
Oh.
There was also one clear realization—the original Lockhart was a complete fool, recklessly stuffing magic-infused memories into his head, relying on his powerful Memory Charm while having no means to sort or control them. No wonder he ended up with a scrambled brain!
He narrowed his eyes, watching the rapidly approaching silver threads in mid-air, realizing that these were not just simple memories.
It seemed he would have to go find magical knowledge related to this field to study later.
Lockhart sighed, patiently waiting for these memories to return to his brain, when his expression suddenly changed and he let out a startled cry, "Oh no!"
019 The Forest Witch
Lockhart's entire body suddenly stiffened, unable to move at all. His eyeballs darted rapidly back and forth within their sockets, and the muscles on his face twitched between tension and relaxation, looking exceptionally eerie.
The silver memory threads floating in mid-air finally drifted close, but right as they were about to make contact, they abruptly changed direction, wandering around the ceiling of the office before finally returning to hover above the Pensieve in circles, converging into a ball of silver thread.
The memory couldn't find the master who had just cast the spell on it!
Yes!
To his extreme terror, Lockhart discovered that the very last memory of a powerful wizard lingering in his mind was rapidly encroaching upon and taking over his body.
This magical memory was infinitely more powerful than a Muggle's ordinary memories or a Muggle's soul!
He cursed inwardly, and his consciousness quickly plunged into complete darkness.
The office instantly plunged into an indescribable, dead silence.
"Guji?"
The little golden retriever, which had been playing with the magical eye, let out a puzzled cry, unsure if this was the sudden emergency the master had just mentioned?
Should it take action now?
With a flip of its tiny paw, the magical eye vanished from its hand. It climbed hand and foot up the coat rack, reaching a height level with Lockhart's head, and looked questioningly into its master's eyes.
Yet all it saw was an unfamiliar gleam.
"Guji?"
It tilted its head in confusion.
Just as it was hesitating, its master finally moved.
"Who am I?" Standing beside the Pensieve, Lockhart walked around the office in confusion, gazing around. "And where is this?"
His movements looked completely different from the elegant Lockhart; they were more reminiscent of a witch, his wand-holding hand instinctively curling with the pinkie finger poked out.
He shook his foot, kicking off his shoes with great discomfort, and stood barefoot in the office, looking utterly vigilant.
With that, he waved his wand rapidly.
A vibrant green light burst forth from the wand, transforming into a brilliant stream of light in mid-air that continuously swept through the office.
In a mere instant, the large oak desk right in the middle of the office suddenly began to sprout buds, shooting upward at a furious pace. Unfurling tender green leaves, it grew taller section by section, its trunk thickening to the size of a human arm in the blink of an eye, pressing against the ceiling before rapidly branching out sideways and sprouting forked twigs.
And it wasn't just the oak desk.
The antique mahogany cabinet, the rosewood high-backed chair, the teak bookshelf, and even the red chipped-paint box containing the Boggart all sprouted branches, turning abruptly into peach trees.
This peach tree grew right up through the birdcage containing the Cornish pixies, its thick branches quickly forcing open the gaps in the cage and letting the Cornish pixies escape.
The pixies went mad, attempting to wreck the office.
"Hmph, wretched pixies!"
"Lockhart" let out an angry cry. "In my forest, I won't have you making a mess!"
With that, 'he' gave a gentle flick of the wand in 'his' hand. Among the dried fruits filling the fruit bowl on the desk, one fruit suddenly split open, growing a massive amount of vines and tendrils.
The growth of these vines was so swift that they shot high into mid-air like a giant hand, their long, extended tendrils instantly ensnaring the pixies and grabbing them tightly in a grip resembling claws.
Then, the vines curled inward, their long branches winding like a serpent around the oak tree branches, hanging the dangling Cornish pixies there like windchimes.
This was one of the dozen or more powerful wizards Lockhart had hunted in the past: the 'Forest Witch' hailing from the Amazon Rainforest, a witch who had been abandoned in childhood and raised by gray wolves.
She was the true mastermind of the wisdom found in the bestselling books *Gadding with Ghouls* and *Homer Simpson...* no, *Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests*.
Dealing with this witch was simple: Lockhart's handsome face coupled with plenty of liquor had soon left her thoroughly intoxicated.
Left to do as one pleased.
Using one's appearance as a tool was a common tactic for dark wizards, and even a common method for many dark magical creatures—such as banshees, who often transformed into beautiful witches to lure people in, or a young Voldemort, who also used his handsome looks to attract wealthy women.
...
The witch was clearly very satisfied with her spellcasting effect, walking on tiptoes with her hands behind her back through this 'forest' that had given her a sense of security, wanting to figure out where on earth she was.
And, just who she was.
After all, she only possessed a small fragment of memory, which was not enough to construct a complete personality for her.
Besides, although the original Lockhart was greedy and foolish, he had only stolen memories related to adventure experiences and knowledge, never bottomlessly clearing out and devouring others' memories; it was fundamentally impossible for a complete personality to be constructed inside his head.
Now, with this memory controlling his body to cast spells, rather than saying it was the witch's behavior, it was more accurate to say that the memory was mimicking the behavioral patterns of its original owner, the Forest Witch.
As the witch strolled through the 'forest', she soon encountered danger.
A pair of eyes hidden among the dense leaves of a big tree.
It was nothing; she could always handle these unexpected incidents with ease.
Yet she miscalculated.
Before she could make even the slightest reaction, an intensely terrifying wave of dread rapidly surged from the depths of her heart, instantly filling every corner of her mind.
She felt as though she had been frightened by some 'unspeakable' entity, standing frozen, stiff, dumbfounded, her brain so sluggish that even her thoughts came to a halt.
Yet her sensations were agonizingly clear; she could distinctly feel a pair of furry little hands forcefully prying at her head.
That monster blinked its crushed-gold eyes, staring with utter fascination at the deep blue eyeballs in her sockets.
Yet the monster seemed to hesitate, wrestling with itself for quite a while before finally pulling its furry hands away from her eye sockets, opting instead to tug at her head in an attempt to drag her somewhere else.
Where were they going?
She didn't know.
The monster wasn't very strong, and it took almost superhuman effort for it to finally drag her behind a peach tree.
There, a Boggart was shivering inside a tree hollow, seemingly terrified of this furry little monster as well, crying out at the top of its lungs, "Don't notice me, don't notice me!"
Behind the peach tree sat a crystal basin made from a large bird's skull. The furry little monster laboriously shoved her head into it.
After waiting for a long while, seemingly nothing happened.
"Guji?"
The little monster looked somewhat puzzled.
After yet another long moment, her body was dragged laboriously once more, arriving directly above the crystal skull, before quickly sinking into a pool of icy, slick silver light.
That pool of silver light wrapped around her head and undulated as though it could think, as if making judgments.
As a memory belonging to her melted into her mind, the silver light, as if summoned, surged madly in a frenzy toward her head.
Was she going to return to normal?
Was she going to remember who she was?
No!
Not at all.
She only felt her vision go pitch black, and she completely lost the ability to think.
A full ten minutes later.
"Hoo~~~~"
Lockhart let out a long breath, his legs turning to jelly as he slumped onto a long, slanting tree trunk behind him, panting heavily like a survivor of a catastrophe.
"Guji~~~"
The little golden retriever leaped excitedly into his arms, crying out as it recognized this was indeed its master.
"Such a good boy~" Lockhart gratefully stroked its little head, eliciting a chorus of happy *guji guji* sounds.
He jerked his neck, suddenly wincing in sharp pain; when the little golden retriever had dragged his body earlier, its little claws had scratched a multitude of wounds across his neck.
Still, it wasn't a major problem.
He gently raised his wand toward the tree trunk overhead, chanting the spell belonging to the 'Forest Witch', "Kind-hearted flower, heal the wounds!"
Instantly, a purple flower abruptly sprouted from the tree trunk, its petals vibrant and fragrant, its stamen dripping with what looked like sticky honey that happened to fall directly into his open mouth.
In just a fraction of a second, all the minor cuts on his body healed completely, and even a relatively deep wound shrank down to a faint scratch.
"See? It's not like there were no gains at all, right?"
Lockhart's expression looked wonderfully surprised.
Though he hadn't unlocked the true power of this magic, he was finally able to cast spells again!
020 You Truly Are a Responsible Professor!
He waved his wand.
"Deep in the forest, wolf packs gather!"
A mist swept through the small grove, taking the shape of a gray wolf constructed from silvery-gray smoke—semitransparent, the size of an ordinary adult wild wolf, and running at a slow pace.
The gray wolf trotted a few paces among the trees before collapsing back into a wisp of smoke that drifted away.
This was one of the two spells Lockhart could barely manage after digesting that memory; much like the Flower Healing Spell, both were somewhat useless chicken ribs.
Yet he was exceptionally content.
Going from being unable to cast magic to being able to cast magic was a qualitative leap.
Contentment brings lasting happiness, and his face was wreathed in smiles. Completely different from the carefully maintained, perfect smile he usually wore, this one seemed to ripple straight from the bottom of his heart, brimming with infectious warmth.
...
The warm evening breeze blew into the office, stirring the sheer curtains and causing them to gently brush against the vine branches that crawled up the windowsill like giant pythons.
A few birds fluttered their wings and flew in, curiously eyeing this novel space and searching for a perch to build a nest within this unique 'little grove'.
Lockhart leaned back against the tree trunk, turning his head to look out the window.
The evening sky was dyed in brilliant hues of sunset, and in the distance, the faint cheers of young wizards from the Quidditch pitch drifted over.
He rested his head on his hands, his mind drifting into a blank state. The little golden retriever, curled up on his stomach, dozed off clutching its eyeball toy, its furry little head bobbing up and down with the rise and fall of his belly.
Lockhart was deeply enjoying this rare moment of peace.
It felt as though everything had come to a standstill, and his normally chaotic, cluttered brain had finally found a moment of quiet calm.
This was precious indeed.
The memories he had pulled out of his brain and shoved back in seemed to be frantically searching for their proper places once more, repelling and attracting one another as they constructed a complex balance.
The original Lockhart had been far too casual with the memories in his brain, grabbing whatever good things he found like a Niffler and stuffing them into his head, regardless of whether he could handle them.
In the magical world, memory was forever one of the most profound domains, touching upon untouchable realms like time, soul, and destiny. Very few wizards conducted research in this direction.
The only ones dedicated to exploring this area were likely the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries across various Ministries of Magic—and perhaps not even every Ministry had Unspeakables in this specific field.
Though Lockhart had fancied himself well-connected, there was simply no way he could ever come into contact with these top-secret figures of the Ministry, let alone acquire top-secret materials from their hands.
Oh~
If his memory served him right...