Just as he had told Hermione, wizards must know how to make good use of their own talents, stepping into an environment suited for those talents to shine. Then, by immersing themselves in a fairy-tale-like romantic atmosphere, their power would naturally grow rapidly.
And his talent clearly lay in the direction of Defense Against Dark Arts Creatures.
Having figured this out so soon after crossing over, he had to admit he was quite fortunate. At least in his past life, he had lived for the better part of half a century and died without ever knowing what he had a talent for.
Of course, first things first—writing books could be put aside for the moment. The issue with the Urquhart family castle, mentioned by Professor McGonagall, was clearly a wonderful opportunity.
Compared to leaving Hogwarts after his one-year term ended to face dark magical creatures entirely on his own, this time he would clearly have the help of Professor McGonagall and the Urquhart family right beside him.
Such a good opportunity must be seized!
Professor McGonagall had no idea that Lockhart was dedicated to collecting dark magical creatures to boost his own strength. Seeing how seriously he took this matter, she was already somewhat moved.
"Cellar rot is also known as 'black moss,' and its characteristic is that we can find things resembling black hair within the large amount of corpse blood it produces."
Lockhart frowned, stimulated by the image of this dark magical creature from his memories. *Good grief, this thing is disgusting.*
"It possesses the common traits of dark magical creatures that breed in dark corners, which is that it smells of a faint, putrid rot or a fishy stench, sometimes accompanied by a unique, sickeningly sweet scent."
"This smell often attracts venomous snakes, leeches, spiders, poisonous insects, and other creatures."
"The smell of cellar rot is slightly sour with a hint of sweetness, and if you lick it, your tongue will tingle slightly, as if struck by a mild electric current."
Lick the corpse blood with the black hair?
Professor McGonagall quietly stepped back a little.
"Its magical property is decay, so we can usually hear an emotion of sorrow or a lament for the passage of time in the sounds it produces."
"The other one, the 'wronged fairy'—or 'witch at the stake,' as it's sometimes called—is much easier to recognize. If we can find the source of the sound, we'll discover a semi-transparent, pale white figure of a witch tied to a stake."
"Legend has it that the earliest records of this dark magical creature date back to around the time Hogwarts was founded, originating from the witch-hunting era. Many people who were not witches were tied to wooden stakes and burned to death. It looked like witch-hunting, but in truth, it was persecution."
"People who died unjustly in this way caused even the earth to lament for them, and so the snakes and insects of the forest gathered together, and the earth wept and sang blood."
"As a result, people only felt more strongly that they had caught the right person, and that those burned to death were evil witches, hence the moniker 'wronged fairy'."
The legend of this dark magical creature essentially told the story of a Muggle woman who was persecuted and turned into a witch for revenge.
It had somewhat of a cult-classic, satirical fairy-tale flavor to it.
"When you encounter this kind of dark magical creature, listen carefully to that song, and you can make out a tiny, faint sound—it's the cry of the earth: 'Stop burning her, bury her in the earth to rot, and she shall gain a new life.'"
"Of course, the simplest way to identify it is that you will hear a burst of birdsong, sounds like *pip-chue, pip-chue*."
"And 'cellar rot' has its own sound, like blood bubbling—*poof, poof, poof*. Most importantly, it has a very unique echo. The two sound somewhat similar, but they are actually quite easy to tell apart."
Lockhart explained this most obvious distinction, but because his vocal pyrotechnics were lacking, he couldn't imitate it at all.
He thought for a moment, pulled a crystal ball used for decoration from the bookshelf that was warped and squeezed by the tree trunks behind him, and handed it to Professor McGonagall. "I'll demonstrate, and you can use magic to record it. Give it to young Mr. Urquhart; we must first determine what kind of magical creature it is before we can prepare a proper plan to deal with it."
Professor McGonagall took the crystal ball, watching him stand up with a focused and contemplative look, full of emotion. "Professor Lockhart, I don't know how to thank you—"
Lockhart smiled and shook his head. "Coming to teach at Hogwarts, you've shown me so much tolerance and support. I should be the one thanking you."
There was no need to say too many polite pleasantries.
Lockhart sprang into action.
His demonstration required a little help. He led Professor McGonagall around the large tree in front of his desk, only to find several curious little ones straining their ears to eavesdrop.
Harry and the others didn't actually feel much fear or awe toward the young Professor Lockhart; he was someone who got along more like a knowledgeable older brother. But Professor McGonagall was quite another story—she made them dread her.
Seeing Professor McGonagall approach, they hurriedly gripped their wands and struck a defensive pose.
Professor McGonagall was clearly displeased with their attitude, and she scolded them with a tight expression. "You will never know how rare an opportunity it is to receive private guidance from the professors; you should know how to seize such chances."
Aside from professors like Horace Slughorn, who excelled at building networks and running clubs, most professors simply lacked the energy to privately tutor students outside of their teaching duties, or they would truly have no lives of their own.
Especially for children like Ron and Hermione, it was only after achieving excellent results in their fifth-year exams that they would be selected by the professors for the N.E.W.T. advanced classes, making it possible to receive training similar to what was happening right now.
Lockhart didn't mind this, however.
Harry and the others were only twelve or thirteen years old now. Although their spirits were lively, they hadn't reached the level of absolute menaces, so there was no need to be too harsh.
Yet he didn't refute Professor McGonagall's words either. He walked over to the peach tree by the fireplace on his own accord.
He knocked gently on the opening of the tree hollow, much like knocking on a door.
The tree hole remained quiet, with nothing inside.
A streak of golden lightning flashed swiftly from afar, scrambling rapidly onto Lockhart's shoulder, putting its hands on its hips and glaring into the tree hole.
A boggart could ignore Lockhart, but it could not fail to fear the three-handed creature capable of controlling fear, and had no choice but to come out obediently.
Black smoke billowed, and it once again transformed into the shape of a human wearing tattered wizard robes.
The young wizards looked with some dread at this seemingly evil fellow, while Professor McGonagall walked over to the side of the students with a guarded expression, staring fixedly at the fluffy little monkey on Lockhart's shoulder.
She didn't know everything; the field of dark magical creatures was far too treacherous and profound. Compared to the openly evil boggart, this fluffy, seemingly cute little creature before her actually gave her an extremely dangerous feeling.
Everyone else was tense, but Lockhart, by contrast, was now looking at the boggart with keen interest, rubbing his hands together like a fly, brimming with eager anticipation.
Perhaps facing dark magical creatures was his own unique talent. After all, no matter how much the Lockhart in the original story knew about how to deal with these things, he had performed poorly, failing to handle even the Cornish pixies.
This interesting and dangerous magical experiment—the two spells he had mastered were nothing special; the real harvest was the insights he gained regarding memory as a result.
This was the truly unique ability that belonged to him alone!
Lockhart eagerly looked forward to seeing his hypotheses successfully put into practice.
He gently placed his hands on either side of the boggart's tattered wizard robe hood, forced its head to face him squarely, and said with eager expectation, "Come on, be a good boy. Feel my fear."
The boggart had always taken pleasure in teasing humans; how could it possibly obey Lockhart's command?
You've got to be kidding, this...
This was easy!
It felt the dangerous gaze of the three-handed creature standing on this human's shoulder and looking down at it, and chose discretion over valor.
Feel fear?
Human, you are simply asking for trouble!
Let me transform into the very thing you fear most!
With a *pop*, its entire body burst into black smoke.
Before anyone could react, the large office grove instantly began to ooze blood from every corner.
The splashing blood made a bubbling *poof-poof-poof* sound, and venomous snakes, spiders, and poisonous insects crawled out from every nook and cranny of the grove with a rustling noise. From deep within the woods came a faint, ethereal, and terrifying female singing voice.
"Ahhhhh~~~"
Harry and the other young wizards let out cries of terror one after another, all of them scrambling in fright to squeeze behind Professor McGonagall.
Lockhart paid them no mind, merely blinking to pull himself out of the mental state of terror induced by the scene, and looked at Professor McGonagall. "Listen closely. The sound of the blood and the singing right now..."
"This is the greatest characteristic of the dark magical creature known as 'cellar rot'."
Professor McGonagall held her wand against the crystal ball in her other hand, casting the spell to record the imagery and sound, and nodded with a tight expression.
"Recorded it? Then let's simulate the state of the magical creature known as the 'wronged fairy'. Boggart, come feel it again."
The boggart was clearly a bit slow to react. It couldn't figure out why the image of the human's deepest fear actually changed!
Even less could it understand that when this human was in such a state of profound fear, his mind had already developed a breach—at which point the three-handed creature could definitely seize the opportunity to easily eliminate the human who controlled it! So why hadn't the three-handed creature made a move?
Not only had it not made a move, but it had even helped this wizard keep it under control?
The boggart didn't understand.
What could the boggart do, though?
The boggart had no choice but to obey obediently.
Soon, the scene in the office began to undergo subtle changes. The blood transformed from a viscous plasma mixed with hair into a clearer appearance, the snakes and insects turned into less terrifying varieties, birdsong began to ring out from the treetops, and the earth called out. Accompanied by the ethereal singing of the witch, it no longer looked quite so terrifying.
No!
To Harry and the others, this was still terrifying!
They wanted to run away.
Yet Professor Lockhart began calling them closer to carefully experience this terrifying scene, listening to him explain the differences between 'cellar rot' and the 'wronged fairy'—two dark magical creatures that looked quite similar but were fundamentally completely different.
Once Professor McGonagall finished recording, Lockhart did not pass up the opportunity. He began repeatedly altering the fearful imagery in his mind, making the simulation produced by the boggart switch back and forth between the two.
He was certain Harry and the others would have a deeply impressive understanding of this topic.
Impressive was an understatement; Hermione felt like she was on the verge of a breakdown. She could clearly sense the golden monkey on Professor Lockhart's shoulder staring intently into her eyes with predatory focus.
She had experienced it firsthand, after all—having your eyeballs plucked out felt anything at all like pleasant!
Caught in such a terrifying scene, her breathing grew rapid.
If not for the hateful Draco standing nearby—she was determined not to show any cowardice, lest this disgusting fellow humiliate her once more from the foolish angle of blood purity—she would have shrieked aloud long ago.
"Very good!"
"Truly a flawless lesson!"
Hermione's nerves were stretched to their absolute limit. She didn't know when Professor McGonagall had already dispersed the terrifying scene; in fact, the other three felt the exact same way. Looking at the grove office, which had returned to normal, they all let out a collective sigh of relief.
Professor McGonagall looked at the scene with a wry amusement and nodded. "Yes, exceptionally perfect."
Just a bit too stimulating.
She could finally understand firsthand why young Mr. Urquhart had used such a terrified tone in his letter when describing the trouble occurring at the castle.
Using a boggart to simulate imagery?
She had never heard of anyone being able to pull that off before.
This was an extraordinary method indeed. Clearly, Professor Lockhart's attainments in the field of dark magical creatures ran unfathomably deep!
***
A splendid and thrilling Defense Against the Dark Arts mini-class left Harry and the young wizards receiving a piece of chocolate each as a reward at the end.
"This is the best way to soothe negative mental emotions. Have some chocolate; if it's not enough, you can come find me for more."
Professor Lockhart always maintained the demeanor of a high-flying celebrity. "Honeydukes specially custom-made these for me with the Lockhart signature edition. If you look closely, you can see my signature printed on the back of the wrapper."
Hermione, who had originally been about to unwrap hers to eat, hurriedly smoothed out the creases in the packaging and, while no one was paying attention, carefully tucked it away into her wizard robe pocket.
Signature chocolate given by her idol—this was simply too blissful.
The piece the professor had given her before had actually been eaten directly; that was simply inexcusable!
She cared far too much about these things. The copy of *Magical Me* that Professor Lockhart had signed for her at the opening feast was currently placed under her pillow, accompanying her to sleep every single night. (Canon setting)
Harry exchanged a peculiar look with Ron.
Signature chocolate?
If it were in the past, perhaps they would have madly mocked such a flamboyant act, but for some reason, they now both felt—perhaps Professor Lockhart was worthy of it.
Regardless of anything else, this class had finally come to an end.
Professor McGonagall had far too many matters to attend to and left first, while the young wizards also began heading out.
Lockhart specifically called Draco to a halt, prompting Harry and the other three to walk intentionally slowly, wanting to hear what was being said.
"Next class, you can bring Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle along to listen."
Draco froze for a moment, revealing a somewhat disdainful expression. "Crabbe and Goyle? To your class?"
Lockhart smiled and nodded. "Their simple minds don't mean they have no potential on the magical path. On the contrary, I believe such people are more wizardly, more magical, and they are full of hidden potential."
Draco looked thoughtful, hesitated for a moment, and asked somewhat sheepishly, "Professor, can I bring Pansy Parkinson along as well?"
Pansy was his girlfriend—a childhood sweetheart, a match made from youth, socially matched, and approved by both sets of parents.
Lockhart burst into hearty laughter, laughing so hard that the proud young master Malfoy's face flushed red.
"Of course."
Lockhart smiled and patted him on the shoulder.
Education without discrimination, expanding one's own sphere of influence—why not?
Yet with this addition, the headcount would increase by one, making it inconvenient to form pairs for practice. He simply called out to the three small figures who had been walking slowly with their ears perked up. "Hermione, you can recommend a student to come to the next session."
Hermione had originally wanted to say that she didn't really have anyone to recommend; her interpersonal skills weren't great, and her only friends were Harry and Ron.
As a result, Ron gave her a subtle push from behind, and Harry let out a soft cry of encouragement, causing her to hurriedly nod. "Alright."
Harry and Ron certainly didn't want the number of "their own people" to fall short of Draco's crew!
Lockhart expressed his gratification.
It seemed this "dueling club" was about to expand in scale.
His original plan for his tenure at Hogwarts was to build up a network of connections.
Valuable targets were not limited to the professors alone.
Of course, countless lessons from history told us that social butterflying alone could not truly build one's own influence; to forge good iron, one had to be strong oneself.
Thus, for the entire week that followed, outside of his "daily classes," "dueling club," and "N.E.W.T. advanced classes," Lockhart spent almost all his time trying to practice the three spells he had mastered.
The Obliviator Curse from the original Lockhart.
And the Healing Spell and Summoning Spell from the "forest witch."
The results were good!
As his casting feel and state of mind grew increasingly smooth and harmonious, he could feel a uniquely intimate connection forming between his wand and himself.
This meant that the wand's properties were beginning to shift away from the raw traits constructed from its raw materials—applewood and unicorn hair—and were gradually aligning with his own body and soul, turning into something uniquely his own.
This improvement made the magic he cast increasingly proficient and polished.
The healing spell, "Floral Healing," through day-and-night continuous practice and the constant absorption of the "forest witch's" experiential use of this magic from his memories, was now capable of treating major external injuries and minor internal injuries.
The summoning spell, "Grey Wolf Pack," although still only capable of summoning a single grey wolf, no longer lasted less than three seconds as it had at the very beginning; it could now actually help by carrying trash over to the corner and tossing it into the wastebasket.
The only problem was...
The usage scenarios for these two spells required a forest, or at the very least, relied heavily on vibrant, thriving trees.
This was also why the forest witch instinctively modified her surrounding environment with magic when facing an unfamiliar setting.
The power was good.
But there were limitations.
Lockhart was already quite satisfied. Whenever he had free time in his office, he would cast the spells over and over again with unflagging enthusiasm.
This wasn't diligence; it was an addiction, much like being hooked on a video game—he always found himself compelled to cast the magic, and then felt amazed and delighted every single time.
Little Goldie was also very fond of the grey wolf Lockhart summoned, and always loved jumping onto the wolf's head and letting it carry her around.
So Lockhart simply turned summoning the grey wolf and the flowers into a little game between himself and his pet, with man and beast frequently laughing out loud together.
Magic could bring happiness.
This was the greatest significance of magic to Lockhart.
Having crossed over into this magical world and facing the life ahead of him, arriving in high spirits and returning fully satisfied—that was the greatest perfection.
In fact, it wasn't just these two forest witch spells; the original owner's top-tier memory-erasure curse was equally fun.
Lockhart had discovered a particularly interesting and magical thing!
That was to say, the exact same memory, when viewed within his own mind, usually presented the five senses and impressions of the memory's original owner.
Yet if he placed it into a Pensieve, he could actually detach himself from the visual perspective of the memory's owner! (Canon setting)
Just like the memory of the old wizard he had extracted during his first experiment—at that time, the old wizard had been asleep, but the memory contained the sight of the original Lockhart stealing his memory!
The Pensieve was simply a miraculous creation, capable of easily allowing one to step from a memory right into the time period where that memory took place!
Of course, it couldn't stretch infinitely.
Lockhart tried wandering around within the extracted memory and discovered that the furthest he could go was restricted from leaving the current scene—for instance, in the memory of the old wizard falling asleep, he could walk out onto the street and listen to the incoherent ramblings of a drunkard, but he couldn't enter anyone else's house, nor could he leave that remote Spanish town.
Yet this was already entertaining enough!