"Lockhart thought for a moment. 'Take the anti-jinx *Waddiwasi*, for instance. In our past teaching, we would use the corresponding vanishing spell.'"
"'However, when faced with complex or urgent dilemmas, unless one has special crisis management experience like myself, it is often difficult to recall the appropriate spell immediately.'"
"'After all, we cannot expect dark wizards to only use *Waddiwasi*. Perhaps we will be facing a large, drooling black dog, or a crow that will peck out a person's eyes.'"
"'More complicated still, many people are unable to immediately determine whether the snake or dog before them is a ferocious beast kept by a dark wizard or a conjured magical entity.'"
"'Sometimes neither is true; they are actually some sort of dark magical creatures, transformed by monsters like a Boggart that can probe your inner fears.'"
As he spoke, he rested one hand on the desk and the other on the high-backed chair, looking intently at Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. "So, is there a more universal piece of magic to solve all these problems? In moments of extreme urgency, can we instinctively cast this magic first to prevent disaster from escalating?"
This was a very interesting question.
Because it involved practical application.
Dumbledore actually set aside his prejudice against Lockhart and thought seriously about the question. "Regarding the first half concerning conjured objects, the universal method, I suppose, when facing them, I would directly use *Finite Incantatem*. Of course, young wizards might use the simpler *Prior Incantato*."
He gently stroked the strange ring on his finger. "Of course, following past pedagogy, we would prefer students to quickly judge and distinguish which category the creature before them belongs to—conjured object, real animal, or dark magical creature—and then easily resolve it with the corresponding spell. If one cannot make that judgment..."
Such a dilemma was something he, a big shot who had been overpowered since childhood, had almost never encountered in his life; he truly had never considered such a problem.
"I have far too many methods, but I'm afraid none of them are easily performed by a young wizard."
He was forced to look at Lockhart, waiting for the answer.
Lockhart did not rush to reply, instead smiling as he looked at Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall, who had years of contact with students across all grade levels, quickly provided an answer. "The upper-year N.E.W.T. classes do cover some complex magic teaching in this area, though actual instruction reveals that not many can master it fluently. Of course, Transfiguration, if used well, can actually solve any problem with ease."
But this lacked universality as well; Transfiguration was by no means that simple.
"*Alarte Ascendare!*" Lockhart recounted this spell, which he had learned from an old American wizard. "Even a first-year young wizard can easily master this magic. At the very worst, the effect produced will throw the monster into the air so it falls back down."
"In the three major areas of Defense Against the Dark Arts—dealing with dark wizards, dealing with dark magical creatures, and dueling—it can play a very good role."
Lockhart knew far too many slang-like spells similar to this.
For instance, the universal banishing spell used to deal with Cornish pixies and other fairy-like creatures was *Peskipiksi Pesternomi!*
Lockhart continuously searched his chaotic memories for all sorts of folksy magic and slang spells to constantly reinforce this statement, flamboyantly showing off his broad erudition.
Believe it or not.
You really wouldn't believe it.
Even the well-traveled Dumbledore did not know there were so many bizarre folk spells, and on many occasions, they actually possessed true universality.
Most importantly, the difficulty of these spells was very low, making them extremely suitable for young wizards to use.
He was utterly dumbfounded.
He exchanged a glance with Professor McGonagall, seemingly forced to re-evaluate the young man before him who was still running his mouth and endlessly boasting.
—It seemed, apparently, perhaps, that Lockhart was not as terrible as imagined?
003 The Whole World Was the Only One Who Spoke Up for You
Lockhart's speech had taken effect.
Dumbledore's gaze grew much gentler.
A faint smile appeared on Professor McGonagall's face, and she bluntly stated, "Having Lockhart, who has been to so many places in the world, come to teach—this will be an opportunity to broaden the young wizards' horizons."
Perfect!
Professor McGonagall walked with a brisk step, leading Lockhart to the professor's quarters that had been arranged for him. After instructing him on the schedule for the students' arrival at school for the welcome feast that evening, she departed directly, as she had many more things to do.
Lockhart maintained a perfectly charming smile all the way as he saw Professor McGonagall to the door. Once he closed it, as if letting out a huge breath, he leaned weakly against the door panel and slid down to the floor.
He panted heavily, an unhealthy pallor flooding his face, and a great deal of sweat began to bead on his forehead.
"Ugh~"
He clutched his robes tightly, letting out a suppressed groan.
Just now, right just then, he had high-intensity retrieved memories from his mind continuously, making memories that were already a complete mess become increasingly turbulent.
Memory is a very unique thing.
Especially for the original Lockhart, who had mastered the Memory Charm to the ultimate degree, this was doubly true.
One must realize that even when facing the exact same thing, the exact same person, or the exact same event, different people will have different memories.
This is because these memories are mixed with too much personal subjective bias, views on people and events, the emotional and affective state at the time, and the overall impact of one's outlook on life, the world, and values on all memories.
And right now, the memories of over a dozen powerful wizards were mixed together in such a conflicting manner that it was painfully maddening.
Lockhart felt as if over a dozen people were chattering, clamoring, and screaming in a distorted fashion inside his head.
What should he do?
He didn't know, he knew that the original Lockhart couldn't figure this out either.
With this kind of problem now, he had no idea whether it was an aftereffect brought on by time-travel, or an inherent hidden danger left over from the original person's unbridled use of top-tier Memory Charms.
"Damn it!"
Lockhart took a deep breath, finally recovering, though he still wore a face full of sorrow. "Am I going to end up a fool just like the Lockhart in the original book?"
The original Lockhart was formidable, easily handling over a dozen powerful wizards in the span of just nine years.
The original Lockhart was also quite weak; his understanding of magic was still somewhat shallow. Those dozen or so folk wizards might have been very strong in practical combat and everyday applications, but their academic insights were, at best, negligible.
—He didn't know how to deal with his own problem.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry..."
Lockhart stood up, walked over to the window, gazed at the school's castle cluster, and murmured, "Perhaps a way can be found here?"
Yes, he had bragged to Dumbledore about how useful folk magic passed down through generations was, bluntly stating that academic magic was overly dogmatic and rigid.
Yet in truth, he was the one who needed academic magic all the more.
Fortunately, he was now inside a magic school, with a one-year tenure.
Lockhart patted his cheeks, making himself look a bit more relaxed, then casually tidied his luggage, pushed open the door, and walked out.
Immersing oneself in the negative emotions of being unable to change one's predicament was meaningless; doing more meaningful things was much more grounded.
In the time ahead, making more trips to the library to look up information was a way.
Seeking help from other professors was also a way.
The professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were definitely the top figures in the wizarding world.
Professor Severus Snape's potions.
Professor Filius Flitwick's charms.
Professor Pomona Sprout's herbology.
Professor Sybill Trelawney's divination.
Rubeus Hagrid's magical creature breeding.
Madam Pomfrey's medical treatment.
There were too many to count. If he could get on good terms with any of them, it would be a tremendous help, whether for his current problems or any issues he might encounter later in life.
Lockhart strolled leisurely through the castle. As he walked along, he soon caught a very strange smell.
It was a little sweet, a little spicy, and even carried a hint of fresh umami flavor.
"???" He blinked, dumbfounded. "Did I time-travel again? Otherwise, how could someone be eating hot pot here?"
And it seemed to be seafood hot pot, no less!
Following the corridor all the way forward, he soon arrived at the door of a slightly gloomy room. Peeking inside, oh, so they were brewing potions.
He quickly searched his memory for the figure before him. There was no need to look too hard; after all, that greasy long hair was simply too recognizable.
"Hey~"
Lockhart gently knocked on the open door, smiling brightly. "Senior Snape."
Severus Snape was a senior four years ahead of Lockhart, and they had interacted back when they were in school.
At that time, although Snape walked very close to some pure-blood classmates who admired the Dark Lord, he hadn't gained much help from it, and often found himself isolated and helpless when facing Potter and his crowd of prominent figures.
As a prominent figure of the new generation, Lockhart naturally had to speak up for him.
Of course, he was far smarter than Snape; he specifically chose a moment when only the weakling Peter Pettigrew was present to righteously denounce their behavior of bullying a classmate in front of numerous people, winning the praise of many students.
—Senior Snape! Please remember, the whole world was the only one who spoke up for you!
That feeling of being in the spotlight was quite nice.
However, it wasn't nice at all for Snape.
When he turned around and saw Lockhart, his face soured completely.
"Senior Snape." Lockhart's smile grew even brighter as he walked right in with great familiarity, enthusiastically throwing an arm around the other's shoulder. "Remember me? Your dear junior, Lockhart."
Snape's eyes narrowed. He glanced sideways at the hand on his shoulder and said coldly, "Of course I remember. Anyone who uses magic to carve their own name into the school's Quidditch pitch, with every single letter twenty feet long, every student would remember such a person."
Huh?
Was the original person that flamboyant?
Lockhart quickly searched the original's memories and discovered this wasn't even the most flamboyant part; back in school, this fellow had even imitated Voldemort's Dark Mark, projecting his own glowing face into the sky.
Naturally, naturally, he understood the original's mindset.
Just how exhilarating such a thing was—you'd only have to ask the men in middle-eastern headscarves to know; it was absolute, indescribable enjoyment.
"Hahaha..."
Lockhart laughed heartily, naturally removing the arm resting on his senior's shoulder.
Because he noticed Snape had already picked up his wand from the desk.
"It feels so good to be able to work together with you, Senior!" He looked at the school scenery outside the window with deep emotion. "It's still just as beautiful here, filled everywhere with the breath of wisdom. And best of all, Potter and his group of annoying fellows are gone."
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched slightly, and he put down the wand in his hand.
"Senior, did you know? I once talked with someone about you—about the most powerful wizard in potion-making among the people I know: Severus Snape!"
Lockhart turned back to look at him. "Yet they didn't agree. People would discuss Arsenius Jigger, author of *Magical Drafts and Potions*; Libatius Borage, author of *Advanced Potion-Making*; Evans Avon, author of *Potent Potions*..."
He rattled off at least ten names of Potions Masters in one breath, then raised an eyebrow. "Senior, what do you think? Who is more powerful?"
Snape merely shook his head with a calm expression. "I don't care about other people's opinions."
"I wouldn't think so." Lockhart chuckled. "Any master with extraordinary achievements in a certain field has the pride of indisputable status. Perhaps you're simply too young—only thirty-one now—and haven't yet realized the wonder brought by fame. Proving..."
Snape had grown impatient. He turned back on his own accord, took his wand, and stirred the broth in the cauldron, his voice dry and tinged with a trace of annoyance. "I don't need to prove anything. If you have nothing to do, please get out!"
As if he hadn't heard at all, Lockhart continued, "As facts have proven, any master who proves themselves successful—those standing in opposition to them will naturally be deemed villains by everyone. You understand, like Dumbledore and Grindelwald..."
Snape let out a cold sneer. "Someone really ought to let Dumbledore hear how the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor he hired is plotting behind his back."
Lockhart went on, "Or take you and Senior Potter's crowd, for instance."
!!!
The wand in the cauldron stopped moving.
Snape stood motionless with his back to Lockhart, radiating a gloomy aura.
"Proving that you were right!" Lockhart said with great excitement. "You know, back then I was the only one who spoke up for you; I understand it all too well, but many people don't know. So you need to prove yourself—that is the charm of fame. Your extraordinary achievements will turn the people who bullied you back then into a joke."
The wand lifted slightly, a droplet of crimson potion slowly sliding down the shaft.
Snape slowly turned around, staring fixedly at Lockhart. "What on earth are you trying to say?"
"Write a book, Senior. Compile your very own monograph on potion-making and let everyone know your wisdom." Lockhart pointed to the bookshelf on the wall. "Just like all Potion Masters, have your writings placed in the classrooms of every magic school across the world."
"If you don't know how to write it to make it more popular and best-selling, I can help you. Of course, there are still far too many things I can help you with; in this entire world, no one understands how to market a best-selling book better than I do."
A wave of the wand.
An extremely bizarre force sent Lockhart flying backward rapidly. He felt as if he had been squeezed into a narrow, twisted space, and when he was squeezed out and bounced back into the air again, he was already standing outside the door.
Thud~
The door slammed shut forcefully, completely trapping Snape inside the gloom.
"Senior, I saw it—you were tempted! What are you doing, open the door~~"
Yes, Lockhart could clearly see that Snape had been tempted.
His plan had obviously been quite successful. He was using his advantage of being skilled at marketing best-selling books to befriend the school professors, but how come this Snape had just kicked him out?
Not cute at all.
Should he go find the cuter Hagrid instead?
Perhaps this old classmate of the Dark Lord would like to make some interesting picture books for those little cuties?
004 The Deadly Scream of Mandrakes
Lockhart didn't find Hagrid; perhaps he had already set out to the Hogsmeade Station on the border of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Hogsmeade Village to wait for the arrival of the young wizards.
Upon leaving Hagrid's gamekeeper hut, Lockhart did happen to encounter Herbology Master Professor Pomona Sprout.
Professor Sprout was moving some magical plants that had just finished sunbathing from a gravel area by the Black Lake into a greenhouse. Those plants looked chubby like little babies, covered with roots dangling in their ceramic pots.
Lockhart hurried forward to help.
"Oh, thank you so much." Professor Sprout had a few more white hairs than in Lockhart's memory, and looked much older.
"You're welcome. As the student who was awarded the most house points by you back then, I figured I ought to perform a bit better." Lockhart smiled brilliantly.
Professor Sprout paused for a moment, uncertain whether such a thing had actually happened back then.
Still, this Lockhart kid had indeed acted rather erratically back in the day. To rack up house points and show off, he reportedly memorized his textbooks, actively raised his hand in class to scramble for answers, and collected reward points from quite a few professors.
Memorizing textbooks was naturally a good thing, and professors were never stingy with reward points, though unfortunately, Lockhart stopped persisting after showing off that once.
Professor Sprout looked at Lockhart with a trace of sentimentality, wearing a very kind expression. "Yes, you were an excellent child back then. But now you've grown up and come to Hogwarts to serve as a professor; I hope you can keep being excellent."
Oh~
Lockhart was somewhat touched.
Truly.
Ever since he came to the school, despite smiling and greeting people with such effort, he had never received a shred of unprompted goodwill.
"Professor Sprout..." Lockhart's smile grew less dazzling as he lowered his voice. "Thank you."
Next, Lockhart didn't mention that utilitarian professor book-publishing plan; he just silently helped Professor Sprout tidy up the greenhouse and prepare the teaching materials for the upcoming new semester.
The most special among them was precisely that chubby baby-like plant that had just been sunbathing.
Upon returning to the greenhouse, these little babies began to shrivel up as if they had lost their moisture, looking old and monster-like.
This stuff was called a Mandrake, an important component of many antidotes, and could also serve as a potent restorative agent in its own right.
In the wizarding world, this plant was exceptionally expensive and rare.
What could be seen on the market was usually wild.
Only Professor Sprout could be this formidable, cultivating this expensive and dangerous plant in large batches.
Mature specimens emitted a cry resembling an infant's wail, which could cause death upon being heard.
Even juvenile specimens were extremely dangerous, easily causing at least a few hours of unconsciousness.
And that was just regarding a single plant.
There were easily over a hundred of them laid out here; the sound of them all screaming together would be absolutely terrifying.
"We must hurry and bury them back in the soil before they wake up. To be safe, we need to put on earmuffs first—wait, where are the earmuffs?"
Professor Sprout stood up, looked at the somewhat messy greenhouse, recalled something, and slapped her forehead in a sudden realization. "Oh, damn it, my memory. I have to go get them; wait for me here."
She took a few steps, then stopped. "Or if you have other things to do, you can leave first; I can manage on my own."
Lockhart simply shook his head with a smile. "No, there's no need. I'll wait for you."
"Thank you so much, Lockhart. You're a good boy." Professor Sprout expressed her gratitude and walked away briskly.
After she left, Lockhart very obediently refrained from touching anything in the greenhouse.
In fact, he didn't dare touch anything.
Professor Sprout's greenhouse was definitely no safer than the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts; it housed all kinds of plants whose live specimens or seeds were prohibited from trade by the Ministry of Magic, many of which were extremely dangerous.