However, Lockhart, who was essentially conducting the business of a Dark Wizard, did not fear these Aurors. Unless he encountered the top-tier elites, common Aurors did not even catch his eye.
Hermione looked somewhat lost. "Then what is it, exactly?"
Lockhart smiled faintly. "Fairy tales. My answer is fairy tales."
"???" Hermione tilted her head in confusion.
"Yes. I believe the power of magic stems from fairy tales."
"Magical creatures and fantastic beasts come from fairy tales, dark magical creatures come from dark fables, and the magic that belongs to wizards comes from fairy tales all the same."
"Magic is the ultimate romance of the fairy tale."
"If you want to ask me how to become more powerful, my answer is—immerse yourself in the romance of the fairy tale."
"Allow yourself to live in a fairy-tale atmosphere, and you will soon find that your strength improves remarkably fast."
This was the experience of the original Lockhart. Grasping this logic early on allowed him to easily stand out during his school years. After graduating, he hunted down powerful wizards far and wide and never once failed.
Being a school celebrity is the romance of the fairy tale, and so too is being a thief of someone else's life.
Some school celebrities are born with it—like his upperclassmen James Potter and Sirius Black, or the current Weasley twins, George and Fred. Others are created through deliberate effort, like those active in clubs or Quidditch, or those like Lockhart who work hard to cultivate their own fame.
The results were remarkable. Back when he was in school, he could easily modify Voldemort’s Dark Mark, turning that skull into his own portrait. He dared say that many of his former classmates still could not manage that feat to this day.
And right now, Lockhart was witnessing the most excellent case of legendary celebrity hype-building: Harry Potter.
He referred to Harry Potter’s miraculous experiences, and the plotting of the Order of the Phoenix behind them, as the "birth of an epic hero."
This, too, was part of the fairy tale.
Becoming Harry Potter’s professor—a professor who exerted a great influence on him—and becoming the most crucial stroke of color in this epic hero's fairy tale, was the primary reason the original Lockhart had agreed to Dumbledore’s persuasion to come teach at Hogwarts.
"Fairy tales?" Hermione’s small face crinkled. She was a rather rational person. To live in a fairy-tale life? Oh, she didn't seem capable of that.
One had to understand that while there was prejudice within the wizarding community, it was just as rampant among Muggles. In fact, Muggles generally discriminated against wizards; they didn’t care if you were pure-blood or Mudblood, they called them all weirdos and lunatics. Wasn't that exactly what people living in the "fairy-tale life" Lockhart described would be called?
"What should I do?"
Hermione took a deep breath and clenched her small fists, telling herself she couldn't give up on trying.
"The simplest way is to fight a Great Demon King or become one yourself; that is the purest form of fairy tale." Finally, they arrived in front of the office. Lockhart shrugged. "Of course, sometimes we have to acknowledge the limitations of our own abilities and luck. Becoming the sidekick to a hero or a villain is also a fine choice."
***
**007 Dark Magical Creatures**
Pushing open the door to his office and living quarters, both saw an owl standing on the windowsill next to a large crate.
This was perhaps the largest owl Hermione had ever seen—larger than an eagle.
The owl glanced at them and then went back to pecking at the exquisite food placed on a plate on the sill, specifically meant to treat such postal carriers.
Lockhart walked over and picked up the crate, noticing a letter hanging from it. The envelope read: *Congratulations to Gilderoy Lockhart on becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.*
The signature was from the "Hibiscus Ravenclaw Alumni Association."
"Ravenclaw Alumni Association?" Hermione asked, curious, standing on her tiptoes to look. Seeing Professor Lockhart move to open the envelope, she tactfully turned her head away.
"It’s a club organized by Ravenclaw graduates. I asked the association to help me find some dark magical creatures to use as teaching materials for my classes." Lockhart had only recalled this detail from his memories upon seeing the package.
He opened the letter and couldn't help but arch an eyebrow, seeing a familiar name: Alastor Moody.
Mad-Eye Moody.
A retired veteran Auror; it was said that half the prisoners currently in Azkaban were put there by him.
Everything in this crate had been prepared by him.
Moody was a Gryffindor, but his wife had been a Ravenclaw and one of the founders—and the first president—of the "Hibiscus Ravenclaw Alumni Association."
They say even the toughest men have a soft side. Moody’s personality was eccentric and paranoid, yet he was incredibly gentle toward his wife. He had often accompanied her to the Hibiscus Ravenclaw Alumni Association to help out, working without complaint for decades.
Now his wife had passed away, but Moody still remained in the club she had dedicated most of her life to. Everyone knew this was because of his feelings for her.
Lockhart opened the crate. Occupying two-thirds of the volume was a large birdcage containing a group of iron-blue pixies.
—Cornish Pixies.
His expression turned strange.
Knowing the original work, he was all too aware of the chaos these pixies caused and the massive damage they did to his reputation. He had not expected Mad-Eye Moody of all people to prepare them for him.
Lockhart, whose past could practically be defined as that of a Dark Wizard, and the old Auror Moody, who hated evil with a passion?
What a truly interesting relationship.
Lockhart thought for a moment, sat down at his desk, and pulled out a gold-nibbed quill and fine parchment to write a reply to Moody.
First, he naturally thanked him for his help in preparing these items.
But the main purpose was to inquire about the typical scope of the Ordinary Wizarding Level (O.W.L.) exams for fifth-years and the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests (N.E.W.T.) for seventh-years.
Both of these important exams were managed by the Ministry of Magic’s Wizarding Examinations Authority; perhaps Moody could help him find out the details.
Out of a sense of responsibility and a realistic assessment of his own abilities, Lockhart felt the greatest thing he could do for the young wizards at Hogwarts was not to jeopardize their futures.
He did have some ideas on how to consolidate knowledge and conduct targeted practice for the exam content to help them achieve better grades.
"There is actually quite a lot I can do, isn't there?"
At the very least, there weren't many wizards in this world—outside of the true elites—who were more knowledgeable than he was. Whether it was the original Lockhart’s knowledge of the magical world, or his own knowledge as a transmigrator regarding the Muggle world.
After finishing the letter, Lockhart continued to organize the crate.
There weren't many items inside, just three.
Besides the large cage of Cornish Pixies, the second item was an antique red vanity box. It looked quite old, with chipped paint revealing the wooden structure beneath.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
Someone was tapping on the lid from inside the box, asking cautiously, "Is someone out there? Can you save me? I’m locked inside."
Hermione, who had been watching curiously, widened her eyes and covered her mouth to keep from crying out.
"It’s a Boggart." Lockhart flipped the box over and saw the label stuck to it.
"I’ve read descriptions of this monster in books. It says it can turn into whatever a person fears most." Hermione lowered her voice involuntarily, as if afraid to let the monster inside discover her. "But I didn't know it could talk."
Lockhart didn't mind, placing the box to the side and explaining casually to the curious girl, "Boggarts are arguably the most common monsters in the magical world. Some Boggarts that like to live in wizarding households will imitate human speech, or walk around the house in the middle of the night wearing tattered robes. If you're brave enough, you can even chat with them to relieve the loneliness of the night."
Hermione recoiled. "I wouldn't want to talk to it! How could anyone be so bored that they'd find a monster to chat with!"
Oh, there were people.
And one was right in front of her.
The original Lockhart had once chatted with a Boggart all night long—not because he found it interesting, but because this young man, who had left his home in Muggle society to forge his way in the wizarding world alone, was deeply lonely at heart, even if he had friends all over.
He would only tell his innermost thoughts to a monster, and he only dared tell them to a monster.
Because people were far more terrifying than monsters.
Hermione wouldn't see it that way, especially when Lockhart took out the last item in the crate—a small jar painted with strange, child-like graffiti. Her skin crawled, and she felt like a cat with its fur on end.
An indescribable fear crawled up from the depths of her heart, clogging her throat and rising to the surface.
She wanted to scream in terror, but she found that when she opened her mouth, no sound came out. She wanted to flee, but her legs felt like wooden pillars, refusing to obey.
"Oh no, the lid wasn't closed tight!" Lockhart's voice sounded like it came from far away, the tone fractured and drawn out.
She felt like she heard the professor running around in a panic, perhaps looking for his wand, as she hadn't seen him holding it earlier.
*Hurry, please, hurry.*
Hermione was on the verge of tears.
She could feel it—a small, furry hand grabbing her trouser leg and climbing up, then another hand, and then a third.
She didn't know what kind of monster this was, and her heart was almost entirely filled with terror. She wanted to resist, but this state of being frozen in fear—a human instinct when facing extreme threats—left her completely immobilized.
She couldn't even shiver.
The monster moved quickly, patting her pockets, grabbing her robes, and climbing up. Her eyes were wide with absolute horror.
Finally, she saw a pair of pitch-black eyes.
The eyes blinked. Looking closely, she could see many dark golden patterns within the black pupils, looking like a pair of beautiful gems.
Oh, no. She didn't know why she had such an illusion—it seemed the monster was looking at her eyes in the same way.
Then, two small, furry hands reached out to cup her head, and a third small, furry hand reached toward her cheek, up to her eye socket, and gently gave a little tug.
*Pop~*
She felt as if she heard the sound of a wine cork being pulled from a bottle.
Then her vision became extremely strange. Her left eye, still in its socket, maintained its original view, while her right eye swayed left and right following the monster's movements.
!!!!
Her eyeball had been plucked out by this monster!
No!
Hermione wanted to scream, but she could do nothing.
Just as she was about to have a complete breakdown, a large, warm hand suddenly appeared in front of her, palm open. In it lay a pile of cat’s-eye stone buttons—perhaps ripped off from clothes in a hurry, one even still trailing some sewing thread.
"Hey~" Lockhart's voice came. "Perhaps you would prefer these? Cat's-eye stones look much better than eyeballs, don't you think?"
"Goo-gee~" The monster's voice sounded soft and tempted.
The hand gestured. "Come on, take them, don't be shy. But you have to give her eye back, okay?"
The monster seemed to hesitate for a moment before finally nodding, pinching the eyeball and placing it back into Hermione’s socket.
Her vision returned to normal!
She didn't know how long passed, but the fear that had filled her heart slowly dissipated. Hermione shivered and looked around wildly. She saw Professor Lockhart holding a small, golden, furry monkey by the scruff of its neck, stuffing it back into the jar.
The monkey was small, curling up to be smaller than a football, and had three small hands.
If it weren't for the terrifying attack she had just experienced, she might have had her eyes light up, shouting about how cute it was. But now, she didn't want to get anywhere near this monster.
*Clack~*
Finally, the monster was completely stuffed inside, and Professor Lockhart screwed the lid on tight.
The fear finally vanished from her heart entirely, and Hermione gasped, taking deep, ragged breaths.
"I’m sorry, I didn't notice the lid wasn't closed properly."
Lockhart apologized, running over to the closet to rummage around. He pulled out a bar of chocolate, unwrapped it, and handed it to her. "Eat a little of this, it will help you."
"What is this?" Hermione nibbled on the chocolate, asking in a timid, small voice.
"A 'Three-Hand.' It's not a very common dark magical creature. It fills the human heart with fear, leaving them unable to move, so it can easily search for the gems it likes. If there are no gems on the person, it will pluck out human eyes as collectibles."
Lockhart held the small jar, carefully placing it on a shelf to the side, and explained, "St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries has special dark magical creature experts who raise these monsters to harvest patients' eyeballs or other organs to soak in treatment potions. Of course, knowledgeable Dark Wizards also use it to help create some evil dark magical items."
Hermione swallowed hard, suddenly having a new understanding of the magnificent, brilliant magical world. Beyond the wonderful magic, it was also filled with countless terrifying and bizarre things.
***
**008 Outrageous Curriculum**
The dark magical creature 'Three-Hand's' method of filling the human heart with fear was ineffective against Lockhart.
Beyond the reasons involving the chaotic noise of various memories and voices in Lockhart's mind, there was also the technique—or rather, the state of mind—of a well-traveled wizard.
Courage.
Not Gryffindor-style courage, but Ravenclaw-style courage.
The courage needed for combat magic is an emotion—and a fervent one at that—while the courage to face dark magical creatures is a state of mind, often a calm one.
This state of mind was an innate ability, allowing Lockhart to remain unafraid of the negative emotions brought on by many dark magical creatures, including the most notorious of them all: the Dementors of Azkaban.
In fact, being a wizard was always a game of talent.
Fantastic beasts for Hagrid and Newt, combat spells for Harry Potter, magical artifacts for the Weasley twins—even Ron, the most unremarkable in the original work, possessed an incomparable talent for language. He could easily imitate Harry’s Parseltongue and Peter Pettigrew’s voice, possessing a magical natural talent in the fields of spells and linguistics.
Of course, having talent is not enough; a wizard must know how to utilize their talent well, or even find an environment suitable for that talent to flourish.
Those with a talent for Dark Magic should be Dark Wizards, those adept at combat with a flexible approach to rules should be Aurors...
Lockhart dared say that someone like Senior Snape, who had betrayed his faith in Voldemort to choose Dumbledore and come to teach at Hogwarts—if he weren't secretly continuing his study of Dark Magic, his strength would definitely be weaker than it was during the First Wizarding War.
Because his state of mind had been compromised, and he had turned away from his own talent.
Of course, people change. Once the state of mind changes, the talent changes too—who knows?
Take Lockhart himself; he didn't mind at all that he could be a Dark Wizard. That was why he was so greedy that he wouldn't decide to extract those memories from his mind—including those of over a dozen powerful wizards, as well as the original Lockhart’s.
In the wizarding world, this was too simple. It only required some technique; holding a wand to one’s temple and extracting memories one by one was just that convenient.
At the very least, for someone like him who inherited the original’s top-tier understanding and mastery of the Memory Charm, it wasn't difficult to achieve.
Having come to this magical world, he had no desire to return to being a Muggle. Instead, he wanted to find a way to digest and absorb the memories in his mind, as well as the emotions, ways of thinking, worldviews, and states of mind contained within them.
If he had been a wizard in his previous life, he would have undoubtedly been a Ravenclaw. He was naturally born knowing how to think about and utilize his talents.
Hermione didn't stay in the office for long. The Boggart was making a racket in the chipped vanity box, and the Cornish Pixies were shaking the birdcage violently, making her feel as though these monsters were about to escape.
After she left, Lockhart closed the doors and windows and reopened the jar to let the Three-Hand out.
"Goo-gee~~"
The golden, furry little monkey watched him with wide, curious eyes, its third hand, which grew from under its right armpit, curled against its chest.
Lockhart took a large apple from the desk, broke it in half with effort, and handed half to it. "Want to eat?"
"Goo-gee~"
The little monkey thought for a moment, reached out to take it, and tried a bite. Its eyes lit up, and it held the apple with both hands, chewing mouthful after mouthful with great focus.
"Hahaha~~~" Lockhart let out a hearty laugh, rubbing the little monkey’s head. "From now on, without my permission, you are not allowed to leave my office. If you can do that, I can find you something tasty every day, okay?"
The chewing sound stopped. The little monkey began to hesitate, looking at the apple in its hand, then glancing at the door.
"If you don't agree, then I’ll have to lock you in the jar. I know, you’re a special dark magical creature, you like sunshine. Maybe I can build you a little nest on the window?"
The little monkey clearly understood. It turned its head in confusion toward the window; it was nighttime, and there was no sunlight.
"Never had sunshine before?"
Lockhart looked at it with a smile. "Trust me, you’ll like it. I know your kind too well."
Many wizards have this stereotypical belief that Dark Wizards like to stay in dark alleys, and dark magical creatures like to stay in dark, damp corners. This Three-Hand’s previous keepers had evidently arranged things that way.
Distinguishing between wild and domesticated dark magical creatures is simple: dark magical creatures that have had long-term contact with humans can understand human speech and are easier to communicate with. It’s an easy judgment to make.
God knows which Dark Wizard Mad-Eye Moody had captured it from.
"Goo-gee~"
The little monkey finally nodded, extending its third hand toward him.
Lockhart shook its hand, and the deal was officially struck.
This did not mean it fully agreed with the transaction, but rather that it had decided to try cooperating. If, later on, it discovered that such cooperation would significantly harm its interests, it would no longer abide by it.