The next morning, it was as if the world had been hit by an owl plague. The skies were filled with these feathered postmen delivering newspapers and magazines.
The incident at the British Ministry of Magic had exploded like a depth charge, igniting the global wizarding community's attention.
Some debated the Ministry's structure, others argued over whether more magical heavyweights came from the Ministry or Hogwarts, and there were heated disputes about whether werewolves deserved compassion or should all be rounded up and executed.
Rita Skeeter must've been thrilled—she'd played a massive role in this frenzy.
She'd convinced Fudge and Umbridge to hold a book signing for Lockhart at the Ministry, paving the way for his fame to skyrocket. She'd built the hype step by step and was even the first to interview the wife of the captured werewolf.
It was all her, her, her.
But, in a twist, the top-selling paper covering the critical Ministry attack wasn't Rita's Daily Prophet—it was The Quibbler, which she'd always dismissed!
The reason? The Quibbler's editor, Xenophilius Lovegood (Luna's dad), just happened to be standing near Minister Fudge when the werewolf attack went down. He just happened to fall in fright, and he just happened to have his magical camera ready. At least, that's how Rita saw it.
Whatever the coincidence, Lovegood snapped a photo destined to leave a lasting mark on wizarding media history.
It captured Lockhart standing tall, wand raised elegantly against a charging werewolf, while the Ministry's so-called "heroes" faltered.
Behind him: a panicked Minister Fudge, a despairing Rufus Scrimgeour, a writhing Corban Yaxley in agony, frantic Aurors, ordinary folks drawn by the book signing, and young witches and wizards like Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.
Gilderoy Lockhart!
He shielded them all, wand moving with grace and ease, facing a werewolf so massive it could've passed for a dragon. Fearless. Heroic.
He was the hero!
The greatest wizard of the age!
The savior of the Savior!
He…
Was the undeniable superstar of this era!
A star, a star—everyone loved him!
And just like that, Lockhart reached the peak of fame, fulfilling a lifelong dream so completely he could've died happy.
So, "Lockhart" died.
Back in the quiet solitude of his Hogwarts office, away from the clamor of the world, he was surprised to find his mind… clear.
The noise of his predecessor's memories lingered, but it was like the distant hum of a bustling street—easy to tune out if he didn't focus on it.
Only then did he realize why he'd struggled to fully harness his magic. The original Lockhart's vivid memories—his emotions, will, desires—had been subtly interfering with his magical focus, sparking instinctive disruptions in his power.
It was a silent, almost imperceptible interference.
But now, having fully absorbed those memories, the interference was gone. He realized a whole heart wasn't so easily swayed by external echoes.
Sitting quietly by the dark office's windowsill, surrounded by his companions, he felt a faint, ancient veil shimmering before him, swaying with the breath of life.
A pale figure appeared, smiling brightly. "Thank you," it said. "Fame was always my pursuit, and you've achieved what I only dreamed of. I have no regrets—it's time for a new journey."
Lockhart smiled back, nodding. "And thank you for giving me the chance to enter this wondrous, magical world."
The figure gave a graceful bow, retreating slowly into the veil until it vanished completely.
The original Lockhart's life was truly over—a grand exit.
And the new Lockhart's life was just beginning.
Free of shackles, lighter than ever, he felt his magic surging within him, transforming rapidly.
The change was holistic, most noticeable in his body.
In the wizarding world, the bond between body and soul was intricate—not just a vessel, but a reflection. Voldemort's snake-like features were a prime example.
Now, Lockhart was changing too.
With a flicker of thought, he waved his wand at the moon outside. A cascade of moonlight poured into the office, brightening the room.
He stepped to the full-length mirror, studying himself.
It was familiar—the face he'd grown used to since arriving. Yet, it was shifting, subtly adjusting in every small detail.
His body was aligning with his soul's state, molded by his magic.
As the heart shapes, so does the form.
With the "original story" no longer binding, "Lockhart" was no longer Lockhart.
He was becoming his own person—not the original Lockhart, nor the man from his past life with a now-different mindset.
But appearance was trivial. His soul's state mattered more.
Closing his eyes, Lockhart gently waved his wand, sinking into a deeper self-awareness.
He saw himself in a house—perhaps a "heart's chamber"? The name didn't matter. Outside the windows, the original Lockhart's memories and those he'd stolen clamored, but their noise was faint, requiring effort to hear.
Inside this house were four other presences.
One was his Patronus, a horse. Another was the wild werewolf, like branches of his soul—or perhaps indistinguishable parts of himself.
Then there was a silvery, plasma-like orb, pulsing like a silent force. This was the essence of sixteen-year-old Tom's perfect Patronus, tied to Voldemort's curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, faintly linked to Lockhart.
The last was unexpected: a banshee.
Oh, right. He'd once asked a banshee if it wanted to live in his heart.
He'd thought it was just inhabiting his body in some unique way, but no—it had truly taken up residence.
His mind clear, Lockhart felt a spark of spirituality.
It was a state hard to describe in words.
Under that spiritual glow, ideas bubbled up like steam in a boiling pot.
And then, a subtle realization hit him.
His journey since arriving had been too deliberate.
Specifically, his pursuit of a "fairy-tale romance" path in magic had nailed the "fairy-tale" part, but the "romance" was slipping away.
He was falling into the same trap as Hermione—treating magic like a tool.
That wasn't right. Magic was everything, woven into every moment of life. He should chase life's truth, and the fairy-tale would follow naturally under magic's influence.
He'd benefited from the original Lockhart's grasp of "fairy-tale romance" but also inherited its limits.
Now, those limits were gone.
"Yes, thank you for bringing me to this vibrant, wondrous world," Lockhart murmured. "I'll embrace its beauty fully."
Tom!
Your uncle's back!
That spell you created? I've got some new ideas—let's have a chat.
…
Hogwarts after the Christmas break was buzzing. Professors were gearing up for the next six months' "House Cup," or rather, Lockhart's proposed fairy-tale adventure: The Chamber of Secrets.
It was a fun experiment, and the professors were eager to dive in.
Some had done something similar the previous year.
That time, Hagrid provided Fluffy, Quirrell a troll, Sprout Devil's Snare, Flitwick flying keys, McGonagall wizard chess, Snape a potion-fueled fire, and Dumbledore the Mirror of Erised.
But it hadn't been fully satisfying—only three students, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, took part.
This time, it was for the whole school.
The same crew was back, with one change: the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was now Lockhart, with Kettleburn as his assistant.
Everyone loved the idea, tossing out wild suggestions—except one predictable killjoy.
Severus Snape.
"I must remind you all," he said, scanning the excited professors, "our teaching duties are heavy, and the students are already swamped with coursework. Neither you nor they have time for Lockhart's games."
Harsh reality.
Take Harry Potter. The boy had talent, excelling in every subject, but even he cut corners on homework to make time for Quidditch and Lockhart's Duelling Club.
If Harry struggled, less gifted students were drowning, barely keeping up with assignments.
Hogwarts was intense—seven years to shape a wizard's life, so the school squeezed every moment.
This Christmas, three weeks of break came with heaps of homework for every subject.
Snape's words were a bucket of cold water, silencing the lively staff room. The professors exchanged glances, unsure how to respond.
Dumbledore was too busy for "child's play," so eyes turned to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, hoping she'd weigh in.
McGonagall, though, looked to Lockhart, the mastermind of the event.
"Professor Snape makes a fair point," Lockhart said with a grin. "So, colleagues, I have a suggestion…"
"Why not integrate some coursework into the adventure? Observe how students apply knowledge in practice. Nothing's more telling than that."
He turned to Snape. "For example, you could poison students in a challenge—say, with Swelling Solution—then leave antidote ingredients nearby for them to brew their own cure."
"More engaging than writing a few feet of parchment, right? And it spares you from grading poorly copied or outright wrong essays."
Snape's eyes narrowed, a faint smirk forming as he imagined the scene.
"Brilliant idea!" Flitwick chirped, waving his small arms. "I could set up a locked door in the adventure. If a student can't cast Alohomora, they're not getting through!"
A first-year must-know spell—if they couldn't manage it, they had no business in the adventure.
Kettleburn, eager to escape his tiring Care of Magical Creatures post, was all in. His eyes gleamed as he joined the discussion. "Can I put a dragon in the scenario?"
"I've got great contacts at dragon reserves—they'd love to lend one for the students."
You want to kill the kids!
The room barely held it together.
But Lockhart nodded cheerfully. "Maybe for the older students' challenge. We could fill a dragon's lair with statues they can animate to fight it, honing their Transfiguration skills."
McGonagall perked up at that.
Animated12Stone soldiers?*
Oh, nothing beat that!
The room erupted in agreement—full support!
Homework load slashed, the students were surely thrilled.