October 7th, 1992, Wednesday
Breakfast had barely finished echoing through the Great Hall when I swept into my classroom with the confidence of a man about to perform for an audience, because, in a way, I was.
The second-year students filed in, half-awake, half-curious, and entirely unprepared for what I had planned. I clapped my hands once, sharply, and their chatter stilled.
"Good morning, everyone! Today's lesson is a foundational spell in any competent wizard's arsenal, Expelliarmus!" I said, flourishing my wand with theatrical ease. "The Disarming Charm! Simple, elegant, and surprisingly effective when performed with intent and flair."
I paced before the class, cloak swishing dramatically. "Now, some of you may think this is a defensive spell, a way to disarm an opponent, stop a duel, prevent injury. And yes, that's true! But remember," I raised a finger, smiling knowingly, "the best defense is often a dazzling offense."
A few students giggled; others leaned forward, rapt. Hermione Granger, bless her, already had her quill and parchment ready to start taking notes.
"Observe," I said, turning to the blackboard where an illusion shimmered into being, a handsome and perfect duplicate of myself, wand raised and eyes gleaming challengingly. "Meet Professor Lockhart's greatest adversary: himself."
The students laughed as I gave a mock bow. "Now then, duel!"
The illusion fired a silent hex; I spun aside, cloak flaring, and flicked my wand. "Expelliarmus!"
A bright red beam struck the illusion square in the chest, it went flying backward, its wand spinning through the air before vanishing in a puff of gold sparks.
The class erupted into applause. I gave a gracious bow. "Thank you, thank you! Remember, power without poise is wasted effort. Control, focus, and just a touch of charm will take you farther than brute force ever could."
I turned to them, eyes twinkling. "Now! Let's work on the practice dummies, they're enchanted to resist weak spells but will drop their wands if properly hit. I'll be walking among you, offering my usual brilliance in the form of personalized advice."
The classroom filled with excited murmurs and the buzz of spells being cast.
"Expelliarmus!" a wand sputtered.
"Expelliarmus!" a dummy's arm fell off.
"Expelliarmus!" a dummy's wand was immediately sent flying, courtesy of one Harry Potter, as expected of the one who defeated Voldemort with this very same spell.
"Look at Mr. Potter, perfect form, 5 points to Gryffindor!" Harry blushed at the praise but smiled through it.
"Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" Draco Malfoy managed to cast the spell on his third try. I awarded three points to Slytherin, but judging by his scowl, he wasn't satisfied with being outdone by Potter.
"Expelliarmus!" Seamus Finnigan's dummy exploded in a shower of sparks and smoke.
And then there was Ron Weasley.
Poor boy. His wand, still cracked from that unfortunate flying car incident, emitted a pitiful whine every time he tried to channel even the simplest charm.
"Alright, Mr. Weasley," I called as I noticed him raise his wand once again, "steady hand, straight arm, think assertive, not aggressive."
He nodded, concentrated, and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
The spell backfired spectacularly. With a loud bang! and a flash of red sparks, Ron was thrown backwards, landing flat on his back with a groan.
I winced and hurried over, kneeling beside him as the class snickered. "Alright, Mr. Weasley, I've seen enough. You'll end up killing yourself if this keeps going on."
He groaned again, brushing soot off his robes. "S'not my fault, Professor. It's the wand. It hates me."
"Yes," I said thoughtfully, helping him up. "And considering the wand's condition, I daresay the feeling is mutual."
He looked genuinely miserable. I sighed, poor kid. I knew his family couldn't afford a new wand right now. Then, inspiration struck.
"How about this, Mr. Weasley. I'll make you an offer."
His expression flickered between suspicion and hope. "An… offer?"
"Yes." I gave him my most reassuring smile. "You need a new wand. I happen to have connections and a particular fondness for seeing my students succeed. I'll buy you a proper wand, brand new, no cracks, no curses."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
"On one small condition."
There it was, the hook.
"You'll assist me for a month. Class preparations, demonstrations, perhaps the odd bit of clerical work. Nothing too taxing, think of it as a paid apprenticeship. In education. And public relations."
Ron blinked, clearly unsure what that last part meant, but too hopeful to care. "You mean I'd be… like… your assistant?"
"Precisely! Imagine the résumé potential! Assistant to Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. It has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"
Hermione, who had been listening nearby, looked intrigued, slightly jealous, and horrified all at once. "Professor, is that… ethical?"
I gave her a winning smile. "Miss Granger, I can't just give a student a wand now, can I? But if he earns it…"
Ron, meanwhile, had brightened visibly. "I'll do it! Deal!"
I couldn't help but grin, he would've refused if I'd simply offered him the wand out of pity, but working for it? That kept his pride intact.
"Splendid!" I said, shaking his hand with flourish. "We'll settle the details after class. And do be careful with that wand until then, I'd hate for my new assistant to explode before his first day on the job."
The bell rang, students began packing their things, and I surveyed the room, smoke, scorch marks, laughter.
Another successful lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
And, perhaps, the beginning of a rather useful arrangement.
…
The green flames roared to life as the Floo Powder left my hand, scattering into the hearth like a handful of emerald stardust.
"Alright, Mr. Weasley, chin up, shoulders straight," I said, gesturing toward the fire. "Say it clearly, or we might end up in Knockturn Alley, and I don't have the time or patience to wrestle you from a hag's cauldron this morning."
Ron looked horrified at the idea and remembered that it was quite close to what happened to Harry that very same summer. "D-Diagon Alley!" he shouted before stepping in, vanishing in a swirl of green light.
I followed after, the familiar rush of spinning fireplaces blurring into one dizzying streak of color. Moments later, my boots hit solid ground, and we stepped out into the crisp air of Diagon Alley. The cobblestones were wet from an earlier drizzle, reflecting shopfronts and hanging signs like polished glass. Sunday shoppers bustled about, owls hooted from their perches, and the faint hum of magic filled the air.
"Blimey," Ron murmured, dusting soot off his robes. "Haven't been here since before term started."
"Try not to gape too much," I said with a half-smile. "We're here for business, not sightseeing."
The bell above Ollivanders chimed as we stepped inside. The shop was as I remembered, narrow, dimly lit, and smelling faintly of polished wood and something I couldn't quite place. Piles of wand boxes towered to the ceiling, leaning precariously like enchanted dominoes waiting for a sneeze.
A voice drifted from the shadows. "Ah… Professor Lockhart."
Mr. Ollivander appeared as silently as a ghost, his pale eyes bright and curious. "Cherry wood with a dragon heartstring, nine inches, slightly bendy… I trust it's served you well?"
"Impeccably," I said, lifting the wand with a showman's flourish. "Still channels brilliance as easily as charm."
Ollivander's lips twitched in what might have been amusement. "And young Mr. Weasley," he said, turning to Ron. "This would be your first wand, I presume? What were you using before?"
Ron's ears reddened. "Er, yes, sir. My brother Charlie's old wand, but it broke in half."
"I see." The old wandmaker's fingers steepled. "That happens more often than one would think. Step forward."
Ron obeyed, and soon the air was alive with the soft whoosh of wand boxes opening themselves and floating forward. One by one, Ron tested them, oak, ash, birch, until Ollivander handed him a long, elegant wand of willow.
"Try this," he murmured. "Fourteen inches. Willow. Unicorn hair at its core."
Ron waved it once, uncertainly, and a gust of warm, golden light flared from the tip, swirling through the shop like the breath of spring.
Ollivander's expression softened. "Curious… very curious indeed. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Weasley, and this one seems to have chosen you. You will find that it will serve you much better than your brother's old one."
Ron grinned, holding the wand like it was the finest treasure in Britain.
As we stepped out into the street again, I clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done, my young assistant. A proper wand for a proper wizard. Now, what do you say to celebrating this pivotal moment in your magical career?"
"Uh… with what?"
"Ice cream, naturally. Fortescue's. My treat."
…
Florean Fortescue's parlor smelled like sugar and toasted almonds, the perfect antidote to a damp afternoon. Ron devoured a towering sundae of chocolate and toffee chips while I savored a raspberry swirl and discussed, with Florean, of course, the lamentable decline in proper dessert presentation since the seventeenth century.
By the time we returned through the Floo to my office, Ron looked happier than I'd ever seen him. Unfortunately, that expression faltered the moment he spotted Professor McGonagall standing by my desk, arms crossed like a coiled cat ready to strike.
"Professor Lockhart," she said sharply. "Might I ask why one of my second-year students has been seen emerging from your fireplace? From Diagon Alley, no less?"
"Ah, Minerva! You're just in time to see my excellent mentoring in action." I gestured to Ron, who immediately straightened up. "Young Weasley here was in desperate need of a new wand. Using the old one was practically suicidal. I took it upon myself to see the matter handled efficiently."
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Without permission. From me. Or the Headmaster."
I gave her my best dazzling smile, the one that had earned me five consecutive awards. "Surely, Minerva, we can agree that safety trumps paperwork. Why, if his wand had misfired again, he might have hexed himself into a weasel."
Ron nodded earnestly, backing me up. "It's true, Professor. He even got me a discount at Ollivander's."
Her expression softened, if only slightly. "A discount," she repeated flatly.
"A professional courtesy," I said smoothly. "Fame does have its uses."
McGonagall sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just… make certain this doesn't happen again, Gilderoy. I don't want students thinking the Floo network is open for recreational travel."
"Of course, of course," I said cheerfully. "Strictly educational purposes only."
When she finally left, Ron exhaled in relief. "That was close."
"Nonsense," I said, brushing soot from my robes. "That, Mr. Weasley, was what we call a successful adventure. Now, about your duties as my assistant, let's start with polishing my awards cabinet."
Ron groaned, but I caught the ghost of a smile before he turned away.
…
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