Albus Dumbledore sat at his claw-footed desk, staring motionless at the parchment before him, seemingly lost in deep thought.
Neither the rhythmic snoring of the enchanted portraits lining the walls nor the occasional low chirping of Fawkes the Phoenix—whose head remained tucked beneath its wings near the doorway—could rouse the headmaster from his profound tranquility. It was as if he had melted into the very architecture of the room.
The stillness finally broke when the gargoyle guarding the spiral staircase chimed through the inter-office speaker.
"Headmaster," a sharp voice announced, "Gilderoy Lockhart is here to see you and is waiting outside."
Dumbledore stirred slightly, blinking as the spell of his own thoughts broke. "Please, send him in."
Moments later, the griffon-shaped doorknob slid aside, and the heavy oak door creaked open. The visitor paused on the threshold, head held high, refusing to step inside until the door swung completely wide.
Lockhart was impeccably dressed. From his sharply tailored trousers to his crisp, pressed shirt, he looked worlds away from the notoriously eccentric or unkempt attire favored by many wizards. His velvet robes gleamed softly under the chandelier light, perfectly complementing his styled golden curls and giving him an aura of pristine, radiant confidence. Paired with his effortless, dazzling smile, it was easy to see why he could captivate anyone from an eight-year-old admirer to a grandmother of sixty.
"Good day, Headmaster!" Lockhart strode a few paces into the room before bowing deeply from the waist. "It has been far too long. I've missed you terribly."
Dumbledore rose slowly, extending a hand in greeting.
Lockhart rushed forward two steps, quickly stripped off his white gloves to slip them into his pocket, and seized Dumbledore's hand with both of his own in an overly enthusiastic grip.
Dumbledore's brow twitched slightly—whether from a quiet distaste for such theatrical manners or from catching a sudden, overpowering wave of expensive cologne, it was hard to tell.
"It certainly has been a while, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said smoothly, withdrawing his hand at the first polite opportunity. "I heard you've spent the last few months up around Loch Ness?"
Lockhart grinned, flashing his bright, impossibly white teeth. "Oh, there's no need for such formality, Headmaster. Please, call me Gilderoy—or even Gil, if you like."
"As you wish, Gilderoy," Dumbledore replied, offering a seat. "Please, sit. Personally, I quite agree that some unnecessary formalities are best left behind."
Relieved of his pretense, Lockhart eagerly took the offered armchair. "I was indeed stationed by Loch Ness recently. Part of the appeal was simply being closer to Hogwarts within the Scottish Highlands, but I was also helping an old classmate sort out a rather messy situation. You know how it is—summer vacation brings Muggles flocking to the loch in search of monsters. We have to spend half our lives casting Memory Charms just to keep the Statute of Secrecy intact."
"Yes, I heard about that," Dumbledore said, a knowing twinkle in his eye. "A remarkably refined application of the Charm, I'm told—leaving them with no side effects other than the fond belief that they've enjoyed a lovely lakeside picnic. Pissgood speaks very highly of your work."
"That is wonderful to hear," Lockhart beamed.
"You mentioned being 'closer to Hogwarts,'" Dumbledore continued, leaning forward slightly. "Does that mean you've finally decided to accept our offer?"
"Of course!" Lockhart threw his arms wide. "Could anyone possibly refuse? Turning down an offer from Hogwarts—the greatest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world—is unthinkable. It's the dream of a lifetime."
"I am genuinely pleased to see that, ten years after your graduation, you still hold your alma mater in such high regard. However, Gilderoy, I must remind you once more of the exact nature of the position: this is for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post," Dumbledore noted gently.
Lockhart's radiant smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "Well... yes, of course I'm aware."
"Then you likely know the history—including what befell poor Professor Quirrell last year, and the long-standing shadow cast over the position by You-Know-Who."
Lockhart pressed his fingertips together thoughtfully. "Naturally! A terrible tragedy, poor Quirrell. And the curse itself is legendary. To my knowledge, not a single soul has managed to hold that desk for more than twelve consecutive months in decades."
It was a notorious piece of dark history. Ever since Voldemort had applied for the position in 1954 and been summarily rejected, a malignant jinx had settled over the post like a dormant viper, patiently gathering strength. By 1992, the curse's grip had tightened mercilessly. If the sequence of turnover had continued uninterrupted, Hogwarts would have cycled through thirty-eight professors in as many years—an absurdity, yet an undeniable reality.
While teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts was technically an academic career, it had quietly become one of the most hazardous jobs in the magical world. Lockhart knew the stakes better than anyone.
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, a flicker of quiet curiosity dancing in his blue eyes.
"I must admit, Gilderoy, I am curious," the headmaster murmured. "Perhaps an old man's memory is failing him, but my recollection of your student days suggests a somewhat different temperament... After all, the Sorting Hat placed you in Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor."
"And as you well know, I've always been far more inclined toward cunning and self-preservation than reckless bravery," Lockhart finished smoothly, unbothered by the implication. "Hardly the standard profile for someone eager to walk into a cursed classroom."
Lockhart's utter lack of defensiveness seemed to put Dumbledore somewhat at ease.
"Not at all," Dumbledore demurred. "Though, I did happen to speak with Mr. Ollivander recently, and he mentioned a rather interesting detail: you recently visited his shop to replace your original wand. Such a change later in life is exceedingly rare."
At that, Lockhart's expression tightened. For the first time since he had stepped into the office, his practiced, dazzling smile vanished completely.
Ollivander's wands were intimately tied to a wizard's core personality, values, and evolving magic. The wood, the core, the length—they reflected the very essence of a person's spirit. As Ollivander often said, the wand chooses the wizard, and such bonds rarely broke unless a wizard suffered a profound spiritual trauma, a radical shift in values, or a cataclysmic change in identity.
"It has been over a decade since my graduation, Headmaster," Lockhart said quietly, his tone measured. "In the years since, I have traveled the corners of the earth, faced extraordinary dangers, and witnessed things most wizards only read about. Experiences like that tend to mature a man, don't they? Surely you've read my accounts—Voyages with Vampires, Wandering with Werewolves...?"
"Of course. They were a primary inspiration for my reaching out to you," Dumbledore replied politely.
"Then surely you wouldn't expect me to remain the exact same boy I was at seventeen," Lockhart added smoothly. "Stagnation, after all, is the true enemy of progress."
Dumbledore studied him in silence. Lockhart met his gaze unflinchingly, neither looking away nor shifting his posture.
Finally, a faint, conceding smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "...Forgive an old man's idle curiosity. People change, and I am always glad to see our alumni grow."
"No apologies necessary, Headmaster. Given the unfortunate history of the post, checking the background of your staff is only prudent," Lockhart replied with a disarming ease.
Inwardly, however, Lockhart let out a long, silent breath of relief. He had successfully cleared the first major hurdle.
The truth was, he wasn't the original Gilderoy Lockhart. The real Lockhart had been a fraud who relied on stolen memories and memory-wiping spells, eventually meeting his undoing when a botched spell had backfired and scrambled his own mind. The man sitting in this chair now was actually a modern civil servant from the twenty-first century—someone who had worked himself to exhaustion (the infamous 996 routine) while binge-reading the Harry Potter series, only to wake up in this magical reality. Navigating the headmaster's penetrating gaze had been a tightrope walk, but he had managed it.
"Well then, it appears everything is in order," Dumbledore said, drawing a crisp roll of parchment and a quill from a drawer. "If you are willing, sign this contract. Upon signature, you will officially join the Hogwarts faculty, granting you clearance to your private office and the authority to award or deduct house points—responsibilities I trust you will use wisely."
Lockhart took the parchment, scanning the terms with genuine curiosity.
He had always wondered what kind of compensation Hogwarts professors actually received. Even wealthy figures like Horace Slughorn—who could easily command small fortunes for rare ingredients like Acromantula venom—had their price. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall hadn't batted an eye at purchasing a top-of-the-line Nimbus 2000 for a student out-of-pocket, hinting at comfortable, if varied, salary brackets among the staff.
When Lockhart's eyes hit the numerical figures listed in the compensation clause, he couldn't help letting out a low, appreciative whistle.
"You certainly know how to make an offer attractive," Lockhart murmured, looking up with a wry smile.
"I am glad to see it meets your approval," Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Given the nature of the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I find it only fair to factor in a few... hazard adjustments."
"Ah, so this figure includes personal accident coverage and a generous severance package," Lockhart quipped, nodding in understanding.
Dumbledore blinked, momentarily bewildered. "Personal... what now?"
"Never mind. I am quite ready to begin," Lockhart said quickly, tapping his pen against the desk. "Would you like to review my proposed lesson plans, or perhaps test my magical proficiency first?"
"Neither is necessary. I trust my professors to manage their classrooms as they see fit," Dumbledore replied, waving a hand dismissively. "All I require is your official textbook requisition list by the end of summer and your choice of office location. Though... there is one additional matter I should like to delegate to you."
"And what might that be?" Lockhart asked.
Dumbledore stood, walked over to a side table, and handed over a thick envelope.
"At Hogwarts, we welcome many young minds each year. Those from traditional wizarding families require little introduction. However..." Dumbledore sighed softly, "families living entirely within the non-magical world are often understandably skeptical when an owl arrives at their window."
"Muggle-borns," Lockhart noted.
"Precisely. Convincing non-magical parents to entrust their children to a school of magic can be a delicate, uphill battle. Last year, for instance, we welcomed a young man named Justin Finch-Fletchley. His parents had already slated him for Eton College and were entirely set against alternatives—until his mother happened to read one of your books. It entirely shifted their perspective on our world."
"I see," Lockhart said, turning the envelope over in his hands.
"You possess a unique gift for persuasion and public resonance, Gilderoy. Inside this envelope are the names and addresses of our incoming Muggle-born students for the upcoming term. I would like you to visit them, present their acceptance letters, and help reassure their parents." Dumbledore offered a dry, knowing look. "Just... try to avoid using terms like Obscurial when describing dark entities, if you please."
Lockhart smiled, sliding the envelope into his coat pocket without hesitation. "Leave it to me. I'd be delighted."
For the first time that morning, Dumbledore offered a genuine, warm smile. "Splendid. It appears you've already begun your first official duty."
"Naturally," Lockhart replied, his signature charm radiating effortlessly as he met the headmaster's gaze. "The moment I walked through that door, I was already a professor."
It was the very smile that had won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five years running.