Chapter 171: He's Going to Do Something!
Chug, chug, chug...
The train pulled away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The students, excited for the holidays, ran wildly in the corridors outside the carriages, making it especially lively.
Lockhart sat languidly on the train, chatting with his closest apprentices.
Among them, Percy was the most proactive, serving tea and water with such deference that even Hermione, despite her intense admiration for her idol, found it a bit much.
But they didn't realize there was an even more devoted student.
Draco and Goyle watched Crabbe busy himself, looking like old men staring at their phones on the subway. They found it hard to imagine that their usually gluttonous, simple-minded mate would actually volunteer to do things.
Yet, everyone else was somewhat envious of these two.
Professor Lockhart had finished his teaching term at Hogwarts, and it would no longer be easy for the young wizards to receive instruction from this knowledgeable professor. It was clear that only these two would be able to stay close to the professor in the future.
Especially Crabbe.
It was rumored that Crabbe would stay with the professor throughout the summer.
Percy also wanted to serve by the professor's side, but his father Arthur had won the Daily Prophet's annual award and had already planned a month-long family vacation to Egypt for the children's summer break. He couldn't miss such a family activity.
Professor Lockhart also advised Percy to spend more time with his family, reminding him that his two older brothers had little opportunity to live with their families after graduation.
Young wizards were always easily affected by emotions, especially when discussing "parting," which always brought a myriad of sorrows.
"Children, there's no need to be like this," Lockhart said with a smile, looking at the young ones around him. "Next year, you can visit Hogsmeade Village on weekends. I bought a house in the village; you can come visit me then."
Hermione's eyes lit up, and she couldn't help but exclaim excitedly, "Really?"
Not just her, but everyone else was thrilled.
"Of course, life's journey has only just begun..."
And so, as the train arrived at station after station, fewer and fewer young wizards remained in the carriages.
Lockhart and Crabbe disembarked at a certain station.
Their destination was the magical mansion his original self had acquired.
Upon entering, Crabbe diligently set about helping with the cleaning, waving his wand. Before long, his family's house-elf, Tutu, also arrived, helping to redecorate the house according to Professor Lockhart's wishes.
Tutu was an elderly house-elf, wearing a somewhat exquisite small robe. The Crabbe family crest was embroidered on the back of the robe with gold and purple thread.
This old elf had a curious goatee and looked like a prim and polite old butler, showing extreme respect to Professor Lockhart, on whom Crabbe now relied.
"It doesn't need to feel too 'lived-in'."
Lockhart didn't stand on ceremony when directing his student and the student's house-elf. "I don't plan to live here in the future. This arrangement is mainly for hosting a party, Tutu, please move all the portraits from the walls to the warehouse."
Tutu seemed quite experienced. "Professor Lockhart, what kind of party do you need to arrange? I can help contact some suppliers for food and decorations."
"It's an alumni reunion," Lockhart mused. "It doesn't need to be too extravagant. Moody doesn't like overly lavish displays, and some old classmates aren't doing too well. Too much opulence can create distance between people."
Not every Ravenclaw graduate achieved success like Lockhart, Rita, Mundungus, or Lovegood. Some who truly immersed themselves in the ocean of magical knowledge lived rather meager lives.
Of course, no one would truly look down on these people. Ravenclaws spoke through their works, and no one knew when a member might suddenly produce a great masterpiece and achieve both fame and fortune.
"I will handle it," Tutu said, and after tidying up the portraits, he apparated away from the house.
Many pure-blood families looked down upon struggling families without house-elves. It wasn't merely a matter of lacking a few servants; throughout the long history of wizards, house-elves had become completely integrated into the lives of pure-blood wizards.
These house-elves, passed down through generations within families and involved in family affairs, sometimes knew more about what an ancient family should do than the pure-blood wizards themselves.
It could be said that as long as the Crabbe family didn't lose these house-elves, they wouldn't truly decline.
Of course, there was a prerequisite.
That the family hadn't completely fallen – at the very least, they needed a castle.
House-elves only appeared in castles, which was why Mr. Urquhart wrote to Professor McGonagall for help at the time. The Urquhart family's influence now spread across European countries, and logically, they weren't necessarily obliged to cling to their ancestral castle, but without a castle, the elves would leave, which amounted to a huge loss of family resources.
"Professor, what's a reunion?" Crabbe asked curiously.
"The Hibiscus Ravenclaw Alumni Association," Lockhart explained casually. "The gathering times for this club aren't fixed. Besides the president convening members, it's usually up to whichever member is willing to fund a gathering and invite everyone to participate."
"Mutual assistance, that's the value of this alumni association."
"This time, I've invited everyone because I need your help with something."
As he spoke, his expression grew peculiar. "I hope what I'm asking them to help with won't scare them off."
The reason he hadn't immediately embarked on his travels or gone to Austria to find Mr. Grindelwald was because he had something more important to do: globally distributing his book, "Lord Voldemort: A Pure-Blood Supremacist with a Muggle Father?"
This task was best suited for these Ravenclaws.
But it wasn't an easy thing to achieve.
Even though the Ministry of Magic repeatedly debunked rumors like "Voldemort is not dead," everyone still believed the Dark Lord was alive. Selling such a book carried great risk.
Three days later.
The Hibiscus Ravenclaw Alumni Association officially held its reunion.
As figures emerged from the fireplace one after another, the mansion began to buzz with activity.
Tutu, leading a group of Crabbe family house-elves, served drinks to every guest, drawing exclamations of surprise from all the fame- and profit-seeking Ravenclaws.
Lockhart's development was so rapid; in the blink of an eye, his life seemed to have ascended to a new level.
Well, not everyone was amazed. Mad-Eye Moody watched the Crabbe family crest on the house-elves' clothes with sharp eyes. He walked straight to Lockhart, pulled him into a corner, and said stiffly, "Gilderoy, are you siding with the pure-blood families now?"
Lockhart was amused. He looked at the stubborn old man, teasing, "Aren't you also pure-blood?"
"You know that's not what I mean!" Moody's magical eye in its socket spun wildly, occasionally glancing at Vincent Crabbe in the corner behind them. "That's a Death Eater's child!"
"Come on, Moody, if there isn't enough benefit, you can't force us Ravenclaws to pick a side. Not everyone needs to participate in Dumbledore's and the Dark Lord's opposing narratives."
Hearing this, Moody's brow furrowed deeply.
Weathercock—he had already labeled Lockhart as such in his mind and decided to remain highly vigilant.
In fact, his presence, a Gryffindor, at a Ravenclaw alumni meeting was unusual. The reason he was always there, besides his affection for the club his late wife founded, was partly to help Dumbledore keep an eye on these seemingly inconspicuous but highly influential Ravenclaws.
At his age, he clearly understood that the world wasn't simply governed by brute force.
Fists could make people submit, but they couldn't convince them.
Everything won and built through the threat of force would be destroyed by those who had suppressed their anger when the threat of force disappeared, obliterating everything, good and bad, leading to total loss.
And the immense influence of these Ravenclaws was enough to guide such public sentiment.
It could be said that if Voldemort and the Death Eaters had the help of this group of Ravenclaws, they might not have been unable to become positive figures, transforming from a Dark Lord into merely "Dumbledore's political rival," or even thoroughly whitewashing the Dark Lord into a courageous rebel against the world's hidden puppet masters, portraying Dumbledore as a schemer like Grindelwald.
Was such a thing difficult?
For Ravenclaws, it wasn't really difficult.
The only difficulty was that Ravenclaws were not united; there was no strong leader to guide their will, leaving them scattered.
Mad-Eye Moody was guarding against exactly that, especially Gilderoy Lockhart. This man's development was too rapid. In just a few years after graduation, he had transformed from an ordinary, low-ranking half-blood wizarding school graduate into an internationally renowned figure and author.
And at every gathering, a new title would appear: Order of Merlin, Third Class recipient, honorary member of the Anti-Dark Magic League, and new best-selling books continuously expanding their influence and readership...
In the past year, it had become even more exaggerated; his life had soared like a rocket—Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Wizard of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries' Bloodline Hall, a leading authority in his field established by "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them," and fierce, terrifying battle records against Dark wizards...
And this man was only 28 this year!
Twenty-eight years old!
How could anyone feel at ease?
Could another such figure be found among his peers? No, there simply wasn't one. Even in age groups slightly older, like Lucius Malfoy or Arthur Weasley, they simply couldn't compare to his influence.
Did Mad-Eye Moody truly not want to shut down this club? Yes, it was founded by his wife, and establishing it wasn't easy, but once the relationships were built, shutting it down wasn't that simple.
If Moody were to say he wanted to close the club, these clever Ravenclaws would, of course, not object. But the next time these same people organized a gathering, the only one who wouldn't be present would be Moody himself.
He watched this young man before him with such vigilance, not wanting him to become the opinion leader of this club.
But unfortunately, things seemed to be developing in a direction he did not wish.
When Lockhart presented his book, "Lord Voldemort: A Pure-Blood Supremacist with a Muggle Father?" everyone was either shocked, fearful, or hesitant, but no one wanted to leave.
The terrifying reputation of the Dark Lord was, of course, beyond doubt. Not to mention the author of this book, even booksellers might receive death threats.
But even so, everyone was willing to hear what Lockhart had to say, and that was the scene Moody least wanted to see.
"Regarding this book, I will only say two points."
Lockhart surveyed everyone present, holding up one finger. "Firstly, Albus Dumbledore has read this book and agrees with its contents. The content of this book is not baseless; every word and every sentence can withstand scrutiny and the test of time."
"Secondly!"
"I seek no profit; I seek only fame. Whatever you earn from this book is entirely yours; you do not need to pay me any Galleons."
Upon hearing this, many present were tempted.
Most wizards worldwide knew how popular Lockhart's books were, but only these Ravenclaws present might have a rough idea of how much money could be made.
And now, such an enormous fortune was laid before everyone. Even the less greedy Xenophilius Lovegood was moved. He could honestly say he wasn't greedy for money, but he couldn't help but consider the immense developmental space such a profit could bring to The Quibbler magazine, to which he had dedicated his life.
What Lockhart needed was more promotion, to get more people to see this book.
The book not only contained content that could dismantle Voldemort's support base within the pure-blood faction, but more importantly, it explored magical philosophy. This book would undoubtedly firmly establish his status.
The title of Magical Master would, thanks to this book, no longer be questioned by anyone.
How does status come about? This is how it comes about.
Fame sometimes is profit, profit more valuable than Galleons.
What Moody could think of, Lockhart naturally could too, but he had long since moved beyond such low-level pursuits.
He wanted more!
More than Moody could understand!
He had transmigrated into this magical world, living in this era, continuously practicing the magical path of "fairytale adventure," and slowly, he had begun to feel the essence of this world.
It was an extremely subtle experience.
Of course, he hoped to guide this power, but certainly not through some ridiculous struggle for power and gain, or for higher political status. Such things brought him no joy at all.
Not beautiful at all.
Not magical at all.
He was just tired of Dumbledore's and Voldemort's narratives, tired of the world's stagnation, tired of the wizarding world's rigidity and its constant accumulation of conflict with Muggles, waiting for a foolish future where war would inevitably arrive.
If, after transmigrating, he continued to live the same life as before, drifting along with the flow, ignorantly pushed forward by the rolling wheels of history, wouldn't his transmigration have been in vain?
He was going to do something!
....
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