The morning broke with the storm finally easing up. Sunlight spilled across the grounds, but Lockhart's grin was brighter than the sun on even the gloomiest day. This wasn't just some leftover charm from his former self—he was genuinely thrilled.
Last night, he'd been relentless, diving deep into every memory he could process, all about defending against dark magical creatures. It was exactly the kind of knowledge he should be able to handle, and he'd nailed it. The chaotic buzz of memories in his head had quieted down significantly.
Life was good.
When Lockhart was happy, he let himself be happy—no holding back.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, wasn't exactly basking in joy. The recent clash between Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy, representing two major factions of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, had turned into a messy power struggle. And who was caught in the middle? Poor, incompetent Minister Fudge, who kept running to Dumbledore for help, driving him up the wall.
There was no way Dumbledore could tell Arthur to back off. The Order of the Phoenix had fought hard to create this moment—a chance for Muggle-born and half-blood wizards to join the Ministry in record numbers, building a new balance. One wrong move, one poorly worded statement, and it could all collapse.
But he couldn't ask Malfoy to back down either. The pure-blood families had already lost so much after the war. So many of the Sacred Twenty-Eight had been locked up in Azkaban, and others had been pushed out of high-ranking Ministry roles. Even Barty Crouch, who should've been a shoo-in for Minister, was quietly tucked away in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, biding his time.
Still, those pure-blood families were the backbone of wizarding Britain. Dumbledore had to make concessions to keep them from getting desperate enough to burn it all down.
What a headache.
Other countries' Ministries were watching this drama like hawks, waiting to see which way the wind would blow. And Fudge—useless Fudge—couldn't handle the pressure. Why couldn't he step up for once?
But Dumbledore had picked him, hadn't he? Fudge's weakness was exactly why he'd been chosen over Arthur as Minister. A softer touch was supposed to ease tensions, prevent major conflicts, and give this new balance a chance to settle.
It was tough.
And as if that weren't enough, trouble was brewing closer to home. Professor Kettleburn had come knocking again with his talk of retirement.
Let's be real: Kettleburn wasn't exactly Hogwarts' star teacher. Former Headmaster Armando Dippet had called him "reckless and unreliable," and that was being kind.
But unreliable or not, finding a Care of Magical Creatures expert more knowledgeable than Kettleburn? Good luck. That's why both Dippet and Dumbledore had put up with him for so long. Sure, his practical skills were iffy, but teaching required knowledge, and in that department, Kettleburn was unmatched.
Well, almost.
There was Newt Scamander, of course. But Newt had turned down the teaching gig ages ago. He was too busy saving endangered magical creatures from losing their habitats—a noble cause, far bigger than lecturing kids at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore sighed, trying to reason with his old colleague. Truth be told, he was a bit annoyed. "Come on, old friend," he thought. "Don't think I can't see through you. Retirement? You're younger than me! You just want to gallivant off to some dangerous dragon reserve. Have you forgotten how unreliable you are with magical creatures? You're bored of the safe life at Hogwarts and itching for adventure. You'll get yourself eaten by a dragon one day!"
Dragons had it rough enough these days, with wizards draining their blood or chaining them up as guard dogs. The last thing those poor creatures needed was Kettleburn poking around their sanctuaries. "Why can't you be more like your student Newt?" Dumbledore grumbled inwardly. "His goals are noble."
But no. Stubborn old Kettleburn was set on playing the knight, slaying evil dragons—or whatever he imagined.
"Evil wizard, more like," Dumbledore muttered to himself. Out loud, he tried the soft approach. "We all love Hogwarts so much, old friend. Can you really walk away and leave us without a Care of Magical Creatures professor?"
"Oh, spare me!" Kettleburn scoffed, chugging a raspberry honey cooler from the Headmaster's private stash. He slammed the empty glass down, signaling for a refill. Once Dumbledore obliged, Kettleburn smirked. "I'm not a professor. I'm a teacher."
Hogwarts had plenty of teachers in reserve, and the faculty wasn't exactly short-staffed. Take last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrell—he'd started as a teacher, too, giving Muggle Studies lectures.
Among the current staff, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank was the obvious choice to take over Care of Magical Creatures. But Dumbledore wasn't thrilled about her. She was too by-the-book, lacking the spark Kettleburn brought, flaws and all.
"I tried to make you a professor two years ago," Dumbledore pointed out, a little exasperated. "You turned it down."
Kettleburn shrugged, sipping his drink. Glancing at the older, wearier Dumbledore, he sighed. "McGonagall and the others would've had a fit. I didn't want to make things harder for you."
Oh, so now you're playing the sentimental card? Dumbledore thought, rolling his eyes inwardly. But Kettleburn had him cornered. "Fine," Dumbledore said, leaning into his last resort. "You can't retire unless you find me a replacement I approve of."
Kettleburn's eyes lit up. "Got one," he said, grinning like he'd been waiting for this. "I've got just the person for you."
Dumbledore hesitated. A real candidate? That could work, but he didn't want to seem too eager and hurt Kettleburn's feelings. "Who?" he asked, frowning.
Who could possibly replace their walking encyclopedia of magical creatures?
Kettleburn was practically giddy. "Professor Lockhart."
"Who?" Dumbledore blinked, caught off guard.
"Gilderoy Lockhart!" Kettleburn said, his tone reverent, as if naming a saint. His old eyes sparkled as he recalled the previous night. "I swear, Albus, I sensed something in him—a rare harmony with nature, the kind of instinct you don't see in most wizards. He's the best fit for a magical creatures expert I've ever met. He'd be perfect for the job."
Dumbledore wasn't buying it. "He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he said flatly.
"I know," Kettleburn replied, shrugging. "But that job's cursed, right? One-year gig, thanks to Tom. You really think Lockhart's sticking around for another term?"
That hit a nerve. As Hogwarts' Headmaster, Dumbledore never imagined his biggest annual headache would be finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Every. Single. Year. Lockhart had barely been teaching for two months, and Dumbledore was already scouting replacements.
What choice did he have? Tom Riddle's curse was so powerful, no one could break it. People whispered that Voldemort wasn't really gone, urging Dumbledore to stay vigilant. As if he needed reminding. If Tom were truly dead, would Dumbledore be stuck replacing professors every year? Wouldn't it be nice to have one solid teacher stay for decades?
He'd watched one Defense professor after another crash and burn—some literally. If anyone knew Voldemort wasn't "dead dead," it was Dumbledore.
Still… "Gilderoy Lockhart?" he repeated, starting to consider it.
"Yep!" Kettleburn chugged another cooler, nudging Dumbledore to refill it. With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore cast a Refilling Charm, eyeing the cheeky old man who always managed to mooch something off him.
Kettleburn went on, "He's earned the trust of Dragon Burrow Rabbits, Albus. You probably don't get how rare that is. Most magical creature experts could only dream of that. Those rabbits are proud creatures—they only hang around the strongest beings. They're so skittish, most wizards never even see one before it bolts."
Dumbledore wasn't impressed. Judging a wizard's teaching ability by some rabbits? That was as absurd as using a Qilin to pick the wizarding world's leader. He'd seen that once and nearly laughed out loud. Ridiculous.
But also… very wizardly.
"Any other reasons?" Dumbledore asked, skeptical.
Kettleburn spread his hands. "He's got a Demiguise. You think you could tame one? Most wizards would have to kill it when it attacked someone."
Dumbledore was losing patience. He was busy, for Merlin's sake. "Maybe we wrap this up for now," he said, his tone polite but firm. Translation: Get out.
But Kettleburn, shameless as ever, didn't budge. Beaming like a kid giving bad dating advice, he leaned in. "Think about it, Albus. Make him the Care of Magical Creatures professor, keep him at Hogwarts. Then, if you're ever stuck without a Defense professor, you can just slot him back in for a year." He winked playfully.
Dumbledore paused.
That… wasn't a bad idea.
Sure, Lockhart as a magical creatures professor sounded absurd, but Dumbledore had to admit—Gilderoy was doing a surprisingly decent job in Defense Against the Dark Arts.