Lockhart felt he'd gone above and beyond.
He'd never poured so much energy into teaching young witches and wizards—not even close. From the academic underpinnings of magical theory to the romantic, fairy-tale-inspired approach to casting spells, down to the tiniest details like the angle of a wand flick or the precise tone of an incantation, he'd covered it all, teaching until dawn was near.
He'd racked his brain for this.
In a very literal sense, the intense mental strain of recalling memories, cross-referencing ideas, and finding ways to make Lyall Lupin understand had left him feeling utterly drained. His mind was a cacophony of frantic shouting, hammering at his frayed nerves. Most wizards would've passed out from the overload by now, their bodies kicking in self-preservation mode.
And yet, despite all that…
Lyall Lupin still couldn't get it.
Honestly, after a whole night of teaching, Lockhart felt like he could probably cast the spell himself.
He only held back to maintain his persona. Trying it in front of Lyall and failing would be mortifying.
Truth be told, the night of teaching had deepened his understanding of the Homorphus Charm to an impressive degree. Sometimes, when answering Lyall's questions, he'd even come up with insights on the spot.
Come on, mate, step it up.
But sometimes, you just have to accept someone's limitations. In the original story, Lyall wasn't some master wizard—just an academic expert like Professor Kettleburn.
Lyall looked genuinely apologetic.
The more Lockhart stared expectantly as he waved his wand, the more pressure Lyall felt, and the less likely he was to cast the spell.
Alright, fine—he hadn't managed a single successful cast all night.
"I need to warn you about something," Lockhart said, glancing at the time, his expression deadly serious. "There's a difference between learning, mastering, and perfecting a spell. You know that, right?"
Lyall blinked, unsure why Lockhart was bringing this up.
"I have to leave soon for some urgent business. I don't know if you'll figure this out on your own after I'm gone."
Lockhart gestured toward the caged werewolves. "But even if you do learn it, heed my warning: learning isn't the same as mastering, let alone perfecting. Just because you know the spell doesn't mean you should go facing werewolves."
Why were werewolves so effective at attacking wizards? Why could Voldemort use their infections as a terrifying threat? Simple: werewolves were fast. Blindingly fast. Charging with ferocious power and toxic claws, they didn't just test your nerve—most wizards couldn't even cast a proper spell in time.
And in a real duel, with all its chaos, you needed adaptability and a bit of luck on top of spellcasting skill.
Lockhart's biggest fear was that Lyall, whose practical skills were lacking, would get cocky, think he could handle a werewolf just because he knew the spell, and let one out of its cage. The outcome would be disastrous.
It could mean Lyall finally reuniting with his son Remus—as werewolves, no longer fearing harming each other.
Or, worse, Lyall avoiding the tragedy of outliving his son by dying first.
"Don't worry," Lyall said, his expertise as a dark creatures specialist shining through. He was deeply touched by Lockhart's earnest warning. "I've spent my life studying dark creatures. I know how dangerous these 'non-beings' can be."
He walked Lockhart to a secluded public Floo fireplace, talking the whole way.
About his lifelong study of werewolves. About the tragedy that had befallen his son, Remus. About how he, a bookish man who knew only theories, had pushed past his timid nature, breaking Ministry laws to hide werewolves and even bending the Statute of Secrecy to deal with unsavory Muggle types.
Merlin only knew the mindset it took for him to do these things, to shatter the boundaries of his old life.
By the time they reached the fireplace, his voice was choking up. This grown man, a respected middle-aged academic, bent low, looking at Lockhart with desperate hope. "Professor Lockhart, I… I'm begging you, please help me!"
"Dumbledore says you're a top expert in defending against dark creatures…"
He'd probably never begged anyone in his life. His face burned with shame, but he stared at Lockhart with urgent intensity, as if he'd drop to his knees in gratitude if Lockhart so much as agreed to try.
"I… I don't know how I can repay you. I know this isn't your problem, but please…"
Lockhart sighed, clapping a hand on Lyall's shoulder and looking at him sincerely. "My path in magic is destined to lead me to study dark creatures. But, Lyall, I can't promise you anything. You know werewolves have been a problem in the wizarding world for centuries. Countless master wizards have tried and failed to solve it. I can't give you false hope."
Lyall's eyes dimmed.
But then Lockhart flashed a brilliant smile. "That said, if you don't mind, could I drop by your lab sometime when I'm free?"
"You'll do it?!" Lyall shouted, then frantically waved his hands. "I mean, I know, I know! You're welcome anytime—anytime—to my lab!"
He watched, full of hope, as Lockhart vanished in a burst of green flames through the Floo, unable to tear his eyes away.
Back at Hogwarts, someone else was anxiously waiting for Lockhart.
Severus Snape.
Despite having argued his case multiple times, Snape made one last attempt to dissuade Lockhart just before they were set to leave with the students.
"Gilderoy, I still don't approve of you taking them on this adventure!"
He'd clearly thought this over endlessly, spilling out a rapid, worried rant.
With Voldemort's presence looming, Death Eaters and their supporters stirring, taking young students on an adventure seemed like a terrible idea to him.
Honestly, this generation of students couldn't hold a candle to the last.
Even Nymphadora Tonks, snapped up by the Auror Office right after graduation despite years of no new recruits, or top students like sixth-year Percy Weasley, fourth-year Cedric Diggory, or second-year Hermione Granger—they were talented, sure, but not on the level of Snape's generation. By fourth year, Snape was inventing powerful, practical spells and improving classic potion recipes. Or take Potter and his crew, mastering complex Animagus transformations and creating the Marauder's Map.
The gap was glaring.
If danger struck, Snape at fourteen could've been a real asset to a professor. But these kids? Could they really be relied on? And if he and Lockhart ended up babysitting Harry and the others, what was the point of the adventure?
Lockhart listened quietly and attentively until Snape finished. Then he countered, "If they can't even handle an adventure like this, Severus, how can you expect our Chosen One to face You-Know-Who someday?"
Snape fell silent.
"The point of adventure is to set witches and wizards on the path to magic," Lockhart said calmly, a stark contrast to the bombastic tone he'd used when first introducing his "fairy-tale romance" theory. Yet it carried even more weight.
"In my view, magical achievement comes down to two things: talent and the wisdom gained from life's experiences."
"Discovering your talents, embracing the mindset of a fairy-tale adventure—that's where the answers lie."
Lockhart wasn't taking the kids on a field trip for fun. He wanted to guide them down the path of "stepping into fairy tales, letting magic bloom," helping them unlock their own magical potential.
This was what he'd been working toward in his classes.
If Harry and the others were to face Death Eaters—or even Voldemort—hiding in a safe bubble wouldn't cut it.
But that wasn't all Lockhart wanted to say.
He fixed Snape with a meaningful look. "Severus, do you believe in my fairy-tale theory?"
Snape nodded, affirming, "I can see the students' progress."
"Then…" Lockhart flashed his dazzling smile. "Are you willing to walk that magical path yourself?"
"What?" Snape froze, staring in shock, mouth open but speechless.
"You invented so many powerful spells as a student…" Lockhart said with a teasing click of his tongue. "Back when I was at school, everyone—myself included—thought this brilliant upperclassman would grow up to be a wizard on Dumbledore's level."
He pursed his lips, shrugged, and tilted his head at Snape. "Will you?"
Snape stayed silent, his face unreadable.
"Maybe you haven't considered this," Lockhart continued.
"You-Know-Who once feared and revered Dumbledore as a towering figure, yet he grew into a wizard capable of challenging him."
"Severus, have you ever thought that, if you kept walking your magical path, you might be the one to take him down?"
Snape's eyes widened.
That was all Lockhart needed to say.
He didn't just want more allies against Voldemort. He wanted his friend, stuck in the pain of his schoolboy crush, to stand tall again.
A sixth-year who could invent Sectumsempra? If Snape pulled himself together, who knew what heights he could reach?
Snape still didn't speak, his face blank.
But Lockhart could sense it—Snape was stirred.
Maybe, like when Lockhart first nudged him to write a book, Snape had acted dismissive but secretly started working on it.
This was a promising start.
So…
Let's go!
To the stars and beyond!
Destination: Białowieża Primeval Forest!
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