Gilderoy Lockhart had ventured to the Headmaster's office this time to present his finished manuscript, "Lord Voldemort: A Pure-Blood Supremacist with a Muggle Father?" to Dumbledore for a glance.
After all, the book touched upon Dumbledore's and Grindelwald's magical philosophies, and out of respect, Lockhart ultimately decided to heed the Headmaster's counsel.
"This is meant to create a contrasting perspective, lest anyone should merely observe Voldemort's magical philosophies and stumble into error. We all know that magic isn't simply a matter of uttering a few incantations."
Dumbledore, with an unreadable expression, perused the manuscript. He paused, keenly noting that this was the first time in several months he'd heard Lockhart directly speak Tom's name again.
He raised his gaze to Lockhart, shaking his head. "You are mistaken. There are likely very few in this world who could truly comprehend the contents within."
Oh, good heavens…
Lockhart seemed a bit miffed. "I believe I have used the simplest of words to convey these profound concepts. This is my steadfast approach to popular science writing, understandable even to Muggles!"
Dumbledore offered a faint smile, gesturing towards the sky beyond his office window. "Go forth now, gather all the students in the school, and teach them the weather charm you just performed, using the very method you describe. Let us see how many manage to learn it?"
"..."
Lockhart was silenced.
He had indeed poured a great deal of effort into the education of young witches and wizards this school year, and he naturally understood the immense difficulty in teaching them to truly master that particular charm.
Why, it was a spell he had woven together from the magical philosophies of Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort, the Forest Witch, and even his own understanding, practicing it countless times until magic flowed naturally from his very hands.
The principle, in truth, was quite simple.
If one truly grasped it, explaining it clearly would take but a few words.
But the doing of it was immensely difficult!
Never mind a complex weather charm, some young witches and wizards still struggled to properly execute even a simple Levitation Charm.
Silence once more descended upon the office. Lockhart began to ponder whether there might be more efficacious methods for the dissemination of magical knowledge, while Dumbledore diligently scrutinized every word upon the pages.
He could feel it within—his own soul, and those of Gellert and Tom.
Yes, souls!
He had never imagined that this fellow, Gilderoy Lockhart, could, in such a short span, grasp the wisdom contained within his and Gellert's notes on magic, "Mastering Lightning." Nor had he conceived that Gilderoy understood Tom even better than he did.
"No one understands the Dark Lord Voldemort better than I!" – Lockhart had indeed uttered such words before, but could it be that this was no mere boast, but truth?
You truly comprehended him?
Dumbledore found it preposterous.
He silently turned the pages, suddenly uncertain whether Voldemort would rage upon the publication of this book by Lockhart.
Because…
It seemed that truly, in this world, no one understood Voldemort better than Lockhart.
Great magical masters were always solitary figures, whether they walked the path of righteousness or strayed into darkness. They were always alone.
Magic was not simply the chanting of spells; it was interwoven with life itself, tangled with one's existence, life philosophy, every step taken, every decision made, every experience endured, and every emotion felt.
The higher one ascended upon the magical path, the more solitary one's life became. Looking back, the once bustling road had, imperceptibly, grown silent, leaving but a single figure treading onward.
No one could truly comprehend another.
For magic, in its essence, was a singular journey; it could not be replicated.
And now, such a miraculous author had truly appeared.
Yes, Gilderoy Lockhart had indeed strayed down some erroneous paths in his life, pilfering the experiences of so many, yet perhaps it was precisely this that had forged him into an exceptionally unique wizard, one who could more easily perceive the lives of others.
This was undoubtedly wondrous, and it brought a sense of contentment to the great magical masters.
For behold, this individual might truly appear upon that solitary magical path, drawing near, a radiant smile gracing his features, to offer a cheerful, "Greetings, friend."
Such warmth was beyond the imagination and comprehension of ordinary folk.
Old Dumbledore even felt a sudden urge to say to Lockhart, "Perhaps, after I have departed, you might consider composing a biographical account for me as well? It need not be grand, just something akin to this one about Tom!"
He was envious.
What right did a scoundrel like Tom possess to be graced with such a uniquely understanding biography!
Did he even deserve it?!
Dumbledore turned page after page, feeling as though he were delving into Tom Riddle's very soul, sensing his extraordinarily potent and terrifying desires and will, his wickedness and cruelty, and beneath that desire, will, cruelty, and extremism, his fragile spirit.
This was a biography that Tom would perhaps have but this one rare opportunity to obtain.
And it was also a manual for confronting Tom, laying bare his entire being, from his outward magic to his innermost vulnerabilities, for all to see, clearly and unmistakably revealing all.
"Well?" Lockhart prompted, seeing Dumbledore reach the final page and fall into contemplation.
"Far superior to anything Rita has penned," Dumbledore replied with a faint smile. "Her 'Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?' was merely superficial, filled with her own biases and malicious speculation about those in power."
"But this work of yours leans more towards the exploration of magic. It even transcends the confines of mere biography, becoming a magical treatise of immense value!"
Both from Ravenclaw, both fond of writing, both composing biographies – how could the disparity be so vast?
Tsk~
In truth, this was due to the influence of cultural heritage from Lockhart's previous existence.
The ancient literary giants who authored biographies in Lockhart's past life, though seemingly writing about individuals, were in fact articulating profound principles: tenets of life cultivation, philosophies of governance, and a myriad of other wisdoms. Even the wildest unofficial histories never contented themselves with merely documenting intriguing anecdotes or trivial gossip.
Even in the age of the internet, netizens deeply influenced by this culture included a vast multitude of those who delighted in chronicling either history or, shall we say, less savory events. The narratives they meticulously compiled of individuals or occurrences invariably conveyed a distinctive sense of destiny.
"Regarding your and Mr. Grindelwald's magical philosophies within these pages..." Lockhart inquired, a questioning look on his face.
"Gellert will be pleased," Dumbledore responded with a smile.
Nice!
However…
Despite his words and the generally amiable atmosphere of their discussion, when Lockhart attempted to persuade Dumbledore to fulfill his earlier promise of writing a recommendation for the book, he received no reply.
Old Dumbledore was disinclined.
Accepting the very existence of this book could already be considered an act of great magnanimity on his part. To then expect him to pen a recommendation? Hmph! Away with you! Begone!
This was no mere gossipy tabloid article designed purely to attack Voldemort's blood purity fanaticism. Why should it merit his recommendation? Such a magical treatise ought to be incomprehensible to most and relegated to the darkest corners of the archives.
Lockhart now saw the stingy side of the old Headmaster.
Fortunately, Old Dumbledore carried a strong moral burden and felt somewhat remorseful about his refusal, offering a small compensation instead.
A priceless collection of magical documents.
A proper gain!
Lockhart immediately forgot all about the recommendation.
Dumbledore unearthed the documents from the darkest corner of a bookshelf in his office. They appeared to have been poorly preserved, with some of the bindings cracked and emitting a faint, musty odour.
He cast a spell, banishing the mould and rendering the documents pristine once more, then set them upon the desk.
It was a veritable tome, a thick stack measuring a full one foot (which is about thirty centimetres) in height, and as wide as an unfurled newspaper.
Yet, before Lockhart could even pick it up, another was produced and added to the pile.
One, then another, and another.
A grand total of seven such volumes, piled high, nearly matched Dumbledore's own stature.
Could this truly be reliable? Lockhart expressed his doubt.
With a peculiar expression, he hefted one of the volumes, flipping open its thick, leather-bound cover, only to discover that it was indeed comprised of newspaper clippings.
This was a compilation of materials from a wide array of newspapers, magazines, and even duplicated pages from magical tomes, its sources extraordinarily varied.
Lockhart skimmed through it, recognizing some familiar publications and encountering others he had never before seen.
Transfiguration Today, Charm Innovations, The Practical Potions Master, Wizards at War, The New York Ghost…
These documents shared but a single commonality: every one of them featured a contribution from Albus Dumbledore.
Organized in decennial increments, they chronicled all of Dumbledore's published information over seven decades.
"This was compiled by one of my admirers," Dumbledore explained, patting his hands together after producing the volumes, then casually plucking a handful of cockroach clusters from a nearby bowl and popping them into his mouth, his gaze upon the voluminous pile tinged with a complex expression.
"Admirer?" Lockhart's expression grew somewhat peculiar.
Old Dumbledore had such fervent fans?
"Ah, well…" Dumbledore sighed. "It was Tom. He compiled these during his school days and presented them to me as a Christmas gift in his seventh year. He dispatched a veritable flock of owls, not being at school himself, which left me no opportunity to refuse."
"I had, at that time, repeatedly denied his fervent wish to remain at the school."
"I had sensed the malevolence in his heart, and the influence he wielded within the pure-blood community and with his 'Knights of Walpurgis' organization – the precursor to the Death Eaters."
Dumbledore looked up at Lockhart. "I am not one to readily allow just anyone to remain within these school walls. Even I myself exercise extreme restraint in propagating my own political beliefs among the students, and were he to become a professor, he would undoubtedly engage in such activities on a grand scale."
"Such a person could absolutely not remain at Hogwarts. I have never regretted that decision."
"At the time, I believed he had compiled these and presented them to me as a means of persuading me to allow him to stay, overlooking some of the hidden sentiments. This, too, was where I fell short."
Old Dumbledore understood reflection; his conscience weighed heavily upon him.
Lockhart shrugged indifferently, perusing the contents, and discovered a great deal of truly remarkable material within. The later essays grew increasingly profound, tracing the passage of time as if peering into the very trajectory of Dumbledore's magical journey.
"This is an invaluable collection of documents!" he exclaimed in awe.
"They are yours," Dumbledore responded, no longer looking at the documents, his gaze once more fixed upon the other Horcrux of Voldemort's he had seized during the recent full moon.
He had not yet destroyed it. That would be simple enough; a bit of Fiendfyre or similar magic could reduce it to ash in mere moments.
A Horcrux was hardly an insurmountable object for him.
However, Lockhart had presented him with some novel ideas. Perhaps these Horcruxes could be utilized in the future against Tom. Destroying them one by one or obliterating them all at once made little difference to him; he was willing to explore this new line of thought.
Tom…
Regardless of whether he harbored any filial affection, regardless of the emotions within his heart, and regardless of whether he represented the pinnacle of wizarding achievement in a certain domain, when considering the dreadful and malicious deeds he had committed, Dumbledore's heart held not a single flicker of leniency.
Such a person was better off dead.
Magical books could exist, but Tom could not!
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