As promised, I'm dropping three chapters at once—enjoy the mass release!
A huge thank you to everyone who has supported me so far—especially those who gifted me power stones and added my fanfic to your libraries. Your support means the world and keeps this story alive! 💎
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Gilderoy descended from the Ravenclaw Tower and entered a corridor. At the end of the passage, his eyes fell on hundreds of staircases shifting and swivelling on their own.
So, this is the famous Grand Staircase… he marvelled, eyeing the portraits along the walls—some yawning, others peering at him with mild curiosity.
As Gilderoy descended, marvelling at the portraits and shifting steps, his foot suddenly sank into a trick stair. "Oh, f*cking hell!" he yelped, grabbing the banister before he toppled forward.
He remembered reading in his last life: Harry's leg suddenly sank right through the trick step. Neville always forgot to jump.
"Guess I'm no better," he muttered, yanking his foot free with effort. Straightening, he brushed off his robes with a huff. "Graceful as ever, Lockhart," he added under his breath, forcing a smirk.
A cackle echoed above. Peeves swooped down, juggling chalk pieces and throwing one at his head.
"Oooh, Lockhart's dancing already! Mind the stairs, pretty boy, or they'll gobble your legs whole!" he jeered, blowing a raspberry before zooming off down the corridor, shrieking with laughter.
Gilderoy glared after him. "Bloody menace," he muttered darkly, remembering how often Peeves had tormented students in the books.
Peeves tormented students through a wide array of chaotic and disruptive pranks. He would drop wastepaper baskets on students who were late to class, pelt them with chalk, or pull the rugs out from under them.
On occasion, he would sneak up invisible, grab a student's nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"
Should've brought a bloody Nerf gun with me. Do Nerf guns even work on Poltergeists? Shaking his head, he continued toward the Entrance Hall, pretending nothing had happened.
As he entered the Entrance Hall, Gilderoy let his gaze sweep the vast chamber—the high ceiling, the marble floor gleaming under enchanted torches, and the grandeur that seemed determined to impress every newcomer.
So, this is where the students stand when they first arrive at the school… he thought, a shiver of excitement running through him. To his right, the massive oak doors leading to the Great Hall loomed.
"Great Hall? Tempting. But nah… workout first." Turning instead toward the main doors, he pushed open Hogwarts' colossal oak entrance and was greeted by crisp morning air and the sprawling school grounds, still veiled in the cool, bluish haze of dawn.
Perfect for what he had in mind.
Gilderoy breathed deeply, eyes sweeping across the scenery. On his left, the towering Quidditch stadium instantly drew his attention. Drawn to it, he jogged toward the pitch, his pace unsteady but determined.
The pitch was massive—an oval field ringed by three tall wooden goal hoops at either end. Stands rose high on all sides, wooden beams charmed to withstand weather and enchanted banners that shimmered faint house colours continuously even when no one was watching.
The whole place felt alive, as though it remembered every dive, every goal, every thunderous cheer that had echoed through its pitch.
On one side, a group in red robes was tossing a Quaffle back and forth in mid-air, practicing their skills.
Must be the Gryffindor team…
A lone player on a broom, also clad in red and wearing a captain's badge on his chest, glided along the sidelines, carefully watching the students in ordinary Gryffindor robes as they went through their audition for the Seeker position.
Since James Potter had graduated last year, the Gryffindor Quidditch team must be recruiting a new Seeker.
One player spotted him and yelled, "Lockhart! What are you doing spying on us? Aren't you Ravenclaw's new Seeker?"
Gilderoy froze. Wait—when did I become Seeker?! A quick dive into Lockhart's memories gave him the answer: there had been no talented players available that year, so the captain had reluctantly settled for an average Seeker like Lockhart.
Recovering quickly, he shouted back, "Don't worry! I, Lockhart, don't need to spy on you to defeat you!"
The Gryffindors groaned and rolled their eyes, but Gilderoy only grinned.
Let them think what they want. I quite enjoy their reactions. It's fun to act like Lockhart—I get to irritate others while keeping up the persona.
I also need to fly sometime, he contemplated, remembering the broomstick tucked under his bed. I am the Seeker for the Ravenclaw team—I need to practice Quidditch.
Only one year left, since I'm in seventh year. I'll make the best of it… and I'm going to enjoy my time at Hogwarts.
Gilderoy kept jogging around the pitch, trying to look dignified but already panting. Damn, I'm so weak… can't even run a lap without wheezing.
His chest burned, his legs felt like lead, but sheer stubborn pride kept him moving. Step after step, he forced himself onward until he finally staggered past Hagrid's hut, bent over and gasping for breath.
Hagrid's hut stood quiet at the edge of the grounds, its roof beaded with dew that caught the faint morning glow. Smoke rose thinly from the crooked chimney, drifting into the still air. A few oversized pumpkins sprawled across the patch beside the door, while the distant cluck of hens carried through the quiet air...
The hut itself seemed half awake, snug against the looming outline of the forest, waiting for the castle and its grounds to stir to life.
The half-giant was outside, watering plants with a massive can. Spotting him, Hagrid called, "Oi! What yeh doin', Lockhart?"
"Training my body!" Gilderoy puffed, trying not to collapse.
Hagrid tilted his shaggy head, puzzled. "Fer wha'?"
Oh crap… Gilderoy forced a grin. "No reason. Just… felt like it." His eyes flicked to Hagrid's frame. Lucky bastard doesn't even need exercise. Built like a fortress already.
He remembered the scene he'd once read: Hagrid roaring as half a dozen Ministry wizards tried to Stun him during Umbridge's reign, jets of red light bouncing uselessly off his massive body.
Even McGonagall had gone down under a volley of spells, but Hagrid had fought on, bellowing "COWARDS!" as he swung those tree-trunk fists, knocking men cold with a single blow.
Gilderoy could still picture Fang crumpling under a Stunning Spell, Hagrid howling in fury and hurling an Auror bodily through the air like he weighed nothing. Then, with Fang slung limp across his shoulders, the half-giant had crashed through every spell they fired after him and thundered off into the night, untouchable.
That image seared itself against the Hagrid in front of him now—unmovable, tanky, a wall of raw durability that even the Ministry couldn't break.
Damn. That's the kind of tanky body I need. Half-giant durability, and here I am struggling to jog a lap without wheezing like an asthmatic Muggle kid. Life's unfair.
Bidding Hagrid goodbye, Gilderoy jogged back toward the castle, nearly collapsing onto the grass for a break.
He lay there, staring up at the sky for a few minutes and then stood up. "Enough rest. Back to grind," he muttered. With a groan, he dropped into push-ups, squats, and calisthenics, doing the workout routine from his previous life.
Weird… I feel… at home. Like, really at home. Back in my world, I'd read those Harry Potter books over and over, imagining Hogwarts—running these corridors, climbing the Grand Staircase, dodging Peeves, feeling the thrill of magic I only knew from pages.
And now? I'm actually here. The Quidditch pitch sprawls before me, the towers rise like they did in my daydreams, Hagrid's hut looming like a fortress, and the portraits.
This isn't imagination anymore. This is me now. My body, my life. All those daydreams I had are finally real.
He gritted his teeth, forcing out another set of push-ups. Tomorrow's gonna hurt like hell—but somehow knowing he's living the Hogwarts he'd only ever read about makes the pain feel like a challenge worth embracing.