After finishing his workout session, Gilderoy re-entered the castle and, to his luck nearly bumped into Professor Flitwick.
"Professor!" he called, hurrying up. "There's something wrong with my wand. I tried a simple levitation charm, but it just… didn't work properly. I think I need to visit Ollivanders."
Flitwick tilted his head, studying him. "Mr. Lockhart, we still have time before breakfast. Meet me at the gates in half an hour."
"Thank you, sir!" Gilderoy bowed quickly before dashing to his dorm.
Inside, he bathed and freshened up. One of his dormmates, tall and eccentric-looking with perpetually messy hair and a book clutched in his hands, was already awake.
The boy seemed oddly familiar wait… that eccentric look, I know it… Luna had that look… Gilderoy rifled through his memories as Lockhart. Then it clicked: this was the boy himself, the eccentric Xenophilius Lovegood.
Tugging on his Hogwarts robes, he exchanged a quick greeting.
Poor Luna… having to grow up without her mother. Maybe making friends with both Xenophilius and Pandora wouldn't be a bad idea—I might be able to save Pandora.
He excused himself before hurrying to the gates.
Professor Flitwick was waiting looking blissful, enjoying the chill of morning air. "Hold my arm, Mr. Lockhart. We'll Apparate."
Gilderoy obeyed. At once, it felt like his entire body was being forced through a narrow tube. He staggered, nausea clawing at his stomach.
Flitwick chuckled. "Most vomit the first time, Mr. Lockhart. Looks like you'll learn quickly."
They had appeared on a narrow street corner—Diagon Alley. Gilderoy's eyes widened. I'm actually here.
The cobbled street bustled with robed witches and wizards, hurrying about their errands. Shop windows glittered with spellbooks, potion ingredients, and enchanted trinkets.
At the far end rose the dazzling white marble of Gringotts Wizarding Bank, tall and imposing. Goblins stood at the entrance, their sharp features and watchful eyes giving the place a no-nonsense air.
Gilderoy smirked. Yep… not terrifying, their faces wearing a look of don't mess with us.
As they passed the gleaming white steps of Gringotts, Professor Flitwick glanced at him. "Do you need to stop in, Mr. Lockhart? Exchange a bit more for the term?"
Gilderoy shook his head at once. "Already sorted that out last month when I came." He kept his tone casual, though inside he felt a faint sting.
His eyes lingered on the bank's marble façade. No vault with his name on it, no mountains of gold like the old families. Lockhart's mother had been a witch, but not from a line with treasure or prestige.
Figures… transmigrate to the wizarding world and I'm still broke.
Thirty-three pounds for a single galleon…daylight robbery. His jaw tightened slightly. Purebloods don't care as they never touched a pound in their lives. It's the Muggle borns and half-bloods who get skinned, every time.
And the goblins? They don't even separate guilt.
To them, every wizard is the same.Yet it was the purebloods who sat in the Wizengamot, stripped them of wand rights, called them 'creatures.' And now, since they hold everyone's vaults pureblood fortunes included, no one dares stand against them.
They walked past, the warm scent of sugar drifted from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. A couple of witches sat outside enjoying towering sundaes, chatting animatedly. Gilderoy's stomach growled. Merlin, I'd kill for a scoop of that right now.
Following Flitwick, he entered the wand shop: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A bell chimed, and the shopkeeper appeared instantly.
Damn, dramatic entrance much?
"My wand isn't working properly," he explained.
Ollivander's pale eyes studied him. "I notice… a change in you, Mr. Lockhart. Let's try different wands."
What change? Does he see… or sense souls? Gilderoy's mind raced. What a scary ability.
A mountain of boxes began piling up as he tested one wand after another. At last, Ollivander handed him a dark, elegant piece.
The moment Gilderoy gripped it, magic surged through his veins. The lamps flickered wildly, a soft glow surrounding the wand. Sparks of silver and violet crackled at its tip.
"Ah," Ollivander whispered, eyes shining with awe. "Silver Lime, 13¾ inches, Thunderbird Heartstring… supple but resilient. This wand has waited centuries for its master. The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Lockhart."
Gilderoy grinned He said the line!
He circled Gilderoy slowly, voice hushed but intense. "Silver Lime chooses those with foresight, those who step into paths unseen by others. But a Thunderbird heartstring… now that is a rare destiny. It belongs only to a witch or wizard who brings storms in their wake—who reshapes the world whether it wills it or not."
"This is not a wand for mediocrity. It will not tolerate vanity or empty boasts. It demands… greatness. You must either rise to its call, or it will break you."
Gilderoy lifted the wand with a flourish. "Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. Truly… it feels perfect."
Ollivander inclined his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Use it wisely, Mr. Lockhart. It has… expectations."
After handing over eight gleaming Galleons, Gilderoy tucked the wand into his robes, still grinning. Worth every Knut, he thought, and now I can finally do magic properly.
He followed Flitwick, who led both of them to a nearby public Floo.
"Time for breakfast, Mr. Lockhart," Flitwick said cheerfully. "This will be quicker. Password is Flitwick's Den. After you."
Flitwick's Den… I love it! Sounds like a secret hideout for wizards, exclusive and elegant… very Flitwick, Gilderoy thought, his face lighting up with amusement.
The professor offered him a pot of silvery powder.
"Floo powder," Gilderoy breathed, excitement flaring. He grabbed a handful, stepped into the fireplace, and shouted, "Flitwick's Den!"
Green flames roared, yanking him forward. Gilderoy stumbled and landed face-first in Flitwick's office.
The professor emerged a moment later, brushing soot off his robes with elegance, a smirk playing on his lips. "Missed your step, did you, Mr. Lockhart?"
"Uh… thanks, Professor," Gilderoy mumbled, red-faced. Smooth, Lockhart, very heroic… he scolded himself internally, darting out quickly toward the Great Hall.