It was, without a doubt, the most absurd encounter imaginable.
Lockhart barely had a chance to exchange a word with Hermione before the werewolf yanked him out of the cell, shoved her inside, and dragged him away.
He tried to cast a spell, but the magic in his body felt so foreign it wouldn't respond. To make matters worse, his wand was nowhere to be found.
Desperate, he made one last attempt, shouting at the werewolf, "No, no! Don't lock my daughter in there! Let me stay instead!"
He just needed a little time to get a handle on this strange new magic. But he could tell Hermione had no magic at all right now.
That had to be the work of the Boggart Cloak—suppressing a witch's connection to their magic, making it easier to consume them once they were fully enveloped.
He didn't know if this put Hermione in immediate danger, but he pleaded with the werewolf, struggling like any ordinary Muggle, like a father begging for his daughter.
The werewolf didn't even glance at him.
Maybe his performance was a bit too dramatic, because Hermione, still in the cell, let out a stifled giggle.
That made the werewolf pause and glance back at her, confused.
But the girl just looked at the man in the werewolf's grip, calling out with heartfelt sincerity, "Dad, it's okay! I'll be fine in here. Hurry back to town!"
Was that a hint?
Lockhart's eyes flickered with realization. Hermione wouldn't just show up to face this monster and take the place of some random "father" for no reason.
Thud!
The werewolf tossed him out of the castle, right into the snow. The heavy doors slammed shut behind him.
What a rotten experience.
Grumbling, Lockhart stood, brushing snow off himself and glaring at the castle in the middle of nowhere.
Just give me some time! Once I get a grip on this magic, I'll take you down, you mangy werewolf!
A shiver ran through him, and he realized he was dressed in nothing but a thin linen shirt, flimsy trousers, and—Merlin's beard—one boot.
"Back to town?" he muttered, thinking over Hermione's words. Could the others be there?
But how was he supposed to get there?
Just then, a rhythmic clip-clop echoed through the snow. A white horse with a flowing mane galloped up, stopping in front of him with a joyful whinny.
This was…
His Patronus!
It looked so real, indistinguishable from an actual horse.
The horse nuzzled him affectionately, though it seemed slightly puzzled, as if sensing something unfamiliar about him. Still, it didn't hesitate to draw closer.
"Good boy," Lockhart said, gently stroking its head before climbing onto its back. "You've got a role in this story too, don't you? Can you take me to town?"
The horse reared excitedly, then took off down the path at a brisk pace.
The wind howled.
Snow swirled across the endless white landscape.
Honestly, Lockhart had never ridden a horse in his previous life. His only riding skills came from the original Gilderoy's flair for looking dashing and elegant on horseback.
He was grateful for that now.
Otherwise, he'd have no idea how to get to town.
The town was bustling, even at night. Lights glowed from many buildings, and faint singing drifted from a large house, mixed with loud cheers and chatter.
They say old horses know the way, and sure enough, the white horse led Lockhart straight to a charming two-story building with delicate roof tiles.
There, he spotted two familiar figures.
Ron, dressed in gaudy, extravagant clothes, was sprawled drunkenly on the steps, clutching a fancy wine jug.
And Draco, in a blacksmith's apron, stood nearby with his arms crossed, smirking.
Both looked a few years older, just like Hermione.
Draco's eyes lit up when he saw Lockhart. He rushed over, helping him dismount. "Brilliant! Professor Lockhart, you're finally here!"
"Where's everyone else?" Lockhart asked quickly.
Draco grinned. "George and Fred are performing in a circus troupe, but we got separated. Ron told me…" He mimicked Ron's slightly goofy tone, "I can't believe they're scared of being ignored. Isn't that my deepest fear?"
Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you've got a handle on how this dark creature works."
Draco puffed up a bit. "Ron and I figured it out. He wouldn't have gotten it without me."
Lockhart chuckled. "You? Working with Ron?"
"Yeah, I know," Draco sighed. "Besides Ron, Hermione, and a glimpse of George and Fred, I haven't seen anyone else."
Got it.
Lockhart nodded, then glanced at Ron, whose cheeks were flushed red from drinking, his eyes glassy. "What's his deal?"
Draco's expression turned odd.
He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Hermione's 'dad' is a greedy bloke with a bit of money. He's got his eye on the town's richest family, hoping to marry his daughter off to their precious only son…" He nodded toward Ron.
Then he stifled a laugh. "Word is, Hermione bolted last night. Ron, the 'young master,' is drowning his sorrows. He was telling her it's all just an act, but now? Everyone can see he was secretly thrilled at the idea."
Lockhart struggled to keep a straight face. This was too good.
But it all clicked. Ron as the heir to the town's wealthiest family, Draco as a humble blacksmith—it confirmed this dark creature was definitely a Boggart Cloak.
"Let's head inside to talk," Lockhart said, hoisting Ron up. To his surprise, he felt stronger, lifting Ron with ease.
Inside, he rummaged around, finding a sturdy pair of boots and a thick coat to fend off the cold.
When he turned, Draco had already lit a fire in the hearth with practiced ease.
Catching Lockhart's look, Draco shrugged. "No wand, no magic. If I didn't learn to start a fire, the old blacksmith would've thrashed me."
In this world, the blacksmith wasn't like Draco's doting father. One wrong move, and Draco got a beating—sometimes just because the man was drunk and someone mentioned his son.
So Draco had quickly mastered lighting fires, boiling water, making porridge, and hammering iron.
"I don't know why it's like this," he sighed.
Lockhart draped a blanket over Ron and sat beside Draco, smiling. "This is our trial."
"When you've got no magic, you can really feel what's in your heart."
"A lot of spells, especially the Patronus Charm, draw power from your heart. When you can't change your situation, focus on making yourself stronger."
"Like… strengthening your heart until it's powerful enough to summon the Patronus you already know, to fight the dark creature's influence."
As he spoke, Lockhart had a revelation.
This was a perfect chance to connect with his heart and his magic!
Sure, he had magic now, unlike Draco and the other young wizards who needed to try this approach. He wasn't so rigid as to ignore his abilities.
But then he remembered the "fairy-tale adventure" he'd discussed with Snape—the call of an old father.
And it wasn't just one.
Lyall Lupin!
That poor father was hoping Lockhart could find a way to save werewolves.
And now? There was no better time to study what werewolf magic felt like.
Because he had it.
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