Rowen felt like his journey to becoming a Hogwarts professor could only be described as an *escort*—and not the fun kind.
Dumbledore had grabbed his arm with one hand, waved his wand with the other, and Apparated them straight from his doorstep to the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts.
Nothing could've been worse.
The wild dizziness of Apparition churned with the already chaotic mess of memories in his head, making him feel so nauseous he thought he'd hurl right then and there.
Thankfully, he held it together—just barely avoiding splattering Dumbledore.
Because that? That would've been a one-way ticket to an early grave.
The moment his feet touched solid ground, Rowen collapsed, gasping for air, his heart pounding like it was trying to leap out of his throat. His suitcase hit the floor with a *thud*, popping open and spilling clothes and belongings everywhere.
What a mess.
An *absolute* mess.
"You'd think someone who's traveled the world with magic would handle this a bit better," Dumbledore's voice drifted in, sounding like it came from miles away.
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Whoa!
Rowen's mind snapped into focus, a jolt of clarity cutting through the fog.
He knew exactly what happened to people who weren't useful.
And Dumbledore? He wasn't some warm, fuzzy grandfather—not to him, at least.
Rowen didn't respond to Dumbledore's jab. Instead, he quietly started gathering his scattered belongings.
His brain had never worked this fast before.
Why hadn't Dumbledore used *Legilimens* on him? Maybe he didn't think Rowen was worth the effort. Or maybe he just didn't want to wade through the mess of his thoughts. Either way, this was a golden opportunity.
Dumbledore wasn't on high alert, which meant Rowen had to protect his secret at all costs.
Step one: Prove his worth. Gain their trust.
Survive.
*Hang in there.*
The Defense Against the Dark Arts job only lasted a year, right? Make it through, and he could go back to his cushy life.
As he packed up his suitcase, Rowen fully slipped into character.
No, not Rowen—*Lockhart*.
Yes, he was Gilderoy Lockhart!
Ask anyone, and that's who he'd be.
He knew his one trump card: the swagger of an "internationally renowned figure and author, holder of the Order of Merlin Third Class, honorary member of the Anti-Dark Arts League, and five-time winner of *Witch Weekly's* Most Charming Smile Award."
And he'd figured out that this reputation was built on three things: unshakable confidence, worldly knowledge, and a dazzling smile that could conquer any challenge.
Bring it on!
Time to face the first big test of his new life.
Lockhart rifled through the whirlwind of information in his mind, piecing things together as he stood up.
"Life's full of surprises, isn't it?" he said, flashing his signature megawatt smile. He lined up his suitcases neatly against the wall and gave Dumbledore a casual shrug. "You've no idea what I've been through these past few days."
Dumbledore clearly didn't care about his recent adventures. He just strolled behind his desk, sat down, and told the moving portraits of past headmasters on the wall to fetch Deputy Headmistress McGonagall.
"Oh, I haven't slept in *days*…" Lockhart went on, sticking to his larger-than-life persona. He gestured toward the high-backed chair across from Dumbledore's desk, and when no objection came, he flicked his wizard robes dramatically and plopped down. "You know me, I'm practically an expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I've dueled banshees, tamed ghouls, taken down hags, trolls, vampires, werewolves, even a yeti…"
Dumbledore glanced up, letting out a weary sigh. He folded his hands on the desk, finally giving Lockhart's rambling some attention. "What exactly are you getting at?"
Lockhart grinned wide. "I know *so much* that I'm struggling to pick which stories to use in my lessons. My experiences are just *that* vast."
"I've been up for days working on my lesson plans, completely losing track of time." He threw his hands up dramatically. "Merlin's beard, nobody knows Defense Against the Dark Arts better than me!"
Dumbledore's expression turned odd. Sure, it was a bold claim, but… *really? In front of me?*
The portraits on the wall snickered.
McGonagall arrived quickly, her face stern as she sized up Lockhart. She didn't seem thrilled about Dumbledore's choice for the new professor.
Of course, Lockhart's purple robes—eerily similar to Dumbledore's—probably didn't help. Her expression faltered for a moment.
It's like they say: clashing outfits aren't the problem; it's who wears them worse.
Well, neither of them looked bad, to be fair.
But seeing Dumbledore's aged face, it was hard not to think of his younger, more dashing days. A bit of a bittersweet moment.
Dumbledore nodded to McGonagall, gesturing for her to sit, then turned his sharp gaze on Lockhart. "Very well. If you're so certain you're the best fit for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, and you've had plenty of time to think it over, tell me: what unique insights can you bring to our young witches and wizards?"
McGonagall leaned in, clearly curious about the same thing.
This was it. The big moment.
But Lockhart wasn't fazed. In fact, sitting felt like it was holding him back. He stood up, brimming with passion.
"More *authentic* magic!"
"More *time-honored* magic!"
"Magic that's closer to the *real* wizarding world!"
Lockhart punched the air for emphasis. "Yes, *practical* magic. Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, you both know I graduated from Ravenclaw. I had the full Hogwarts academic experience. But when I traveled the wizarding world, I discovered that the most traditional, effective magic out there isn't what I learned here."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and gave a slight nod, as if he was starting to take Lockhart seriously.
McGonagall, on the other hand, looked furious. To her, this braggart—who'd been all talk even as a student—was basically saying Hogwarts' teaching methods were outdated.
"Let me give you some examples!" Lockhart said quickly.
McGonagall, about to snap, pressed her lips shut, holding back her irritation.
"Sometimes we have to face monsters summoned by dark wizards…" Lockhart paused for effect. "Take the *Serpensortia* spell, for instance. The textbook solution is to use a Vanishing Spell to counter it."
"But in a chaotic or urgent situation, unless you're as experienced as I am, it's tough to recall the right spell on the spot."
"After all, we can't expect dark wizards to only summon snakes. Maybe you're facing a slobbering black dog or a crow that'll peck your eyes out."
"And it gets trickier. Sometimes you can't even tell if the snake or dog is a dark wizard's pet or a conjured creature."
"Or worse, it might not be either—it could be a dark magical creature, like a Boggart, shapeshifting into your worst fear."
He leaned one hand on the desk, the other on the chair, his eyes blazing as he looked at Dumbledore and McGonagall. "So, isn't there a more *universal* spell? Something we can instinctively cast in a crisis to stop disaster in its tracks?"
It was a fascinating question.
It touched on real-world application.
Even Dumbledore, setting aside his skepticism about Lockhart, started thinking it over. "For summoned creatures, I'd probably use *Finite Incantatem* myself. Of course, young students could use the simpler *Finite*."
He rubbed an odd-looking ring on his finger. "But our teaching focuses on students quickly identifying whether a creature is summoned, a real animal, or a dark magical being, then using the right spell to handle it. If they can't tell…"
For someone like Dumbledore, who'd been a prodigy his whole life, this kind of dilemma was rare. He hadn't really considered it.
"I have plenty of solutions, but most aren't ones a young student could easily pull off."
He looked to Lockhart, genuinely curious for his answer.
Lockhart, however, turned to McGonagall with a smile.
McGonagall, who'd spent years teaching students of all levels, answered promptly. "In N.E.W.T.-level classes, we cover some complex spells for these situations, but few students master them. Of course, Transfiguration, when done well, can solve almost any problem."
But Transfiguration wasn't exactly universal—it was tough to master.
"*Alarte Ascendare*!" Lockhart declared, sharing a spell he'd learned from an old American wizard. "Even a first-year can cast it easily, and at the very least, it'll fling a creature into the air and let it crash down."
"It's versatile enough to work in all three areas of Defense Against the Dark Arts: facing dark wizards, dark creatures, and dueling."
Lockhart knew *tons* of these folksy, almost slang-like spells.
Like the universal banishing charm for pesky creatures like Cornish Pixies: *Peskipiksi Pesternomi*—"Annoying little pixies, leave me alone!"
He kept digging through his jumbled memories, pulling out one rustic spell after another to back up his point, showing off his vast knowledge in a dazzling display.
And you know what?
It actually worked.
Even Dumbledore, who'd seen it all, was surprised by how many quirky, practical spells existed in the wizarding world—spells that were low-skill and perfect for young students.
He was genuinely impressed.
He exchanged a glance with McGonagall, and for the first time, they seemed to reconsider the flashy, self-promoting young man in front of them.
Maybe—just maybe—Lockhart wasn't as bad as they'd thought.
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