Are you faster than a werewolf?

"Madame," I say in a deep voice, kissing a wrinkly hand.

Ding. +1 Shamless Bastard Points

I return the signed copy of Magical Me receiving a saucy wink and returning it with some suggestive eyebrow wiggling. Across the bookstore my editor, Miranda, glares at me with a slight look of disgust. I have a feeling there is some history between her and Lockhart. I luckily discovered her name when the bookstore owner greeted us.

The book signing is so far fairly uneventful. Well, I discovered trying to sign a woman's chest with a quill is in fact a very bad idea.

Was I really dead on Earth? I feel a pang of worry for the people that would miss me. My mother...

My...

Okay, that was pretty much it. But, mom will really miss me. She is the beneficiary for all of my insurance policies, so surely, it will workout.

Feeling a bit relieved, I welcome my next fan with a gleaming smile. Apparently smile fatigue is a thing because at this point my dimples actually ache. A dumpy red headed woman gingerly sets a dog-eared copy of Wandering with Werewolves in front of me. A slight red-headed girl hovers at her side clutching a cauldron full of school supplies. She averts her gaze with a slight blush when I look at her.

Wait a second. Red-headed. Worn out book.

Weaselys. It I'm not mistaken, I'm fairly certain I'm in the timeline of the second book before Lockhart starts his job as defense against the dark arts instructor at Hogwarts. Meaning any moment now a fight should breakout between Mr. Weasley and Malfoy, meaning he will stuff Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny's cauldron, meaning I can get it and bypass the whole killer snake thing.

"Hold it right there!" And there it is. I try to zero in on the books in her cauldron as any second now I'm sure they will knock her over. "Lockhart, you scum. Come and face me if you're a man."

Right, and now I just -

Wait, what? This isn't the right script.

"Accio insufferable pansy's lavender robes," a man shouts. I find myself flying through the air knocking my book signing table over. I land on the ground hard, somehow sliding across the gleaming wood of the bookstore on my stomach, dragging the table behind me where my foot is caught on the table's edge.

Shrieks of housewives and middle age women follow me out the door of the bookstore where I find myself standing in the street of Diagon Ally, a crowd of on-lookers swarming like flies on sweet, sweet potential beat down.

I stagger to my feet to face a young man, at most in his twenties decked out in a musketeer outfit complete with rapier and a half cape, wielding a wand in his hand. At my feet, glamour shots of myself wince in sympathy. Other versions of myself seem to be attempting to hide outside the frame, only peeking over the edge.

Miranda hurries over to help me to my feet. "Who the hell is this guy?" I mumble where only she can hear.

"William Wiblin," she hisses. "The dueling champion," she adds in reply to the blank look I give her.

"Good sir," I say putting on my most amiable smile. "I'm sure this is just a misunder-"

"You slept with my sister," the man says.

Oh. Damn. That sounds believable, actually.

"She is only sixteen," he says to the crowd who then gasp with appropriate drama. Miranda gives me a withering look and promptly leaves my side to stand with the crowd.

By all rights, Lockhart probably deserves the beating this guy wants to give him. I want to beat him, even. He should be punched in the nuts even. The probably is, Lockhart is me. And those nuts are my nuts. The bigger problem is my reputation. If this gets out now, I might not even make it to Hogwarts, meaning I will be outside the plot.

Actually, wait. That might not be such a bad thing. After all, in all of the stories I read the protagonist uses their knowledge of future events to become the most powerful, to stand at the top of the world, etcetera, but, I'm pretty much solid.

I can do magic. I'm good looking. Lockhart has a decent amount of money and a posh flat. Aside from the high potential of a few STDs, if that is even a wizarding thing, I'm actually doing pretty well.

I'll just -

A window pop ups in front of my face.

Special Story Mission: Ensure Voldemort is defeated and Harry Potter survives or -

The world is doomed. And you die.

Or that could happen.

I'm losing the crowd. I've got to say something fast. "Now, now, Wimbledon, I'm sure you're salty after" - come up with valid Lockhart excuse - "I defeated you in a duel, but this nonsense about your sister, is, nonsense," I say in with Lockhart's trained stage voice.

No matter what happens, just sell it. Make it look good. If Lockhart can do it, surely I can.

William sneers. "Defeat me in a duel? I'm the All-England champion. I take that as a challenge. Ready yourself, if you can, you limp wanded fool."

I wonder if I can use Harry Potter as my second. I mean, the kid goes on to duel Voldemort. I'm sure he could take this guy.

Ding

Yeah, that would be pretty shameless. My feet shuffle back as I check for exit routes, and I feel something under my foot. Even better, a nice possibility pops up in front of my eyes .

"I think you mis-remember me, Wimbledon. It wasn't a wand duel, but a sword duel."

A new pop up has appeared in front of me, ghostly words writing out a new message. " High Affinity Object Detected. Siphon memories? 1000 SBP"

I notice I'm standing on Molly Weasely's worn copy of Wanders with Werewolves. "My name is Wiblin," the man says coldly. "And if it's a blade you want, then a blade you will get. However, I can't promise you'll walk away alive, Lockhart. Is this truly what you want?"

"Yes," I say. The crowd gasps, again. "Wait, what?"

1000 Shameless Bastard Points deducted. Siphoning Memories...

"Give this man a sword," Wiblin cries. An overly helpful wizard proceeds to conjures one with his wand.

"Good luck, Lockhart! I don't believe a word he says," Molly Weasley says from the side waving a handkerchief.

Book Unlocked! Wandering with Werewolves Ch 1

Book Unlocked! Wandering with Werewolves Ch 2

Book Unlocked! Wandering with Werewolves Ch 3

Siphoned Memories:

+ 10 to physical

+ 10 to melee damage

+ 10 to wrestling

+ 10 to tracking

...

Various stats scroll across my vision as I force the window closed with a thought. Warmth floods my body along with a piercing pain in my head. Immediately I feel better than I've ever felt. I feel like I could go a hundred more rounds with what's-her-name from Witch Weekly. All kinds of knowledge about fighting fills my head. I bet I could even wrestle a werewolf.

Wait, I did wrestle a werewolf.

I feel a flare of excitement. The crap Lockhart said he did - it's like I really did it!

Shameless Bastard System. Yes, shameless indeed!

"That's William Wiblin," a man in the crowd shouts. "He's the fastest swordsman alive!"

I study the conjured sword in my hand, almost cutting myself in the face in the process. Miranda is shaking her head now, holding her forehead. She is probably editing her resume in her mind. Apparently, I did not gain any insight into sword play. It's my turn to sneer.

"A sword?" I say. I toss it to the ground. "For a liar and a coward like you, I don't even need a sword."

"Good, good. Very good, Lockhart. Just remember. You brought this all on yourself," Wiblin says, and then he lunges.

He is fast. Faster than anyone I've ever seen. Faster than I can think, really. Faster than I'd be able to say, "Ah, shit!" as I got stabbed through the chest.

"You're fast Wiblin," I say.

He stares at me dumbly where I grip his sword arm as I side step his blow.

"Truly worthy to be the fastest swordsman alive," I say loud enough for the entire crowd to hear. "But are you faster than a werewolf?"

He tries to throw his weight to the side to escape, but using my body weight and my knew found strength and proficiency, I twist his hand forcing him to drop the sword. I kick it to the side, and with a turn of my hips send him flying over my shoulder.

I know just the spot to put him. I hear the sheer cry of a little girl and the tumbling of a cauldron hitting the cobble stones.

"William Wimbledon may be a stupendous dueler and fastest swordsman alive, but he is not faster than I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, and veteran warlock," I say approaching Wiblin who is attempting to remove his head where it somehow lodged in Ginny's cauldron. "And you can read all about it in Wandering with Werewolfs, available by owl order now," I add.

"In his youthful brashness, he could not accept his defeat, but I Gilderoy Lockhart am a magnanimous man. Here, a free signed copy of Magical Me for my rival," I say dropping a book on his head just as he extracts it from the cauldron. "And for all of you lovely people!" I say shouting out to the crowd to applause.

As a flash and purple smoke from a photograph fills the air, I manage to sneak my wand against Wiblin's side. "This isn't ov-" he begins, but a muttered stupefy puts him down, my robes managing to cover the flash of light.

"I think I may have over-exerted my strength. Call an ambulance - er, a mediwizard," I say.

A tall, thin red-headed young man quickly approaches. "Mr. Lockhart, have you perhaps thought of endorsing the International Ban on Dueling. After your work with vampires, perhaps you might have some luck in Transylvania. I - "

"Sorry, no time to chat Weatherby," I say cutting him off.

I go to where Ginny Weasely is picking up her spilled school supplies and stuffing them into her now rather battered cauldron.

I quickly lean over to help her sort her things. "I'm terribly sorry. Why, Mrs. Weasely, I'm afraid this is entirely my fault," I say to her mother where she tuts over the fallen items.

"Why, M-m-mister Lockhart? Y-you know my name?"

"Why of course. How could I not recognize such a distinguished Gryffindor family?" I say holding a few tattered items. "All of these school things ruined because of my little squabble. I must replace them all."

Mrs. Weasley looks taken aback as her husband approaches as well. "That's quite alright Mr. Lockhart," he says.

I know the Weasleys hate to take charity, but I don't mind helping them. I had so many hand me downs when I was a kid. Plus, it will totally make me look good.

I wonder if being in Lockhart's body is having an influence on me.

"This is my responsibility, and I owe it to such a fan of my works," I say. "I care deeply for my fans. Without them, I would only be really, really good lucking. And really good at fighting. But not famous. I insist on replacing all of the items. And of course, please receive the collectors edition box set of all of my published works. It even comes with the swimsuit edition of my calendar," I say with a wink at Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley coughs looking a little uncomfortable, but I manage to convince them to let me replace the items all while simultaneously posing for pictures.

It's not that I'm an insufferable narcissist. I'm just in an insufferable narcissist's body.

As I have all of Ginny's items replaced, I sneakily go through the contents of the battered cauldron. I don't find Riddle's diary.