I-is this...C-could it be??

The venue for the conference is actually The Three Broomsticks, though Madam Rosmerta is unfortunately not present. "It looks bigger than I remember," I say, though my memory is from the films.

Miranda nods. "They used special expansion charms just for the event.

The regular tables are cleared away replaced by long tables featuring hors d'oeuvres. Witches and wizards mingle chatting over the items on display for the auction.

"Yes, it's just a little something I found packed away in storage at the manor," Malfoy drawls. I think this event is more an opportunity for him to show off than anything else.

With a billowing cloak and prominent nose, Snape takes the form of a mutant bat eagle, which I guess would be a beagle. That's already a thing though. He walks together with an older gentleman in purple robes.

"Nice robes," I say giving him a nod. The old man gives me a doddering smile. I am sporting lavender, myself. Snape sneers in return.

"Gran, I'm not sure I should be here," I hear a quavering childish voice.

"Nonsense," a stern woman replies in return. "You will be lord of the house one day. It's necessary to expose you to these kinds of situations," she says.

"Be careful not to expose anything else, Longbottom," Snape says. "I think I've had quite enough of that in potions class."

I approach the duo myself. "Madam," I say leaning over to kiss her hand, careful to avoid the beak of the vulture atop her head. She hastily wrestles her hand out of my grip.

"I've not had the...pleasure, sir," she says.

Neville's eyes widen. "You're Gilderoy Lockhart. The fastest man alive."

"I did read a Witch Weekly article saying something to that effect," Miranda snipes as she passes by.

I cough in return. "Fastest dueler alive. Gilderoy Lockhart at your service madam. And may I have the pleasure of your name young man?" I say reaching over to shake his hand.

"Longbottom, sir. Neville Longbottom," he says. I pause shaking his hand midway.

"This..." I say gripping his hand and then grasping his forearm and arm. He struggles meekly looking to his grandmother in distress.

"What quite are you doing?" she snaps.

My eyes turn serious. "Madam, your grandson has the bone structure of a born dueler. He is destined for greatness." Neville gasps. I hear a cough from Snape that sounds suspiciously like a muted bark of laughter.

I also hear the faint echoing of a bell tinkling. Ding ding ding ding...

Honestly, it's not like it's a complete lie. Neville mans up in the books and even destroys Nagini. He was even worthy of drawing Gryffindor's sword.

"Born dunderhead more like it," Snape mutters loud enough for me to hear.

Neville's gran's icy gaze suddenly thaws a bit. "Of course he is. It's in his blood. Just like his father," she says.

"Honestly, Mister Lockhart, I don't really do so well in school," Neville says.

"Understatement of the century," Snape adds as he pretends to view an auction item and fawns over the old man next to him.

Neville blushes a little and lowers his head.

"There's a reason for everything, which a discerning eye as mine, trained in the heat of battle, can fully discern," I say glancing purposefully at Snape. "Neville, let me see your wand."

He looks to his gran for permission. She gives an almost imperceptible nod.

As soon as I grasp the wand I see a message. "Memories Detected: Rare Item Frank Longbottom's Auror Wand - Siphon Memories? 1000 SBP"

My mouth goes dry, but then suddenly begins to water. A rare item? I searched every second-hand store in London and hardly found any uncommon items let alone rare. This wand costs as much as Wandering with Were Wolves. If I siphoned its memories I'd surely reap benefits.

Physically, I was confident at this point I could overpower any wizard. I could, after all, theoretically wrestle a werewolf. My magic, however, was still severely lacking.

Even after a week doing every shameless thing I could think of I still only had 500 Shameless Bastard Points. I purposely did a few things where I could be seen but didn't manage to make the front page of the Daily Prophet. I want to curse myself. I went overboard absorbing useless skills like cooking, massaging, and singing. So what if I can play the clarinet? Really, though, it is kind of addicting getting random skills.

"Have you heard the phrase the wand chooses the wizard?" I say. "This wand is not compatible with you."

At this Neville's gran stiffens. Neville seems to shrink even farther into himself. "It was my father's wand."

"Yes, I see. And you're your father's son. But also your mother's. The wand you wield should take the best of both of them, just as you do. This wand is only half compatible with you."

Neville's gran looks contemplative. "I will buy you a new wand," I say Before she can protest, I raise my hand. "If the wand is more compatible, I would like you to be my apprentice. If I'm wrong, then you have a free wand."

Neville's gran watches me closely. "Apprentice?" she says simply.

"All of my arts. Warlock, wizard, swordsman, enchanter, potioneer - every scrap of knowledge and experience I've earned with sweat and blood gifted freely to the one I deem worthy," I say. I don't even have half of those skills. It's only a matter of time though.

"I'll hold you to your word," she says. "If you'll excuse me, I think the auction will begin soon," she says.

Snape takes a moment to drop by. "I'd heard you were bold Lockhart, but gold-digging a woman thrice your age. Truly...courageous," he says, and swiftly departs.

This bastard, really... I don't have time for him. I need to quickly examine the items up for auction.

I make a sweep over the room swiftly poking each object as I pass by. I'm disappointed. There isn't a single worthwhile item. I stop at the last auction item.

"Lord Malfoy Senior's golden chamberpot," I read the tag underneath.

The object is a golden but somewhat beaten up pot. I hesitate a moment but reluctantly poke the pot's side.

Memories Detected: Rare Item Gary Brewster's Golden Cauldron. Siphon Memories. 500 SBP

I suck in a breath of air. Rare item!

To siphon or not to siphon? If I siphon now, I lose all of my SBP. If I wait, someone else might buy the item. Lockhart's pockets may be deep, but not as deep as Malfoy's high society buddies.

So far the uncommon items have given me a hint as to the nature of the skills and abilities contained within. What I need most right now is magic. Potion abilities have their plus as well, though. Healing, supplements in battle, perhaps even temporary buffs. If I brewed liquid luck...

I steel my nerves. Invest now to profit later. Just being able to brew felix felicis would make this memory siphon worth it.

"Yes," I whisper.

+15 General Potion Skills

+50% Potion effectiveness

(+100% when brewing with Brewster's Golden Cauldron)

+10% Increase to brewing speed

My eyes light up. Score! I definitely have to buy this golden chamberpot - er, cauldron. From my experience, a skill level between eight to ten seems to be a professional mastery of a skill. Something like +15 means that this Gary Brewster was definitely no ordinary potion master.

At 500 SBP this was truly a bargain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome to you the first and most prestigious teacher's convention," Malfoy said drawing everyone's attention. "I would like to welcome this year's special guest. Potion Master Woddleworth." The elderly man in the robe waved gingerly. "And I welcome Deputy Headmistress McGoncognall here in place of Headmaster Dumbledore who could regrettably not attend today," he continues with a sour smile.

"On behalf of the school board and the benefit of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we will hold an auction now for these items humbly donated by yours truly. They are just a few trinkets I found around the manor. There is no minimum bid, but please do remember the funds go to a good cause," he finishes.

A young witch in robes remarkably similar to my own steps to the front of the room as the lights dim, a magical spotlight forming on the witch.

"The first item is our handbag of illustrious lights," she says. She holds up a bedazzled handbag. As soon as the handbag touches her hands, every eye focuses on her. Her skin becomes even clearer, almost seeming to glimmer. "With this bag in hand, any witch can be the star of the evening."

As I stand and wait patiently, I hear a lord next to me comment, "I heard Lord Malfoy prepared a special item for the end of the auction."

"The ring of mundane premonitions. Never be surprised by an uninvited house guest again. Even if there's not a cloud in sight, you won't be surprised by the rain," she says holding the ring up for display.

At any point bidding begins to falter, I see Malfoy glare to his toadies, and the bidding suddenly increases. This is all a show, but I'm not entirely sure for whose benefit.

"The anti-hair loss hat"

...

"The sickly teaspoon"

...

"The divine belt of girth concealment"

...

"The golden....chamber, um, chamberpot!"

A glare from Malfoy gets the bidding started.

"Ten galleons."

"Twelve galleons."

Another swift glare. "Fifty galleons," a wizard says wiping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief. Malfoy lets out a slight smile.

"These funds will go to benefit the students at Hogwarts," I hear Snape say. "Brooms, ingredients, and new cauldrons which we sorely need," he says to the elderly man who nods and lets out a pleased hum and smile.

"Fifty galleons. Going once, going twice and - "

"Fifty galleons and one knut," I say.

"And, eh? Excuse me?"

"Fifty galleons and one knut," I say again. The young witch lets out a slight blush.

Malfoy glares at me, then shifts his gaze to the sweaty wizard who perspires even more.

"Sixty galleons," he says.

"Sixty galleons and one knut," I say immediately.

"Seventy galleons."

"Seventy galleons and one knut."

The crowd begins to mutter. If looks could kill, Malfoy's eyes would be shooting A.K.'s at me. No doubt I'm embarrassing him with my crass behavior.

For now, I ignore the dinging in my ears. This amount of shamelessness is hardly worth mentioning. It's almost as natural as breathing.

"E-eighty galleons," the other wizard.

"Eighty galleons and one-"

"And sold," Malfoy cries. "To the man in the lavender robes, who sincerely desires a golden chamberpot," he says to a chuckle from the crowd.

"I just couldn't help getting proof the Malfoys really do shit gold," I say out loud. There are a few more awkward chuckles. Some wizards eye me as if I've gone insane. Malfoy's gaze turns frosty.

"Yes, well, we have one more item on the agenda today. A very special item. Louise, if you will," he says to the young witch who returns with a covered plate. She reveals the item with a flourish. Her eyes rapidly go round as saucers.

I recognize it immediately as a type of plant. It is dark blue in color and looks remarkably like...a certain toy found in adult stores. Indeed, it's the one you're thinking of. It releases a spicy scent in the air.

"Nundu horn! Of course, not from a nundu, but an herb called so for its resemblance," Malfoy says.

"I've heard it's the next best thing to the philosopher's stone's elixir of life," one wizard exclaims.

"Even a hundred-year-old man will feel twenty again," another says.

"It does wonders for energy. And for stamina," a man says. He lets out a sigh. "It was popular a century ago, but is quite rare now due to over-harvesting."

The elder potion master Woddleworth's eyes light up. Snape leans over toward the old man. "It seems you're interested in this ingredient, Grandmaster Woddleworth. Please allow me to purchase it in your place," Snape says in an ingratiating tone.

So that's how it is. I don't know what this old codger is to Malfoy but knowing Malfoy's crowd I'm sure it's no good.

"For such a special item, let the bidding began at 100 hundred galleons," Malfoy says. "And with a minimum bid of fifty galleons," he says looking directly at me.

"One hundred galleons," a wizard starts. If I'm not mistaken all of these dusty old men have their eyes shining. This is alarming, truly alarming. Just what are they hoping to get up to.

"Three hundred galleons," Snape says. Tsk, tsk. Upping the price from the get-go is only going to make things worse on you. He gives me a superior sneer.

With twinkly eyes and rosy cheeks, the bidding heats up more and more.

400, 500, 600, 700, 800.

Snape's greasy face is shining with sweat. "850," Snape says.

"900," I add into the silence. Snape whips his head around to glare at me.

"950," he says.

"1000," I say.

Snape's eyes dart to Malfoy who is once again glaring at me. Malfoy gives an almost imperceptible nod.

"1050" Snape grates out. The other old men have lost interest.

If Malfoy is backing, I won't bother to be polite. "1500 galleons," I say in my best stage voice. I give Malfoy a smirk.

Snape may have been a double agent and lied to Voldemort's face as cool as cucumber, but I see his wallet is his weak point. Maybe Malfoy merely promised to reimburse him?

"1600 galleons," Snape roars.

I let silence reign. "Sold," says Malfoy, his cold voice cutting through the silence. The lights gradually begin to brighten and Malfoy himself brings the herb to Snape.

"Here you are grandmaster," Snape says. "A small token of appreciation."

Malfoy smiles cooly. "I hope you can take it into consideration for what we discussed."

The old man looks slightly pained but nods his head nevertheless.

"1600 hundred galleons!" I say with a sound of admiration. "Truly top galleon for such a rare herb, Professor Snape. I think you might have set a new record. Then again, cost and demand, and all that," I say. Snape sneers in return.

I shake my head in faux regret. "Too bad it's a fake."

"Excuse me," Malfoy says. Snape's face turns livid. "All of the items at his auction are backed by the Malfoy name. I've had each one personally verified," he says.

"Then that's truly unfortunate," I say. "Because it is still a fake."

"I personally confirmed the quality of the herb," Snape snaps. "Not to mention Grandmaster Woddleworth is one of five men alive to obtain the title of potion grandmaster," Snape sneers. "Do you really think you know better than two potion masters?"

I nod. "Those are certainly impressive titles. Not as impressive as my own, of course, but still impressive. Nundu horn's color ranges from purplish to black. It also lacks the distinct - erm, head - of this particular plant. Also, while this plant smells quite spicy, the nundu horn has a equally powerful yet bitter smell. No, I'm afraid that this is not a nundu horn but the devil's turnip, so named for its high toxicity," I say. Thankfully I purchased the potion skills. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the chance to rub this in Snape's face.

"Grandmaster Woddleworth is getting on in years, so I think his eyes may not be what they used to be." I rub my chin as if in thought. "Well, for you, on the other hand, I can't really think of an excuse. I guess you're just incompetent?"

"Some would consider those words grounds for a duel," Snape growls.

I smile cheekily. "Some, like William Wimbledon," I say. "And how did it go for him?"

The crowd forms around us to watch the drama unfold. Miranda taps her foot nervously, gears turning in her head "Should I freak out? Or should I be happy this will generate more press?" are the thoughts clearing running through her head.

Snape holds his wand tightly in his hand. At this distance, I won't even have to bother with magic. I'll beat him blacker than a nundu horn with my bare hands.

Malfoy suddenly bursts into laughter. "What a fine show indeed. Two-hot blooded wizards. I hardly think it's worth coming to spells over. But, might I suggest a wager?"

I hide my glee. "And what manner of wager do you suggest Lord Malfoy?" I say.

"Obviously with your opinion on my potion ingredient, you imply a certain competence in the art."

"Well, I don't like to brag," I say with a shrug.

Malfoy claps his hands. "Dobbie!" he calls and with a pop, his house-elf appears. "Fetch two cauldrons and potion kits post haste."

In less than a second, the house-elf returns with two black cauldrons and boxes of ingredients.

"Goblin black iron cauldron!" a knowledgeable wizard cries out.

"Indeed," Malfoy says. "The finest cauldrons galleons can buy. I put forth these two cauldrons in the wager. Professor Snape versus Mister Lockhart -

"Professor Lockhart," I say correcting him. "I begin teaching in the fall."

"Professor Lockhart," he continues with a tight smile. "I suggest a potions duel. The main criteria are speed and quality. The judge will be Grandmaster Woddleworth. The winner will prove their potion mastery and settle this little debate."

"It sounds good," I say. "However, I'd like to sweeten the deal a little."

"Oh," Malfoy said with an arched eyebrow. "Do tell."

"In addition, if I win, during my tenure at Hogwarts I'd like professor Snape to refer to me as Master Lockhart. And if I lose, I'll do the same for him," I say.

Snape, silent up till this point, is no longer red-faced but is so angry he has somehow turned white. "Very well," he says.

I strain to keep my face neutral, but can't help but look at my golden cauldron.

I-is this...C-could it be??

Is this the legendary face-smacking?!

"Alright then, I agree."

"Then let the potion duel commence!" Malfoy shouts.