Chapter 25

The day Lockhart launched his new book, I conducted natural Polyjuice Potion tests. Using the hair of a suitable Muggle and wearing artifact glasses, I took a strategically convenient observation position in the bookstore. The elder Weasley and the elder Malfoy didn't punch each other in the face, but they did spray each other with words-poison. The diary, and Voldemort's Horcrux, was safely placed in the hands of Ginevra, the youngest member of the redheaded clan.

The magic on the book was so scrawled that it was impossible to read from a distance. Nothing, at school we'll take it out carefully and study it with all our might. Still, a rare case of soul magic, when will there be an idiot who would dare to do such a thing? Especially since it must be a very large piece of aura. The first sample.

On a dark August night, I visited Lockhart, applied a subjugator, and practiced reading minds. I watched the previous conversation with Dumbledore carefully. The headmaster was nodding and shining his glasses, while Gilderoy was talking like a nightingale and lying, lying a lot. The interesting moment was at the very end, the contract with the school was signed with an ordinary quill, and by the standards of wizards this piece of paper meant nothing. In fact, this peacock was supposed to stay in the castle as a personal guest of the headmaster. No rights, no responsibilities. Now it's clear how he managed to hurt a student and not end up in the nearest hospital bed.

After wiping and slightly trimming the man's memory, I ordered him to sleep. While he snored, I rummaged through the closet. Despite the colors, which were too bright for my taste, and the extravagant underwear, the quality of Lockhart's clothing was beyond reproach. It's scary to think how much he spends on his image. Cloaks of unicorn wool, silk, Acromantula webs, natural fibers with additives and impregnations, quilted and dragon-skin vests, shirts embroidered with lunar silver, I was jealous.

I tried using someone else's wand, but no, it didn't work at all. Now I'll have to spend more time creating a new concentrator that looks like Gilderoy's. What the hell did that guy Mordred do to decorate it? I'll have to deal with that. All right, we've identified the wardrobe materials, we'll buy the necessary threads, brew the potions, and we'll have stylish clothing in a magical version of heavy armor. Just right for the famous fighter against all darkness. That's it, it's time to do the honors.

The rest of August was spent creating a wand, shopping, and preparing a shelter for Lockhart. In the first case, I had to make a consumer item on the level of what Ollivander sold. There was too little time. The main thing is that the wand worked, and the flaws can and will survive. Although, of course, it was not too pleasant to hold the wand again after it had been customized. It was like going from a business class car to a cheap car made in China. But it "drives" and so on. I carry the original on my left arm in a concealed holster anyway.

And the one I bought for school I didn't leave behind, I put it on my leg. In any case, a spare concentrator is always useful. Thread for rune embroidery that I buy already impregnated with potions would be better if you boil it yourself, of course, but yes, and that will be fine. In general, if somebody want to be really smart and protected, all raw materials should be mined and grown by yourself. Which of course nobody does. Because the time and effort is not compensated by the result.

I decided to put the original Gilderoy to sleep for a year. You can't kill him, the Polyjuice Potion only works in the presence of a living specimen, and he doesn't deserve it. Even the canon punishment is too harsh for him. He's basically harmless, and he's not a bad writer. It's bad enough that he wiped out the memories of people whose real stories he based on, but he did it pretty carefully. Hmm, I guess watching his life has taken its toll on me. It's better for the plans, though.

I bought some drips from the Muggle apothecary, brewed a living death potion and a set of nutrient cocktails. I made vessels with expanded volume out of crystal, it was possible to glamorize glass, but it has no clear crystal lattice, which means the charms will be much worse to hold. In general, glass, usually in the form of obsidian, in magic — the analog of a superconductor, so it makes all sorts of ritual knives and the same concentrators. Well, everything seems to be ready, it's time to deliver the guest.

The third trip to Lockhart home went off without a hitch. Imperio on the sleeping body once, Legilimensional two, trunk with things to reduce and put in a pocket three, portal-key to activate four. The client voluntarily stuffed the IV tubes into his mouth after undressing and lying down on the couch.

I had to secure him with enchanted restraints. As well as organizing the potion supply. The latter was nothing, but the procedures regarding the liquids had been worked out five times since the creation of the HECC. I had to wait a bit for the client to fall into something between coma and anabiosis, and as soon as that happened, I canceled the subjugation. That's it. He won't give me any trouble now. Potions aren't like charms, they're much harder to beat.

Molly Weasley, when she was a Pruett, had her magical engagement ruined by Amortentia. A few diagnostic spells haven't revealed any deviations from the calculated norm. Though it will be necessary to check again in the morning, just in case, I don't want to endanger the man. That's all, it was time to get some sleep and tomorrow I could make Hogwarts happy with my appearance.

In the morning, after making sure Lockhart was fine and the dosage was correct, I mentally went through the list of things I had taken and went to the castle. The headmaster wasn't there, so I had to use McGonagall's fireplace. What can I say, I was not greeted well. Dry, prim and formal. Of course, everything was correct, it was Minerva, but "Fi" to me was expressed quite clearly. Even, I would say, demonstrative. A mundane matter. As I followed the home-elf leading Mr. Wizard Sir to his rooms, I thought about the future plans of the classes. Somehow, I had completely missed this little nuance. All right, let's do it according to the canon, we'll have a test in the first hour and a chat. And then, according to the results of the demonstrated knowledge, it will be clear how and what to teach. Maybe there's something useful in the folder Madam McGonagall gave us.

The folder contained old lesson plans, lists of students, timetables, some documents, and that was it. I looked at the plans, grinned, looked at the lists and timetables and familiarized myself with them. The schedule was the most useful, but it was also the most surprising. Somehow, I had never thought about the load of the teachers, but it turned out to be a heavy load.

Seven courses, four faculties each, yes, two hours a week, even taking into account the fact that I will be teaching two classes at the same time, it is still six hours a day. And I also have to check the work and find time for the fifth and seventh classes. After all, there are ministerial exams, and the professors are obliged to set aside a few hours for counseling. In general, no freebies, I'll have to work my two hundred gold pieces to the fullest.

In the evening the children arrived, Harry and Ron, thank Merlin they didn't come in their father's flying car. It was not for nothing that I had told the boy a fictional story about a fellow student who was an idiot, and he had enough sense to draw parallels. Having failed to reach the enchanted platform, they decided to wait for their parents. As a result, they stayed in Nora until the evening, and from there they came by fireplace through the headmaster's office to the time of the feast. It was a bit unusual to sit at a teacher's table, but Snape, quietly gritting his teeth, warmed my soul. In general, as far as I could tell, my colleagues were a little suspicious of me, but mostly neutral.

Even McGonagall seemed to accept it. The introduction of the new DADA teacher went canonically, a brilliant smile on my part, squeezed squeaks from the girl half of the students and perplexed exclamations from the boy half. Most of the guys, as expected, didn't care.

Who would have thought that my first year would be second year Gryffindor and Slytherin. I put on a set of disguising charms and sat at my desk, watching the newcomers with interest. The girls occupied the first desks, causing some conflict between them, and the boys were not eager to be in front of the teacher. With the ringing of the bell that announced the beginning of the lesson, I removed the charms, which impressed the students. I did it standing in the middle of the class. It made me want to shout in the spirit of Alastor Moody: Constant vigilance!

— Good morning, kids, — I said, sitting on the edge of the table.

— Good morning, — they answered me.

— First of all, let me introduce myself. Gilderoy Lockhart in all his glory, — I bow jokingly. — I consider my greatest achievement to be the Witchopolitan's Smile of the Year Award. A writer, a handsome man, a fighter against darkness, and just a good guy. — Someone laughed softly at this performance, someone furrowed their brow, trying to understand what it was. — Now it's your turn, please stand up one by one and introduce yourselves.

— Hermione Granger, — who would have doubted that she wouldn't be the first to jump up.

— Nice to meet you, Miss Granger. Anything you'd like to add?

— Uh, well, I like to study, and I read a lot, — the girl was embarrassed.

— That's good. That's it? Well, sit down, let's continue...