Madam Rosmerta awoke in the early hours of the morning, the cool pre-dawn air drifting through her bedroom window.
Her first instinct upon opening her eyes was to glance across the bed. It was empty. The pillows and bedspreads were neatly arranged, untouched and crisp.
As expected... was last night merely a dream?
She rubbed her temples, slowly swinging her legs over the side of the mattress to prepare for the early morning tavern chores.
Then she noticed it: a crystal glass of clear water resting on her bedside dresser, with a folded piece of parchment pinned underneath. The handwriting was unmistakably Gilderoy Lockhart's—flamboyant, ornate, and aggressively confident.
Dearest Rosmerta,
You were truly magnificent last night.
I didn't have the heart to wake you while you were sleeping so soundly. However, I need to visit my mother today, so I had to slip away early. Forgive me for denying you the sight of my smile in the morning dew.
I've added two drops of Baruffio's Brain Elixir to the water by your bed to clear your head. Furthermore, a hot breakfast is waiting for you downstairs on the counter; I've placed a concealment ward over it to keep the neighborhood strays away, so you'll need a quick Revealing Charm to uncover it.
I look forward to our next meeting—perhaps near the Ceri Yalan waterfalls or the hot springs of Pamukkale.
Yours, Gilderoy Lockhart
Rosmerta stared at the note, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. "Smooth-talking rogue," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "He spins tales as if they're absolute gospel."
Even so, after a moment's hesitation, she folded the parchment carefully and tucked it away into a locked compartment deep inside her wardrobe.
Donning her traveling cloak, she skipped breakfast entirely and hurried up to her attic to draft an urgent reply to Ragnok.
As an ambitious civil servant—albeit one stranded in a magical body—Lockhart shared his predecessor's flair for self-promotion and relentless ambition. The difference was that the new Lockhart possessed a strategic mind, a sharper intellect, and a far more disciplined approach to manipulation.
Madam Rosmerta loved the intoxicating thrill of rubbing shoulders with influential figures, and Lockhart was more than happy to feed that desire. Social climbers were easily managed when you understood what vanity required.
Yet, as useful as Rosmerta was, there was another woman in his life who required a entirely different kind of management: his mother, Mrs. Lockhart.
If the original Gilderoy Lockhart's absurdly inflated ego had any root cause, it could be traced directly back to her.
Lockhart's father was a Muggle, while his mother was a witch. Of their three children, Gilderoy was the only boy—and the only one to inherit magical ability. His two older sisters were entirely non-magical. Consequently, as the sole magical heir and golden boy, he had been smothered with uncritical adoration from infancy, cementing his arrogant, attention-seeking worldview.
Unfortunately, reality had struck hard when the Sorting Hat placed him in Ravenclaw—a house populated by actual geniuses. It was an academic bloodbath.
To be fair, he wasn't genuinely stupid; he wouldn't have been sorted into Ravenclaw otherwise. But he directed all his intellectual energy into theatrical posturing rather than genuine study. His grades were mediocre, and that glaring disconnect warped his personality even further, driving him toward desperate, shortcut-driven fame after graduation.
The transmigrated Lockhart recognized that theatricality and public presence weren't inherently bad tools—they projected confidence and commanded attention. The problem with his predecessor was a total failure of judgment: trading in substance for hollow, stolen prestige. If you lacked genuine skill, constant grandstanding eventually revealed you as a fraud.
Yet, no matter how transparent Lockhart's flaws were, Mrs. Lockhart worshipped the ground he walked on, eagerly singing his praises to every witch and wizard within earshot. It was the classic, unyielding blind spot of a devoted mother.
Navigating back to his family home in his modified Lotus—fitted with an Undetectable Extension Charm—Lockhart wondered how he would handle her.
Pulling into the driveway, he sounded the horn and called out cheerfully, "Mum! I'm home!"
The front door flew open instantly, and Mrs. Lockhart rushed down the steps with open arms. "Oh, my sweet Gilderoy! You're finally here! Why on earth didn't you Apparate? Or at least use the Floo Network?"
Lockhart stepped out, folding her into a warm, affectionate embrace. "Where's the romance in that, Mum? Besides, Kaelie and Selkie are here for your birthday, and they'll need a proper ride back afterward."
"Their husbands both drive, they could have managed," Mrs. Lockhart waved dismissively, pulling him inside. "You've driven all this way; you must be exhausted."
Lockhart winced inwardly. The favoritism is staggering. If my sisters hear this, there's going to be frost in the hallway.
Sure enough, as they stepped into the foyer, two women with distinctly unimpressed expressions were waiting.
"Ah, my dear sisters! So you've already arrived," Lockhart flashed his trademark, million-galleon smile, slipping effortlessly into the welcoming persona. "How have you both been?"
"We're fine," Kaelie said, pressing her lips into a tight, strained smile.
The blatant maternal favoritism was something they had endured their entire lives, and no amount of aging made it easier to swallow.
In truth, their names alone revealed a great deal about Mrs. Lockhart's eccentric ambitions: Kaelie after the giant queen in Scottish folklore, Selkie after the mythical seal-maidens, and Gilderoy after a notorious outlaw. One could easily imagine the grand, magical futures their mother had envisioned for her children—long before two of them turned out to be ordinary Muggles.
During the birthday dinner itself, the tension was palpable. Mrs. Lockhart spent the entire evening loudly admiring a ruby-encrusted magical necklace Gilderoy had bought her, while barely glancing at the expensive designer handbag and silver tea set her daughters had brought. Seeing the tight, miserable looks on his sisters' faces, Lockhart felt a quiet wave of discomfort.
Eager to defuse the atmosphere, he played the dutiful son and brother for the rest of the evening, enduring the painfully awkward meal until it mercifully drew to a close.
When it was time to leave, both sisters politely declined his offer of a ride, insisting they could take public transit. But Lockhart wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Public safety in Britain is dreadful right now," Lockhart insisted, loading their coats into the car. "With the fallout from the Falklands War and rowdy hooligans running wild under the guise of celebration, I wouldn't dream of letting you two travel alone."
It was a plausible excuse. Even Mrs. Lockhart, blinded by her affection for her son, couldn't ignore the very real risks of the Muggle world, so she finally dropped her objections.
Slipping into the back of the car, Kaelie and Selkie eyed their surroundings with a mix of lingering resentment and reluctant awe. Thanks to the spatial expansion charms, the interior resembled a luxury hotel suite rather than a standard automobile.
Selkie reached out to tap the ceiling, her eyes widening. "Wait... the roof isn't actually glass? I thought I'd be able to see the London stars!"
Like the Ministry's modified vehicles, Lockhart's car was packed with discreet enhancements. While it lacked the enchanted flight capabilities of the Weasleys' Ford Anglia, its suspension had been charmed to glide over the roughest country roads as if they were paved with silk.
"If you like, I can have a couple of these built for your families," Lockhart offered smoothly from the front seat. "Makes running errands with the kids and hauling groceries infinitely easier—and you won't have to worry about car sickness."
Kaelie narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.
"All right, cut the act," she snapped quietly. "What kind of game are you playing this time? You don't offer us luxury treatment out of the goodness of your heart. I know you too well, little brother."
Lockhart threw his hands up in mock offense, checking the rearview mirror dramatically. "Good grief! Must a man be suspected of sinister motives simply for showing basic familial affection? What on earth is my reputation with you two?"
"You know exactly what your reputation is," Selkie chimed in dryly. "Skip the theatrics. Spit it out, or we're getting out right now."
Lockhart sighed, keeping his eyes on the road. He knew rebuilding trust wouldn't happen overnight, so he decided to pivot to business.
"Very well. Since you asked, I actually do have a proposition—specifically involving William."
William was Kaelie's husband. At the mention of his name, Kaelie stiffened immediately. "What does William have to do with this?"
"Calm down," Lockhart replied smoothly. "Tell him that the British pound is on the verge of some serious fluctuation. I happen to know a rather eccentric party—let's call them a non-traditional investor—sitting on a massive reserve of sterling they're eager to offload for solid gold. If William plays his cards right as a financial manager, we can structure a private arrangement that benefits everyone involved."
Kaelie stared at him through the rearview mirror, her gaze sharp and deeply suspicious. She didn't answer right away, weighing the risk.
"I'll pass the message along to him," she finally said, her tone guarded. "But I don't understand high finance. If you want details, you'll have to talk to him yourself."
Lockhart offered a calm, reassuring smile, though a wave of quiet satisfaction washed over him.
Step one complete, he thought, gripping the steering wheel as the car glided smoothly down the highway. Now, onto the next piece of the board.