Lockhart had assumed the first response to his financial overtures would come from his sister, but to his surprise, the reply arrived from Ragnok, one of the senior goblins at Gringotts.
The morning after his mother's birthday, just as he was preparing to tackle his Hogwarts assignment, an owl tapped against his window carrying the goblin's official seal. Judging by how quickly the bird had returned, Lockhart surmised that Ragnok had reached a decision within minutes of receiving Madam Rosmerta's letter of introduction.
It made complete sense. In this era, Gringotts was exceedingly cautious—Ragnok was constantly on guard against swindlers like Ludo Bagman, who would later attempt to pay off massive debts using trick leprechaun gold during the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament. Goblins had very little natural trust in wizards.
Dear Mr. Lockhart,
I am intrigued by your proposal and look forward to meeting with you. Please suggest a suitable time so that we may make the necessary arrangements.
Sincerely, Gringotts Bank
Lockhart pondered for a moment before scheduling the meeting for three days later. That would give the goblin's office enough time to prepare while allowing him to complete his first round of muggle-born house visits.
He penned a swift response without keeping the owl waiting. As he secured the rolled parchment inside the leather pouch attached to the bird's leg, he slipped in a small piece of fried fish. The owl swallowed the treat in one enthusiastic gulp, tilted its head back with a pleased hoot, and snapped its wings open, soaring back into the morning sky.
Having received no phone call from his sister yet, Lockhart cast a simple Reminder Charm on his telephone, scooped up his car keys, and headed out the door.
The list of Muggle-born students Dumbledore had handed him was surprisingly short, containing only twelve names.
Hogwarts rarely admitted more than a hundred new students per year, and Harry Potter's year group totaled around forty. The small size of the intake was evident in daily school operations: Madam Hooch only ever needed twenty broomsticks for joint Gryffindor and Slytherin flying lessons, and Professor Sprout set out twenty pairs of earmuffs for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff Herbology classes.
This incoming class was slightly larger—over seventy students—primarily because the wizarding world had experienced a modest baby boom following Voldemort's initial fall. Still, the vast majority of these young witches and wizards came from pure-blood or half-blood families.
Convincing Muggle parents wasn't always a smooth process. While Ministry officials routinely dispatched agents to intercept families when a child displayed accidental magic, many non-magical parents initially dismissed the official Hogwarts acceptance letter as an elaborate prank.
When parents flatly refused to send their children, Ministry officials had traditionally been all too eager to place "safeguards" on the children—binding their accidental magic so they could live out their lives as ordinary Muggles. Pure-blood supremacists quietly delighted in this outcome, preferring to keep "unclean" blood out of the castle entirely.
Dumbledore, however, took a very different stance. Remembering a time when Hogwarts housed nearly a thousand students, he viewed the current enrollment of roughly three hundred as a tragedy. He was determined to bring as many Muggle-born wizards into the fold as possible, both to nurture young talent and to counter the entrenched influence of the old pure-blood families.
Yet, as experienced as Dumbledore was, he simply didn't have the time to sit in Muggle living rooms drinking tea and debating reluctant parents. With Voldemort's return looming after the previous year's encounter over the Philosopher's Stone, the Headmaster's absolute priority was forging Harry Potter into the Savior the magical world needed.
As Lockhart dryly mused, Dumbledore had no intention of wasting hours on skeptical parents when he could delegate the task.
What Dumbledore hadn't mentioned to Lockhart was a private conversation he'd had with Professor McGonagall. "Even a snake has its uses, Minerva," the Headmaster had noted quietly. "Even if Lockhart proves to be a pompous charlatan, exposing his shallow nature will serve as a practical lesson for the students. It will show them precisely who they should—and should not—aspire to be."
Lockhart remained blissfully unaware of Dumbledore's cynical assessment, but he approached the assignment with absolute seriousness regardless.
A true politician begins grooming successors and building a power base early. Since his ultimate goal was the Minister's chair, establishing rapport with impressionable young wizards before they formed their adult loyalties was an unbeatable strategy. Even after his single year at Hogwarts ended, a well-cultivated student network would serve as a long-term pipeline of future supporters.
Lockhart drove his enchanted Lotus into South Kensington, an affluent neighborhood in London's Chelsea district, and pulled up in front of an elegant, manicured townhouse.
The property was modest in scale, but considering it sat in one of the most expensive real estate sectors in Britain, the status of its owner was undeniable. Scanning the address, Lockhart understood why these parents had resisted the school's invitation: When your family already occupies the upper crest of non-magical society, why send your child to an obscure, hidden boarding school outside your control?
Stepping up to the entrance, he pressed the brass doorbell. Moments later, a sharply dressed woman in a tailored skirt-suit opened the door.
"Good morning," Lockhart said, offering a warm, polished smile. "Is this the Mason residence?"
The woman paused, taking in his appearance.
Lockhart had dressed impeccably for the occasion. Underneath a tailored sky-blue outer coat—an elongated, modern adaptation of a classic wizarding frock coat—he wore a crisp white shirt and dark trousers with razor-sharp creases. The ensemble was roughly eighty-five percent Muggle tailoring blended with fifteen percent wizarding flair, striking a balance that felt distinct and refined rather than jarring or absurd.
Appearance was everything. The right attire and a confident posture established instant credibility, easing subconscious suspicion before a single word was spoken. For a seasoned public servant, wardrobe coordination wasn't vanity; it was basic diplomacy.
The woman's posture softened visibly. "Yes, it is. May I ask who you are?"
"I am Gilderoy Lockhart, a professor representing Hogwarts," he replied smoothly. "We have an appointment today... Is Miss Mason at home?"
The woman blinked, her hand absentmindedly brushing back a lock of hair. "I am Miss Mason—or rather, Mrs. Mason."
Lockhart immediately let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. "Forgive me, Mrs. Mason! You look far too young to be the mother of an incoming student. Please accept my apologies for the mistake."
Mrs. Mason flushed slightly, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, think nothing of it! So you're Professor Lockhart... I must confess, after meeting those representatives from your 'Ministry of Magic' last week, I assumed all wizards were... well, rather unkempt and eccentric."
"I can only apologize on their behalf," Lockhart said with a wry smile. "It is a tragic universal law that bureaucrats are often arrogant and oblivious to basic etiquette—whether in the magical world or the non-magical one."
Mrs. Mason laughed softly in genuine agreement. "You have no idea how true that is. My husband and I deal with government officials constantly."
"Now, before we begin," Lockhart added, glancing at the street, "where might I park my motorcar so it doesn't obstruct your driveway or your neighbors?"
Realizing it was impolite to keep her guest standing on the porch, Mrs. Mason stepped outside and pointed toward a paved lane running alongside the house. "You can pull right past the side gate and park near the garage in the back. But please, come inside first—can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? A glass of brandy?"
"Tea would be wonderful, thank you," Lockhart replied smoothly.
As Mrs. Mason turned toward the door, Lockhart casually raised his right hand and gave a sharp snap of his fingers toward his Lotus parked at the curb.
The engine gave a soft, rhythmic purr, and without anyone behind the wheel, the car smoothly put itself into gear, gliding silently past Mrs. Mason and along the side path toward the rear courtyard.
Mrs. Mason froze on the doorstep, her jaw dropping as she watched the empty driver's seat pass by.
Lockhart offered a charming, conspiratorial wink. "It holds a valid driver's license, Mrs. Mason. It really ought to know how to park itself by now."
Swallowing hard, Mrs. Mason stepped aside and gestured into the hallway. "Please... come right in."