After Christmas break ended and the new term began, the students at Hogwarts could feel the outside world surging and shifting. It only made them cling harder to the castle as a warm shelter—whatever storms were raging out there, they couldn't reach inside these walls.
If there was any impact at all, it was that construction companies from mainland Europe had been pulling out of the project one after another, forcing the schedule for the new campus to be pushed back.
Starting in January, the continent had been trembling under the shadow of dark wizard expansion, and Muggles had almost no ability to resist. France once again put on its signature performance of surrendering at record speed. On January 23, Grindelwald personally arrived in Paris. The local Ministry of Magic and the Human Union Department's regional office fought to the bitter end, but by February 1 the entire country had fallen.
Smaller countries had even less backbone. Within their borders, dark wizards—and allied "dark factions" like werewolves, vampires, and giants—rose up in open rebellion, purging the old guard to welcome the new king's arrival. In many places, people reported dark creatures wandering the streets, and riots broke out again and again. In the end, it was actually dark wizards from the German Ministry of Magic who stepped in to maintain order.
On March 3, Grindelwald formally took over the Ministries of Magic across the continent and established the European Magical Alliance. Thanks to strikes that were precise and lethal, the bloodshed and shock caused by this wizarding coup stayed confined to small areas. Most city residents and villagers never felt a direct impact.
Just as the Gulf War reshaped modern ideas of warfare, this wizarding war shattered every fantasy the Human Union Department had been clinging to.
The "modern civilization" Muggles were so proud of proved paper-thin. Grindelwald's forces used pinpoint attacks against the ruling elite to swap out power overnight. Soldiers hadn't even raised their weapons to defend the homeland before generals were already issuing surrender orders. By collapsing a society's organizational structure from the inside, they achieved victory with barely any fighting.
That kind of orderly conquest sent shockwaves through the world. In truth, the wizarding war had already begun—only the evil side had taken the stage so far. The "righteous defenders" who claimed to fight for ordinary people were still scattered and disunited, more rumor than reality.
If no one found a way to contain it, global collapse was only a matter of time.
And in that moment of crisis, Lockhart stepped forward of his own accord. He would duel Grindelwald—just like the legendary duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald—settle victory and defeat, and let history be decided.
The duel was set for April 1, at Hogwarts. Under Dumbledore's notarized witness, they would face each other in a formal wizard's duel.
Lockhart delivered a speech, declaring that he would represent the ordinary people of the world, and every witch and wizard who refused to bow to evil, and that he would fight the Dark Lord to the death.
Hundreds of millions watched and wept for the radiant man on their screens. People said, one after another, that they'd misunderstood Gilderoy Lockhart all along—he truly was a good person.
The most watched duel of the late twentieth century was now inevitable. Everyone predicted the outcome in advance, and mourned it anyway. Barring a miracle, humanity was about to lose the most famous wizard in history.
May his noble soul find peace in whatever world lies beyond death.
Today was March 22.
The cold of early spring still bit at the air, and the snow at Hogwarts hadn't melted.
The great Lockhart walked with both hands in his pockets as he toured the new campus, accompanied by Dumbledore. His gaze paused on the white tower to the north.
"The school has changed a lot," he said.
"It has," Dumbledore replied, distracted.
"Professor—please accept my belated apology. I learned what really happened behind that trial. You were the one who insisted on refusing Muggle overtures. That's the only reason my life still had any value."
Dumbledore hadn't expected that when he saw Lockhart again, it would feel like meeting a completely different person.
Lockhart spoke steadily, without his old flamboyance.
He'd switched to a sharp, slicked-back style, and there was a clear scar at the corner of his eye—obviously the work of a Muggle metal "wand." For someone who treated charm like oxygen, letting a scar remain on his face was almost unbelievable.
"You've been through a great deal," Dumbledore said. "Will you tell me about it?"
Lockhart sighed from the depths of his heart. "I used to be worthless. Every heroic deed was stolen from someone else. And then, when I finally became truly famous, I realized I wasn't ready."
He pointed to the scar near his eye. "Late last year, in New York—Brooklyn—a homeless Muggle aimed a gun at me. He said he was a collector: Italian oil paintings, American poetry, Greek sculpture—worth billions—gone overnight, all turned into me. Then he fired at my head. I thought I was dead for sure, but the Human Union Department saved me. They always save me. And I've never thanked them. Instead, I've been terrified of them. In just three months, their infiltration of the wizarding world became impossible to escape. That Minister for Magic position was arranged for me by the Human Union Department. I have to obey them completely."
"They never meant well," Dumbledore said with a slow nod. "But if you chose wealth and glory, then you must accept the consequences. Isn't that so?"
After the trial, Lockhart's life had plunged into an even worse predicament.
Once, he'd become infamous overnight, and everyone wanted to kick him. Back then, he was a laughingstock, a punching bag—anyone who saw him felt entitled to stomp on him. But after the trial, he became the Muggles' "model wizard," and in an instant he was treated like hot commodity.
During that period, Lockhart could eat at any restaurant in New York without paying a cent. He could walk into a department store and take whatever he liked, as much as he wanted, without anyone stopping him. With a single look, he could charm a Hollywood starlet at the peak of her fame. He lived in presidential suites, rode in stretched Lincoln limousines, spent his days at commercial appearances and lectures, and his nights at high society's low parties. His life was lavish and glossy, and the stories he lived through in a single day could've filled a movie script.
That was the upside of fame—and also what drew hungry eyes.
"Professor, do you know why I changed my hairstyle?" Lockhart's slicked-back look was striking, but when he took off his wig, it revealed the truth: his entire head was bald, polished to a shine.
Dumbledore wanted to laugh, but held it in. He knew exactly why. "Someone used your hair to brew Polyjuice Potion."
"Exactly. Last November, a group of dark wizards caught me. They force-fed me Hair-Growing Potion, then yanked my hair out ten times a day. My follicles are dead—every last one." Lockhart looked devastated as he combed the front back into place again, trying to hide the bare crown. At the same time, he reached down with a bleak, protective touch that made it obvious he hadn't been the only part of him to suffer.
In Knockturn Alley, a single strand of Lockhart's hair could sell for a hundred Galleons—an absurd price. Even then, buyers fought each other for it, because they knew the returns would be far greater than a hundred Galleons.
All over the world, witches and wizards used Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Lockhart. They were masters of fraud—scamming capitalists in rich countries, scamming isolated communities in remote regions, stealing money, stealing bodies, stealing rare treasures. Lockhart's infamy spread from Antarctica to Greenland, until there was nowhere on Earth that hadn't heard his name.
With his personal strength weak and his political instincts close to nonexistent, Lockhart had played a perfect hand disastrously. Just as he'd said: if you aren't ready for fame and you fly up into the sky anyway, you either splatter on the ground—or get eaten by something that lives above you.
From last October to this March, he hadn't gained a single true follower. He hadn't built a faction, hadn't formed a reliable network, hadn't used his precious growth window for anything except eating, drinking, and pleasure.
After escaping death again and again, he finally saw his own abilities clearly. Lockhart chose to cooperate with the Human Union Department and become a puppet on strings—protected, pampered, and still able to keep living the glamorous life.
"And now they want me to deal with Grindelwald!" Lockhart choked as the bitter memory surfaced. "They even said they have a way to solve him. But that's obviously just them trying to kill me!" Tears streamed down his face. "If Merlin gave me one more chance, I would definitely—"
"Definitely what?"
A young man in black approached them.
"Mr. Lockhart," he said, "have you been doing well lately?"
"Oh—Skyl! Long time no see, my dearest friend!" Lockhart broke into a watery smile as if he'd found family. He rushed over, trying to pull him into a warm, overflowing hug—only for Skyl to block him.
"Mr. Lockhart," Skyl said with a pleasant smile, "I don't think our relationship even qualifies as nodding acquaintances."
Skyl's tone was soft, but the words were a blade. "I heard you came specifically to visit me. I'm deeply honored. I'm only a student—how could I possibly be worth the personal attention of humanity's savior, the great Gilderoy Lockhart?"
It's because you're hiding inside Hogwarts and refusing to come out, Lockhart cursed inwardly.
He forced a smile that tried very hard to look sincere. "Skyl… look, I've never offended you, have I?"
Skyl said nothing.
Lockhart asked with naked hope, "Then could I beg you for a favor?"
"And what might that be?"
"Please—expose my true face in front of everyone. Tell the whole world that I once made a wish to a demon god, begging to become the most famous person alive. Ruin me. Make me disgraced. Make me stand trial. Please—will you?"
So even if the world was ending, some people would never change. Lockhart was still Lockhart. Forced by the Human Union Department to duel Grindelwald, he was willing to confess his crimes publicly if it meant saving his own skin.
"You should know," Skyl said, "that even if I said it, nobody would believe me. People would only think I was smearing a real hero."
"Then I'll back you up," Lockhart said quickly.
"They'll say I'm noble," Skyl replied, still smiling, "willing to bear the infamy for the greater good."
Lockhart's face went whiter than the snow on Hogwarts' towers.
Skyl looked at him and nodded. "Mm. If nothing unexpected happens… you're as good as dead."
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