Ch 3-4

It was on October 31st, 2004, that Harry finally succeeded. He had won the Final War. The mighty task of killing the monstrosity known as Lord Voldemort, oops, make that Voldewhore, was complete. In the final battle at what was left of the Ministry for Magic, he had taken Riddle head-on. He had done that many times before, but this time he out-right won — he had killed Riddle with the Sword of Gryffindor. He had finally eliminated that abomination from the face of Earth.

It was a cadmean victory though.

Tom's insanity had dragged the Muggles into the Wizarding U.K.'s Pure-blood Civil War. Tom simply did not understand the power the Muggles had. His last real interaction with the Muggles had been the year before World War II ended, 1944. He had missed entirely the United States dropping the Atom Bombs on Japan in August 1945. If he had realized the damage just one of those could do, he never would have bothered the Muggles.

His failed Death Eater attack on the Prime Minister and Her Majesty the Queen at Buckingham Palace in 2000 had been an unmitigated disaster for the Wizards. Yes, one Wizard can kill dozens, or even hundreds, of Muggles, but even bees can swarm and kill a man. And the ratio of Muggles to Wizards in England was 600-to-one in 2000. Most Muggle-born could do the math, Tom Riddle, A.K.A. Lord Voldewhore, certainly hadn't bothered to do so.

The turning point was when the Muggle death toll from attacks reached 15,000 in one year. The Obliviators simply couldn't keep up, and that Voldewhore and the Death Eater's were in charge of the Ministry and the D.M.L.E.'s didn't help either. The Muggle military, with the help of a few Muggle-borns who had turned to the Muggle government after seeing their families killed at the instigation of the Ministry, started with ordinary tactics. However, the shields and protective enchantments the Wizards used demonstrated the impracticality of that approach in the first month. And few, read none, non-Muggle-born Wizards came to help the Muggles, so the Muggles quickly adopted a policy of annihilation instead of confrontation for all non-Muggle-born.

They started using cannon-fired tactical nukes on Wizard enclaves. No wizarding shield can stand up to the 10-million degree heat of a nuke. And while electronics fail in a magic field, few magic fields extend to the height necessary to affect an exploding nuclear bomb. A bomb capable of creating a crater a 500 yards in diameter when it explodes 300 yards in the air above a target creates a blast wave that goes through protective enchantments like a blow torch through a marshmallow. And unplottable only works if you haven't plotted everywhere else! Their orbital satellites certainly helped the Muggles in that regard. They didn't know what was in the blank spot on their charts that the computers said was there but they couldn't see, but the Queen's Government certainly didn't approve it. That made it fair game.

In a matter of a month, the U.K. Wizarding population plummeted fifty percent.

In desperation, the Wizards turned to the imperius, but the Muggle military was long used to enemy infiltration and quickly adopted measures to mitigate the attacks. And when you have isolated teams that only work via radio, and require two confirming sources for their orders, how do you get close enough to the decision maker to use the imperius? Especially when you have a clue-less Pure-blood whose understanding of passing as a Muggle was zero. A few times they did succeed, though, changing instructions or coordinates, and sent the nukes towards Muggle London or another large city. By the end of a year, the U.K. Wizarding population numbered less than ten thousand, and six million Muggles had perished. Which only hardened the Muggle's resolve to eradicate the Wizards.

By the second year, less than two thousand Wizards remained alive, while the Muggles had suffered another three million deaths.

And the blatant violations of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy brought the world's attention to the magical world. With the typical Wizard response being one of obliviation for the Muggles, the war spread rapidly. Obliviating a local Muggle witness doesn't help when someone kilometres away on the receiving end of a video camera saw what had happened. And that viewer saw the Wizard doing the obliviating as well.

Wizardkind was dead; the survivors just didn't know it. The shopping districts, the business districts, Hogwarts, the Ministry, Wizarding villages, the Quidditch stadiums — all provided gathering areas where Wizards and Witches could congregate and meet potential spouses. Those were now nothing more than smoking ruins.

The Magic gene is a small genetic variation affecting less than two-tenths of one percent of the world's population in the 20th Century. Without the support structure of magical villages, schools, shopping districts and other places Wizards and Witches could congregate, any Wizards or Witches that were born now would be unable to find a spouse to propagate the species. The situation was the same as it had been over a thousand years ago. Wizards and Witches had to wander the world to find others of their kind. Only today's world provided a near infinite number of ways where a Muggle could detect the Wizard or Witch hiding in their midst. And the ratio of Wizards to Muggles now was so much higher. A needle in a haystack was easy by comparison.

The spells to find these new Wizards were lost with the destruction of the governmental buildings and schools. So now there was no way to reach those new Wizards and Witches to tell them about the Magic community and to show them how to use their magic. Any infants born now were sports, one-off flukes whose accidental magic would end up killing them when it finally revealed them to the now-virulently anti-magic Muggle governments. And any who did survive would marry a non-magical spouse and eventually the gene that allowed for magic would disappear from the gene pool.

The magical species — centaurs, giants, trolls, and so forth — had simply been wiped out. They usually inhabited isolated locations with no shielding whatsoever. Tactical nukes finished them off handily. Not even the Goblins and Dwarves could survive a nuke driven deep into their tunnels by a Muggle-born suicide squad intent on revenge against all things magical for destroying their families.

The Muggle world was licking its wounds. The Magic War had done something nothing else had — united the various warring Muggle tribes into a cohesive whole. That cooperation, of course, would soon break apart into disagreeing factions. But the war had shown they could work together against a common enemy, no matter their individual differences. That experience would temper future disagreements, and help keep them focused on finding and eliminating any new Wizards or Witches. Mitigating the environmental damage of the war, ironically, were the few surviving Muggle-born Wizards and Witches who were using their magic to clean up the radioactive bombing sites and restoring them to usefulness.

And to think, it all began to unravel because of one selfish "pig-stupid" Weasley: Ronald the Jealous Git.

His brother, Bill, had taken him in after he had left Harry and Hermione in the Forest of Dean during what should have been their seventh year at Hogwarts. He had watched the boy mope around his apartment for weeks. Misunderstanding the boy's inherent laziness as guilt, Bill had taken him to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. He had planned to console Ron with his favourite activity — eating. When Bill tried to persuade him to "let out his guilt," Ron had angrily shouted the details of their secret horcrux-hunting mission in the crowded pub.

Harry blamed Dumbledore for that situation. If the man hadn't been so close-mouthed about his secrets, if he had spoken plainly to Harry instead of in riddles and questions, if he hadn't wasted months and years doing nothing, the original search wouldn't have taken so long. And Ron wouldn't have been able to betray them. Instead, after the bumbling Wizard's death, they had wasted valuable time wandering in the wilderness looking for things he should have been searching for and destroying before Harry had ever heard of Hogwarts!

And just what had the Headmaster been planning? Either he was senile, incompetent, or a sociopathic master manipulator who enjoyed playing with other's lives, never really understanding or caring about the pain and heartache he created. Or how much he risked in not sharing what he knew. And why hadn't he taught Harry any valuable fighting skills? That lapse alone had added years to his fighting with Voldewhore.

Naturally, a Death Eater, or a sympathizer, had overheard Ron's wobbler at the Leaky Cauldron.

Lord Voldewhore immediately retrieved and re-hid his remaining horcruxes – Hufflepuff's Cup and Ravenclaw's Diadem – behind fidelius charms. In typical Voldewhore fashion, he left taunting messages and traps in place of the former horcruxes. It had been spirit-crushing to break into the Lestrange Vault and discover that it was all for nothing. Going after the Diadem at Hogwarts was where Hermione had been cursed. The Withering Curse was unstoppable, just as it had been when it killed the Headmaster. Harry's quick reaction in cutting off her arm an instant later had saved her life, but only temporarily. It took her five long pain-filled years to die.

Riddle moving those last two Horcruxes cast the Wizarding World into the abyss with Magical and Muggle world suffering alike. It had taken Harry seven more years to destroy the horcruxes, with friends and allies dying at his side, while he killed Voldewhores's followers whenever and wherever he found them.

Voldewhore didn't care whom else died — he was immortal! But with tremendous determination and tenacity, Harry had fought on, watching his friends and allies die one-by-one. He reluctantly became the Master of Death and used Death's help to locate and destroy the final horcrux — himself. And then killed Tom with Gryffindor's Sword while the git was celebrating his "victory" over Harry.

Death had enjoyed the feast provided by the war. Not even Joseph Stalin's and Mao Zedong's Communist purges had yielded such a bonus of Wizardly deaths. It gladly helped Harry Potter to his victory, and gained the long-awaited soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Why would it not enjoy this? Both the boy and his nemesis had provided it with a plethora of souls and activity. But it had lost its freedom to Harry Potter. And was looking at being terminally bored for thousands of millennia to come. The second was annoying, but the first was intolerable. No one was allowed to escape DEATH!

Now all Death had to do was trick Harry into giving up his Mastery. Harry Potter was a master of many arts, but no one is more cunning than Death.

One day, Death presented itself to its Master. Harry was sitting on a park bench in a bomb-blasted radiation-ruined town destroyed by an errant nuclear shelling, lost in his thoughts of self-loathing at losing everyone and everything he held dear. He berated himself for not doing more sooner, for not preventing the disaster that destroyed Wizardkind. Living held no appeal, and being the Master of Death meant he couldn't die. He couldn't even get rid of the items by throwing them through the Veil of Death in the Ministry — Voldewhore had destroyed it fearing Harry might use it to kill him. And the damn things could withstand a nuclear blast!

Glancing around at the destruction, Death commiserated with him, "It is sad, is it not? You could have avoided all this ruin if only you had known how it was going to be and had the knowledge and power you have now mastered. All your friends would still be alive. You could have been a Lord among them. You could have been King of the World!" Death proclaimed.

Harry laughed, "If it were possible to go back in time, I would gladly do it even if it saved only one person who had died. I don't want to be Lord over all the people, I just want them living and going on with their lives. And I want my friends back."

"Ah, such nobility, you make me proud, young Master. You may not consider it, but you are my Lord and I dislike my Lord putting himself in a right strop, locking himself in his self-constructed prison of desolation, and driving himself potty," Death said in a mock humility.

Harry chuckled weakly at its antics. "You amuse me, using flamboyant words and slang in the same sentence."

"Forgive me, my Lord, but I change with the times, get more innovative in my ways, and this is one such thing." Death replied. "But, my Lord, I have a proposal for averting this destruction . . . ."

"I am listening," Harry said, one eyebrow raised curiously.

"I can send your soul, together with your core and knowledge but not your body, to a time in the past where you can imprint yourself on a younger version of yourself. That would give your younger version the right amount of knowledge and power. You can achieve your destiny without much effort, and prevent much destruction," Death explained. And never get the Elder Wand nor Resurrection Ring, leaving Death in charge of itself, masterless forever.

Harry leaned back, thinking, considering. That was one way around the time-travel restrictions. He'd never have to worry about meeting himself because he was himself. And Eloise Mintumble's problem of changing the past and dying a horrible death when she returned to the present wouldn't matter, as he would never return. That was the flaw in all the time travel theories; they assumed one would return. Or one had to return. The so-called paradox of eliminating one's father, then being not born, and then being unable to eliminate one's father didn't exist in this case. All he had when he arrived in the past would be a Seer's knowledge of a possible and avoidable future.

"What's in it for you?" Harry asked, knowing well that Death doesn't like to make deals.

"My Master, you are very clever for your age, but that can be expected from what you have survived. I am magical. I like to have a regular and timely supply of those magical souls where I can guide them into their next great adventure, but all this destruction has left me nearly jobless. I am no demon, Master. I am just an inevitability, like life itself, the magical embodiment of a course of action that has to take place after a certain amount of time. I enrich the living, prompting them to see how valuable a life they have. I am an entity like all life, but beyond them, for I have a power over them too. One day, I will take them all with me too, but that day is nowhere near," Death said.

"I'll do it." Harry readily replied.

"You have not heard everything, Master. When what you have accepted is done, you will no longer be my Master, but like any other mortal." Death said gravely.

"You don't understand me, do you? I don't care for immortality or riches. I care only for what I can bring back. I am accepting you deal, Death," Harry said quietly.

"Very well, Master." Death silently chuckled. "I will send you back in time, to a time where your current self is most compatible with your younger self. But be warned, my Master, You will imprint upon the first body you meet when you arrive, and the fusion of your current self with the younger self will make a radical change in your personality. You will have to be circumspect in your actions or others around your younger self will notice and wonder why you changed."

"Are you done yet? I am willing to take anything you throw to undo the damage. I have undergone a lot of pain and inner turmoil ever since I was a toddler, and I can surely beat whatever problems this might cause. Even if it is death, I gladly accept because I cannot exist with the guilt of 'if only I had accepted it.' DO IT NOW, DEATH!" Harry yelled angrily at his servant.

"As you wish, my Lord." Death smiled at Harry Potter, who grimly smiled back in return. Death began a long and steady incantation that burned the body of his Master, liberating his soul. With a powerful push, Death forced his Master's soul back in the stream of time.

(◎_⊙)

It was a terrible day for Harry Potter. First, he got lost in some side street to Diagon Alley, only for Hagrid to rescue him ignominiously. Now he was being forced to pose for a picture for The Daily Prophet along with this overly smiling smarmy new Defence Against Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. Just being near the Wizard set his teeth on edge — there was something that made him feel unsafe in the Wizard's presence.

It was then that something strange happened, during the camera's brief bright flash. Something powerful seemed to be coming at him. Harry, with a decade of dodging his cousin Dudley's blind-side attacks, lunged to the right. As his future Professor was holding him tightly around the shoulders, this dragged the buffoon into the incoming thing's path.

It happened then, before the camera flash vanished, something hit Gilderoy Lockhart. He swayed a moment in the aftermath, then his eyes rolled up and he slipped to the floor, unconscious, taking poor Harry with him.

There was utter chaos in the crowd when their favourite author and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award collapsed over the Boy-Who-Lived. Molly Weasley immediately dragged young Harry Potter from beneath the unconscious Gilderoy Lockhart and looked in horror at her favourite author on floor.

The management of Flourish and Blotts immediately responded to the crisis and transferred the stricken Wizard to Saint Mungos. They promised his disappointed fans that there would be another autograph signing at a future date.

It took half an hour to disperse the crowd remaining at Flourish and Blotts, most of them going to Saint Mungos where the expert healers were trying to awaken Lockhart.

During that time, Draco Malfoy announced Harry had caused this by striking the preeminent author with a Dark spell. That developed into a fight between the Weasleys and the Malfoys. It ended when the half-giant Hagrid separated the two adult combatants, but not before Arthur Weasley punched Lucius Malfoy in the nose. No one noticed, in that commotion, the extra book slipped into the cauldron of a young Miss Weasley, the seventh child of the Weasley family and the first witch in seven generations.

Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, and soon to be Hogwarts' most beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor (at least in his own mind) returned to consciousness feeling lightheaded and extremely tired. The Healers informed the gathering crowd eagerly awaiting news regarding their favourite author that it was merely a case of exhaustion and with good nutrition potions, he would be fine soon. What startled everybody was hearing, "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?" from the room housing the self-important popinjay.

For some reason the photograph taken at the bookstore came out blank.

(⊙_◎)

It didn't take long for Harry to realize Death had played a prank on him. But while most people would have been mad, he was grinning happily. Sure, Death may have thought Harry would be humiliated in being bound to the body of a bloody fraud and cheat, but it didn't understand that Harry would not mind being a mistreated house elf or even Fang, Hagrid's giant dog. As long as he could prevent the widespread destruction caused by the war, he was happy. And being Lockhart gave him a front-row seat on the events of Second Year.

Getting out of St. Mungos was a bit trying, as he seemed to be at war with himself. Finally, he just relaxed and let things flow instead of trying to fight. He still remembered how to get to back to Gilderoy's home, thankfully. And he was equally happy that he didn't splinch himself in his current muddled state.

He had a lot of work to do in the short amount of time before school started.

First on his agenda was adjusting to his new body. Fortunately, after years of battle, he knew how to adapt quickly to any new situation and use it to his advantage. He swiftly realized that he was neither Harry Potter nor Gilderoy Lockhart, but a confusing combination of the two. At any given moment, one or the other seemed to be in command. Thus, sometimes he acted just like he remembered Lockhart acting like in Hogwarts — as a smarmy publicity hound braggart, basking in the firm belief that he was adored by everyone and that his every pronouncement was met with acclaim. Other times, he was humble Harry wanting to avoid the crowds, downplaying his achievements, and just craving to pass unnoticed in the background. In other words, one wanted to be a Star, the other wanted to be Normal.

Fortunately, melding with the narcissistic Wizard had one tremendous side-effect, his Post-Trauma Stress Disorder was almost gone. The sudden panic attacks were moderated by Gilderoy's sunny confident personality. No more paralyzing bouts of certainty that Voldewhore was stalking him, because Lockhart loved the fans constantly following him. No more flashbacks where he attacked anyone around him thinking they were Death Eaters — one of the reasons he had been hiding alone in the radiation scarred ruins was to protect those around him. Instead, the smarmy buffoon acted as a buffer — he simply couldn't conceive why anyone would want to attack him. Gilderoy's wand would still drop into his hand at any startlement, tip glowing with an uncast spell, but he quickly returned it to its holster and no one ever noticed.

As the days passed, however, he began to notice that more and more, the Harry Potter he remembered was becoming Lockhart. And that Lockhart was becoming Harry Potter. The line between the two began to blur and disappear. He had Harry Potter 's courage and moral fibre for wanting to do what was right and Gilderoy Lockhart's cunning and smooth talking confident ways. He still craved the attention and admiration of others, but at the same time demanded that it be for the right reasons. He wanted to dress and look the part of a successful public celebrity, yet at the same time to be nondescript and unnoticeable. He wanted to be the focus of everyone's attention and to hide in the shadows, unnoticed.

His emotions were in a constant turmoil between his two characters. That required a good week or two to settle down. He still vacillated between the two states, but now the ends were not so far apart.

Gradually, the smouldering pain of inner turmoil as the two personalities merged subsided. Harry/Gilderoy Lockhart was a brand new person, with Harry's determination, speed, and empathy, and with Gilderoy presence, quick cunning, and confidence. They still quarreled in his head, but now it was over nuances of their amalgamated personality.

The most surprising discovery was that Harry enjoyed flirting with the Witches just as much as Gilderoy — it was actually fun! And Gilderoy's confident manner easily dragged the hesitant, insecure Harry into conversations loaded with innuendo whenever the Witches were around.

He noticed his power levels increasing too. In a scale of magical power calibration, from what he had seen or experienced, he would give Dumbledore a ten, Voldewhore an eleven, and himself a seven.

Gilderoy may have been a fraud, but he was very good at extraordinarily difficult Memory Charms. Harry gave him a rating of three on the same scale. Of course, he had never had the opportunity to measure any of these on an objective scale, so he could have been wrong in his relative rankings.

Complicating things, though, was that Harry was supposed to have merged with his younger self. Being identical, his older core would simply have replaced his younger one's core. His new core was an adult's core, but if he were careful, he would merely appear very magically advanced for his age. That had been his first thoughts when Death proposed this adventure.

However, now, with Death's prank, that was out the window. Instead of replacing Gilderoy's core, they had merged into one larger core, one with two centres offset from one another. What that meant he hadn't the slightest idea. On the bright side, he was probably on par with Dumbledore in power. Unfortunately, that was still less than what Voldewhore had available when he was reborn. But Voldewhore cheated — his Death Eater mark was also a power leech on his followers, artificially boosting his power to ridiculous levels. That was another reason it had taken Harry so long to flush the shite. Harry had to reduce Tom's marked followers to the point where Harry had a decent chance of beating him — although some might consider it cheating to apparate behind the other Wizard and lope his head off with a sword.

And his changed magical core meant that Gilderoy's wand no longer worked very well for Gilderoy/Harry. The wand chooses the Wizard, and the Wizard he now was wasn't the one that Gilderoy's wand had chosen. He needed a new one, and fast! Harry might be proficient in wandless magic, but as a Hogwarts' Professor, he would need a good working wand to demonstrate the spells. And while it might be fun to teach them all wandless magic, not everyone had a magic core capable of standing the strain of that style magic for extended periods. So, a new wand was in order.

But he couldn't just pop into Ollivander's. As crazy as the old man appeared, he was extremely sharp on wands and would definitely suspect something was wrong. And Harry/Gilderoy most definitely didn't want people getting suspicious of him at this stage of the game.

After the potions were finished from the damned unlively Healers at St. Mungos — the Witches had been remarkably resistant to his natural Wizard charisma, Gilderoy thought — this amalgam of Harry and Gilderoy decided to go fetch a custom-made wand.

But Gilderoy did have a point that there were some very hot mediwitches wandering around in St. Mungos. When Gilderoy began categorizing them according to their hip-to-bust ratio, and how much fun they might be in bed, or against a wall, Harry's response was an uneasy, "stop it," followed by the distraction of planning how to get the various horcruxes.

Flirting was one thing, going farther was an area Harry wasn't sure he wanted to explore just yet. He wanted to get a bit more comfortable with his new body. He might be ready for such blatant activities in, oh, say, thirty years.

(◎_◎)

Though Ollivanders was the best place to get your first wand inexpensively, there were many other wandmakers available in and around Europe serving the needs of the magical population. Gilderoy remembered meeting a Wizard who made very powerful wands to suit the needs of a wizard perfectly. Unfortunately, that Wizard wouldn't do the same for Witches.

When that Wizard first established his shop, his exacting and thorough measurements — that Ollivander would never attempt — chased most young Witches out of his shop in disgust. And then only after their parents had hexed the wandmaker in the most painful ways they could manage. He started refusing them to save himself the pain. Those Wizards, and rare Witches, that did put up with his unusually thorough measurements praised his wands as the best in the world.

Harry apparated to Wandmaker Marcus Flintoff's shop and met an elderly man in his one-hundred-and-eighties. He was thoroughly groped, er, measured, by the old man — Gilderoy/Harry was unsure just how much of the measuring was actually necessary, but he would put up with much worse indignities in his quest to destroy Voldewhore, and had in the future.

"Very unusual," said the old man, staring at Harry. "Your core seems so, for the lack of better word, variable. The power level dips, rises, and pulses at random intervals. Usually, such a person would be sedated to control the pain and in the permanently disabled ward in a Wizarding hospital, but you are standing here!"

He smiled, "But for such an unusual customer, I am a very unusual wandmaker." He held up a finger in pride. "You require a combination wand. I see Cherry and Holly for the wand, wrapped and rolled intricately with each other and held together with Willow tree root fibres. It will be flexible to meet the changes in your core and at the same time, remains tenacious and strong as a carrier of your magic. It will be almost impossible to break. It will be very flexible and you even could bend it into a circle, like a bangle, and wear it on your wrist.

"But the Willow root fibres return it to straight after bending. You see, you get a very elastic wand and that's very unusual."

Harry wanted to face-palm while Lockhart wanted to grin like a goof at the uniqueness of the wand. The result was a calm and observant expression.

"So, the exterior of the wand is fixed, next is a suitable core." He paused and regarded the blond-haired, elegantly and smartly dressed Wizard.

"For such a special person as yourself, is required a combination of cores. I see in your magical core a combination of two very different energies, So you need two different materials. One is bleu flame ambers, marking great power and resilience. The blue flames are the hottest and most potent yet they give off little light, and are difficult to extinguish.

"On the other hand, I see tidal waves of low energy that crave attention. I could use Phoenix feathers to match the flames, but it will not allow another core. Dragon heartstring is potent but is unsuitable for your nature." The old man frowned. "A Fire Salamander's spinal cord is small in size but holds a constant low fire and it is amphibious in nature, so it is well suited to be superimposed on another core. It represents your subtle dangerous nature and desire for attention. Some consider Fire Salamanders to be evil, an unjustified reputation, if I say so myself. A good one I can obtain from an alchemist friend of mine, it will be pricey.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "To accommodate these two conflicting cores you need a good binding and stabilizing agent."

"To bind these two, we require a powerful object with adhesive and cohesive properties. Amethyst, mixed with gold can be used for this by melting it, laminating it around the cores, and wrapping the wood around at the right time to make an excellent wand."

Harry/Gilderoy listened to the rambling patiently and paid a good amount of galleons with a promise to get two wands in a week — a smart Wizard always carries two wands into battle. The second had a small gold band on the handle to differentiate it.

He also had Marcus make a thirteen-inch long wand, Cherry Wood with a unicorn hair core; an eleven-inch wand, Holly with phoenix feather core; and a ten-and-three-quarters inch wand, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. The three extra wands were marked with a small gold band on the handle to indicate they didn't have the English Trace on them. And he picked up a score of dragon-hide wand holsters with automatic sizing, comfort, invisibility, and anti-summoning runes. Christmas was coming and it was only smart to buy early.

He did some casual shopping to pass the time while waiting, buying trivial items like a new Nimbus 2001, clothes that were elegant and at the same time inconspicuous, some books on teaching, Muggle exercise equipment, and a particular cabinet from Knockturn Alley. There would be no way into the castle, bypassing the protective enchantments that Harry didn't control! The exercise equipment was because Lockhart's body was not at his full fitness level. Over the years, while on the run, Harry had learned the value of being fit — a healthy mind in a healthy body were requirements. Too often, he had seen a Wizard or Witch fall in a fight, not to superior magic, but to a lack of stamina. With the training Harry intended, he should be at peak performance in a matter of a few months.

Later, with a few other odds and ends purchased, and after a rescheduled autograph session at the bookstore, he was ready for Hogwarts.

Gilderoy/Harry Lockhart knew that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, after missing the Hogwarts' Express because of Dobby's interference, would crash-land on the Whopping Willow on the first day of school. Harry Potter from the future wanted to thwart, subtly, Dobby's plans; Gilderoy Lockhart from now wanted maximum publicity and attention out of it. Their compromise should result in a one-hundred point loss to Ronald Weasley, with Ron being held as the ultimate goofball and loser. Harry should come out of it unscathed. And the new D.A.D.A. Professor obtain maximum positive attention at the school — a perfect stage with a captive audience for the next ten months!

And that situation would be the beginning of the wedge Harry/Gilderoy planned to drive between the two boys. Ron would never be close enough to for Harry to consider asking him for his help in a dire situation. And Ron would be too jealous to volunteer.

The first weekend at school arrived and Lockhart was tempted to prevent the Slytherins from taking the field from Gryffindor. Then he realized it was a perfect opportunity to deepen the divide between Ron and Harry. So, early Saturday morning he was visiting with Hagrid, nattily dressed and wearing robes of palest mauve, cheerfully explaining how to keep kelpies out of a well, how Hagrid could ask for his advice anytime, and how he had banished a banshee. He wanted to maintain the fiction of Gilderoy being a right prat for a little while.

After hearing Oliver question Colin's presence in the Quidditch stands through his listening charm on Harry, Lockhart hustled right on over, using a Notice-Me-Not charm in case he arrived too soon. His timing was exquisite, he arrived just as Ron started coughing up slugs and missing the insult to Hermione. He allowed his Notice-Me-Not charm slowly to dissipate as he walked up.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What's all this then," Lockhart interrupted, beaming his brightest smile at the two teams. "Did I see this idiot actually hex himself?" The Slytherins, trying to appear sombre in front of the Professor, dissolved into laughter again. The Gryffindor team, still angry, were nonetheless gritting their teeth to avoid laughing at Ron's predicament — especially his twin brothers.

"We were just going to take Ron to Hagrid's to see if he could help with . . . this," Hermione explained.

"No need for that, no need at all! I, the great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor can take care of this without any trouble at all! This is right up my alley!"

As Gilderoy leaned closer and pretended to study the young man, Ron, despite the slugs he was coughing up, got a panicky look in his eyes. Harry looked almost as panicked as Ron did, but Hermione appeared thrilled.

Lockhart looked down at Ron's broken wand, which was still spitting tiny sparks. "Oh, dear," the Professor said. "If that was the wand you used, I think I should take you to Madam Pomfrey. There's no telling what the actual spell was that hit you. Your . . . wand . . . might have malfunctioned and changed the spell substantially. And as any Witch will tell you, a defective wand is a serious issue. You should always keep your wand well-polished and in perfect working order, right ladies?"

The Witches present all blushed as they nodded in agreement. Ron may have blushed as well, but his slugfest had already turned his face red so it was difficult to tell. The Wizards were all laughing, except Harry who looked puzzled.

The Professor straightened. "Naturally, I could fix this myself. But it is Hogwarts' Policy to take a student to the Resident Healer in such a situation. And I wouldn't want to violate policy, now would I?" He glanced at the students waiting for the nods affirming that he shouldn't do that. "What kind of professional would I be if I did that in front of students? Even we Professors must obey the rules, you know." He smiled and raised an eyebrow, as if confiding in friends.

Hermione looked conflicted between following rules, and a Professor's lead, and wanting immediately to help her friend who had tried, and failed, so chivalrously to defend her.

Gilderoy took Ron's arm from Harry, preventing them from leaving before Lockhart was ready.

He looked over at Colin Creevey and smiled, artfully turning Ron so that in any pictures it would appear that he was helping the poor child.

"Now that we have that sorted, why don't you get back to your pickup game?"

"What?" said Oliver. "We had the field booked for practice this morning and now these Slytherins are trying to steal it from us!" The other team members all nodded.

"We have a note from Professor Snape saying we can use the field to train our new Seeker and work with our new brooms!" declared Flint, his team nodding behind him. He waved the note.

Lockhart's smile broadened. "Why, I don't see the problem with that in the slightest." Both teams looked at him as if he were barmy.

"I'm sure that both teams," he turned his beaming smile on them as he placed a hand on his hip and struck a pose while maintaining his grip on Ron's arm with the other, "need practice now that summer hols are over. Even the professional teams spend a few weeks just reviewing their old plays, working the kinks out, and getting back into shape before they try anything new at the beginning of their season," he said, again as if confiding a secret.

"In fact," he said cheerily, "I think you should have a practice game. What better way to work off the summer doldrums than a jolly good friendly match!"

He ignored the evil eyes each team gave the other while the captains stared at him, aghast at the thought of cooperating.

"Yes, that's just the ticket!" he said. He waited a moment. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He made shooing motions with his free hand. "Get to it! Gryffindor can take this goal," he pointed to his left. "And Slytherin that one," he pointed to his right. "Go on. I have no doubt you all will have a fabulous time!"

Neither team was happy with the Professor, but both knew better than to object. Less than a minute later, both teams were on their brooms and in the air.

It would have been hilarious to remain and watch as the two teams tried to beat each other half-to-death without a referee to stop them, but he knew that no real harm would come. The Slytherins would need weeks of practice before they completely adapted to their new brooms, throwing off their timing and aim. They would spend more time today avoiding crashing into the stands and each other than trying to hit the other team. And those same handling problems would keep the Slytherins safe from the Gryffindors — they would never be where the Gryffindors expected them to be. Any accidents would be just that. And most likely self-inflicted.

Hermione began to follow them as Harry/Gilderoy started dragging Ron off to see Madam Pomfrey. He planned to use the longest route possible, of course, while also walking as slow as he could manage without it being obvious.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" he said over his shoulder, giving her a brilliant smile showing his perfect teeth. "You can remain here. Your concern for a fellow student does you credit, even if he is unworthy of it. I assure you that Mr. Weasley is in my very capable hands. I will deliver him to Madam Pomfrey safe and sound, I promise.

"If you don't want to watch your boyfriend, Mr. Potter, why don't you visit with Hagrid?" She blushed red again at his insinuation of her relationship with Harry. "I was just at his hut, telling him an exciting story out of my book Break with a Banshee, he was quite interested. He's such a nice fellow and he told me he's so looking forward to seeing you and Mr. Potter this morning." She stopped uncertainly, and he waved her off towards the Quidditch stands. "Mr. Weasley will re-join you in no time at all, I'm sure!" he said as the two headed for the Castle.

As soon as they were inside, he surreptitiously cast a spell that reinforced the slug spell. That made the boy temporarily impervious to low-powered healing spells, making Madam Pomfrey's job much harder. Knowing the woman as well as he did, Gilderoy knew Ron wouldn't get out of the Infirmary until dinner at the earliest. He might not get out until after supper this evening.

Then he conjured a bucket for the boy, "Don't want to upset Mr. Filch, do we?" And while appearing solicitous of the boy's condition, he actually did his best to delay their arrival at the Hospital Wing. The stairs were amusingly cooperative in that respect — they went past the third floor at least four times.

Along the way, he said, "What a delightful couple Mr. Potter and Miss Granger would make, don't you think?" What a great prank, asking questions while the victim couldn't answer. Hermione's dentist parents would be proud of him.

"She's so smart — a perfect match for him, don't you agree? Plus, she's going to be quite pretty in a few years and unlike yourself, Mr. Potter can easily afford to buy her the things she deserves. She's rather a bookworm, I've been told, and he is quite rich." He paused, and then continued as if just struck by the thought, "Why, he can buy her a whole library if she wants and barely dent his fortune! And her wardrobe! Ha! He can dress her in the finest Acromantula silks out of his daily pocket money."

Ron made a choking sound, but Gilderoy wasn't certain if it was because of his comment or a particularly large slug. Not that he cared.

"And he shows such restraint, keeping his grades only a little better than yours when he could easily out do you, like she does. I can tell such things, you know. Finding monsters all over the world gives you the ability to measure people accurately when you meet them. You must be great friends, right?"

There was that peculiar noise again. Maybe not as great friends as they had been five minutes ago.

"Although I do wonder why he hasn't offered to buy you a new wand, considering how rich he is. He could make it an early Christmas present." The walked a few steps in silence except for Ron's regurgitating slugs. "That's what I would do if I were your best friend," said Gilderoy. "Best friends buy each other presents at Christmas, and as many knuts you get as an allowance, why Harry has ten times — no, a hundred times — that many galleons! Did you realize that? He could buy a wand and not miss the galleons he spent, no more than you would miss spending a knut to buy a candy. But I'm sure you don't care, do you? You're just that kind of friend, never jealous or upset that your friend has so much more money and fame than you ever will have. You're such a good friend to be perfectly happy to stand in his shadow, knowing you'll never have it as easy as he does. Yes, as famous as Mr. Potter is, things will just naturally come his way without him even having to try to get them. People will shower him with attention, gifts, and opportunities simply because he is Harry Potter. Why, with his fame, I'm sure he could get the Seeker position with Chudley Cannons without even having to attend a tryout session, as you would have to do. Imagine just what you would do if you had what he does!"

Yep, definitely, Ron was trying to say something but the slugs were coming too fast. And based on the look in his eyes, he hadn't anything nice to say.

"Unless," and here Gilderoy/Harry stopped. He had had a brainstorm! "Unless you're one of those Wizards who secretly enjoys pain and being humiliated." He stared innocently at the boy. "Do you believe he lets you hang around him just so he can look better because you are so pitiful at casting spells and studying? That would be right humiliating, wouldn't it? For those who appreciate such things, why that would be the perfect relationship!"

Ron looked horrified at that thought, getting out a frantic "No!" even as he coughed up another slug.

The Wizard ignored the boy's frantic denial. "Well, never fear, my young Wizard, your secret is safe with me! I wouldn't dream of spreading gossip like that." They resumed walking.

Ron managed to say, "I'm . . . ," before another batch of slugs burst forth.

"However," Gilderoy/Harry continued, blithely ignoring Ron's struggling protests, "I will have to tell the Headmaster and your Head of House of your predilections so that they can keep an eye on you. We wouldn't want those little humiliation and pain games of yours getting carried away and actually causing you permanent physical harm!"

Ron looked positively desperate, "No! No!" And was again interrupted by more slugs.

"Excellent, I'm so glad you agree."

The Hospital Wing doors finally came into sight. "Ah, here we are," Harry/Gilderoy, guiding the sick boy with his nearly full bucket of slugs through the doors. "Madam Pomfrey," he called loudly and jovially, "We have need of your assistance."

As the Witch hurried over, the Wizard turned to the boy and added, loudly, "You should seriously consider confiding in your only two friends. I'm sure they would understand your unique needs. If you want, I can even broach the subject to them for you so they can properly maintain the best levels of humiliation and not leave you unsatisfied."

Ron looked like he might faint at any moment.

Harry knew Madam Pomfrey passionately hated people telling her how to do her job, which he proceeded to do. She chased the irritatingly and apparently useless Professor out of her ward in under a minute. The hex he dodged from her as he reached the doors was surely just an accident. She was a Healer, after all.

(◎_⊙)

Sunday, the last day of Harry's detention and after a gruelling evening addressing letters and listening to his D.A.D.A. Professor discuss his books, interspaced with advice on how to woo Witches, especially a certain bushy-haired bookworm know-it-all, Harry heard a voice, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

§Come . . . come to me. Let me rip you . . . . Let me tear you . . . . Let me kill you . . . .§

"What?" the student said loudly.

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, pretending to look puzzled. "What voice?"

"That — that voice that said — didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart looked at Harry in high astonishment.

"What are you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? Great Scott — look at the time! "We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it — the time's flown, hasn't it?"

Gilderoy sighed as the door closed behind Harry, rubbing the side of his face tiredly. Now the game began in earnest.

(⊙_◎)

Breakfast Monday morning was another win for Lockhart. He hadn't planned to do this particular task until much later, but when opportunity appears . . . . And knowing he was helping Neville so early helped assuage his guilt at seeing the boy die defending a Muggle-born family and giving him time to escape after destroying the Hufflepuff Cup's Horcrux.

"Merlin, Hermione! This year is going to be awful," the human garbage disposal said. "What with all the extra work from that git D.A.D.A. professor, and in addition to all our other classes, I think that before the year ends I'll be in the magically exhausted section of the Infirmary," complained Ron as they entered the Great Hall ahead of several Slytherins.

"Actually, it's not that difficult, Ron," Hermione admonished. "All Professor Lockhart told us to do was re-read a book we all read last year.

"We have a wonderful professor in Professor Lockhart. One with vast field experience, and more than willing to share that knowledge with us. You should watch and learn from Harry. He is doing quite brilliant and winning points for our House instead of losing them like you do." She missed the darkening expression on the redhead's face at that comparison as she turned to her other best friend. "By the way, Harry, you're doing very good. You should do that in our other subjects."

"Er, hmm," Harry said eloquently. "Thanks, Hermione. But D.A.D.A. is easy for me. Just like Herbology is for Neville. I can't compare to him, he is just ace in that subject," Harry said as they neared the Gryffindor table.

Harry wasn't used to being back at Hogwarts yet. If he had been then he would have noticed the Slytherins following them, listening closely. As well as who those Slytherins were.

"What did I just hear?" Malfoy said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the Great Hall. "Potty thinks Neville is great? Surely, Potter, you know that Neville is a squib who cannot do even basic magic! To consider Longbottom good at anything is a serious insult. He is a bane to the name of Longbottoms." Draco's bookends, Crabbe and Goyle, chuckled at that, while Pansy Parkinson giggled behind her hand.

Gilderoy looked around for Neville. He had arrived before the other Gryffindors and was eating. Neville had his fork partway to his mouth. As Lockhart watched, and the rest of the hall laughed, Neville stood, clearly planning on leaving the hall.

"It would do you good to hold your tongue, young Mr. Malfoy," said Lockhart sternly, approaching from his position by the doors. He had been waiting for Harry and his friends to arrive before making his own entrance. He was overdressed for the occasion, as usual, wearing his mauve coordinated outfit. "Ten points for disrupting breakfast and ten more for spreading lies about a fellow student. Now go and sit at your table and eat your breakfast. Quickly."

"I object, Professor Lockhart," said the Slytherin Prefect Charlus Gamp. "It is Potter who is spreading lies about the magical prowess of Longbottom. Everybody knows he is little better than a squib. It is unfair to deduct points from our House. Mr. Potter is the one who should be disciplined for this."

This statement got a chorus of agreement from the Slytherin table and soon the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs joined in.

House points honestly earned through superior work should not be lost by simple acts, was the popular sentiment. It was bad enough that Professor Snape tended to pick on Gryffindor, they didn't want another professor skewing the system even more.

By this time, Neville had reached the table's end — his tears barely contained, with his head down in shame and back bent in defeat.

"One second, Mr. Longbottom." Lockhart moved towards Neville and caught him by his shoulder.

"Please sir, don't. I cannot take it," Neville pleaded.

Lockhart squeezed the Gryffindor's shoulder. "It's okay Neville," he said kindly. "They can think whatever they want. But it is not true."

"Not true? I am the most pathetic student the school has ever seen. I can do nothing." Neville cried. Nearby students all nodded in agreement. Malfoy smiled smugly.

"Neville, listen to me, you're wrong. You don't know your own strength." Lockhart gently guided the boy back towards the doors, subtly erecting a muffling enchantment. "Tell me Neville, How useful is a sapling?"

"A sapling sir? It just sprouted from seed. Very few are useful at the stage, but when allowed to grow it might become an herb or shrub or a tree where it will be most useful," Neville replied tiredly.

"Exactly. All the pre-OWL students are in the sapling stage. Some grow faster than others might, others could be more useful, but all are just that, saplings. When allowed to grow, these saplings will grow into valuable plants, each unique but definitely useful. From what I see in you, Mr. Longbottom, you will grow into a huge tree that provides shade and shelter, fruits and flowers, and supports a great level of life. Don't take what others say about you to heart. You are much more capable than what you assume."

"Do you really think so, sir?" asked Neville, despair plain in his tone.

"Of course," Lockhart replied gently. He turned the child back into the Great Hall. "You would like a little demonstration? Close your eyes and imagine this. You, your father, and your mother on a picnic in a rose garden."

Neville immediately froze and looked up at him with an expression reminiscent of a deer unexpectedly caught in bright lights. "Relax my boy. I know this is hard for you, but a little imagination shan't hurt, will it?" Gilderoy/Harry said as confidently as he could. "Now imagine yourself laughing and playing tag with your father, and your mother's looking at you admiringly. Can you do that? Close your eyes, it might help."

Neville slowly nodded. Gently rubbing the boy's back, Harry/Gilderoy said softly, "Now carefully look at your mother. She loves you so very much. You can see it in her eyes, the way her hair swings in the breeze and the way her smile makes your tummy warm. The look in her eyes when she sees that her little boy is someone grown to be so strong, you are her wonder. Now look at her spread arms, which are inviting you to a hug. The happiness in her is like the warmth that radiates from the sun." Neville, eyes now closed, moved as if in a trance, imagining the whole thing while Gilderoy carefully guided him back towards the Gryffindor table, the boy barely noticing he was moving. The other students watched as they returned, wondering what the Professor was saying that they could not hear, the younger ones not realizing that Harry/Gilderoy had cast a mild muffling charm to hide his words.

"Now look at your father. He is the strongest man in the whole wide world. He radiates strength and confidence. Move closer to them and hug them, Neville. Hug them tightly. Say that you love them, Neville. Say it, with each syllable showing how much you love them and want them to be with you. Say it, Neville, say it." Neville was mesmerized with the vision and tears dripped freely from his eyes and yet his face had the most peaceful expression anyone had seen. Some were envious. His lips moved as he quietly said, "I love you." Thank Merlin the silencing spell blurred ones lips or those capable of lip-reading would have had a field day, thinking Neville was speaking to Lockhart!

"Feel that love flowing all through your body, down your legs, down your arms, your very fingers tingle with the feeling of that love."

Lockhart slowly tapped Neville to make him open his eyes and in the same soothing voice said, "Here, hold this," and handed him a thirteen-inch long wand, made of Cherry wood with a unicorn hair. Surreptitiously, he canceled the muffling charm.

"Now lift your hand and imagine that love flowing down your arm and out your hand, like the gentle flow of water. Now say Expecto Patronum."

Neville's lips move as he silently said, "Expecto Patronum." The tip of the wand glowed slightly.

"Excellent, Neville, excellent. Now say it strong, say it loud, make your father and mother proud with your love and confidence as you say it."

Neville, still in that blissful state, did exactly as his Professor requested. A white light burst from Neville's wand, blinding the entire hall. The light coalesced into a beagle, which looked around the hall, searching for danger. Seeing none, it began to gambol about Neville's feet as he stared at it, smiling blissfully at the visible manifestation of his love for his parents. While everyone was still blinking at the bright light, Gilderoy gently removed the wand from Neville's hand and stashed it back in his cloak with the others.

Everybody was awestruck. Slowly the light diminished and the beautiful creature vanished.

"Now, Mr. Gamp, what is that called?" Lockhart asked turning to the stunned Prefect and bringing his audience from their awe.

"That, that sir, is a fully corporeal patronus." Charlus replied with some difficulty.

"Excellent! Five Points to Slytherin. Now that you know what the boy has achieved, you should also know that the Patronus is a very advanced charm. Let me also inform you that ninety-nine percent of the NEWT students will fail to produce one, and even highly qualified wizards can conjure barely a white mist." He allowed the statement to settle, and continued, "Now who says this boy, who achieved this phenomenon, is anything but a powerful Wizard?"

There was silence in the entire hall as everyone looked at Neville in awe. "Ten points, Mr. Longbottom, for the excellent Patronus Charm demonstration."

The D.A.D.A. Professor turned to address the students, "Magic is all about intent and will. The deeper the intent and the more powerful the will, the more powerful the magic will be. It is in the very nature of magic to respond to intent. It was Mr. Longbottom's love that strengthened his intent and today made him the youngest Wizard to achieve a Fully. Corporeal. Patronus.

"Eleven years ago, it was his parents' deep-rooted love of that allowed a young toddler to defeat the darkest tyrant known. It is the intent that drives magic and the emotions that drive the intent. It is not the greatness of a single person, but the greatness of magic.

"Fools think they have achieved an in-depth knowledge of magic by reading books, but fail miserably in understanding it. It has been proven repeatedly that Magic is not measurable, it cannot be created, but only transformed from one form to another. Every one of you will have to understand that to become great wizards in your own right."

The other Professors were staring at both Lockhart and Neville, astounded at what they had just seen and heard.

Gilderoy/Harry leaned down and said softly, "Go sit with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Ignore that Ron fellow, he's an idiot."

Neville looked back at him frowning slightly, but the good feeling brought on by the patronus refused to dissipate, and he hurried over to the Gryffindor table. Hermione quickly began an inquisition on how he had produced the patronus while Harry listened attentively. Ron looked at his broken wand and scowled at the other three.

Headmaster Dumbeldore had decided to eat in his office that morning, catching up on his paperwork. On hearing what had happened, he vowed to be in the Great Hall for every meal. How had that fraud of a Professor managed to get that ineffectual bumbler Neville Longbottom to cast a patronus?

Lockhart appeared a buffoon of a narcissistic Wizard, but twice, now, he had appeared much more competent than Dumbledore had expected of him. Fortunately, he didn't seem more than superficially interested in Harry. He would require some close watching, though, just in case. Dumbledore couldn't risk any interference in his plans.

Later, as Neville headed to his first class, Hannah Abbott came up to him and said, "Hey Neville, that was really cool. I, I never thought you would be able to do something that amazing." She walked with him to their next class, and even sat beside him. Watching Neville blush amused Harry and Hermione, sitting on his other side. Ron scowled.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur for Neville. The classwork formed a convenient distraction. But in between classes? He brooded. He could not believe what he had done. He could not understand what had happened. All the upper years said he had done a very complicated spell that many grown Wizards couldn't even think of doing. And now, he was a celebrity! People had been coming up to him all morning. People who had ignored him, or even looked down on him, were suddenly vying to sit beside him.

It was when he was on his way to dinner that it hit him. People would expect great things from him. Just like at home where his grandma was continually voicing her disappointment in him for failing to live up to her expectations. And now that visible disappointment was going to be here! His knees buckled, and he staggered. If everyone thought him a failure, he disappointed no one.

"What's wrong, Mr. Longbottom?" came a voice beside him. It was Susan Bones. Others were gathering around him. He looked at them wildly. He couldn't stand to see those disappointed looks here, not here, as he did at home. He had to get away. He pushed his way through the circle and started running wildly out of the Castle. He ran and ran and ran until he could run no more, and he collapsed near the lake. His stomach and ribs hurt from running, and sweat poured down his face. His legs seemed to be on fire. He hated himself. He couldn't do anything. He was pathetic. He just laid on the ground, too exhausted to cry.

"Hey, Mr. Longbottom, get up!" The D.A.D.A. professor was standing beside him. He said, "So you've decided to get in shape by running? That's good. But running in robes, that's bad. You need proper attire. Here, allow me." The Professor flicked his wand and Neville's was dressed in red and gold appointed t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. The Professor, Neville saw, was dressed the same, all shades of colour-coordinated lilac.

"There, now you can run." Lockhart started to leave, but returned. "This is my jogging time, join me and I will teach you a thing or two about it. Come on, child." The Wizard cajoled the boy into running with him. Panting for breath, Neville could barely walk and allowed Lockhart to drag him around the lake. Before long, he collapsed again.

"This is the first time you are running, huh? But running in t-shirt and shorts," Lockhart said, "is way better than running in the robes, don't you think?"

Neville nodded, still panting.

"Similarly, you will find it much easier to focus your magic with a wand that suits you instead of your father's." Lockhart said.

Neville looked horrified. "But it is my father's wand, sir, I cannot give it up. I simply can't."

"Who said you should? I am not asking you to throw away your father's wand, Mr. Longbottom — it's important to you. Keep it with your mother's wand in a place of honour.

"You will find that your father's clothes at age twenty will not fit you today, similarly, your father's wand does not fit you."

"No, sir, that cannot be possible." Neville replied haughtily, echoing his grandmother.

"Mr. Longbottom, your grandmother sees your father in you, but remember you are as much your mother as you are your father. Your grandma fails to see that. You must accept you have both your mother and father in you. By only using your father's wand, you are disrespecting your mother. Tell me, why are you using only your father's wand and not your mother's? Do you not love and respect your mother?"

Neville looked stunned. "I, I . . . ." Neville gulped and remained silent.

"Here, try this," Gilderoy handed the boy his wand.

Neville stared at it, eyes wide. "I couldn't do that, it's your wand!"

"Take it."

Reluctantly, Neville took the wand and held it as if he thought it were glass.

"Good. Now cast Wingardium Leviosa on that leaf." Lockhart pointed.

The boy did, but nothing happened.

"Now, try your wand," the Wizard said taking his wand back.

The leaf, fluttering, barely rose an inch into the air.

"Good. Now try this one," and handed the boy the same wand from that morning.

The leaf shot into the air and disappeared.

Neville stared up, then at the wand in his hand.

"You see, Mr. Longbottom, how different wands work differently for the same Wizard?"

Neville nodded, still wide-eyed.

"Tell you grandmother about this. Tell her you cast a Patronus with one wand, but can barely cast Wingardium Leviosa on a leaf with your father's wand. Tell her I, the Great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, said she was actively hurting you by forcing you to use an incompatible wand. If she refuses, let me know, I will convince her of the error in her thinking."

They stood silent for several moments.

"Well," said Gilderoy, rubbing his hands together, "I don't know about you, but I've worked up an appetite! Miksy!" A house-elf appeared. "Professor Two Sir has called Miksy?"

"Yes, a quick picnic dinner please!"

"Mipsy can do that, Sir." She disappeared.

Later that afternoon, an owl took a letter to Neville's grandmother relaying the day's events. That evening, dozens of other owls took flight, also relaying the day's events. The first of many seismic changes in the Wizarding political arena had started.