2 chapter 2
Lockart smiled to himself as the proximity alert on his door sounded a soft chime. Someone was approaching with the intent to enter. He waited patiently for the knock, saying, "Door-knocker, say, 'Professor Lockhart will be with you in a moment.'" He studied the mirror on the inside of his door, reflecting what the Door-knocker's eyes saw.
He couldn't help but laugh at the despondent expression on Harry Potter's face. It had been absolutely ace taking the micky out of the boy prior to his Herbology class. As a prank, it certainly approached the top of the chart.
He thought Harry was going to bust a seam when he had said, Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I? And the way Harry's eyes had bugged out when he said, I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they?
And then . . . and then . . . Colin Creevey's set up! Another fantastic line: There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but I don't think you're quite there yet. He thought poor Harry was about to have a coronary! And his face had been as red as Ron's hair. Harry/Gilderoy had laughed himself silly once he arrived back in his office. Good grief, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.
And then in the actual classroom, via the listening charm he had placed on the The-Boy-Who-Lived's robes, he had heard Ron say, You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club. Ha! He had forgotten about that. Now, there was an opportunity! A few words to a couple of the more impressionable Firsties, and viola! He could even volunteer to be the staff advisor for their little club. The pranking potential was astronomical!
He added a few notes to his list and then put the scroll in his desk drawer. He walked over and opened to the door, smiling broadly. "Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in —"
"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat, pointing at the box of envelopes on his desk, beside the huge stack of photographs. "This first one is to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her — huge fan of mine —"
The time flew by for Lockhart. He made sure to talk softly, as if he were offering real advice to the boy, saying things that sounded ridiculous and that only amateurs might pay attention to, like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that," "It's not what you know but who," and "Always make a proper entrance."
But for the professional, who knew he was always on stage, these were actually vitally important. Harry would gradually realize that the advice he snorted at today was actually quite essential for the successful politician, businessman, or sports hero. If you acted with confidence people assumed you knew what you were doing and trusted you, even if you were completely lost as to what was really happening! And people were always watching you when you were an important or popular figure.
After a couple of hours, he pushed the stack of finished mail into a box, and moved the photographs and unused envelopes to another. "There now," he said.
Harry looked at him blearily.
"Now that the 'fun' stuff is over, we have some real business to discuss." Sadly, Harry had learned that Lockhart really did enjoy autographing his books and photographs. It was soothing and relaxing to the man. Harry used the opportunity to think about other things while letting his Gilderoy side run on autopilot.
Harry Lockhart leaned back in his chair and studied the tired student lightly shaking his weary fingers.
"In all seriousness, Harry, you cannot let your fame drag you along in its wake, like a helpless leaf caught in the wind. I realized when I was a student here at Hogwarts that you have to seize control of your fate, or it will make your life miserable. And I am more than happy to help you navigate those treacherous waters, for it is all too easy for fame to slip from your grasp and leave you as a has-been, a nobody. You have to work at being famous."
The black-haired boy frowned at him. The professor could just about read his mind. 'Now what is the twit going on about?'
He leaned over, picked up, and placed a pile of thin books on the desk. "Do you know what these are, Harry?" he asked softly.
The boy looked at them briefly, and then made a disgusted face. "Those . . . fakes."
"Precisely, my boy, precisely," said Gilderoy. "And do you realize that the publishers and authors of those tomes are getting rich off of you?" The boy looked up at him, astonished. "That's right, they have stolen your name, your face, your fame, and are making money hand over fist." The boy frowned at him. "And all the while telling lies about you to the gullible public.
"Now it's okay to exaggerate your deeds on occasion, everyone expects that. But to portray pure fantasy as the truth? Well, that will only backfire on you in the worst possible way.
"How many times have you run into someone who said, 'Oh, I've read all the Harry Potter adventure books, it must be wonderful to live in castle. Do you really have a dragon for a pet?'
"Or, worse, to let stand as fact things you know are lies, such as what happened on October 31st, 1981."
The Wizard watched Harry stiffen. "There are history books — Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, to name just three — that purport to tell what happened that fateful night. You and I know they are all lies. No one alive knows what exactly happened that night.
"From the evidence and spell residue we can make conjectures as to the sequence of events, but what was actually said and what really happened? No one knows. Nor does anyone know what your life was like after that incident. Yet these books . . ." He waved his hand at the stack on the table, ". . . all claim to tell the unvarnished truth. According to these . . . frauds, you grew up with a loving foster family, with older foster brothers and younger foster sisters who all adore you, in a castle hidden somewhere safe where you have many adventures because you're just that sort of kid who can't help falling into thrilling escapades. And they are all lies, aren't they?"
The man shook his head sadly, "But the little Wizards and Witches, the children, they really do believe them. They think you are rich. They think you are spoiled. They think you have a loving foster family who dotes on your every wish, spoiling you shamelessly. And when you don't live up to those expectations, they hate you for ruining those expectations. Everything you say or do that reveals you know nothing about Wizardkind, Wizard traditions, and Wizard lore, they take as an indication that you really do know those things but are too arrogant to pay attention to them! You really don't know those things, but it is easier for them to believe you do but don't care. Otherwise they would have to admit that the books were lies — and nobody likes to admit they fell for a lie because it makes them look foolish."
The boy was looking more and more astonished with every sentence.
"And the publishers are continuing to feed that image that you don't care by putting out new books every year telling them how their hero, The-Boy-Who-Lived, is still being a hero when in truth you are just a student trying to make the best of a bad situation."
Harry leaned back, blinking.
"And the reason they are doing that is that you have let them steal your name and likeness, and make up these fantastical stories. You have done nothing to say, 'But those books are all lies.'"
The boy's eyebrows shot up.
But before he could say a word, the professor continued. "I know, I know what you're going to say, but here's the deal. By not saying anything to them, by not complaining about what they've done, you have tacitly given them permission to continue in what they are doing. By not talking to them, you have given them permission to continue making up lies about you, to continue selling dolls with your face, to continue stealing money from you. And while you might not think the money is important, given your family's great wealth, by doing nothing you give the impression that it is perfectly fine for them to continue to lie about and steal from you!
"Now, I know your guardians have been somewhat lax in that regard, that your family lawyers have ignored the problem, but that doesn't excuse last year. Last year you had ample time to tell everyone the books are lies and start correcting the record. You had ample time to contact the publishers and tell them to stop. And you didn't. That you didn't know you should is not an excuse they are willing to accept.
"By the way, did you know they released three, three books about your first year in Hogwarts? And not one of them even comes close to matching what really happened, except that you are the youngest Seeker in a hundred years. And they have you single-handedly winning every game with your teammates cheering you on from their brooms.
"And by not saying anything you let people think you are an arrogant braggart with delusions of perfection and grandeur."
He paused and let Harry think about that. Lockhart could see the boy getting angrier and angrier. And the angrier the boy became, the easier it became for Gilderoy to do what needed doing. And he had somehow missed Gilderoy's references to his family's wealth. The professor decided to let that lie for the moment.
"And I bet you're thinking, 'but what can I do about any of that? I'm just a kid!'"
"Well, Harry, what I propose to you is to let my legal firm — Fleecem, Cheatem, and Beatem — take care of this for you."
Naturally, on hearing the firm's name, Harry's eyebrows repeated their climb to his hairline. Lockhart had to suppress a smile and pretend not to notice Harry's incredulous reaction. Wizards really were oblivious, not to mention naïve, in many areas. Most wouldn't even blink on hearing that name.
He wasn't going to mention that he actually owned that firm. He had set it up last month and staffed it with hand-picked sharks.
"What they will do, at no charge to you, is go after these scoundrels and make them pay the royalties they should have been paying you all along. I realize you don't care about the money — if you cared about money you wouldn't wear those atrocious muggle clothes and you'd dress like a proper gentlewizard. Or at least dress in a manner that didn't suggest you were a homeless gypsy who accidentally wandered into the castle by mistake."
He pretended not to notice the blush that lit up boy's face.
"That's one of the reasons people don't take you seriously, and why the Slytherins make fun of you. If you don't take yourself seriously, why should they? They think you are insulting them by ignoring proper dress traditions, so they get mad at you for dressing like a homeless person."
Harry looked startled at that. And well he should. By the time future Harry had learned that lesson it was far too late to be useful, he was too busy dodging Snatcher squads and muggle strafing and bombing runs.
"Now, then, knowing you are rich, a lot of people will be outraged that you would dare to attack the books that every, and I do mean every, Wizarding child owns. To combat this, to control the narrative, that is, I suggest you set up a foundation that will use the funds those scoundrels give you to provide Muggle-borns, and underprivileged Half-bloods and Pure-bloods with adequate schooling materials.
"You know," he said in a coaxing manner, "so that they don't have to use hand-me-down or broken and defective wands, so they can get books that aren't falling apart with age." He stopped, covered his mouth, and said "cough * cough * Ron and Ginny Weasley * cough * cough." He dropped his hand and cleared his throat, "Sorry about that, had a frog in my throat."
Harry was staring at him in shock.
"If it's a grant from a foundation, it's not charity, now is it? Especially if it goes to a large group of people, right?
"Anyway, you announce this right off and it immediately puts those scoundrels off their game"
Harry was blinking rapidly, Gilderoy could almost see the gears turning in his mind.
"Of course, there will be a means test in the process. We don't want rich snobs like Mr. Malfoy, who can easily afford a wand, expecting to get a free one.
"And, if there are sufficient funds — using only the interest, not the principle, of course — the Foundation will replace those aging and decrepit brooms Hogwarts uses to teach Firsties about broom-flying. That way future students can avoid accidents such as befell poor Mr. Longbottom last year.
"So, you would be doing a tremendous service to the Wizarding community, your friends, by doing this. And it would show that you are not someone they can take lightly. If they cross you, there will be consequences.
"And just to alleviate any concerns you might have on the matter, I, myself, will be on the Board of Directors of The Lily Potter Foundation to make sure the funds are used for the stated purposes and not used to line some rich Pure-blood's pockets.
Harry jerked his head up on hearing the name of the Foundation.
The smarmy professor smiled knowingly. "Yes, this would be an excellent way to honour your mother and keep her name alive in the Wizarding World. And with only a minimal amount of effort on your part. Plus, as I said, it shan't cost you a single knut. The legal firm will take their fee from the monies collected. Normally those legal fees can range anywhere from thirty-to-fifty percent, but for The Lily Potter Foundation I've talked the solicitors down to a mere twenty percent."
He pulled a parchment out of his pocket. "If you would just sign right here," he pointed to the bottom of the parchment, "They can get started on this immediately."
Harry looked at the proffered quill and looked back up at Lockhart, frowning heavily.
The Professor leaned forward and said, quietly and sincerely, "Harry, I swear to you on my magic that what the Foundation does will make you proud." He stared into the boy's eyes, projecting his sincerity.
"I, 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 promise you that this is not a trick and not a scam, that The Lily Potter Foundation will do exactly as I promise. It will provide needy students with the tools they require to succeed at Hogwarts.
"The contract here even specifies that my compensation as a member of the Board of Directors will never exceed one galleon a year, and that none of the other Directors will earn more than 100 galleons." He didn't need any money, the kudos and access to other rich movers would more than pay him for his time on the board. Not to mention the fact that he was earning a finder's fee of one-percent on every galleon earned from the miscreant firms and any new licensing arrangements.
Harry hesitantly took the quill and scrawled his signature on the bottom of the parchment.
The professor took the quill and signed just below Harry's name.
"Excellent, Harry," Gilderoy practically purred in satisfaction. Next, he offered a small silver knife. "Just use this to prick you thumb and let a few drops of your blood hit your signature."
Moving slowly, watching the professor from the corners of his eyes, Harry did as asked.
The professor waved his wand and the cut on Harry's hand disappeared as if it had never existed. Harry set the knife on the desk.
Lockhart took the knife and pricked his thumb, letting his blood drip.
As the third drop hit the parchment, Gilderoy smiled widely. A copy of the contract had just magically appeared in the legal firm's office; they would begin first thing in the morning.
Lockhart sighed contentedly, beaming happily, as he rolled up the parchment. "I promise you, Harry, you will be astonished at the good will this will generate in the long term. People will be talking about The Lily Potter Foundation and what it does for generations after you and I are long gone." He tapped the scroll with his wand and handed the new duplicate to the boy. "Let your friend, Miss Granger, have a look at that contract," he said as he dropped his copy into a small Gringotts' Owling tube and sealed both ends. He tossed it into the box with the rest of the outgoing Owl mail. "I'm sure she will find it fascinating. And she will agree that I am treating you fairly. As if I," he declared dramatically, "I, would stoop so low as to attempt to stymie the promising career you have ahead of you. Why would I do that," he asked rhetorically, "when by helping you I can demonstrate to everyone what a wonderful mentor I am?" He struck a heroic pose, with one arm on his hip holding back his dress-cape and holding the index finger of the other hand up at eye level for several moments. Then he relaxed.
"By the way, just in case you change your mind, there is a ten-day cancelation clause before the contract becomes permanent. If you have any questions, feel free to come to me at any time. I will always be willing to help you achieve your life's goals." Gilderoy beamed proudly at the boy and looking forward to showing Harry how to manage his fame.
Harry watched and listened carefully, clearly thinking about what had just happened. They sat in silence for a minute, both contemplating the future, but for very different reasons, with just as different goals. Lockhart knew the contract wasn't worth the parchment it occupied, but it did provide a framework for them. Plus, he knew that the only person to object to the contract wouldn't as it would out him as the boy's illegal guardian. And in the absence of challenges, the contract would stand.
"There is one more thing, Harry."
The black-haired boy looked up curiously.
"Photographs and autographs," the Wizard said.
Harry groaned.
"Hear me out, Harry. This could make it much easier for you here in Hogwarts for the long term."
The boy sighed dramatically and crossed his arms as he sat back in his chair.
"Colin Creepy . . . ."
Harry's eyebrows went up again.
". . . is going to be stalking you. I know the type, I really do. He's going to be taking pictures of you all the time. Whether you want him to or not. He is your very own, personal paparazzi." He paused a moment, reminiscing, "This takes me back to the beginning of my career when I realized I had my first, real fan." He sighed theatrically.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Mr. Creepy's a nice kid, he really is, but he's like a bull terrier. Once he gets after you, he never stops. All you can do is set some boundaries. Took me a few years to figure out that little tidbit, I tell you now!" He grinned conspiratorially at Harry.
Harry sighed again.
It was funny how Harry never asked just how Gilderoy knew this about a student he had only met that day.
"You can either threaten him or you can work with him. The first will make everyone hate you for being mean to a Firstie. The second can make a huge difference in making you look like a good guy.
"Here's how it works. Tell him to meet you after dinner Saturday next, tell him to bring plenty of film. He'll be giddy with excitement, but make him promise not to tell anyone, at all, or everyone will show up and interfere with what the two of you will be doing.
"When you get together, make a deal with him. You will make him your official photographer. Once a month, the two of you will get together and he will take pictures of you around the castle. Once a month, the two of you will get together and review those pictures. He has to give you a copy of every picture he takes, and you together will select which pictures he can sell.
Harry sat up straight in astonishment, opening his mouth to protest.
"Wait," the professor held up his finger.
Looking mutinous, Harry sank back in his chair.
"In exchange, Mr. Creepy will agree to not take pictures of you anywhere else, and to not bother you at all!"
Harry was doing a fair imitation of a goldfish — bulging eyes and gaping mouth.
"And this way you control what people see! I guarantee you that he already has people asking him for pictures of you. And you really don't want every picture he takes available to everyone in the Castle. I'm sure the Slytherins would queue up by the dozens to buy pictures of you picking your nose, scratching your arse, or falling on your face after someone trips you."
Harry was looking alarmed.
"So, you set a price of a six knuts for each photograph, and he has to split it with you fifty-fifty. And if anyone brings you a picture and wants your autograph, you charge them two sickles."
"Two sickles!"
The boy was going to get emotional whiplash if he wasn't careful.
"Yes, two sickles. This does several things. First, it keeps hundreds of students from swamping you, every day, wanting you to sign the picture they just bought.
"When your friends ask why you're charging for the autographs you say it is to keep the arseholes away, as only someone serious will be willing to pay two sickles for your autograph. Plus, you can use the autographed pictures as a reward to select people. Knowing that you are giving them something free that normally people have to buy will raise its value in their eyes.
"But to everyone else you say, 'Because it's going to buy the Houses new Quidditch Brooms.'"
Harry stared at him, astonished.
"That's right, you're going to use that photograph and autograph income to make sure all the teams, not just the Slytherins, have modern brooms. No longer will it matter if one team has better brooms than the other because they'll all have the same brooms!"
Harry sat back thinking.
"You see how this works, don't you? You control what pictures people see. Nothing embarrassing, nothing that might be scandalous. You don't have to worry about picture hungry fans following you — they all go bother Mr. Creepy if they want a proper picture. If someone does want your autograph, then they have to buy Mr. Creevey's authorized pictures because you will only autograph pictures taken by Mr. Creevey. That will cut down dramatically on the number of people surreptitiously taking pictures of you.
"And when someone grumbles about having to pay money for an autograph, remind them that you aren't making any money, all the money coming in to you is going to a good cause — new Quidditch brooms. And how can anyone hate you for doing that? And that makes you a good guy!"
Lockhart sat back. "Anyway, you think about that. If you're smart, you'll do it. Otherwise you might find someone selling pictures of you taking a shower in the bathroom." Which had happened to Harry in the other timeline. He had been most embarrassed to discover the poster-sized image. He had found it near the end of the war in the ruined remains of some unknown Witch's demolished house, on a bedroom wall. It was quite scandalous, even by Muggle standards, truthfully, and taken in the Quidditch locker-room sometime in his Sixth Year when he was Captain of the team.
Harry stared at him in horror. Lockhart raised his eyebrows and nodded.
"So, you think about that.
"If you want to go ahead with that plan," Gilderoy opened a drawer in his desk and took out a scroll, "here's the contract I suggest you use." He handed it to Harry.
"And it's nearly curfew, so out of here you scamp!" Lockhart made shooing motions with his hands. Harry stood and stumbled to the door, holding the contracts and frowning.
After the door closed, Lockhart sighed deeply. This was harder than he had expected. But it was all vital in keeping the boy's feet on the ground and surviving the turmoil that the professor knew was coming. The next few nights he would lecture the boy, while they addressed letters and signed autographs, on the various social necessities the Wizarding World expected from the Heads of Houses. He would teach the boy how to navigate the shark-infested waters that were the so-called Pure-blood Houses — Gilderoy may have been an opportunistic twit, but he did know the rules of Wizarding High Society.
Physical fighting, Harry had learned, was only a small part of the war. With the right nudges and diplomacy, a skilled tactician could prevent some battles entirely, and save countless lives in doing so.
He pulled out his to-do list from the drawer, and perused it once more, moving the two completed tasks to his "Done" parchment.
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Tasks to Complete as a Hogwarts' Professor
First, Improve the students' current rating in D.A.D.A. from pathetic to a minimum of adequate. And achieve fame as the best D.A.D.A. teacher ever!
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Gilderoy kept trying to reverse the order of those two. He didn't seem to get that the fame would naturally follow the other without any additional effort.
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Second, Part A, destroy the friendship between Ron and Harry as subtly as possible.
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With the exception of last year, Ron had turned on him every year they had attended Hogwarts. His jealousy and temper had ultimately destroyed the Wizarding world. Not to mention the hell he put Hermione through every year, starting with their first year with his constant put-downs, and degrading comments, and continuing until he deserted them.
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Second, Part D, Fan Club for Harry Potter – Ginny, Luna? – Colin to start.
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A fan club for Harry would drive Ron to distraction.
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Third, catch the rat and bring justice to his Godfather. Use his position in the public eye to make sure the Ministry doesn't bury the story. Maybe he should write a book with the rat as the centrepiece.
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'And, not incidentally, garner himself some wonderful headlines and even more fame,' the Gilderoy-side whispered.
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Fourth, help Neville gain confidence to become the great Wizard he is capable of being.
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"And ensure at least one steadfast Pure-blood supporter should he ever need the help of a distinguished Ancient and Noble family," added Gilderoy.
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Fifth, Luna Lovegood. Make sure the bullies never have a chance.
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Her quirky outlook had saved his life more than once while they were on the run. He owed her that.
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Sixth, retrieve Ravenclaw's Diadem from the Come-and-Go Room, and destroy the soul piece in it. (Fiendfyre?)
Seventh, retrieve the Slytherin Locket from Grimmauld Place (dependent on when Sirius is released). (Fiendfyre?)
Eighth, destroy the diary and the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, and save Ginny Weasley. THAT is definitely a book he will publish. Acquire Phoenix Tears just in case! Keep a sharp eye on Ginny. Maybe get the Map from the twins?
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"And cash in on the salvage of the Basilisk, the venom alone is worth tens of thousands of galleons," put in Gilderoy.
He would have to wait on that and let the year play out the way it had previously. After all, while he did know where and what the monster was, speaking Parseltongue was a secret he wanted to keep as long as possible. Publically, he was dependent on Harry for that.
The money from the Basilisk would easily pay for sending Ginny to a Mind Healer afterwards, and prevent the after-the-fact suffering she had endured in the previous timeline, which the Muggles called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In the meantime, his hands were tied.
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Ninth, retrieve the Gaunt Ring and destroy it. (Definitely use Basilisk venom for this)
Tenth, retrieve the Hufflepuff Cup and destroy it, or get the Goblins to do it for me.
Eleventh, Remove ALL the bones from the Riddle Graveyard and replace them with something else — perhaps roadkill squirrels or Acromantula chiton? Let's see him try to rally the Pure-bloods looking like a spider!
Twelfth, find and kill Nagini? Is she even a Horcrux yet?
Thirteenth, what to do about Harry's portion of Riddle?
Fourteenth, remove, with extreme prejudice, Malfoy and all the other Death Eaters, in and out of Azkaban. Deprive them of their power and wealth which played a large role in controlling ministry and ruining people's lives. Not to mention crippling Voldewhore's financial base.
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"No, loot their wealth, and buy a beach house on his own island," added Gilderoy. "And find a lot of ladies to shag. Sinistra looks like a good one to start with." No, wait, that last was solely Lockhart's list!
The list review stopped abruptly due to some serious inner turmoil. Harry was still not used to interacting with adult women in the manner Gilderoy wanted.
