Hogwarts Bastard Professor

Lockhart was a bit embarrassed about the state of his office. 

Per his agreement with Dumbledore, his role as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was a one-year gig—temporary, like borrowing someone else's broom. This office wasn't really his, and he had no way of restoring it to its original state. 

Thankfully, Professor McGonagall didn't seem to mind. She looked like she had something on her mind but hesitated, glancing at the young witches and wizards nearby. "Perhaps I could wait until after your lesson to discuss it?" she offered. 

She didn't want her personal matters to disrupt the students' learning. 

Lockhart nodded. "Just a moment, then. Today's a practical session, so I'll only need to lecture for a bit." 

He clapped his hands to get the curious kids' attention. "Right, today we're continuing with the Disarming Charm. Oh, Harry, what's with that look? Pride's not always a good thing." 

"Harry, Draco, don't think just because you've got the Disarming Charm, its counters, and its counter-charm down pat that I'm impressed. Next lesson, I'll have you two dueling on broomsticks for some real agility training. You're nowhere near ready!" 

Truth be told, these two kids' talent with charms made Lockhart secretly jealous. He had to throw in some critiques to keep their egos in check and maintain his professorial authority. 

Training two dueling prodigies would be the crowning achievement of his teaching year. It'd be a story he could brag about anywhere, boosting his reputation. 

He turned to Ron and Hermione. "You two might need to start from scratch, but don't worry about falling behind Harry and Draco. You're all second-years—there's plenty of time to catch up." 

Lockhart had his own teaching style. Whether it was the "Dueling Club," regular classes, or N.E.W.T. lessons, he liked to pick out a few top students to mentor first, then have them guide the others. It made his job a lot easier. 

"Pair up," he said. "Learning from the more experienced helps you solidify what you know and spot details you might've missed." 

"Harry, you're with Ron. Draco, you're with Hermione." 

Draco practically jumped. "Why do I have to pair with her?" 

If they weren't in front of a professor, he might've let a slur slip. 

Lockhart gave Draco a cryptic look. "A truly cunning Slytherin doesn't make enemies on all sides, Draco. You need to learn to get along with people, even those you disagree with." 

Draco pressed his lips shut, staying silent for a moment before giving a solemn nod. 

Hermione didn't look thrilled either, but she clearly respected her idol, Professor Lockhart, and gripped her wand tightly without complaint. 

"Excellent," Lockhart said, smiling at the group. "Now's question time. Any doubts? Ask away, and once I've answered, you can start practicing." 

Hermione's hand shot up. With his nod, she pointed excitedly at the trees sprouting around the office. "Professor, how did you do that?" 

It was exactly the kind of unconventional magic she dreamed of mastering—she could feel its power. 

Harry tugged her sleeve, whispering, "Hermione, we're only supposed to ask about the Disarming Charm." 

Hermione froze, shrinking back in embarrassment. 

"No worries, I'll explain, but let's not make it a habit," Lockhart said, glancing at the trees—some so sturdy they looked decades old. Even he, knowing the trick, was impressed. It was no surprise the kids were curious. He shook his head with a smile. "You'll never be able to do this." 

"!!!" 

The young witches and wizards were stunned, not expecting that answer. 

Even McGonagall, quietly observing, looked like she might interject. 

Seeing the kids' deflated expressions, Lockhart grinned. "It's simple, really. A mix of an Animation Charm from alchemy, a Growth Charm, and an Engorgement Charm from household planting. All basic spells." 

"It's like Transfiguration. The core principles are straightforward, but mastering them takes a lifetime." 

"Not that you need to spend a lifetime learning it…" Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "It's more that it requires your life, your thoughts, your entire existence to fuel the magic's growth." 

The "Forest Witch" of the Amazon, abandoned as a baby and raised by wolves, had spent most of her life in the wild. Later, she left the forest with trolls to live in Manhattan. Even in the city, when fighting, she stuck to her old spellcasting habits, transforming her surroundings like this. 

She called it "returning to nature, where nature grants her strength." Lockhart preferred to call it "the Forest Witch's battle domain." 

"Everyone has their own magical path," he said, patting a thick tree trunk with a meaningful look. "Sometimes we see amazing magic and feel inspired, but remember: that's their magic, their life, their soul—not yours." 

"We can never become someone else. We can only become ourselves." 

Such profound words were a bit much for a group of second-years. They didn't quite get it. 

McGonagall, though, was deeply moved. 

As an internationally renowned Transfiguration master, she tirelessly taught students year after year, from first to seventh grade, without pause. But how many true Transfiguration masters had she produced? 

Not many in recent years, at least none worth boasting about. 

Decades ago, there were some promising talents—like James Potter, Sirius Black, and their crew, who mastered Animagus transformations while still in school. But the war cut short their chance to become true masters. 

Lockhart ran his hand along the tree, lost in thought. 

His earlier words didn't quite apply to himself. 

He'd already absorbed a fragment of the Forest Witch's memories. Could he one day fully digest her entire adventurous life? Uncertain, but the future held promise. 

If the original Lockhart was a "memory thief," then he might go further, becoming a "life thief." 

He could never be a saint, unmoved by the precious memories and lives of powerful wizards. He refused to cross into this magical world only to remain a magic-less Muggle. 

Without those memories, he'd be just that—a Muggle. If he chose to keep them, he'd better make good use of them. 

Steal others' lives, digest their adventures! 

"Right, that's enough of that. Start practicing," he said. 

Practical sessions were the best way to gauge how well students had grasped the material, whether it was Harry and Draco teaching or Hermione and Ron learning. 

Lockhart could tell their progress just by watching. 

After all, he knew the Disarming Charm inside out. 

In the three key areas of Defense Against the Dark Arts—facing dark wizards, dark creatures, or dueling—he might not be able to cast the spells himself, but his insight was razor-sharp. 

Today, though, his focus wasn't entirely on the students. He invited McGonagall to sit at his desk, tucked behind a few trees, and asked why she'd come. 

"It's about this," McGonagall said, pulling a letter from her robes. "The Urquhart family's castle has been struck by a bizarre incident. They asked the Ministry for help, but got nowhere, so they wrote to me, hoping I could assist." 

She sighed. "It's been confirmed as a dark creature issue, but no one's been able to resolve it." 

Even the proud McGonagall offered rare praise. "Professor Lockhart, you're the most inventive person I've met in this field. Perhaps you'll have a solution." 

The Urquhart family? 

Lockhart's brow twitched as he rifled through his memories, landing on an answer from one powerful wizard's recollection. 

McGonagall's late husband's family. That wizard had attended Elphinstone Urquhart's funeral as a close family friend. 

The Urquharts were typically Durmstrang alumni—pure-blood, traditional, and highly influential in their country's Ministry and across European magical governments. 

If a family like that couldn't handle it, it was serious trouble. 

Lockhart took the letter and read it. The writer fondly called McGonagall "Auntie Minerva," starting with a heap of flattery before describing the castle's issue. 

It was practically a textbook haunted castle story. 

Overnight, the castle was smeared with bloodstains. Venomous snakes and spiders crawled everywhere. House-elves died mysteriously, and faint, eerie singing from a woman echoed at night. 

After ruling out a malicious curse, it was confirmed to be a dark creature's doing. At that point, the castle was basically a write-off. 

Dark creatures might seem "alive," but they were more like phenomena—unkillable without specific methods. 

The wizarding world was full of abandoned places, forsaken due to dark creatures. 

Luckily, Lockhart scoured his memories and found answers. 

Two, in fact. 

He handed the letter back to McGonagall, thought for a moment, and said, "It's likely either 'Crypt Rot' or an 'Unjustly Slain Fairy.'" 

McGonagall blinked. When she'd received young Urquhart's despairing letter, she'd held little hope of solving the problem. Asking Lockhart was a long shot, born of "he seems competent, so why not try?" She hadn't expected an actual answer. 

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