Hogwarts Bastard Professor

Lockhart gave his wand a flourish. "Deep in the forest, where gray wolves roam!" 

Mist swirled through the small grove, coalescing into the silvery shape of a gray wolf. The half-transparent figure, about the size of an adult wolf, trotted slowly before dissolving back into a cloud of mist that drifted through the trees. 

This was one of two spells Lockhart had managed to master after absorbing that memory. Like his flower-healing charm, it was a bit underwhelming, but he was thrilled nonetheless. Going from no magic to casting spells was a huge leap. Contentment brought a genuine smile to his face—not the polished grin he usually wore, but a real, infectious joy that seemed to bubble up from within. 

Evening brought a gentle breeze into the office, rustling the curtains and brushing against the thick, python-like vines climbing along the windowsill. A few birds fluttered in, curiously inspecting this strange new place, searching for a spot to nest in the unique "grove" that Lockhart's office had become. 

Leaning against a tree trunk, Lockhart gazed out the window. The sky was painted with the reds and oranges of sunset, and faint cheers from the Quidditch pitch echoed in the distance. With his hands behind his head, he let his mind drift, his little golden creature curled up on his stomach, dozing with its eyeball toy in its paws, its fluffy head bobbing with each breath. 

Lockhart savored this rare moment of peace. His usually chaotic mind felt calm, as if time had paused. It was a rare treat. 

The memories he'd pulled from his mind and stuffed back in were still settling, jostling for space, repelling and attracting each other in a delicate balance. The original Lockhart had been reckless with memories, like a Niffler shoving shiny trinkets into its pouch without a care for whether it could handle them. 

In the wizarding world, memory was a deep and mysterious field, touching on time, souls, and fate—intangible realms few wizards dared to explore. Only the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries' Brain Room studied such things, and even then, not every Ministry had experts in this area. Despite Lockhart's extensive network, he had no way of accessing those secretive figures or their classified research. 

But, if his memory served him right… hadn't Harry Potter caused a stir in the Department of Mysteries in the original books? As a professor concerned for his "Chosen One" student, Lockhart could follow him there without raising suspicion. It might be his only shot at getting into that heavily guarded place! 

His eyes lit up at the thought. Of course, that was years away—Harry's fifth year. If Lockhart left Hogwarts after this year, he'd need to stay in touch with Harry to seize that opportunity. 

"Ha~~rry~~~Potter!" 

A shout from outside shattered the office's calm, followed by a chorus of voices. Lockhart glanced at the door, suddenly remembering he'd told Draco Malfoy and the Hermione-Ron-Harry trio to come for extra training. Those two groups together? Peace was never an option. Ron and Draco's fathers were practically at each other's throats regularly, and Harry and Hermione couldn't stand Draco either. 

Maybe he should invite Draco's two pure-blood lackeys, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, to this "study group." Balance was key, after all. Lockhart's mind, full of conflicting yet harmonized memories, knew a thing or two about that. 

The noise outside grew louder. Draco, undeterred by being outnumbered, was in top form, his sharp tongue tearing into Ron for supposedly badmouthing Lockhart before cozying up to him over a new wand. Draco's smug voice carried the confidence of someone winning a verbal duel. 

But his victory was short-lived. A new voice joined the fray, followed by the students respectfully calling out, "Professor McGonagall!" Draco's biting remarks earned him a swift scolding. 

Knock, knock, knock. 

"Apologies, Professor Lockhart, is this a bad time?" McGonagall's voice was polite but firm from beyond the door. 

"Not at all, just a moment!" Lockhart called back. He'd already sprung into action while listening to the bickering, hastily stowing the memory-tainted Pensieve. That thing couldn't be seen by anyone! Shoving the large magical artifact into the tiny sack with the Undetectable Extension Charm took some finesse—something the original Lockhart apparently never bothered with, leaving him to fumble through the process. He also tucked away his Felix Felicis and other sensitive items. 

Voices drifted in from outside. "I hope we're not interrupting Professor Lockhart's experiments…" That was McGonagall. 

"Professor Lockhart told us to come for lessons now, so it should be fine," the students chimed in, their voices overlapping. 

Finally, Lockhart finished hiding his secrets. As he went to open the door, he realized he was barefoot and scrambled to tug on his shoes while perched on the tree trunk. His little golden creature, sensing his mood, was starting to get the hang of helping out. Well, sort of. It cleverly suppressed its magical aura—good start—but instead of opening the door, it pointed a tiny claw at a peach tree growing crookedly near the fireplace, its hollow buzzing with a faint "Gurgi!" 

The tree hollow was silent, as if empty. 

"Gurgi~~?" the creature called again. 

Suddenly, a chaotic burst of energy erupted from the hollow. A cloud of black smoke tumbled out, "scrambling" across the floor and morphing into a humanoid figure in tattered wizard robes. It was a Boggart, one with experience haunting wizard homes, defaulting to this form when no fear was present. 

The Boggart's eyes locked onto Lockhart, the only wizard in the room. "GURGI!!!" the golden creature's cry turned furious. The Boggart trembled, shrinking back as it stared at the tiny terror. 

Standing on the tree trunk, the golden creature put two paws on its hips, its third claw jabbing toward the office door. The Boggart froze, humiliated. Humiliated! 

The creature leapt down, scampered up the Boggart's robes, and slapped it across the face. Chastened, the Boggart limped toward the door in its creepy, practiced "haunting" gait—only to earn another smack for moving too slowly. It straightened up, suddenly spry as a teenager, and flung the door open. 

"Professor Lockhart, I hope we haven't disrupted your experiments—oh! Merlin's beard!" McGonagall gasped. The door had revealed a sinister figure in a dark hood, its face obscured. But her seasoned instincts quickly identified it as a Boggart. The Boggart itself wasn't the issue—it was the terrifying dark magical creature perched on its head that gave her pause. 

She instinctively stepped in front of the students, ready to act, when a large hand shoved the Boggart aside. Lockhart, beaming with his signature dazzling smile, threw the door wide open. "Sorry about that! Come in, come in!" 

The curious students only caught a glimpse of black smoke darting into the tree hollow and a flash of gold vanishing into the leaves of another tree. Wait—trees? 

"Merlin's beard!" McGonagall exclaimed, stunned by the office, now a small forest. "Professor Lockhart, this…" 

Lockhart laughed heartily, waving them in with a flourish. "It's all set up for the fairy-tale-style practical lessons we're preparing. You know how it is—we professors have to rehearse every detail to ensure no surprises. A forest adventure is the perfect setting for a classic storybook scenario, don't you think?" 

In truth, he simply couldn't undo the forest conjured by the woodland witch. 

"You're truly a responsible professor!" McGonagall said, gazing at the grove. Imagining Lockhart diligently preparing lessons while others rested over the weekend, she looked at him with newfound respect.