"Yes, I'm a fan of Mr. Lockhart's too—I absolutely adore Voyages with Vampires. I really envy that kind of experience."
"What? Stickers of Mr. Lockhart? Of course I've thought about it. In fact, I've been planning a Distinguished Wizard Series of stickers for a while now, but I just couldn't decide who the first featured wizard should be...
"I've been torn between Headmaster Dumbledore and Mr. Lockhart."
In just a single day, a brief conversation inside Ollivanders quickly spread across all of Diagon Alley—and into the ears of Gilderoy Lockhart at Flourish and Blotts.
During a break in his book signing, he found the shop owner and casually asked, "Harold Ollivander... quite a discerning young lad. But his name... is he the Ollivander I'm thinking of?"
"That's right. The wandmaker Ollivander."
The shopkeeper, a witch in her forties, smiled as she said, "That boy's lived in Diagon Alley since he was very young. Garrick Ollivander is his grandfather. Though I didn't expect he'd be your fan as well."
"I'm as surprised as I am unsurprised," Gilderoy Lockhart said, flashing eight dazzling, pearly-white teeth. "Another young wizard captivated by my thrilling adventures—such a delightful problem to have, wouldn't you agree?"
He flipped his golden hair and, before the shopkeeper's breath could hitch, asked curiously, "But about those wand stickers he mentioned… what exactly are they?"
"This." She drew her wand and pointed at its base, where a vivid Sphinx creature lazily rubbed against the wand's shaft.
"Just a little decoration. Compared to the old plain-colored wands, this is a huge improvement. It's like having a little pet with you—it really lifts your spirits.
"But you need to replace them every so often, or they stop moving."
Lockhart stared at the sticker, deep in thought.
It was a while before he asked, "Are they popular?"
"Very. They're only two Sickles, so most people can afford one. There's been a line outside Ollivanders for days."
"So that means... people are seeing the stickers all the time?" Lockhart's eyes suddenly lit up like two spotlights.
"Y-Yes," the witch said, glancing nervously toward the lounge door. "Mr. Lockhart, there are more and more fans outside. Shouldn't we—"
"Ah, yes. Break time is over," Lockhart said, rising to his feet with a signature radiant smile and striding back into the shop's main hall.
All the bookshelves had been moved aside, replaced with oversized portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart. He sat at the center on a raised platform, signing books for every wizard who came to buy.
There were lines out the door of both Flourish and Blotts and Ollivanders. Wizards filled the streets with excitement, all with bright futures ahead.
By 3:30 in the afternoon, the signing ended.
"No worries, everyone will have another chance."
Lockhart smiled his signature grin at those who'd arrived too late. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have great news! Tomorrow, I'll be right here signing copies of my autobiography Magical Me—until 4:30 p.m. This is your perfect chance to get a signed copy from Gilderoy Lockhart himself!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Lockhart retreated into the back of the store and curled a lock of golden hair in front of a mirror.
"So passionate! Perhaps I should host more signings," he said thoughtfully.
A tired wizard who had just entered turned even paler at the sound of that.
Three and a half hours of signing with only a ninety-minute break—and with Lockhart's slow, theatrical signing style, no wonder the line was endless.
He had spent three hours outside yelling "No pushing!" at a swarm of wild-eyed witches. This job was a nightmare. He hoped they'd never do another signing again.
Lockhart, of course, had no idea what the staff were thinking. Upon seeing the wizard, he even looked pleased and pulled a gold-embossed envelope from his pocket.
"If you wouldn't mind, please deliver this to Mr. Harold Ollivander over at the wand shop. That is his name, yes?"
Lockhart exited through the back door, leaving the scowling wizard behind. But since Lockhart was now the store's prized guest, the man had no choice but to join the line at Ollivanders, grumbling all the way.
6:00 p.m., The Leaky Cauldron
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Lockhart!" Harold rushed over, breathless. "There were just too many customers buying stickers. I couldn't get away."
"No worries at all! I understand the blissful burden of popularity," Lockhart replied with a radiant smile, as if he hadn't just waited three hours, but merely three minutes.
"Every day, I have to carve out five hours just to reply to the blizzard of fan mail sent by my admirers."
"That's because you're brilliant, Mr. Lockhart," Harold said. "Actually, I need to buy another set of your books."
"Another?" Lockhart immediately caught the peculiar phrasing.
"Hogwarts listed your books as required reading," Harold explained. "I already own a set, but they're all signed copies. I wouldn't dream of taking those to a crowded school."
Lockhart's grin stretched so wide it was about to exceed his eight-tooth limit.
"No need to buy another. I'll give you a complete signed set—including Magical Me, which won't hit shelves until tomorrow."
"Of course," Lockhart said, "Just a little gift from a future professor to an exceptional student."
Honestly, charming Lockhart was far easier than charming a young witch—and the return on investment was way higher. A few compliments had just saved him thirty-five Galleons.
And did Harold already own a full signed set of Lockhart's books?
Of course not. Why would he waste Galleons on something like that?
But Lockhart didn't know that. Unlike his grandfather, not everyone could remember every single customer.
Besides, that comment a moment ago was interesting...
"You mentioned 'professor' just now?" Harold asked, giving Lockhart the perfect opening he clearly wanted. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵•𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒•𝙣𝙚𝙩
"Blast that butterbeer—I meant to keep it a surprise," Lockhart said with a dramatic sigh. "But since you know... yes, this September, I will become Hogwarts' new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Really? That's fantastic!" Harold replied.
And he truly meant it.
Gilderoy Lockhart was worth far more than thirty-five Galleons. Harold wholeheartedly welcomed him as a teacher.
"Do keep it secret," Lockhart reminded him. "I'd like it to be a surprise at the right moment."
"I understand," Harold said with a smile. "No Daily Prophet reporters here, so I'd say this isn't quite the time for front-page news."