As the class began, Gilderoy Lockhart strolled into the classroom.
This time, he didn't bring any pixies or magical creatures with him. Lockhart had learned his lesson from his first disastrous class.
His current goal was to survive the year and then leave Hogwarts with dignity, armed with his latest book, Lockhart at Hogwarts.
The book's main content? How he mentored the famous Boy Who Lived and the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin.
He also planned to subtly criticize the other professors to highlight his own brilliance, ending with tales of "Dumbledore entrusting him with his legacy on his deathbed" and "Lockhart thrice refusing the position of Headmaster."
Surely, another bestseller in the making.
As for Dumbledore possibly confronting him about the book? Lockhart wasn't worried. Britain's metaphorical "grass" had been mown; it was time to set sail and save the suffering magical communities of America.
He had recently received an enthusiastic letter from a Squib named Trump, asking if there was a spell to help him fly safely and quickly to the sun.
Since Squibs couldn't perform magic, Lockhart had casually recommended Muggle cannons.
Lockhart now planned to visit Trump, capitalizing on another round of profitable schemes.
Of course, Lockhart still had his professional pride. He didn't want to be exposed by the students, so he began his theatrical performance.
Standing at the podium, he shook his head in apparent disappointment.
With a sigh, he began softly, "On Monday, I gave the second-years a simple quiz.
"Alas, not a single student had thoroughly read my books or absorbed much knowledge…
"So, I tested their practical skills with the pixies. Honestly, I'm deeply disappointed in the school's teaching standards!"
Lockhart paced the classroom dramatically, as if consumed by anguish.
"I—Gilderoy Lockhart, bestselling British author, world-renowned Defense Against the Dark Arts master, and recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class—couldn't handle a few pixies?
"Of course, I could! I only staged a realistic scenario to assess their abilities.
"After all, during my battles with werewolves and banshees, I faced life-or-death struggles and brutal combat. Such experiences have taught me humility."
"Unfortunately… well, it's not your fault. I've heard stories about your previous professors, which explain why you've learned so little."
Lockhart continued his ramblings, shifting blame onto Quirrell and Lupin. Then he picked up Twilight of the Werewolves and began reading aloud.
"After subduing the werewolves with my unique 'Werewolf Suppression Curse,' they repented.
"I even gifted them signed copies of Travels with Werewolves, which they promised to study thoroughly."
Behind him, a few Slytherins dressed as werewolves performed a lifeless reenactment, their expressions blank.
The students burst into laughter and applauded enthusiastically. Whatever his flaws, Lockhart certainly had a knack for entertaining people.
"That Sunday, I invited Jacob, the werewolf, and Edward, the vampire, to a pub for drinks.
"Edward brought out his treasured dragon blood for me to taste. Oh, how revolting! I detest dragon blood—it upsets my stomach. Of course, they didn't know I prefer aged whiskey.
"I urged them to reconcile and stop quarreling over Bella, a two-timing witch who hardly deserved their attention.
"By the way, Bella was rather pretty.
"I told them my wish was for magical and non-magical people to coexist peacefully.
"They laughed, but I told them to read my book Sleeping with Giants, and they'd understand.
"Then, I got them drunk and snuck into Bella's room… to subdue her!"
William smirked. He felt that Lockhart could have skipped the earlier fluff and made this part more detailed instead.
Before long, class ended, and the students left reluctantly, thoroughly entertained.
Lockhart had won back their affection, though only as a performer. His class was now seen as pure entertainment.
As the others filed out, William stayed behind, waiting for Lockhart.
"What's the matter, William? Did you have trouble understand something?" Lockhart asked warmly, throwing an arm around William's shoulder.
"Not exactly. My hair's been a bit greasy lately, and I was hoping to get a bottle of your shampoo—the one you gave Professor Snape during the Sorting Ceremony."
"Ah, excellent taste, my boy!" Lockhart exclaimed, pulling William towards his office.
"No wonder you're the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin. If I'd had your insight at your age, I'd already be Minister for Magic."
"Will one bottle be enough?"
Lockhart opened his office door and retrieved a bottle of shampoo from a shelf.
"I'm afraid one won't suffice…" William said sheepishly.
"What do you need it for?" Lockhart asked, puzzled. "To impress a girl? If so, as your mentor, I must admonish you. I always accept gifts but only send thank-you notes in return."
"No, some of my friends want their hair to shine like yours," William replied with a grin.
Lockhart hesitated.
The shampoo was expensive to produce, as it contained a significant amount of Occamy eggs. Its high price and risks made it difficult to sell, which had long frustrated him.
Suddenly, inspiration struck him. A new opportunity!
Lockhart draped an arm around William, beaming. "William, I've heard you own Akali's Mystery Shop and sell rare alchemical items?"
"Yes, I'm connected with shops in both Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade," William said, intrigued. "How did you hear about that?"
"Who hasn't? 'The alchemical items sold at Akali's Mystery Shop are the finest quality.' Even I've heard that.
"You must have excellent connections to sell such high-end goods."
William raised an eyebrow, realizing where this was going. Smiling, he said, "I suppose so."
"Could you help me promote my products? My secret ambition is to rid the world of evil… and sell my haircare line."
William's grin widened. "Of course! But I'll need to distribute some samples to my friends, and trusted clients who can promote them.
"For example, Minister Fudge, my good friend Lucius Malfoy, and a certain Umbridge, one of your admirers…"
"Of course! Marketing is key. How many bottles do you need?" Lockhart asked, excited.
"Ten?" William suggested.
"Not a chance."
"Alright, eight."
"Thirty bottles! Don't hold back, or I'll be upset!"
William tried to insist on paying, rummaging through his empty pockets multiple times, only to be sternly rebuked by Lockhart. Eventually, he reluctantly accepted the shampoo.
With the Occamy eggs secured, William happily prepared to brew more Felix Felicis.
Indeed, freeloading was pure bliss.
Stashing the shampoo in his enchanted ring, William left the office, hearing Lockhart's cheerful singing as he walked away, celebrating the impending success of his shampoo line.
"Golden shampoo, fluffy hair.
"Holding my hand, counting freshly earned Galleons…"
"Just a dream, but one I'll cherish forever…"