"I'm so foolish… truly foolish."
During Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Lockhart raised his dull, lifeless eyes and continued speaking.
"I've always known that Bushmills whiskey is quite strong, you're not supposed to drink too much of it at once. But I didn't know that adding red wine makes it that intoxicating…"
"During the feast, I returned to my office to prepare my lessons alone when the leader of the dwarfs came knocking at my door, saying that his brother was missing.
"I asked around, and sure enough, he was nowhere to be found.
"I was panicked and went out to search. After the feast ended, I searched high and low until I reached my bedroom, and found his clothes neatly folded at the door.
"The other dwarfs started to panic, saying that he must have been attacked.
"When I went inside, there he was, lying on my bed, completely undressed, tied up, and still clutching my autograph in his hand…"
Lockhart's voice trailed off into sobs, unable to form coherent sentences.
Ever since that day, after Lockhart drank the love potion Snape had slipped him and shared that "passionate" moment with the dwarf, he had become the pitiful figure he was now.
The students sitting below yawned as they listened to Lockhart's tale.
At first, some of them had shed a few sympathetic tears.
But as Lockhart repeated the story more and more, no one was interested anymore, not even Marietta, his most devoted admirer.
But that didn't stop Lockhart from retelling it over and over again, keenly observing the audience's reactions.
As a true writer, he had to know which version of the story could best tug at his readers' heartstrings, or spark their intrigue.
Lockhart planned to turn his pain into power by artistically modifying his personal experience and weaving it into his next book.
In this new version, however, the protagonist wouldn't be himself. Instead, the victim of the dwarf's ambush would be… Snape.
In Lockhart's upcoming story, Snape would be the tragic hero, a victim of treacherous attacks from bloody dwarfs on his quest for justice!
This was Lockhart's unique way of exacting revenge!
Since he couldn't defeat Snape outright, he would defeat him with his pen… by writing him to death!
Ah, what a stubborn, unyielding Englishman of iron will.
After class, Lockhart stopped William.
"What is it, Professor?" William asked, puzzled.
"My shampoo…how's it doing?" Lockhart wrung his hands eagerly.
"The feedback… hasn't been great," William hesitated before replying.
In truth, there had been no feedback, William had either distilled the shampoo himself or used the samples to experiment with new ingredients.
But he certainly couldn't admit that. After all, he was a master of squeezing resources dry, and Lockhart was his current target.
Might as well fleece the man completely!
"What should we do? I've already handed out so many bottles!"
Lockhart's face turned pale with distress, each bottle represented a precious Galleon!
He had spent years braving wind and rain, gathering inspiration for his novels, and enduring all kinds of hardships, even being attacked by dwarfs at Hogwarts. Wasn't he entitled to earn an honest living?
"Don't worry, Professor," William reassured him, "This is called scarcity marketing, a small initial loss to make a big splash!
"By giving away free samples, we get people hooked. Once they can't live without the shampoo, we jack up the price and rake in the profits!
"Trust me, I'm a professional!"
"Hmm… that makes sense." Lockhart nodded, though he still seemed uncertain, "But you just said the feedback was bad."
"That's only on the British Isles! Wizards here are simple-minded, they wouldn't recognize a good product if it hit them in the face. Why do you think there are so many bald wizards here?"
"Good point…" Lockhart muttered, fear creeping into his eyes.
After all, his greatest fear was losing his hair, he'd started developing the shampoo precisely because he dreaded going bald.
From Lockhart's years of experience, many young wizards at Hogwarts were destined for baldness.
Take Draco Malfoy, for instance, his hair was always slicked back until it shone.
Draco was twelve years old now, and Lockhart was convinced he wouldn't make it to adulthood without thinning hair.
What Lockhart couldn't understand, though, was Dumbledore.
Judging by the headmaster's hair, he should have gone bald in middle age, but instead, he had luxurious, flowing locks even in his old age!
Lockhart had never heard of any potion that could cure baldness, it was supposed to be incurable.
The only explanation was that Dumbledore wore a wig!
William wasn't finished.
"British wizards may not appreciate your brilliance, but let me tell you, the Russians love your shampoo.
"They adore explosions, danger, and excitement. The more extreme, the better.
"And the Nordic wizards? You know the headmaster of Durmstrang, Igor Karkaroff?
He wrote me a letter saying he absolutely loves your shampoo."
"You know Karkaroff?" Lockhart's eyes lit up with surprise and delight.
"Of course! We hit it off immediately, like brothers. He even invited me to study at Durmstrang!"
"How did he rate my shampoo?"
"He said it made his chest hair incredibly silky, and he even wants to invite you, the genius inventor, to take a shower with."
"…" Lockhart instinctively covered his backside, memories of past trauma flashing through his mind.
"Oh, by the way, William, I still have a few crates of shampoo left, take them all with you later!"
"That wouldn't be appropriate, Professor. I'm not that kind of person."
"Come on, don't be so formal, we're practically family!"
At that moment, a barn owl flew in.
William paused. It was Rita Skeeter's owl.
Muttering an apology, he stepped into the corner, untied the letter, and opened the envelope.
Reading the contents, William's brows furrowed deeply.
"What's the matter, William? Who sent the letter?" Lockhart asked with a smile.
William forced a smile in return and gave Lockhart a meaningful look.
"Oh, nothing… I just suddenly realized how extraordinary you are, Professor, full of hidden depths."
…
Headmaster's Office
Dumbledore sat with his hands clasped, leaning back in his chair.
"Where did you get this information, William?" he asked softly.
"Um… well…"
"You don't have to say if you are uncomfortable."
"It's from Rita. I have a small hold over her," William said vaguely.
"Ah, so it was her you were talking about at Christmas?"
"That's right," William nodded, "But this isn't about Rita, it's about Hagrid!"
"Hagrid is not the main issue in this entire matter," Dumbledore said calmly.
"But Lockhart has accused Hagrid of opening the Chamber of Secrets. He's going to be taken to Azkaban, Fudge is sending in Aurors…"
"This was inevitable."
Dumbledore's voice was even, as though he had anticipated this for some time.
"When the Chamber was first opened, Fudge wrote to me, wanting to arrest Hagrid and send him to Azkaban. I managed to stop it that time."
"So… there's no way to change things now?"
"No." Dumbledore shook his head, his gaze sharp behind his half-moon spectacles.
"William, you need to understand our dear Minister better, you'll have to deal with him sooner or later."
"What do you mean?"
"I've submitted your name as the British Youth Representative for the Wizengamot."
"I thought you were joking!"
"Fudge may have been speaking casually, but I wasn't. And since I happen to be the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I need your assistance."
William didn't seem too concerned. "We'll discuss the Minister later. Let's talk about him now."
Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and spoke in a low voice:
"Fudge is a politician through and through. When trouble arises, his first instinct is to pass the blame and shift responsibility onto someone else.
"When the attacks at Hogwarts began, he couldn't handle the pressure. He will take Hagrid away to quell the public outcry.
"I've been stalling for time, but I can't completely undermine him. After all, I am not the Minister of Magic.
"And deep down, Fudge fears me. He's convinced that I'm after his power."
"Why don't you become the Minister? You'd be far better than him," William asked, genuinely puzzled.
Dumbledore fell silent, lost in thought for a long while.
"William, I'm not boasting when I say that the position of Minister has been offered to me more than once, many times, in fact.
"But I turned it down every time because I knew I couldn't be trusted with that kind of power."
"Why not?"
"Because when I was young, I made mistakes, terrible, desperate mistakes… I hurt someone. A child, much like your sister Annie."
"That incident taught me that power is my weakness, my greatest temptation. I swore… that I would spend my life as a teacher at Hogwarts."
Dumbledore stared out the window in silence, lost in his memories.
William stayed silent too, sitting with him in quiet contemplation.
He suddenly realized that the man before him, so revered, so dependable, was an elderly man of over a hundred years, with white hair and a heart burdened by sorrow.
Everyone was so used to Dumbledore standing at the forefront, shielding them from the storm.
Unable to bear the sight of Dumbledore's pain, William softly said:
"Professor, if that child could see you now, so noble and wise, she would forgive you."
"Yes."
Tears streamed down Dumbledore's face. "She was always so gentle… she would have smiled and forgiven me.
"But I cannot forgive myself."
"I don't deserve forgiveness.
"Hogwarts… is my Azkaban."
William opened his mouth but found no words. Instead, he stood, walked over, and gently patted the old man's broad shoulder.
The scene was strange yet profoundly tragic.