Joining the Ministry of Magic was no small feat. Kingsley dragged Lockhart through a whirlwind of a dozen different offices to sign paperwork, and even after the clerks scribbled their names, many forms still needed the approval of department heads. In the process, Lockhart quickly became familiar with the bigwigs of every major department.
It was during this chaos that he realized just how impressive Kingsley was. The man seemed to be on good terms with every department head, effortlessly smoothing the way for Lockhart's paperwork.
Of course, there was one final hurdle: the signatures of the Minister of Magic and the Undersecretary.
As they walked toward the Minister's office, Kingsley casually asked, "So, Gilderoy, what's it like running through all these departments?"
Lockhart shot him a knowing glance. Kingsley hid his emotions well, but Lockhart's Boggart senses picked up a faint trace of wariness. It stemmed from the fact that everywhere Lockhart went, he was swarmed by adoring fans. That kind of influence wasn't something to scoff at, especially in the eyes of the Ministry's political players.
Plenty of people were probably wondering if Lockhart could wield that popularity as a political weapon.
Tch.
He'd accidentally stumbled into a strange new world—a political one. This was an adventure he had no interest in. It had nothing to do with magic.
Lockhart flashed the charming, disarming smile he knew politicians would see as harmless, the kind of grin that screamed I'm just a celebrity, no threat here! "It's not exactly fun," he said lightly. "You can't go anywhere without tripping over someone from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. For a half-blood like me from an ordinary wizarding family, climbing the ladder here feels like a long shot."
Kingsley's tension visibly eased.
He'd clearly been worried that Lockhart might get swept up in the fan frenzy and cause trouble for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix's plans.
Thankfully, this celebrity seemed to know his place.
Kingsley nodded. "It's not entirely like that. The Ministry's staff comes from two main groups. The Sacred Twenty-Eight usually snag the high-power roles, while older pure-blood families tend to fill positions that require knowledge or combat skills."
"For example, the Department of Mysteries—Sacred Twenty-Eight members rarely get in there."
"That's what Dumbledore's been working on," Kingsley continued. "He's brought in new blood—half-bloods and Muggle-born witches and wizards from ordinary families."
He gestured toward the office at the end of the hall. "Our Minister, Cornelius Fudge, is the highest-ranking member of that group."
"For Fudge to hold his ground in a Ministry carved up by the Sacred Twenty-Eight and old pure-blood families, he needs Dumbledore's full support—or he has to promote more half-bloods and Muggle-borns from ordinary backgrounds."
Kingsley's expression turned unreadable. "That's how someone like Dolores Umbridge, from a humble background, got the chance to become Undersecretary. She's Fudge's most crucial ally, bar none."
So…
Politically speaking, Umbridge was aligned with the Order of the Phoenix?
Or rather, her rise to Undersecretary was a win Dumbledore was happy to see.
As for her insufferable personality? That didn't matter much. To carve out a path for ordinary wizards in the Ministry's web of entrenched interests, you needed someone with her aggressive edge. She was the perfect counterbalance to Fudge's people-pleasing nature.
Lockhart let out a low whistle, suddenly grasping the scope of Dumbledore's maneuvers.
Dumbledore had pulled it off. In the original books, after his death, when his influence faded, Hermione Granger—a Muggle-born from an ordinary family—became Minister of Magic.
Sure, it might've helped that she married into one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but it was still a massive step forward.
From Fudge to Hermione, that path had been paved.
For Hermione to stand firm in the Ministry, she'd need to balance relationships with the Sacred Twenty-Eight and older families while uplifting more ordinary wizards who shared her interests.
Kingsley paused, giving Lockhart a warm look. "So, your presence here? Fudge and Umbridge will welcome it, even if they don't personally like you. They'll want you in the Ministry."
"But me showing up with you? That might make them keep their distance."
Picking sides—navigating the Ministry's cliques—was the name of the game.
Kingsley gestured for Lockhart to go on alone. "This is where I leave you."
"Thanks!" Lockhart said sincerely. Kingsley had expertly guided him through the bureaucratic maze and laid out the Ministry's power dynamics in a way that was crystal clear.
"No need to thank me. It's all Dumbledore's doing," Kingsley said, hesitating before adding, "Actually, there's something I might need your help with."
Lockhart raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"When we were at the Crabbe safehouse…" Kingsley gave him a curious look. "I noticed Umbridge seemed a bit… afraid of you?"
Yeah, that'd be the dark magic of my vicious werewolf aura, tapping into her primal fear of apex predators.
Lockhart wasn't about to spill his secrets, though. He just grinned. "Maybe shady people just feel a bit ashamed when they're around a shining beacon of goodness like me. Makes them shrink a little."
Uh…
Kingsley looked thrown by the sheer audacity of Lockhart's confidence, his mouth twitching as he fought a smile. After a moment, he said quietly, "Truth is, Umbridge is a bit of a wildcard for the Order. We have to tolerate her, but she's hard to control. Lucky for us, it seems you might have some sway over her…"
He looked hopeful. "If you can rein in that unpredictability, you'd be someone the Order would really want on their side."
Got it. Everyone's got to have value, and Kingsley saw Lockhart's worth from the Order's perspective.
Being needed meant he wouldn't be cast aside for the "greater good" when push came to shove.
"I'll take that challenge," Lockhart said with a grin.
He never would've guessed Umbridge, of all people, would become a bargaining chip for him—or that his werewolf research would yield such an unexpected bonus.
Nice.
He stepped forward and knocked on the door.
"Come in!" Umbridge's voice had that peculiar, affected sweetness, dripping with a girlish charm that felt like an old cucumber painted green—absurdly out of place.
Lockhart's expression shifted.
He often told his students that "finding solutions tailored to a creature's traits" was one of the most effective tools in a Defense Against the Dark Arts scholar's arsenal.
So, what were Umbridge's traits?
A love for appearances? A bully who picked on the weak but cowered before the strong?
He flicked his hand, pulling a small one-ounce (29ml) bottle from his ring. Inside was a viscous red liquid, glimmering with tiny golden flecks visible through the brown glass.
This was Snape's creation—a cosmetic derived from the active beneficial bacteria in the spring water summoned by the冤死仙女 (Wronged Fairy).
Yep, a cosmetic.
Lockhart had initially planned to market the Water of Life as a high-end beverage, but after Snape tinkered with it and whipped up a simple formula, it turned into a paste. So, Lockhart pivoted, branding it as a luxury skincare product—a magical potion that revitalized the skin.
From drink to cosmetic, the profit potential was endless.
And who better to break into the market than the Undersecretary of the Ministry? All it'd take was a casual mention during an interview with his old schoolmate Rita Skeeter: "Oh, Dolores, how's your skin so flawless?" followed by a glowing write-up brimming with enthusiasm.
Nice.
But a cosmetic alone wouldn't cut it. Lockhart chuckled, dark smoke swirling in his eyes as the red glint of his werewolf aura flickered and vanished. He cranked the vicious werewolf magic to full blast.
Locked and loaded.
He pushed open the door.
"If you're here for Minister Fudge, you'll have to wait. He's at the hospital checking on the students…" Umbridge was sorting papers, her head down, gesturing absently toward a chair.
But before she could finish, a terrifying presence loomed closer.
She swallowed hard, her heart gripped by an invisible, clawed hand. It squeezed, her pulse racing before stuttering to a halt.
Suffocating!
Something was coming!
Unnameable!
Terrifying!
Her panicked mind couldn't think straight; even her vision blurred. She strained to see, her wide eyes and frantic thoughts refusing to cooperate.
All she could make out was a howling gust of wind in the corridor, stirring up chaotic black smoke laced with the stench of blood. A warped figure was approaching.
She wanted to run, but her trembling hands and feet wouldn't obey.
The footsteps—tap, tap, tap—drew closer, pounding against her soul, chilling her to the bone.
"Noooo!"
Umbridge screamed, flailing her arms in panic. In a fleeting glimpse, she saw the figure's face—Gilderoy Lockhart, the man who filled her with an instinctive dread.
This man is an incredibly dangerous dark wizard!
Hiding among them with a smiling face, secretly plotting something evil and terrifying!
She saw through him!
She swore she'd seen through his wicked schemes!
She'd felt uneasy about him before, but she hadn't expected Gilderoy Lockhart to come for her so soon!
Of course—she should've known. Scrimgeour and his Aurors were useless; they couldn't hold this monster. He was here to kill her!
No!
Don't kill me!
I want to live!
Umbridge's composure shattered, her scream echoing as she nearly toppled from her chair.
"Huh? Are you alright?"
A warm voice cut through the fog. Suddenly, the office brightened, the oppressive aura vanishing like a bad dream.
Umbridge looked up to see Gilderoy Lockhart smiling at her, his face radiating concern.
No!
It's a lie! A total lie!
You can't fool me with that mask, you monster!
She screamed internally, forcing her expression to stay calm. Stay calm. She couldn't let this dark wizard know she'd seen through him—or who knew what horrors awaited her.