HP: Fairy Tale Wizard - 162

Chapter 162: "Famous Author's" Unlucky Day

My name is Gilderoy Lockhart. Age twenty-eight. I have recently received the Order of Merlin, Third Class. Unmarried. My job is to provide publishers with excellent manuscripts.

Every month, I acquire inspiration for at least one story from someone else. I don't smoke. I enjoy drinking firewhisky. I start writing at 9:00 a.m. I must write a minimum of four thousand words daily.

Before writing, I select a lucky adventurer to listen to their story, then thoughtfully cast Obliviate, making them forget everything. That way I can confidently claim the story is from my own personal experience.

This has made me the bestselling novelist in the magical world. Readers say I'm the great Gilderoy Lockhart.

What I mean is, I'm someone eager to package myself with glorious stories, unbound by morality and law, leaving no oversight that could cause my downfall. This is my attitude toward this magical world.

I also understood this was my happiness. But how did it become like this?

First, I received recruitment information for Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts, planning to reap a massive profit by incorporating all my series into the curriculum.

I also heard about a drunk wizard whose mouth had no filter, but whose magical skills were supposedly formidable, offering quite a unique experience.

These dual joys overlapped, bringing even more joy. I should have obtained a dreamlike happiness.

Yet why did it become like this?

It was me. I went first. Whether it was Veritaserum, Obliviate, or secretly brewed Dreamless Sleep Tea—

What?! You've got to be kidding. Aren't I the master of the three-step strategy: trick intelligence, surprise attack, erase memory, and leave? Why, why, why? I barely asked for a name before being beaten and tossed into the Thames?

Lockhart suddenly jerked upright, rigidly. Had Sterling's instinct not been sharp, this man would probably have needed another nap.

A Nightmare's physical constitution! Kid. This was the natural physique of an active Quidditch team member. A single elbow strike could cause feedback damage to oneself, so forceful was it.

"This wizard? May I ask where this is? Oh, I'm Gilderoy Lockhart. Perhaps you recognize me? My head is probably not very clear at the moment. Why am I here?"

Lockhart's eyes spun as he hatched a scheme. Regardless of circumstance, playing amnesia was never a bad move, especially since he'd only "forgotten" the memory of this fainting. It wouldn't affect his personal image.

Sterling adjusted his black-framed glasses, exchanging a glance with Robin beside him.

His "Andersen" transformation remained active, so to Lockhart, he appeared as an adult wizard—probably identified by the wand resting on the steering wheel.

"This is the bottom of the Thames. I found you in the water. You were close to drowning."

"Oh! Dear friend, I would like to thank you for your assistance. But I must say one thing: that probably wasn't drowning. In fact, I've cast very powerful magic on my body. This magic could even allow me to return from Death's realm. Of course, this doesn't render your aid meaningless. I think I'm remembering how I ended up in the Thames. It all comes down to an abominable water creature!"

Lockhart spoke without pause, and remarkably, his eyes never wavered once.

Sterling actually sensed a hint of sincerity in his expression.

"I discovered it in a bottomless cave at the Thames's bed. Yes, it was even more massive than the Loch Ness Monster I've seen before. It wasn't a hippocampus. It was something entirely new, a never-before-seen magical creature. Of course, I'll inform Newt Scamander of this discovery. We're good friends. Many of the creatures in his Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them were discovered by me during my adventures and told to him."

"Newt even said he wanted to add me as an author. I said, 'Come on, Newt! I'm not providing these for fame!' Besides, seeing my adventure stories alone is enough to make me famous worldwide, and it has truly proven to be true. Order of Merlin Third Class—quite respectable, isn't it? Especially for my age. They once wanted to give me a First Class award, but I refused."

"Too showy, right? And compared to the Order of Merlin medals, I actually prefer my Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award. Won it five consecutive times. I don't mean to boast, but my readers are quite enthusiastic."

Did he forget what he was originally trying to say about the "Thames water creature"?

Anyway, it's all made-up stories. Might as well listen half-heartedly.

Sterling and Robin exchanged another glance. In that instant when Sterling's eyes left him, Lockhart's eyes snapped wide open.

A concealed white light shot from the wand tip, emerging from his trouser pouch, rapidly approaching Sterling. Lockhart immediately smiled, but before he could widen it, he felt a tremendous force suddenly from behind.

Nearly breaking his lumbar discs.

Then, to his utter bewilderment, the Obliviate hit "Sterling's" head, but he instantly scattered into countless flower petals while his hair was seized and yanked upward.

"Repaying kindness with ingratitude seems premature, Mr. Gilderoy."

"He cried, chirp? Why so fragile, chirp?"

Sterling bent down, indeed seeing Lockhart with tears streaming down his face, snot mixed with tears covering his entire visage.

That's not right. I didn't use much force. There haven't been any recent strength increases. Not even adult wizards should cry this hard from minor pain, right?

No, he definitely attacked first, didn't he?

"How dare you cry?" Sterling grabbed his hair again. That golden hair's quality was disgustingly excellent. Even after soaking in the Thames, it remained silky smooth to the touch.

Sterling wouldn't develop any compassion just because a grown man was weeping. If his instinct hadn't worked from the start, using illusion to deceive his vision, that concealed, rapid spell would've been difficult to block. Though he'd certainly have looked like a coward doing so.

Lockhart said nothing, only continuously wept.

But Sterling watched and noticed something amiss. His crying seemed not to be from wanting to cry. Instead, his expression showed bewilderment at his own situation.

Lockhart pointed at his own eyes and mouth, regarding Sterling with a look of panic.

"Robin, step back. Is this a curse? Or some potion or magical effect?"

Sterling immediately retreated several steps. Fortunately, after fishing Lockhart out, he'd expanded the submarine's interior space. Otherwise, two grown men squeezed together would leave nowhere to hide.

He sensed it was a curse. Curses were best avoided. Physical contact was risky, and even being in the same space carried danger. Any safety precaution was worth taking.

"I... save... me..."

Lockhart now truly regretted everything. His eyes felt numb from weeping. In just moments, he'd shed countless tears, thoroughly soaking his entire outfit. His mouth wasn't idle either—water spouted out continuously, like a fountain. He couldn't manage incanting spells. That Obliviate was silent-cast. Gritting his teeth, silent and wandless wasn't impossible. But other magic? Completely helpless. Without holding a wand and incanting, he couldn't even manage a simple Lumos.

Now, if Sterling didn't help, he would really be finished.

But Lockhart, judging himself by his own standards, someone who'd just ambushed him and now lay cursed—he'd save him?

No. He'd already be generous, not walking over and stomping a few times, true to Hogwarts teachings.

Thinking this, despair flooded Lockhart's eyes.

Sterling coldly watched him writhe like a worm on the ground. His heart remained unmoved.

Yes, he cried miserably, and his expression certainly conveyed exquisite anguish. But Sterling felt nothing. Like watching a film. Neither pity for him nor mockery at karmic retribution.

But after a moment's silence, Sterling still raised his hand. The Author's Witness landed in his palm.

"I ask you one question. Have you ever intentionally harmed another person's life?"

Simultaneously writing in the book: "Gilderoy Lockhart cannot lie and will answer questions only by nodding or shaking his head."

Lockhart hesitated, then shook his head.

Though he fabricated stories, appropriated others' experiences, and carelessly cast Obliviate, he'd never actually harmed anyone's life. Otherwise, he wouldn't need Obliviate. After all, death was the best way to keep secrets.

"What magic were you attempting to use on me?"

"Obli... Obliviate..."

Obliviate. Sterling sighed, writing "Gilderoy Lockhart" on the book.

"Gilderoy Lockhart should have died, but with Sterling Page's unexpected help, escaped death. Now the death he evaded finds him again. Inevitably, the Grim Reaper has marked his right pinky with a death sentence."

Hmm? No manifestation of his current tear-streaming-to-death reality. However, this is what the so-called "death mark" is supposed to cause.

In that case, should I try changing reality without using The Author's Witness?

Sterling's fingertip ignited a small flame. He bent down, bringing it near Lockhart's right pinky.

Lost in anguish, Lockhart didn't notice Sterling had taken his hand. The flame's tail already wound around his fingernail.

"Just once. Won't hurt."

Then a pig-slaughtering shriek exploded from Lockhart's mouth, making Robin's eyes widen, nearly fell over.

Sterling dispersed the flame, brushing away a bit of ash with it.

This time, Lockhart wasn't clutching his face. He clutched his right hand, rolling about the ground.

Good news: he stopped crying. He wouldn't cry to death.

Bad news: his pinky was gone.

Sterling put away The Author's Witness, drew his wand, and cast Stupor.

He'd originally wanted to ask what exactly Lockhart had done and why he attacked, but Lockhart was too noisy. Sterling couldn't take it.

Anyway, there were other ways to get what he wanted.

Opening his magical sight, Sterling found Lockhart very odd.

Others' "threads," whether numerous or few, always maintained the same base color. Even though Ron and Hermione's threads showed some "gilding," their base remained identical.

But Lockhart differed. The thread at his very centre, the most crucial one, was a faint grey.

While others, wrapped around the grey thread, were rainbow-coloured.

Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Practically a full spectrum.

This was Sterling's first time witnessing someone like this.

Mm, anyway, extracting stories caused no harm to the person. After all, the story's protagonist was still him. Sterling was merely a reader.

Like borrowing a book from a library. After reading, it returns to the owner.

So Sterling shamelessly plucked several threads of each colour. White, of course, he grabbed most of. Specifically, the shortest ones, as these were the most recently generated stories.

Stories corresponding to Lockhart falling into the Thames before this, and his planned ambush of Sterling.

As for his "Thames water creature," whoever believed it was foolish.

Given the magical reserves Sterling sensed in him, even a hippocampus would pin him underwater. Actually, Sterling doubted if he could beat a troll.

Those stories were probably fabricated after a casual review of some references. Not to diminish Lockhart. His novel-writing ability, Sterling admired. Written so realistically that without Professor McGonagall's heads-up, Sterling might've initially believed Lockhart was a knowledgeable, battle-experienced master.

Sterling carefully used Obliviate to erase Lockhart's memories of him. In Lockhart's revised memory, he woke in the Thames already washed to the embankment.

Then Sterling grabbed his collar and dragged him from the submarine, tossing him onto the riverbank.

After a while, Lockhart sat up shakily, stretching.

"Ah, why does my whole body ache—especially my back and eyes—and my hand—"

"MY PINKY!!!!!!!!!"

That day, elderly Londoners strolling along the Thames witnessed the birth of a new star.

After wailing for ages, Lockhart remembered to maintain his image. He hastily vacated the area, muttering irritably while heading home.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it. I absolutely must take revenge on that cursed Dark wizard. Punish that Dark wizard."

"But first, I must finish Me With Magic. I remember, I remember. Wait, how do I continue writing? What happened next?"