Undercover With A Smile

July 1, 1993, 9:30 AM, Ministry Atrium

Gilderoy Lockhart

I strode through the Ministry atrium with my usual confident gait, though I confess I was rather disappointed by the lackluster reception. One would think that after my heroic exploits during the recent attack, there would be more admirers seeking autographs. Alas, the usual crowds seemed preoccupied with reconstruction efforts— perfectly understandable, if a touch disheartening.

The damage from Grindelwald’s assault was still evident, though the worst of it had been repaired. Scorch marks marred the previously gleaming floors, and several of the fireplaces along the walls remained cordoned off with magical tape. The Fountain of Magical Brethren had been hastily repaired, though the wizard’s nose was now slightly crooked.

Some dark magic just can’t be reversed that easily. I supposed. Rather gives him character, in my humble opinion.

My own reflection in the polished surfaces— those that remained intact— showed my appearance was, as always, immaculate. I’d chosen my periwinkle blue robes for the occasion, offset with silver trim that perfectly matched my award-winning smile.

The latest edition of Witch Weekly had called it “dazzling as a fresh-cast Lumos Maxima.” and who was I to argue?

The interview ahead was, of course, a mere formality.

After all, who else could they possibly consider for the position of higher officer training? My actions during the attack had finally given me the chance to demonstrate what I’d known all along— that Gilderoy Lockhart was more than just a pretty face and accomplished author.

Though I must say, being both certainly hasn’t hurt my career thus far.

That business in Hogsmeade with young Adam had been particularly illuminating.

He has considerable potential, I’ll grant him that, though his technique could use some polishing.

Still, leading that charge alongside an army of Acromantulas? The boy had a certain brilliance, if I did say so myself.

The Prophet’s headline the next day— “Lockhart Leads Legendary Defense of Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest”— had a lovely ring to it.

As I made my way toward the elevators, I noticed several officers clustered near the security desk, their faces grave as they pored over what appeared to be maps. The Ministry was still on high alert, naturally.

Grindelwald’s simultaneous attacks had shaken everyone’s sense of security. Well, almost everyone’s. I’d faced far worse in my travels, though my modesty prevented me from elaborating further.

The elevator arrived with a cheerful ding that seemed at odds with the somber atmosphere. As I stepped inside, I adjusted my robes and triple-checked my hair in the reflective surface of the doors. Perfect, as always. Standards must be maintained, even if the interview was a formality. After all, one never knows when one might encounter an admiring photographer or a journalist seeking a quick quote about one’s latest heroic deed.

“Level Two.” The cool voice announced. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

I squared my shoulders and gave my reflection one final, winning smile. Time to add another glittering achievement to my already remarkable career.

Before long, I found myself at my destination.

The interview room was disappointingly austere— not a single mirror in sight. How was one expected to maintain proper eye contact with one’s audience without the occasional subtle check of one’s appearance? Nevertheless, I made myself comfortable in the straight-backed chair facing three senior officials.

I recognized Madam Bones immediately, of course. Her reputation for no-nonsense efficiency preceded her, though I noted she still had not my advice about using my patented Hair-Raising Hair Care Potion. The other two were Auror Blackthorn, a weather-beaten man with impressive battle scars— though nothing compared to my own carefully concealed ones— and a younger witch whose name escaped me but whose admiring glance did not.

“Mr. Lockhart. We’ve already gone through the initial meetings concerning your credentials— as a Hogwarts Professor, you certainly have the qualifications. However…” Madame Bones began, shuffling her papers with unnecessary vigor. “Your application for the position of Higher Officer Training Instructor cites your recent actions during Grindelwald’s attack as a primary qualification. Would you care to elaborate? Of course, we know what happened, but we would like your full account of the matter.”

I favored her with my most charming smile— the one that won Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award fifteen times running. Subtle inquiry; I like this one.

“My dear Madame Bones, I should think my actions speak for themselves. But since you ask…” I leaned forward conspiratorially. “When the attacks began, I immediately recognized the pattern— having faced similar tactical deployments during my adventures in Upper Mongolia, you understand. The simultaneous strikes were meant to divide our forces, but I wasn’t about to let that happen.”

Blackthorn’s eyebrow rose slightly, before she seemed to almost glare. “And your decision to head to Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest specifically? As a Hogwarts Professor, was your duty not to safeguard the children at the castle, first and foremost?”

“Your words ring true, but I had been assured by the Headmaster himself that the students had been spirited back into the safety of Hogwarts Castle. What remained was the freedom to act, and so, my choices were made out of pure tactical necessity.” I replied, warming to my subject. “The village’s proximity to Hogwarts made it a crucial defensive point. It was my experience in handling aggressive wizards and magical creatures that proved decisive. Did you know I once convinced a whole colony of Mongolian Death Worms to relocate using nothing but a charmed flute and a pocket mirror?”

The young witch— I still couldn’t remember her name— leaned forward. “About the Acromantulas, Mr. Lockhart. That was quite unprecedented.”

“Ah, yes.” I modestly adjusted my sleeve. “When young Adam made contact with the leader of the spiders, I immediately saw the potential. Having previously negotiated with the Spider Sages of the Black Forest— fascinating tale, detailed in my upcoming memoir— I knew exactly how to handle the situation. It was simply a matter of proper diplomatic etiquette and knowing when to let others take the lead.” I paused thoughtfully. “Sometimes, you see, true leadership means knowing when to step back and let others shine. Though I must say, the way we rallied those spiders for the final charge was rather spectacular.”

“Your after-action report mentions several advanced Shield Charms used to protect civilians.” Madame Bones interjected, consulting her notes.

“Indeed! The Protego Maxima Trifecta, my own variation. Developed it during a particularly nasty encounter with a pack of werewolves in Romania.” He leaned forward, giving them his award-winning smile. “The key, you see, is in the wrist movement— a slight clockwise twist at the end that most wizards overlook. I’d be happy to demonstrate, though we might need a larger room to fully appreciate the effect.”

Blackthorn and Bones exchanged a look I pretended not to notice.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bones said. “Your practical demonstrations during the attack were quite sufficient. I presume you will impart this knowledge upon our officers?”

“Of course!”

“Splendid!” The young witch— Hopkins, that’s her name!— added, quill poised over her parchment. “We are also interested in your thoughts on training methodology. To get an idea of how you would handle the education of the rank and file.”

I sat up straighter, allowing my expression to become more serious.

“The key to effective training lies in preparation for the unexpected. Theory is all well and good, but real combat situations rarely follow textbook examples. I believe that what the officers need is adaptability, quick thinking, and the confidence to trust their instincts.” I paused for effect. “Take the Forbidden Forest situation— traditional tactical responses would never have considered utilizing Acromantulas as makeshift allies. Yet that unorthodox approach saved lives, safeguarded potential assets for the Ministry and secured a victory against Castelobruxo.”

The next half hour passed in similar fashion, with questions about training schedules, emergency response protocols, and my thoughts on inter-departmental cooperation. I answered each with my characteristic flair while ensuring to include genuine insights from my experiences— both the public ones and those I actually remembered.

Finally, Madame Bones set down her papers with a decisive tap. “Well, Mr. Lockhart, I believe we have everything we need. You’ll receive our official owl within the week, though I think we can all agree this interview was both productive and highly informative.”

“You’re too kind.” I replied, rising smoothly to my feet. “Though I do have some simply marvelous ideas about redesigning the training uniforms— should I be awarded the honor of the position. A touch of lilac would work wonders for morale…”

I could have sworn I saw Blackthorn suppress a twitch as I made my exit. Really, these serious types could do with learning to appreciate a bit of style with their substance.

I was still contemplating the various ways to improve the department’s aesthetic appeal as I made my way through the Ministry’s winding corridors. Perhaps a portrait or two of myself in action? For educational purposes, naturally. The students would need proper examples of heroic poses in combat situations.

The sensation came without warning— a peculiar lightness in my mind, like floating in a warm bath.

How terribly amateur.

An Imperius Curse, cast with reasonable skill, but hardly anything special. I’d built up quite a resistance to such mental magics during my training— the real training, not the published version. There was nothing quite like facing down a Memory Charm specialist in Zagreb to teach one mental fortitude.

Now, this was interesting. Should I simply have thrown it off immediately? That would have been the obvious choice, but in my experience, obvious choices rarely led to the most intriguing outcomes. No, better to play along and see where this particular thread led. After all, someone attempting to Imperio a potential future Ministry official? Simply scandalous— and potentially quite informative.

I made a show of staggering slightly, letting my steps falter. A bit of visible resistance would be expected— can’t make it look too easy, after all. I felt the mental command trying to take hold: Follow.

How delightfully vague. I allowed my feet to move jerkily, as though fighting the compulsion. Anyone watching would see the great Gilderoy Lockhart struggling valiantly against Dark Magic, only to slowly succumb. Really, I deserved an award for this performance.

The Curse led me down a series of increasingly deserted corridors. Whoever was behind this had at least done their homework regarding the Ministry’s layout. These particular halls were rarely used since the restructuring during the last month.

I maintained my façade of unwilling compliance, occasionally throwing in a slight twitch or mumbled protest. One must commit to one’s role, after all. Though I did wish they’d hurry up a bit— this shuffling walk was playing havoc with my robes’ natural flow.

It occurred to me, as I was directed down yet another abandoned corridor, that I really should write about this someday.

“Lockhart’s Guide to Resisting the Imperius Curse” Has a certain ring to it. Though perhaps a dramatic title is in order. “Mastering the Mind: A Hero’s Guide to Mental Defense”? I’ll have to consult with my publisher.

The whole charade was almost enough to make me miss the subtle signs of recent magic in the corridor ahead— almost, but not quite. Someone had cast a rather decent Notice-Me-Not charm, layered with some basic aversion wards. Again, adequate work, but nothing compared to the protection schemes I’d encountered—and actually defeated, thank you very much— in my time.

I allowed myself to be guided to a halt, maintaining that slightly vacant expression that people expect from Imperius victims. Inside, however, my mind was sharp and alert. Someone had gone to quite a bit of trouble to arrange this meeting, and I was simply dying to find out why.

The masked figure emerged from the shadows with what I suppose they thought was impressive stealth. I’d seen better entrances from amateur dramatic societies, though I kept this observation to myself, maintaining my glazed expression. The mask itself was rather derivative— black with silver filigree. Honestly, if one is going to go for intimidating headwear, one should at least attempt some originality.

“Gilderoy Lockhart.” The figure spoke in a magically disguised voice that reminded me of someone gargling gravel. Really, a simple Sonorus variant would have achieved a far more dramatic effect. I’d have to remember to mention that if we ever had a proper conversation. “Your recent… achievements have drawn attention.”

I allowed my head to loll slightly, playing up the effects of the Curse.

“Yes… achievements…” I mumbled, adding just a touch of drool at the corner of my mouth. Perhaps that was overdoing it, but in my experience, it’s better to oversell than undersell the performance.

The figure began to pace. Show-off.

“You will continue your work at the Ministry. You will accept the position they offer you. You will perform your duties exactly as expected.” They paused for dramatic effect— three steps too early, in my professional opinion. “And you will report everything you learn to us.”

“Report… everything…” I echoed, while mentally composing several possible chapters for my next book. ‘The Spy Who Cursed Me‘ had great potential, though my publisher might prefer something more alliterative.

“In two weeks’ time, you will return to this spot at midnight. You will tell no one of this meeting. You will show no sign of being our agent.” The figure’s voice dropped lower, presumably for emphasis. “Do you understand?”

I nodded slowly, making sure to let my head bob a bit too far. “Understand… must… report…”

The masked individual stepped closer— amateur mistake, really. I could have disarmed them six different ways, and that was without using the emergency wand I kept hidden in my left sleeve— a little trick I actually did learn in Upper Mongolia. “The Dark Lord requires loyal servants, Lockhart. You will be one of them.”

Oh, how fascinating! My other half— Riddle’s minions, then, and not some random opportunist. This was getting better by the minute. I wondered if I should try to get an exclusive interview out of this whole affair— ‘Inside the Inner Circle: Gilderoy Lockhart’s Undercover Exposé’ would fly off the shelves.

“Loyal… servant…” I managed to inject just the right amount of vacancy into my voice. “For… the Dark Lord…”

They seemed satisfied with my performance— though really, their standards must be terribly low if this was convincing them. With another attempt at dramatic flair, they swept away down the corridor, leaving me standing there in my supposedly cursed state.

I waited precisely forty-three seconds after their departure— timing is everything in these situations— before allowing myself a minute, satisfied smile. I made a show of shaking my head as if clearing it from the Curse’s influence, just in case anyone was still watching. One never knows where monitoring charms might be hidden, after all.

Really, the whole affair had been terribly convenient.

Not only had I managed to secure what promised to be an influential position within the Ministry—as if there had been any doubt— but now I had inadvertently stumbled into what could prove to be the intelligence coup of the century. Riddle’s organization attempting to plant a spy in the officer training program? Simply delicious.

I straightened my robes, which had become somewhat disheveled during my performance as an Imperius victim. That wouldn’t do at all. I pulled out my pocket mirror— the special one with the three-angle reflection charm— and quickly restored my hair to its usual perfect arrangement. One must maintain standards, even when playing double agent.

The question now was how best to use this situation to everyone’s advantage— particularly my own. I could, of course, report the incident immediately. But where would be the fun in that? No, far better to play along for a while, feed them carefully selected information, and gather intelligence of my own.

After all, my public persona of the charming, somewhat vain celebrity made me the perfect undercover agent. No one would ever suspect that behind my award-winning smile lay the mind of a master strategist.

I began making my way back toward the main corridors, careful to maintain a slightly uncertain gait for the benefit of any observers. Perhaps a slight stumble here, a pause to lean against the wall there… My theatrical training was really proving invaluable.

The possibilities were endlessly entertaining. I could expose a spy ring, thwart a major plot, and probably get at least two books out of the whole affair. ‘The Spy Who Cursed Me‘ was growing on me, though perhaps ‘Undercover with a Smile‘ would sell better in the international markets.

As I reached the more populated areas of the Ministry, I allowed my usual confident stride to gradually return. Later, I would have to consider how best to approach this opportunity. For now, I simply savored the delicious irony of the situation. They thought they were recruiting the famous Gilderoy Lockhart as their pawn, never suspecting they’d handed me exactly the sort of opportunity I’d been waiting for.

Really, one almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

oooo

Same Time

Adam Clarke

I stumbled slightly as I reappeared in my designated practice spot, fighting back the urge to retch. No matter how many times I did it, Apparition still felt like being squeezed through a rubber tube filled with ice water. At least I’d managed to keep all my body parts intact this time— a marked improvement from yesterday’s attempts where I’d left behind both of my eyebrows and half of my right hand’s fingers.

That hadn’t been pleasant.

The letters from Professor Snape and the Blackthorn family weighed heavily in my pocket. I hadn’t opened the Blackthorn one yet; something about the thick, cream-colored parchment with its ornate seal made me nervous.

Snape’s letter, on the other hand, had been typical— terse and demanding, though cryptic. After everything that had happened with Grindelwald’s attack and the chaos at the tournament, I couldn’t exactly blame him for pushing me for a meeting.

“Focus, Clarke.” I muttered to myself, gripping my wand tighter. “Destination, Determination, Deliberation.” 

I fixed my eyes on the marked spot ten feet away, trying to ignore the growing headache behind my eyes. The standard three D’s of Apparition felt almost mocking now— as if anything about magically teleporting yourself could be reduced to such simple terms. Still, I couldn’t deny the method worked.

When I’d first started, I could barely move three feet without splinching. Now I was managing short jumps with only mild nausea as a consequence.

Another crack echoed through the room as I disappeared and reappeared. The squeeze would always be there, but I was getting better at pushing through it. I had to.

I was about to attempt another jump when I heard the distinct sound of the front door opening downstairs, followed by Sirius’ familiar footsteps. Finally— it was time to head to the Weasleys. I tucked my wand away, taking a moment to steady myself against the wall as the room stopped spinning.

The sound of a door opening nearby told me Harry was emerging from his room too. We met in the hallway, exchanging knowing looks. He seemed to be handling everything better than I was, but then again, he’d had more practice dealing with life-altering events.

“Ready?” He asked, glancing at me with a hint of concern.

I nodded, trying not to show how drained the Apparition practice had left me. “As I’ll ever be. Think Molly’s made any treacle tart for you?”

“Knowing her? She’d probably make ten and feed me the lot.” Harry grinned, but I could see the slight tension in his shoulders. We were all carrying extra weight these days.

We headed downstairs together, finding Sirius waiting by the door. He was dressed in his usual casual elegance, but the Daily Prophet tucked under his arm and the slight furrow in his brow suggested he’d been keeping up with the latest news. Not that anyone was telling us kids much of anything these days— which was exactly why we needed to prepare ourselves.

“There you are.” Sirius said, his face brightening at the sight of us, though I noticed his eyes lingering on my slightly pale complexion. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Getting better.” I replied, straightening my robes. “I’ll fight you to prove it.”

“Ha! You’d lose.” Sirius barked out a laugh, but I caught the proud glint in his eye. “Well, come on then. Arthur’s expecting us, and you know how Molly gets if we’re late for lunch.”

A quick Side-Along, and we were there.

The familiar sight of the Burrow’s crooked silhouette against the afternoon sky was almost enough to make me forget the lingering queasiness from all of the Apparitions.

Almost.

We’d barely made it through the garden gate when Molly Weasley burst out of the house, her red hair catching the sunlight as she hurried toward us.

“Harry, dear! Adam!” She swept us both into one of her bear hugs before I could dodge. “You’re both looking peckish— come, come, I’ve just finished a batch of pasties.”

I caught Harry’s knowing smile over Mrs. Weasley’s shoulder. She always thought we looked too thin, but today there was something different in her fussing— an edge of anxiety that made her movements just a bit too quick, her voice a touch too bright.

“The others are out back.” She said, already herding us toward the house. “Go on and join them while I have a word with Sirius and Arthur.”

The way she shooed us along reminded me of how the older Thestral mothers would nudge their foals away from danger. Something was definitely up. I hung back just a moment, pretending to retie my shoelace, and caught a snippet of conversation as Molly practically dragged Sirius and Mr. Weasley inside.

“—Another three sanctuaries…” Mr. Weasley’s voice was unusually grave. “Charlie says they’ve never seen anything like it. Though, he said that the authorities are—”

The rest was lost as the kitchen door swung shut. Sanctuaries? Didn’t Charlie work in—

“You coming?” Harry called from the garden path.

“Yeah.” I straightened up, following him around the house. The Weasleys’ garden was its usual organized chaos— gnomes peeking out from behind overgrown vegetables, magical plants twining up makeshift trellises, and what looked suspiciously like one of the twins’ experiments smoking gently in a corner.

The regular gathering spot was easy to find— just follow the sound of Fred and George’s laughter. They were sprawled on the grass with Ron, while Ginny sat perched on an old stump, rolling her eyes at whatever her brothers were saying. Percy stood slightly apart as he maintained what he probably thought was a dignified distance from the chaos.

I couldn’t help but notice how they all straightened up slightly when they spotted us, the laughter dying down just a bit too quickly. Even the twins looked more serious than usual, though they were doing their best to hide it.

“Oi, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence!” Fred called out.

“We were starting to think you’d been carried off by pixies.” The other twin added.

There was something forced about their usual banter, I realized. I’d gotten better at reading the threads over the course of the year— had to, really, with everything that was going on— and right now, every one of the Weasley children was radiating tension beneath their casual exteriors.

I settled onto the grass, deliberately choosing a spot that gave me a clear view of both the house and my fellow students.

Harry sat next to me, and I could tell from the set of his shoulders that he’d picked up on the atmosphere too. We’d both learned the hard way that sometimes the most important conversations happened in these quiet moments, when the adults thought we weren’t paying attention.

“So…” I said carefully, watching their faces as well as their threads. “Has your mum been stress-baking again? Because I swear I could smell treacle tart from the front gate.”

Twitch.

Bingo.

The way Percy’s hand tightened on his robes told me everything I needed to know about the anxiety level inside the Burrow. Now I just had to figure out the best way to get them to tell us what they knew about Romania.

“Here.” Percy’s voice cut through the awkward silence as he thrust a copy of the Daily Prophet at me. I hadn’t even seen him pull it out— though come to think of it, when didn’t Percy have a newspaper tucked away somewhere?

“Do you just… permanently keep newspapers in your robes?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Percy’s ears went pink, reminding me strongly of Ron whenever he got embarrassed.

“Well, it’s important to stay informed of current events.” He said stiffly. “My future duties will require a thorough understanding of—”

“Future Head Boy already preparing his speeches?” Fred cut in, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, do give us a preview, Perce.” George added, adopting an exaggerated formal pose. “Something about broom size regulations, maybe?”

I unfolded the paper while the twins continued their performance, complete with mock-pompous gestures that had Ginny struggling to contain her giggles. The headline was one I hadn’t yet seen. I began to read: