Chapter 1-

The Once and Future Me

Oh, where to begin, where to begin?

Ah yes, on what seemed to be just your typical rainy grey day in Bristol, England on January 26, 1964, while the rest of the Wizarding World was caught up in a wave of hysteria over old moldy Voldy's rise to power, a potentially much bigger phenomenon was busy being born, in a literal labor of love that my mother describes as, and I quote, "not horrendously excruciating."

Indeed, it was your esteemed narrator himself, Gilderoy Lockhart, and I was the third child of the greatest Witch mother and Muggle father a boy could ever want.

But the thing was you see, when I was born, my dear magical mother had just about given up all hope on having any magical children, after my two much older sisters, who are just the about the loveliest Squibs you could ever meet (not that there's anything wrong with that), failed to materialize any magic. My mother then kept her magical abilities to herself for many years, as she didn't want to upset the rest of the family, or put them in danger. This strained my parents' relationship nearly to the braking point; Beetle the Bard never said mixed relationships were easy, that's for sure.

So, she kept her magic hidden, tucked away as it were; She wrapped up her wand, gave away her owl, and put her old broom in the closet. And when I was born, she had no idea if I was going to turn out to be magical, but still, she loved me all the same.

Since she wasn't sure if I was going to manifest growing up, I didn't even know of her secret power because she never mentioned, or demonstrated it. But then guess who changed all of that? No... not Merlin, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Gamed, or the even the great Gandalf-The-Grey.

That's right, it was little old magical me who changed all of that!

Because, strangely enough, around the age of six or seven I became fascinated with the idea of "magic", not real magic, mind you, as practiced by witches and wizards, but the kind practiced by muggle magicians- "magic tricks" on stage. Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but I did indeed love all the classic magicians like Harry Houdini and Harry Blackstone, and followed the comic strips featuring my favorite fictional character, the dapper and metropolitan Mandrake the Magician, who would fight crime by "gesturing hypnotically" to make people believe what he wanted them to see. He also lived in a really fabulous flat, and had a glamorous getaway car with all sorts of magical gadgets. All my family had was an old beat-up robin's egg blue Ford Anglia, so you could see how exciting being a world famous magician would be to a little one and half-stone, shaggy-haired whippersnapper such as myself.

As I got a little older, I began to practice magic tricks and illusions for my friends and family. At first I was skeptical of my intentions, did I really just want to be the center of attention? Could there be a dark side to magic? I wondered this terrible thought for a brief moment at the end of my first little performance, but then the crowd erupted into delight. They were cheering and applauding, and I thought to myself, "Isn't making people happy the real magic here?"

Good question... could there be anything more magical than that?

Little did I know, there actually was... like, real actual magic that was practiced by children at places like Hogwarts, and that my mother was secretly a real life witch. In any case, I practiced my magical illusions, and they became quite good, impressing friends and neighbors, and I began to book shows at birthday parties and make a little coin of the realm. I began to have dreams of becoming the world's most famous magician, where I would travel around the globe with a beautiful assistant, and would wow stadiums of crowds. And in doing so, would make the world a better place, a brighter place, where any dream is possible, especially my dream... of making the world a better place... for me.

But then one day, at little Mikey Chabon's Barmitzha, when I was eight years old, that all changed. As usual, I was thrilling the crowd with my illusions, and was ending with my show-stopping trick of pulling my pet bunny-Alice, out of my hat and placing her on my table where I would then make the rabbit "disappear" in a puff of smoke, while she secretly escaped through a trap door. But when I put the hat back on my head, I felt a plop, plop, plop. I quickly pulled it off, and much to my confusion, another different bunny jumped off my head. Looking into my hat, another rabbit then popped out, then another, and another.

"Amazing," I exclaimed, "it's just like magic!"

The rabbits hopped out into the crowd and I tried to chase them down and put them back. The audience went wild, and I tried my best to make it look like it was all part of the show. But I knew it couldn't be possible, could it? For I had hidden only a single bunny in the secret compartment of my hat, but something else had happened... something magical.

My mother still withheld her secret since she was afraid it had been a merely a Fluke, (The common house-hold Fluke, of course, being a type of mythical Boggart that likes to play cruel tricks on the Squib children of magical parents.) however, after other similar magical incidents, she finally sat me down and told me what had really happened and why. She confessed she was a witch. A real live witch just like Muggles watch on TV shows like Sabrina The Teenage Witch, or Bewitched, or Jeannie from "I Dream of Jeannie", who I guess was technically a Genie, but seemed pretty much like all the others witches on TV and in the movies, seeing as how she never ran out of wishes, or spells, or whatever.

I couldn't believe it!

She explained everything the best she could, and told me all about the real history of witches, wizards, goblins, and fairies. She also informed me of the recent rise of You-Know-Who, and how terrible Death Eaters were, and how they hated people like us, which they called Mudbloods. I tried to take it all in, but my mind was reeling, but I could feel deep down what she was saying was true.

"So, magic is... real?" I asked, looking up into her big blue eyes.

"Yes," she said with the world's second greatest smile, "But in order to stay hidden and safe, you can't perform magic tricks for people anymore. It's too risky and dangerous."

"What? Can't I use magic... to be a magician?" I asked, suddenly unsure of all this hocus pocus business, and wondered if she was playing some sort of trick on me herself.

"No... I'm sorry." My mother shook her head and gently placed her hand on my shoulder, "Death-Eaters look down on magicians as the lowest form of entertainment. Even worse than... mimes."

I was devastated.

What kind of monster was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Gamed? From that day on, I abhorred the idea of "Pure Blood", and being a dirty "Mudblood" myself, I hoped that You-Know-Hoodoo would one day be defeated, and that someday magical and non-magical people could eventually live in harmony. A rather beautiful and deep thought, isn't it? I know, I know... you underestimate me. It's all right, I under-estimate myself all the time and then surprise! I once again exceed myself.

Although my mother tried cheering me up by informing me that next year I would be going to the pre-eminent school for wizards and witches- the venerable and hallowed Hogwarts, it was little consolation.

My dreams of being a magician were over, and I wondered to myself, "Who are you Gilderoy, old boy?"

I honestly didn't know who I really was... but I was determined to find out.