Magical Me
By Publicola

This story was previously titled 'Gilding the Son of Lily.'

Published: 2-22-14

Harangued by a Healer

"You've heard I'll shortly be living at Hogwarts full time, correct?"

"Your point?" Hestia's hands twitched where they rested on the table between us, perhaps looking for some paper to shuffle, or, more likely, a wand with which to curse.

"Point being, soon I won't be able to stay as on top of things as I have been."

"And that's a bad thing?"

I sighed. "You tell me. Who brought in Pettigrew again? How far do you think you'd have gotten without my help?"

Now it was her turn to grimace. "Fair enough. I suppose you'd like to stay in the loop, then?"

"I should think."

"And how do you see that working out?"

"No idea. Perhaps Amelia might care to visit with her niece sometime? They could make a day of it in Hogsmeade, and if I just happen to be the one to escort her there…. I'm sure we'll think of something."

"Certainly. Can't promise I'll work too hard at it."

"I wouldn't expect you to. No doubt Amelia will have you busy with more important work, like figuring out Dumbledore's ties to all this."

"Or figuring out how to pin it on Fudge at the end of the day?"

"Pardon?"

"Nothing, it's just…." She stopped, then started again. "I've only just begun to on this case, and it's already keeping me up at night. Even with the evidence we've gathered, how easy do you imagine it'd be for Fudge to make Crouch Sr. the scapegoat for the whole mess?"

"You think…?"

"Crouch was the DMLE head at the time. And the only way he survive that last scandal was because people credited his policies with turning the tide of the war. As far as heroes go, he was second only to the Boy-Who-Lived for a lot of folks."

I nodded. "But the public's memory is short, and he's been out of the DMLE long enough where the only ones who'd remember are folks like Dumbledore or Malfoy, who condemn him for those policies."

"And we both know they'd back Fudge in a heartbeat, if only to keep their names clear of the scandal."

"You're right: this is troublesome." I weighed the matter. "I can't say I have an answer for you, though I'm sure you figured out where to look for one."

"Where's that?" Her brow furrowed.

"Oh… I thought it obvious. We need to marginalize Crouch before we go public. Fudge can't skirt the scandal by throwing him to the wolves, if Crouch is already kibble."

"Why would that stop Fudge?"

"I'm not saying it would, only that it'd keep everyone else from going along with it." At her look of non-comprehension, I continued. "I do hope you appreciate the magnitude of this scandal. Sirius Black is more than just the rightful guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived; he's the Scion of an Ancient and Noble House, and the Ministry conspired to keep him from his duly inherited seat on the Wizengamot. I sincerely doubt they'd let the Minister get away with blaming the whole mess on a political non-entity."

"…And you don't think Fudge would find it easier to pin it on someone who'd already been disgraced?"

"No, I don't. There will be baying for blood before all is said and done, and Crouch will only be the appetizer. Don't forget, too, that we only need to keep the scandal afloat until we secure those files from Fudge's office. At that point, the jig would truly be up."

Hestia nodded hesitantly. "All right, say I buy your idea. So what's your point? Is there something your trying to tell me, or is this all just wishful thinking?"

"Aye, there's the rub," I sighed. "Did Amelia ever mention my work with Cresswell, the reorganization proposal to bring the Beings Division into Crouch's department?"

The abrupt change in topic stymied her briefly. "She did. You still owe us an explanation for that, by the way. But what's that got to do with—?"

"Getting there. Next question: how much do you know about Crouch and the attrition rate among his staff?"

"You mean the fact that he runs through clerks like Dumbledore runs through DADA professors? I heard it was the same way back when he ran the DMLE. The Aurors and Hit Wizards stuck around, but Amelia had a bear of a time early on trying to bring the paper-pushers back into the fold."

"Huh. Wonder if that added to the chaos after his son was tossed in Azkaban." This was the reason Percy Weasley practically ran the show when he was only in his first year at the Ministry – he was almost the only one left in the Department after Crouch fell under his son's thrall. "You know what, doesn't matter. As I was saying, Crouch's staff these days is mainly comprised of junior secretaries and assorted low-level flunkies. How do you think it'll affect the seniority scale to transplant staff from a division that hasn't been decimated by Crouch?"

A light dawned. "But that means the Beings staff will outrank practically everyone."

"Of course, I was going to sell Amelia on the reorganization plan for the more obvious reasons, such as the Ministry's relations with the pricklier of sentient species, like goblins and centaurs. But now you know I'm running a longer game on this one."

I waited, and sure enough, her eyes widened, as if on cue. "That's why you're reorganizing the Ministry! You've got dirt of Crouch Sr., and you're putting people in place for when he falls."

"Precisely." I love working with smart people. "And with the pitiful seniority among his own staff, and Mockridge about to retire, it's entirely possible Cresswell will end up a Department Head."

"Merlin!" She grinned. "He'd be the first muggleborn Head in more than twenty years."

I returned her smile. "Since before the First Wizarding War, it's true."

Her expression faltered. "First Wizarding War?"

Oh damn. What have I done?

"But that means..." Her eyes widened.

"Hestia." Have I ever mentioned how much I dislike working with smart people? It's moment like these that make me wish my allies were lemmings.

"If it was the first that means there will be a second war, but who…"

"Hestia."

"Oh." I could see from her expression that she'd figured it out. "Right."

Damn she worked fast. "Hestia!"

Her eyes seemed to pin me where I sat. "It's actually kind of obvious. After all you told the boss about Quirrell, I'm sure both you and I know who will set it off." Her inflection made her meaning clear.

I swallowed, hard. "Please understand, it's not that simple."

She laughed mockingly. "Simple? No, I dare say not. Now, explain."

I thought fast. "You remember my anonymous source, the one who first pointed me to the Potter kid?"

At that her brow furrowed in concentration, and it was many moments before she looked up. At last she did. "You're kidding me. You're kidding me!" She seemed torn between disbelief and unbridled glee. "You're working with a – you mean to tell me you're working with an unregistered seer? Morgana's… sagging…." She struggled to censor herself. "You can't be bloody serious!" Well, at least she tried.

I knew my secret would come out eventually, and Hestia had landed on the most plausible explanation I could imagine for my otherwise inexplicable foreknowledge. But why'd I have to go and let it slip so soon? I sighed in resignation. "I can't confirm any of the specifics, but yes, it's… something like that. Nor can I bring… him or her, out of the cold, so don't even ask." I straightened. "I am, however, going to have to insist that you keep what information you've learned here a secret. I can't have this knowledge coming out."

"Why not?" She sputtered.

"You've heard of the butterfly effect? A butterfly flaps its wings, sparks a fire, changes the weather patterns, and causes a hurricane? Now, can you imagine what someone like Lucius Malfoy would do with the knowledge that a seer has foreseen a resumption of the First Wizarding War?"

That seemed to loose the wind from her sails. "He'd conclude that You-Know-Who was still alive."

"And start preparing for his return, accelerating the timetable and making what little we know effectively moot. Do you see why this has to stay a secret?"

"I'm not going to lie to the boss, even by omission." Her stare challenged me.

I blinked first. "All right. You can tell Amelia, but only so long as you get an oath from her first."

"Deal."

"And I'm going to need an oath from you as well."

She looked ready to protest, but something about my demeanor must have made her comply. After she finished and the wisps settled from her wand, she grumbled, "Must've made more oaths this week than all my time working for – what's that?" She palmed her wand in her right hand as she motioned with her left toward the table – or more precisely, toward my wand sticking above the table, pointing in her direction.

"Oh, that. Insurance." I holstered my wand.

"…Insurance?"

"In case you decided to skip the oath."

"You would have—"

"Better for neither of us to learn the answer to that. I don't make a habit of attacking my allies, but then, I couldn't let you jeopardize this whole operation by spilling my secrets. There's too much at stake."

Now it was her turn to swallow. "I think I understand. I suppose it'd be pointless to inquire if there are any more items you'd care to disclose?"

"Indeed. I trust you and Amelia about as much as I trust anyone, but there are a few cards I'm playing rather close to the chest."

Hestia nodded. "I thought so." She paused, before resuming abruptly. "Is there anything else, then, or shall we call it a day?"

I wracked my brain. "I'm not sure if Amelia told you, but I will be meeting with a Ms. Andromeda Tonks tomorrow to discuss the Potter case."

"Ah, she did mention something like that. I'll send her a note and see if we can't meet sometime after you finish with her."

"Excellent."

She stood. "Now, Mr. Lockhart, I'd say it's been a pleasure, but frankly I'm not quite sure what this has been."

I smirked as I stood as well. "Thank you, Ms. Jones, it's been an adventure."

"Yes, that does seem to cover it. Well, I'm afraid I was expecting something more like a conversation, so this adventure will have to be brought to a close. You'll stay in touch through Amelia."

"Of course."

"Well, Godspeed then." And with that, I Flooed home.

I spent the rest of the evening with Flitwick, working our way through the Sixth Year Charms curriculum. By the end of the night, the diminutive professor had just introduced the concept of location-based enchantment, colloquially called 'warding.' I was fascinated by Flitwick's comparison between warding and chess, that there were relatively few 'moves' (types of wards) while mastery consisted in combining and recombining those in increasingly unique patterns. By this reckoning, the Fidelius Charm would be analogous to en passant – useful only for a single kind of situation, and hence quite rarely used.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and Charms, as we also got to witness James' witless fumbling as the days approached February 14th. You couldn't help but root for the poor kid, especially knowing that his cause would eventually find success. On the other hand, it was pretty funny to watch his forlorn glances in class, or his hangdog demeanor after each new failure to secure a Valentines Day date with Lily. Next year, buddy; there's always next year.

Early the next morning, Glitzy delivered a package from Slughorn containing still more memories of Snape. I set that aside for later perusal, though that reminded me to prime Riddle's diary for its memories of Second Year. Checking my mailbox, I saw I'd received a few notes, the first from Professor Tofty:

Gilderoy,

It may take a while longer to gather the OWL exams for the other courses – I'll have to clear it with Madame Marchbanks – but I can send the DADA paperwork later this evening.

Now for your other query. Shortly before the German invasion of my homeland, I fled Europe for America, and briefly served there as a tutor for magical families. As I recall, one of my students was a squib named Stanley Berenstain – is he who you mean? I haven't had contact with any of them since my return in '42 to complete my Mastery here in England. Why do you ask?

Professor Eigen

I scribbled a quick reply thanking him for his assistance. I also mentioned my meeting with the Hufflepuff mothers, to set up a Hogwarts PTA, and asked if he'd be interested in attending the occasional meeting. I signed and sealed it before giving myself a moment to think.

What. The hell.

I knew this world was not the same as the one I'd left, but I never thought I'd meet with the honest-to-goodness inspiration behind Professor Actual Factual.

Welcome to the Twilight Zone, here's your towel.

I shook myself and got back to work. I soon realized I'd forgotten to follow up with Cresswell on that item from the Hufflepuff meeting.

Dirk,

I lately met with a Mrs. Finch-Fletchley while preparing for my time at Hogwarts. She mentioned that their family was able to afford Hogwarts due to her son receiving something called 'the Evans Scholarship.' I can't be sure, but Evans was the maiden name of Lily Potter, Harry's mother. I wonder if you could ask around Gringotts to see what the goblins might know.

Gilderoy

I also received two messages from The Daily Prophet, the first from editor-in-chief Barnabas Cuffe confirming our arrangement for me to meet with one of their reporters, the second from the reporter in question, one Mauricio Carneirus. I scribbled a quick reply, confirming my availability during the next day or two. A murmured Lorem ipsum, and Ozymandias was on his way with copies for both men.

Just in time, too, for it was soon time for Flitwick to join me. For the rest of the morning we cycled through his memories until the end of Sixth Year. There was even less of the social drama than before – Snape still looked to be the loner who lived for his studies, and James' lovelorn antics had mostly ceased after Valentine's Day. What was left was Charms – lots of them, and lots of subtle details about them, such as the precise difference between conjuring objects via transfiguration, and creating them with charms. Avis, for instance, was a charm, which meant that each bird was less of a bird, and more of an animated mass of feathers. Good for making a point when dealing with idiotic gingers, sure, but less useful when it comes to combat.

As I exited the pensieve for the last time that day I stumbled over my own feet.

"Whoa, you all right there, Gilderoy?" Flitwick pressed me.

I shook myself. "Yeah, I think? I was doing fine until that last one, but I was having a real hard time concentrating and now I've got a headache. Think I'll save that enhancement charm for later."

"Good call. I'm pretty sure that's the first rule of mind-magic: do not attempt if you have a headache."

"Or a hangover, or fatigue, or pregnancy. It's basically the heavy machinery of the wizarding world."

"Pregnancy?"

"That extra mind really gums up the works. Could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure that's the reason for the spat of autistic kids born during the last war. Death Eaters attack, Ministry obliviates the muggle witnesses, nine months later, there you go."

"You think so?" This was news to Flitwick.

"Well, I can't be sure, could just be stress or something unrelated, but pregnancy makes mind-magic a much more delicate operation. Not a word I'd use to describe most working for the Ministry. More like bulls in a china shop…." I trailed off as I pressed my fingers to my temples.

"And you're sure you're okay?"

"I'll be fine." I could tell he wasn't convinced, and to tell the truth, I was having trouble convincing myself. "No, really. I'll take a nap before my next appointment."

And so I did, drearily ordering Glitzy to wake me in time before tumbling into bed.

It was blessed relief to fall asleep. It was not nearly so blissful to be waked by my hyperactive house-elf. "Master must wake, Master must wake, it is time, it is time."

"Ugh." I creaked as I tried to rise. "Glu – Glitzy."

"Yes Master!"

"Hangover draught. Now." I heard a distant 'pop.' "If you don't mind?"

Another pop, this one closer. "Here you go, Master, I've fetched it."

I glared at the foul-smelling glop, before tilting it back and draining it like a shot-glass.

For a moment I felt the need to hurl, but that instinct vanished quickly as I sprung out of bed and onto my feet. Dang, I feel good! I checked the mirror. Hey, I look good too! Sure, my clothes were all wrinkled from the nap, but that shouldn't take long to fix. And my bed hair had never looked better!

I rode the banister downstairs – because hey, why not? – and arrived at the Floo with plenty of time to spare. "Ted and Andromeda Tonks," I spoke into the green flames. The fire flared to confirm the connection, and I strolled through.

And yes, if you must ask, of course I stuck the landing. What sort of klutz do you take me for? Sure, I did a double-take when I first saw Andromeda. But that's only because holy crap it's Bellatrix Lestrange, but wait, not quite, doesn't have that psychotic serial-killer look, oh right, it's her sister, but holy crap, she looks just like Helena Bonham Carter.

She greeted me warmly, though not so much as might indicate she was a fangirl, thank Merlin. "A pleasure to see you, Mr. Lockhart. And may I introduce my husband, Edward?" She turned, "Ted, Mr. Lockhart."

"How'dya do, sir?" Mr. Tonks had a kind face, but his overall appearance could best be described as frumpy. On the other hand, this was the 90's, and he was a lawyer, so maybe that was just the latest fashion. I remember what my father looked like in his work clothes, heaven help me.

"Pleasure." We shook hands. "Now, where shall we…?"

"In here, if you'll follow me." She lead us to the sitting room.

Ted positioned himself by the tea service. "Shall I be mother?"

"Milk and sugar, thank you."

"You know what I like." Andromeda smiled kindly. "Now, to business?"

"Of course. I suppose it'd be best to ask what Amelia's already told you so far about the Potter abuse?"

"Honestly not much, besides the memory you provided…." Ted passed her a cup, which broke her from her somber mood. "Horrible thing to contemplate, but we're so very glad you spotted it, really." She nodded at her husband. "We've talked it over some between us, but felt it best to discuss it with you since you were the one there."

"I appreciate that; oh," Ted handed me a cup, "thank you. I had mentioned it to Amelia, but I was raised in an… unpleasant household myself, which is how I recognized Harry's reaction for what it was. Mine wouldn't have been so different when I was his age."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"There is more to tell, however, for I'd learned even before the signing to keep my eye on Harry Potter. I suppose Amelia already received your secrecy oaths?"

"Indeed." They both nodded, though Ted was the one to answer.

"Excellent. Now, I am obliged to keep some of my sources confidential, but I hope you'll accept my oath instead." Andromeda looked as if to speak, but I plowed ahead. "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, swear on my magic that the information I provide here today is accurate and true to the best of my knowledge. So swear I."

I looked up as the wisps settled over me, and noticed a slight frown form on her face. It was abruptly replaced with alarm, and I looked down to find that the wisps of magic around me had not settled. If anything, they'd grown increasingly turbulent. A sudden weakness took my hands; my teacup clattered and tipped over. "Oh." I looked up, dimly noting Andromeda had already drawn her wand as darkness began to crowd the edges of my vision. I only had time for a dismayed "Ah darn" before my eyes rolled in their sockets and I knew no more.

Unconsciousness sucks. Doesn't matter how you got there, waking up with your face in a puddle of your own drool is not a fun way to start the day. And it didn't help that my headache was back, and far worse than before.

"So. Decided to rejoin the living, eh Mr. Lockhart?"

Part of me was aware of the speaker's soft, dulcet tones. The rest of me felt like someone had cast a Sonorus in my middle ear. Is it normal to feel your ossicles rattle? "…aowg."

"I must admit, Mr. Lockhart, you've really managed to impress me."

"Honey…" A voice like a subwoofer seemed to warn.

"Your books are thrilling, sure, but almost certainly fictitious, and your public persona's more than a little ridiculous. Still, Amelia gave you a fair report, so I waited to meet you before judging."

"Honey."

"What? You don't honestly think I'd pass without comment on the unimaginable heights of idiocy required for a man throw around magical oaths until succumbing to grade-four magical exhaustion?" She sounded mildly hysterical. "What sort of healer do you take me for?" A pause. Then her voice took on a sterner edge. "Mr. Lockhart." I opened my eyes, blinking rapidly at the light even in the darkened room. "My name is Andromeda Tonks and I'll be your attending Healer. How much do you remember?"

"…oats?"

"Indeed. You're here because took an oath, namely that any information you provided 'here today' would be accurate. My husband Ted – you remember meeting him?"

"Hello." More subwoofers. I pressed my eyes close to fight off the pounding headache.

"Anyway, Ted helped move you here, a private room in St. Mungo's. It appears we succeeded in minimizing the oath's drain on your magic now that you're no longer 'here' as your original intention defined it, but the drain won't shut off completely until the end of 'today.' You'll probably experience another brief coma from your magic's reaction at that point."

"Drugh… rain?" I had no trouble understanding her, though my body was being annoyingly uncooperative.

"Yes, drain. How much do you know about magical oaths? No, don't answer that, I don't want to know. The fact is, Mr. Lockhart, you've been a real blithering idiot, and I say that as your healer." She sighed. "Look." I opened my eyes, blinking anew. "Think of your magic as a big ball of twine." She waved her wand, and one was conjured in her hand. "Every time you use a magical oath, a string from that ball is tugged out from the rest and tied off in a knot." The string moved as she demonstrated her words visually. "If you break your oath, that string is cut, the magic lost forever." And it fell to the floor. "But before, even when you hadn't broken your oath" – and the snippet flew up and reconnected – "your magic is still tied off, held hostage in case that you do. Now, you might eventually reclaim that magic or, depending on the type of oath, your body might count the tied-off portion as a loss and work to replenish it."

Clear enough. I nodded along to her explanation.

"Now, here's what you missed. That whole process takes time – lots of it! Even a 'I'll tell the truth now' oath like the one you made will take more than a month for your magic to reclaim. If you made even a half-dozen of those in the last week, you'd be magically crippled for the duration. From what your power levels are telling me, I'd say you made a fair few more than that."

I nodded shame-facedly.

"And then – let's see if I got this right – you ignored your magic's warning of imminent exhaustion, self-medicated with a potion – consuming more magic – travelled by Floo, and finally took yet another oath that you did not have enough magic to complete. Is that about the gist of it?"

Damn. You put it like that….

"It was only getting you out of our house that saved you from losing your magic permanently. Mr. Lockhart, but for my husband, you should now be a squib! So you tell me, Mr. Lockhart, what words would you choose to describe such a person?"

Double damn. "A… blithstering… idijit?" The fact that I still talked like a stroke victim made me only more aware of the extent of my mistakes.

"Correct." At last she broke a smile. "While I appreciate your willingness to include us in this circle of trust, I wish you'd waited for me to tell you Amelia'd already confirmed you were oath-bound. Taking another oath was unnecessary. Though… perhaps it was for the best; it'd have been catastrophic if you'd made that oath around anyone other than the two of us."

She was right. "Fank… you."

"Don't thank me yet; you still have a long recovery ahead of you. Can you tell me when you started making so many oaths?"

"Begin'in of… mun."

"Beginning of the month? I suppose that's encouraging: you should be able to use magic again around the first or second week of September. You won't be fully recovered, though, until closer to October. If you don't want to be magically handicapped for the rest of your life, you'll need to keep your casting to a minimum until after the first of October."

"Bu… I'ma teach."

"Oh. Oh! Yes, I'd forgotten about that; you're the latest Hogwarts professor. Read it in the Prophet, but skipped my mind…." She looked briefly stymied. "If you want, I can pass a note to McGonagall to provide you with medical leave."

"Nnugh. Dumbledore." Of course the first coherent thing I'd say would be the Old English word for bumblebee. That makes perfect sense.

"You want me to send the note to the Headmaster instead?"

"Nnugh." How to explain? Ah. I mimicked holding a pencil in my hand. "Write?"

"Of course. Ted dear?" About a minute passed before her husband returned. "Here you go," and I felt a quill-pen placed in my hand.

My hands were not yet fully recovered, but I wrote slowly enough to be legible.

Don't trust Dumbledore – responsible for Harry.
Must teach, must be at Hogwarts.

Perhaps I was only being paranoid. But I wasn't exactly eager to give more leverage to someone as manipulative as Dumbledore is presented in canon.

Andromeda's eye shot to mine as she finished reading the message. I nodded as best as I was able. She passed it to her husband, and a silent conversation passed between them as he too read my note.

Ted, the subwoofer, was the first to speak. "I don't believe either of us considered Dumbledore at all when we saw your memory."

His wife continued in subdued tones. "I understand Dumbledore was the one to classify the Child Services report on which family fostered the Boy-Who-Lived, but I don't recall anything beyond that. You say he was responsible; I assume that's why we were to meet, so you could inform us of the real extent of his involvement?"

I nodded, then wrote: Occlumency?

Ted answered. "Dora was taught the fundamentals for Healer certification, and full proficiency is a requirement for magical barristers. We can keep your secrets."

Dora? I scribbled: Dora?

His wife waved. "He means me."

Huh. I suppose that explains why their daughter chose to go by 'Tonks' – she couldn't very well pick the cognate 'Dora' if that was already the pet name used by her mother. And no way would she go with 'Nym' or something like it if she was hoping to avoid the implication of nymphomania.

Now, to business. I organized my thoughts and began to write.

Dumbledore chose family – Lily's sister. No visits by Child Services. No healers. No muggle oversight. Harry isolated.

Their eyes narrowed as they read. Nothing, though, would prepare them for the shock of the next sentence.

Responsible for Sirius.

"Sirius – my cousin, Sirius Black?" Andromeda's voice hitched, then hardened. "How could Dumbledore be responsible for that… conniving traitorous bastard?"

Not traitor. No trial.

For almost a minute, complete silence. Then: "Good heavens." That was Ted.

"Oh my God. Sirius. Oh my God." And there went Andromeda, her husband's mild words waking her from the short-lived stupor.

"A decade in Azkaban, without a trial?" Ted again.

"Innocent all this time?"

"Yes." My voice cracked slightly, but finally it seemed to work when I needed it. "Amelia has… Hestia Jones… investigating. Work with… Dora for Potter case… Ted for Sirius Black. Fudge mainly… to blame, but Dumbledore must have… agreed to no trial. Also sealed the... Potter will. Sirius was Harry's... godfather, most likely intended to be Harry's… guardian if James and Lily died. Talk to… Dirk Cresswell. He's working with the goblins to… get the Potter will unsealed and their estate properly… executed."

When I finished, both of them were looking at me, mouths agape. "Merlin," Andromeda started.

"And we thought Amelia just wanted Dora to help patch up Harry once he was rescued."

"Sure, in our wildest dreams, we thought maybe she'd want us to foster him, since we're related and all, but we never expected this."

"We knew the Boy-Who-Lived being abused would be a scandal, but this…"

"This could take down – no, this will take down the Ministry. The only question is how to prepare for it, and that's what this is all about, isn't it?"

"Yes." I don't think they were expecting my flat confirmation. "The Ministry is corrupt, and I worry that we are not prepared for what may come. Dumbledore is certain that You-Know-Who is not dead, and seems to be preparing Harry to fight that war for him. Everything I do – everything I do – is to prepare for that eventuality. If it never comes… then we will at least have reformed magical society so the next generation does not have to. It was a famous muggle who said, 'I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy, and that their children may study poetry and music.' If the Ministry is so corrupt as to send a pureblood heir to Azkaban without a trial, if one man can so dominate the government to ensure the most famous child of all can slip through the cracks, then ours is not a free society, and we have a duty to fight to make it so."

A/N: Thank you for reading. For those who are interested, the paraphrased quote in the final paragraph is from John Adams, signer of the Declaration of Independence and second President of the United States.

This was the chapter I'd planned from my very first post on this story. As so many readers and fellow writers have noted, magical oaths have the potential to break any story set in the Harry Potter universe. I knew that there should be a cost to using that magic, but I didn't want that cost to be merely theoretical. To avoid a imbalanced world and Mary-Sue narrator, it needed to be a price my character would actually have to pay. And here we are.

A note on the new title: it became clear to me that quite a few potential readers were put off from reading this story when they mistook the title to be 'Gelding the Son of Lily.' I did like the original title's play on words, but castration is not my cup of tea. Fortunately, the title to Lockhart's autobiography was perfectly suited for a Lockhart-centric self-insert fic. If you feel strongly one way or the other, I have a poll (my first ever) up on my profile.

Thanks to all my reviewers whose feedback has helped improve this story, and thanks as well for your patience when this chapter was delayed for so long. You can read my responses to selected reviews on my forum. You can find the link on my profile, or type in:

fanfiction . net / forum / Stories-by-Publicola / 150993