Armenia, the small town of Tsavdzor.

A faint white light appeared on the horizon in the distance, and sporadic smoke began to rise over the town.

No one knew that in the dense forest less than five kilometers from the town, nearly a hundred werewolves were rapidly shedding their fur as dawn arrived, weakly huddled on the ground, silently watching the wizards not far away—they might not be in mortal danger, but more than that was hard to say.

Although werewolves mostly lose their minds during their wolf transformation, they still remember what they experienced after returning to human form.

As the Aurors arrived, many gradually realized that they had fallen into a carefully designed trap.

However, even those few werewolf wizards had no intention of fighting to the death at this time.

One small reason was due to the fact that there was no immediate danger to their lives… Since the Aurors had not chosen to strike them down in their wolf form, they were even less likely to commit any inhumane acts of execution after they returned to human form.

And the bigger reason came from the British wizard who was confronting the Aurors.

"Oh no, Mr. Lockhart, you can't do this…"

The Auror stationed locally by the Swiss Ministry of Magic shook his head, saying nervously.

"This is not what we said before. The ministers haven't returned yet, you can't just leave like this."

"Actually, I can—"

Gilderoy Lockhart replied with a smile, watching the young Auror with freckles on his face with interest.

"If I remember correctly, the ministers of each country's Ministry of Magic said before leaving that I would be fully responsible, right?"

Lockhart said, casually taking a half step forward.

With his movement, the Aurors surrounding him subconsciously took a small step back.

Gilderoy Lockhart looked around, his eyes sweeping over the Aurors holding wands one by one.

"Obviously, I can't endlessly wait for a reply in this cold forest. Most importantly, if I insist on leaving, the only thing your wands can threaten is yourselves—drawing a wand means betting your life."

"Perhaps not many people remember this ancient truth now, but it will not disappear because of it. Do you have this awareness?"

Under his gaze, the Aurors swallowed, looked at each other, and slowly put down their wands.

You know, just a few hours ago, hundreds of Aurors had personally witnessed how he had defeated—oh no, or more accurately—should be "played with" hundreds of vicious werewolves between flips of his hand, and this seemed to be him deliberately holding back his strength.

No one would forget the Fiendfyre that suddenly rose when they first arrived at this open space, that fire of death that could easily kill everyone.

Even though the "writer" was not holding a wand at this time, and there were no signs of casting a spell.

However, Lockhart's bright, calm smile, and his leisurely attitude, were more deterrent than any spell at this time.

"It seems we have reached a consensus, haven't we?"

Lockhart clapped his hands lightly, saying easily and cheerfully.

"I announce that tonight's vigil has come to a perfect end, and no new victims of Lycanthropy have appeared—you can get off work, gentlemen."

"But…"

A French Auror hesitated for a few seconds, looking at the werewolves huddled in the woodland.

"These werewolves, if you leave, what should be done with them—"

"Dispose of? Are you planning to do anything to these unarmed, helpless victims?"

Lockhart raised his eyebrows, staring meaningfully at the French Auror who took the initiative to speak, and asked softly.

"If my memory is correct, in my impression, no law in the entire European wizarding world states that 'werewolf' is a crime to be punished. The full moon night has just ended, and for at least the next month, they are no different from normal people. I don't think anyone in this forest has a reason to be arrested for trumped-up charges. I think my meaning should be very clear, right?"

"Or is there something strange about my grammar that makes it difficult for you to understand?"

"I've told you the solution, as for whether you want to do it or not…"

Lockhart's eyes swept over the Aurors, recalling Mr. "Tower's" way of speaking, his tone slightly raised.

"Just like these years, the choice has always been in the hands of the Ministry of Magic, hasn't it? Your every choice, countless correct and wrong subtle choices, have shaped the current wizarding world—whether it's good or bad, but the final reality will eventually be borne by you…"

"Sorry, excuse me, I really have to leave as soon as possible…"

Lockhart looked at the wizards who were gradually dispersing, secretly breathed a sigh of relief in his heart, and walked forward steadily.

As the "former" leader of the black-robed wizards, his strength has indeed improved a little, but it is obviously still far worse than last night's performance—that was a "magic show" jointly performed by Dumbledore and Grindelwald—he would definitely be exposed instantly if he really fought.

However, judging from the current situation, he has obviously successfully put on the image of a "magic supernova."

And in terms of bluffing and acting tough, Lockhart considers himself to be at least one of the top three wizards in the current wizarding world.

Just then, a hoarse voice rang out from behind.

"W-wait a minute! Mr. Lockhart."

Lockhart stopped, the string in his heart tightened suddenly, and his right hand secretly grasped the wand in his arms.

"Hmm?"

He did not turn around, humming casually.

Under the gaze of the wizards, among the weak and powerless werewolves, a middle-aged woman stood up, staggering and leaning on a tree stump.

"Werewolves, I mean, can Lycanthropy really be cured?"

"Are the stories you told last night really true, or just fairy tales made up to buy time—"

Cure werewolves?

Do these stupid werewolves still believe in such unrealistic things?

The Aurors in the woodland exchanged a comical look, preparing to laugh and ridicule.

"It exists, I said… miracles and magic always exist—"

"But—"

Lockhart said softly in a profound manner, the light of the pale gold dawn just passing over the forest, shining on his pale purple wizard robe.

“…You have to pay.”

“Go to Gringotts, any Gringotts bank will do.”

“The goblins at Gringotts will tell you the answer. If they ask, you can say—you are fans of Gilderoy Lockhart. For my sake, you should be able to reach that hospital in Austria. As for whether to believe the doctors or not, that's your problem.”

"But let me state in advance, if one day, you decide to give up the identity of 'human'…"

"Or, someone forces you and you can't be a 'human'…"

Lockhart drew his wand and waved it casually in the air.

Grindelwald's last trace of magic remaining in the leaves, mud, huts, and puddles was completely stimulated by his magic.

Powerful magical fluctuations swept across the woodland, fluttering and dancing in the dawn, like golden fireflies.

"At that time, I will personally hunt—"

…………

A moment later, on the edge of the town of Tsavdzor.

Lockhart looked around, looking at the still peaceful town, and finally felt relieved.

No matter what "performance plan" there is later, at least his task today is temporarily over.

"Okay, whew… now only the last hurdle remains."

Lockhart took several deep breaths, strode forward, and walked towards the residence of an old wizard with no taste in clothing.

In fact, compared to acting in front of hundreds of Aurors and senior officials of the Ministry of Magic just now, he is now more nervous.

After all, according to the description of that young lady before, that Russian shrew directly brought a Remington over and threatened to teach a lesson to someone who took it upon themselves to be a hero. Although Lockhart was confident that there was no danger to his life, physical pain and the like would probably be unavoidable.

Most importantly, he had specifically made an appointment with the shrew to have dinner together last night before the accident happened.

Gilderoy Lockhart knew very well how dangerous it was to stand up a Russian lady.

Well…

Looking at the current situation…

It doesn't seem like there's much hope of survival, huh?

Standing outside old Hashi's door, Lockhart looked at his wizard robe that he had finally cleaned with magic.

After thinking for half a second, he quickly squatted down, grabbed the soil from the flower bed next to him and rubbed it on his clothes, and put some dust and dirt on his face, looking like he had just experienced a very fierce fight, and finally cleaned the dirt off his hands with magic.

Well, that should do it, right?

Lockhart swallowed.

Raising his hand, he tentatively knocked on old Hashi's wooden door.

Knock knock knock—

Boom!

Boom, boom!

Just then, a series of explosions like firecrackers suddenly rang out above the eaves.

Confetti, ribbons, and glitter paper floated down from above.

The door opened slightly.

Arhipovna held a cake base that looked a bit ugly, looking at the big liar covered in dirt outside the door.

"Welcome back, you big liar—"

"Happy birthday—"

————

————

Yay!