Gilderoy Lockhart was born on January 26, 1964, to a Muggle father and a witch mother.

He also had two older sisters, both Muggles. Ever since receiving his Hogwarts letter at the age of eleven, his wizarding talent was finally acknowledged, and Lockhart's mother unreservedly favored him among all her children, causing his vanity to grow like a weed.

In their excitement, Lockhart and his mother forgot that Hogwarts was a school for all British and Irish wizards and witches.

So, when Lockhart entered the school with the other students, he realized that wizarding talent was just the beginning.

Lockhart was eventually sorted into Ravenclaw.

At the same time, like those outstanding wizards, he also triggered the "Hatstall" phenomenon – he was almost sorted into Slytherin.

In the beginning, Lockhart thought he would be the object of everyone's discussion and attention.

Because in his opinion, he was an out-and-out, powerfully magical genius. However, as time went by, he quickly realized the harsh reality:

There were more talented children here, and no one was impressed by his naturally curly hair. Lockhart did have great abilities, and he was smarter than most of his classmates. But his biggest flaw was that he was unwilling to try unless he was the best.

Lockhart was able to get good grades, and his teachers believed that as long as he worked hard, he could achieve something.

Although it might not reach the ambitions he proclaimed:

He told other students that one day he would create the Philosopher's Stone, lead the England Quidditch team to a historic World Cup victory, everyone would read textbooks written by him in the future, he would personally end Voldemort's era, and become the youngest Minister for Magic in Britain.

But, that was Lockhart's vanity.

He didn't study to be educated, but to gain attention for himself.

He craved attention, craved awards, and he could burst out with admirable energy for it.

He asked Professor Dumbledore to start a school newspaper, just to see his name printed in it.

When he saw that these "feats" did not win him attention, he began to take more grand and dramatic measures.

He once carved his name in 20-foot-long letters on the Quidditch pitch, which earned Lockhart a week's detention;

He once projected his portrait into the sky like the Dark Mark; and on Valentine's Day, he directed and starred in sending himself eight hundred Valentine's Day cards, so that breakfast that day was forced to be canceled because a large amount of owl droppings and feathers fell into the cereal...

Undoubtedly, Lockhart's outrageous actions provoked many people, even the dissatisfaction of many professors.

In his seventh year, the newly appointed Divination professor at Hogwarts angrily made a prophecy: Lockhart's future was filled with disturbing darkness, and he might encounter great misfortune before the age of thirty, and be forever confined to a small, narrow space from which he could not leave.

Of course, the Divination professor who joined the school during Lockhart's seventh year wasn't targeting Lockhart alone.

This seemed to be the teaching style of that descendant of Cassandra Trelawney, as she hardly ever made any comforting prophecies.

And in the second year, which was also the second year of Voldemort's downfall.

Lockhart also graduated from Hogwarts, and the entire school breathed a sigh of relief.

Perhaps subconsciously resisting the fate spoken of by the "Prophecy Master" – after all, she was a teacher personally invited by Professor Dumbledore.

After leaving school, Lockhart did not look for a stable job like other graduates, but traveled as a writer to various exotic places in the world, and in the process discovered the wonderful use of the Memory Charm outside of textbooks:

[Deceiving accomplished witches and wizards into revealing their greatest deeds, and then erasing their memories and taking them for himself.]

From then on, every time Lockhart returned to England, he would write a book telling the heroic deeds that belonged to others.

Because of these so-called "deeds," Lockhart reaped many awards as he wished. He became a somewhat accomplished writer, was invited to become a lifetime honorary member of the Defense League Against the Dark Arts, and even received the Order of Merlin, Third Class.

As his fame and prestige grew, Lockhart gradually began to feel uneasy.

After the successful publication of his book "Breaking with a Banshee," Lockhart did not continue his "field research" journey, but instead bought a pile of handbooks on household magic and fantastic beasts, and cobbled together a book called "Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests." After this book was published, Lockhart had planned to write his autobiography, "Me, the Magical One," but...

Everything, everything, completely melted into that bizarre new world with the sound of a knock on his door that afternoon.

…………

Deep in the Armenian jungle.

In the midst of a dangerous and oppressive atmosphere, the bright and cheerful laughter seemed somewhat out of place.

Lockhart leaned back in his chair for a moment, and a smile reappeared on his handsome face.

During the "torture" this evening, neither the Cruciatus Curse, nor beatings, nor intimidation seemed to be able to erase the confident and charming smile on the blond wizard's face, so much so that even the werewolf wizards casting the spells couldn't help but feel a bit of admiration in their hearts.

"Haven't you already found the answer yourself, Ms. Macintosh—"

Lockhart smiled as he looked at the middle-aged woman, winking nimbly and speaking in a relaxed tone.

"Indeed, this is the hope of you, everyone in the room... and everyone outside."

"Given that this hope truly exists, I can't find a reason to convince myself to deny it, to destroy this precious hope."

"As I said before, lycanthropy is a magical disease, not a curse, but a disease that can be overcome. Its transmission routes and symptoms are very clear – it spreads among people through contact with saliva and blood, and it occurs in extremely fixed environments."

"It's very easy to lie, but after one lie, it takes ten times, a hundred times the effort to rebuild trust..."

"Trust?! Don't be silly, do you think you're the protagonist of a novel?"

Antillesia Macintosh sneered, interrupting somewhat roughly.

"This is the first time I've heard of someone caring about trust from werewolves. When we transform, we don't even trust ourselves."

"Well, I can roughly understand how you feel," Lockhart shrugged. "But the trust we're talking about is different. It's like going to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries for treatment. If the patient doesn't trust the healer, then the treatment process becomes very difficult – and if it's a particularly complex and dangerous disease, then the cost of a lack of trust is too great, both for the patient and the healer."

"Heh—"

Just then, a wizard standing behind Macintosh let out a disdainful snort.

"So you want to tell us that the werewolf cure is stored in Gringotts' vault and costs a clear 500 Galleons a bottle?"

"No, 500 Galleons is a registration fee. The specific treatment is in another place."

Lockhart replied politely, not at all minding the livid expressions of the surrounding werewolf wizards.

"Then, esteemed Mr. Lockhart," the werewolf wizard suppressed his anger, his voice as if squeezed from between his teeth, "can you tell us, what exactly does this five hundred Galleons buy? If that thing is neither a potion nor a spell..."

"The qualification of a patient. Believe me, it's very cheap."

Lockhart turned to look at the man, shrugged, and replied with utmost seriousness.

"As for more treatment details, I'm sorry, I can't disclose them at this time—"

"Enough! Shut up! Do you think we're all fools?!"

The werewolf wizard roared fiercely, looking at his companions as he raged.

"I've had enough, don't you understand? This bastard is just playing with us! Five hundred Galleons or something, he knows we can't afford such an expensive price – this could even buy nearly half a year's worth of Wolfsbane Potion on the black market! I was wrong to come here!"

"You can take out a loan from Gringotts. Those goblins keep records. A wizard's credit loan is worth at least five hundred Galleons..."

Lockhart raised a finger and explained seriously.

Although the business lines of the Destiny Group are different, Gringotts belongs to the sphere of influence of "Miss Fool."

However, as one of the Major Arcana, Lockhart still knows something about the new policies. And with a loan record from Gringotts, as long as the werewolves who are debtors can still be active, they will definitely be taken care of by the goblins... Gringotts has no shortage of work.

"Oh, shut up!"

However, before he could finish speaking, Antillesia Macintosh raised her left hand and slapped him in the face. Lockhart, chair and all, flipped over, hitting the wall of the cabin. Instantly, the previously agitated atmosphere in the room cooled down.

The other werewolf wizards in the room looked at the middle-aged witch who had struck with awe, even the roaring werewolf wizard was taken aback.

However, the next moment, they saw the middle-aged witch grab Lockhart's collar with her right hand and lift his entire body up with one hand.

"Argus was right, you're just a big-talking liar..."

Antillesia Macintosh looked at Lockhart, turned around, and threw him forcefully towards the door.

"Get out! While we haven't changed our minds. As for the Galleons – I'll come find you when I've raised enough. This is not a place for a guy like you. If you don't want to die a miserable death, grab your wand and get as far away as possible."

Lockhart's body was not very strong to begin with, and after being subjected to prolonged torment, he was even weaker.

Under the werewolf witch's monstrous strength, he was thrown out of the forest cabin without any resistance, staggered a few steps, and fell at the foot of the stairs.

He looked around, perhaps because of their commotion, or because "time" was approaching. Around this not-so-wide forest clearing, there were many shadowy figures. There were at least twice as many people as when he had arrived.

Because it was too dark, Lockhart couldn't see the expressions and faces of the onlookers around him clearly.

However, judging from the varying heights, the upright, slender, or hunched figures around him...

Lockhart supported himself on the muddy ground with his left hand and stood up somewhat awkwardly.

"Sorry, I'm not going anywhere—"

Amidst the gazes of a bunch of werewolves as if they were looking at a madman, Lockhart revealed a tired smile and walked to the steps at the door of the cabin and sat down.

"So... I understand, you've come to actively seek death, Mr. Lockhart?"

"Seek death? No, no, no. I'm the most afraid of death."

Gilderoy Lockhart did not turn his head, and while cleaning the mud off himself, he said,

"I'm here to save you. By the way... to prepare a decent birthday present for myself. If you've carefully read the books I've written, you'll know that in a few hours, I'll be 29 years old, and celebrating my birthday alone is not a good sign."

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Yay!