Gilderoy had been halfway through his breakfast when he noticed the envelope. It was thick parchment sealed with emerald green wax and marked with a crest he did not immediately recognise. He turned it over in his hands, and the emblem on the front caught his eye: two crossed broomsticks.
Puddlemere United.
He set down his fork and opened the letter with more care than he usually afforded correspondence. The words inside were formal but warm, and they were written in elegant script that curved across the page in a way that suggested the sender had taken their time with it.
Dear Mr. Lockhart,
It is with great pleasure that we write to offer you the position of Reserve Seeker for the Puddlemere United Quidditch team, effective upon your graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Our scouts were present at your match against Slytherin and were impressed by your Snitch catch, a display of skill, timing, and instinct that we believe would be an asset to our reserve squad.
We invite you to consider this offer and respond at your earliest convenience. Should you accept, we will provide further details regarding training schedules, team requirements, and the standard terms of employment.
We look forward to your response.
Yours sincerely,
Malcolm Proudfoot
Puddlemere United, London
Gilderoy read the letter twice, then a third time, just to make sure he had not imagined it. He had not applied because he had not even considered applying, and the thought of playing professional Quidditch had never once crossed his mind.
I mean, it was fun playing Quidditch at Hogwarts and flying around, but play professionally?
He reached for a quill and wrote his reply immediately, asking for further details because he had planned to join the ICW and could not drop the more important job.
The representative arrived at Hogwarts three days later. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a weather-beaten face and a crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken multiple times and repaired. He introduced himself as Duncan Frobisher, one of the assistant managers for Puddlemere United's reserve team, and he did not waste time on pleasantries.
"Mr. Lockhart," he said as he shook Gilderoy's hand with a firm grip. "Good to meet you."
They sat down in an empty classroom that was available for the meeting, and Frobisher laid out the specifics. After graduation, Gilderoy would need to train with the team for at least three months. The training would be intensive, with physical conditioning, tactical drills, and plenty of time on the broom. It was not for the faint of heart, and Frobisher made no secret of the fact that many recruits had washed out in the first few weeks.
Gilderoy listened carefully and nodded along before he mentioned the ICW.
"I have already decided to join the ICW office," he said. "I will have main commitments there as well. Would it be possible to adjust the training schedule?"
Frobisher considered this for a moment and then shrugged. "It should not be an issue because you are only a reserve Seeker, Lockhart. You will not be training with the main squad because you will train with the reserve team on weekends, and the reserve team members all have other jobs on the side. They are not main players, they are substitutes. Some of them work in the Ministry while others run businesses, and one of them is an assistant to potioneers. As long as you show up and put in the work, the schedule can be flexible."
Gilderoy pondered whether he should accept or not, but he decided to make an impulsive decision. "Then I accept."
Frobisher nodded and extended his hand again. "Welcome to Puddlemere United, Lockhart. You will not regret it."
After Frobisher left, Gilderoy wrote a new letter addressed to Severus Snape. It was a short, direct request about whether Snape would be willing to tutor him in Potions. Gilderoy knew that his knowledge was solid in theory but shaky in practice, and with the NEWTs looming, he could not afford to leave anything to chance. He had considered asking Slughorn, but the idea of spending hours listening to the old professor's rambling stories about famous former students was enough to make him reconsider. Snape, at least, would be efficient, and he would be rude, yes, but efficient.
To Gilderoy's surprise, Snape replied within a day. The response was brief and written in Snape's familiar cramped handwriting:
Lockhart—
I will tutor you. The cost is ten Galleons per session, payable in advance. Do not waste my time.
S. Snape.
Gilderoy's eyes widened at the cost, but he could not deny that there was no better way to revise Potions than with the Potions Master himself.
He arrived at Snape's office that evening with the Galleons in hand and a notebook tucked under his arm. Snape was sitting at his desk and writing something in a leather-bound journal. The moment Gilderoy knocked, Snape snapped the journal shut and slid it into a drawer with quick movements.
Gilderoy stepped inside, and his eyes fell on Snape. He blinked, and then he blinked again.
What the hell?
The man sitting before him bore almost no resemblance to the greasy, gaunt Snape that Gilderoy remembered him from past few months ago. His hair was no longer hanging in limp, greasy curtains around his face because it was clean and neatly combed. His skin had cleared and no longer looked sallow and oily. His eyes, once dark and hollow, now had a sharpness to them that was almost unsettling.
Snape looked healthy, as if he had been taking care of himself.
What the fuck is this? He is giving me creeps because he is looking like a normal person and not like the previous Snape at all.
Gilderoy forced his expression into something neutral, though his mind raced. What happened to him?
"Lockhart," Snape said flatly as his voice cut through the silence. "You are staring, and it is impolite."
"Sorry," Gilderoy said quickly as he stepped forward. "I was just—"
After their previous terrible interactions, he had not actually seen Snape in months in the Great Hall. Maybe he ate alone here.
"Surprised?" Snape's lips curled into a smirk that was more mocking than amused.
And there is the snarky remark. Okay, I can confirm this is really Snape and not an imposter.
"Yes, I imagine you would be because I struck an epiphany and have made some changes. Personal ones, and none of which are any of your concern."
"Of course," Gilderoy said as he placed the Galleons on the desk. "Ten Galleons, as requested."
What a ripoff.10 galleons is no small sum.
Snape counted them without looking up and then tucked them into a drawer. "Sit down, Lockhart. We have work to do."
The first hour was a whirlwind of information because Snape quizzed him on basic potion theory, and when Gilderoy answered correctly, Snape's expression flickered with something that might have been surprise.
"You know the basics," Snape said. "So you are not as stupid as I thought."
"I have been studying," Gilderoy replied back. "I just need help with the practical aspects."
Snape heard Lockhart and began to explain the properties of each ingredient in detail that would be required for seventh years for potion making. He broke down the anatomy of the potion, including the base, the catalysts, and the stabilisers, and he explained how each component affected the final result. Gilderoy took notes as fast as he could and filled page after page with Snape's precise, methodical explanations.
Snape then led him to Slughorn's classroom, a large, cluttered space filled with shelves upon shelves of glass jars and boxes. while powdered bones sat in neat rows and animal parts floated in murky liquids with their shapes barely visible through the dark glass.
Snape moved through the room with practised ease as his fingers brushed over labels and containers as if he knew them by heart. He pulled down three jars, including Dried Nettles, Lionfish Spines, and Flobberworm Mucus, and set them on the table.
"Tell me what these are, what they do, and which potions they belong to."
Gilderoy identified them correctly because his answers came quickly. He knew the theory, and it showed.
"You know the theory," Snape said flatly. "That is worthless in a practical exam because you need to recognise these ingredients by sight, smell, and texture when they are mixed into a cauldron, not from a textbook."
He led Gilderoy to the other side of the room, where three cauldrons sat simmering over low flames. The brews inside were all the same shade of murky green, and their surfaces appeared identical to the untrained eye.
"Tell me which cauldron contains powdered Griffin Claw," Snape said. "Just from observation."
Gilderoy stared at the cauldrons because they all looked the same, with the same colour, the same consistency, and the same faint steam rising from their surfaces.
This is impossible, he thought. How am I supposed to tell the difference?
Snape's smirk returned as he got a chance to reprimand Lockhart again. "Over-reliance on textbooks is what gets dunderheads killed in a practical exam, or worse, they fail their NEWTs."
Of course it would be Snape who thinks that way. He is really channelling his inner Hermione about exams.
Gilderoy looked closer and noticed that one of the cauldrons had a faint metallic shimmer at the surface, barely visible, like oil on water. He remembered reading that powdered Griffin Claw left a slight metallic residue when added to a brew, so he pointed. "That one."
Snape's smirk faded slightly as he heard Lockhart guess the correct cauldron and had to force himself to grade him. "Acceptable."
___
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