Chapter 82: Gilderoy Lothar

“Yes, I’m also a fan of Mr. Lothar’s books—I absolutely love ‘Travelling with Vampires’; I’m so envious of his experiences.”

“What, making stickers of Mr. Lothar? Of course I’ve considered it. In fact, I’m planning a series of stickers featuring great wizards, but I’ve been undecided.”

“I’m torn between using Headmaster Dumbledore or Mr. Lothar as the first representative wizard.”

Within a single day, a conversation from Ollivander’s Wand Shop spread rapidly throughout Diagon Alley and reached Gilderoy Lothar at Flourish and Blotts.

During a signing break, he approached the owner of Flourish and Blotts and asked casually, “Silven Ollivander—isn’t that a perceptive child? But his name… is it the Ollivander I’m thinking of?”

“Yes, the wandmaker Ollivander.”

The owner of Flourish and Blotts was a middle-aged witch in her forties; upon hearing Silven’s name, she said, “That boy has lived in Diagon Alley since he was very young—Garrick Ollivander is his grandfather. I never expected he’d be one of your fans.”

“I’m equally surprised, though of course, it was to be expected.” Gilderoy Lothar flashed his eight gleaming white teeth. “Another young wizard captivated by my adventures—what a delightful nuisance, wouldn’t you say?”

Lothar flicked his golden hair and, before the owner could catch her breath, asked curiously, “But what exactly is this wand sticker he mentioned?”

“This one.” The owner pulled out her wand and pointed to its tip, where a lifelike sphinx lazily rubbed against the shaft.

“It’s just a decoration. Compared to the old plain wands, this change is wonderful—like having a pet you carry everywhere. It lifts your mood immensely.”

“But you have to replace it every so often, or the sticker stops moving.”

Lothar stared at the sticker, lost in thought.

After a long while, he asked, “Are many people buying these?”

“Many,” the owner said. “They’re only two sickles each—most can afford them. Lately, there’s been a queue outside Ollivander’s Wand Shop every day.”

“So everyone can see the sticker anytime?” Lothar’s eyes lit up like two bright lanterns as something occurred to him.

“Yes, I suppose so.” The witch nodded, then glanced toward the doorway. “Mr. Lothar, there are more fans outside—shouldn’t we…?”

“Ah, yes, break’s over.” Lothar stood, flashing his signature dazzling smile, and strode back into the bookstore hall.

The original bookshelves had been moved aside, replaced by a dozen large posters of Gilderoy Lothar. Lothar himself sat on a circular platform in the center, signing books for every wizard who came by.

Lines formed outside Flourish and Blotts, and lines formed outside Ollivander’s Wand Shop. Wizards gathered eagerly, all with bright futures ahead.

At half past three in the afternoon, the signing ended.

“It’s fine—there’ll be other chances.”

Lothar looked at those who had arrived too late and offered his trademark smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, good news: tomorrow I’ll be signing my autobiography, ‘The Magical Me,’ right here, until half past four. This is your perfect opportunity to get Gilderoy Lothar’s autograph!”

Cheers erupted from the crowd.

Gilderoy Lothar retreated into Flourish and Blotts, curled his front golden hair with his fingers, and studied himself in the mirror.

“Such enthusiasm—should I hold more signing events?”

A male wizard who had just entered heard him and his already weary face darkened further.

Three and a half hours of signing, with a one-and-a-half-hour break, plus his slow, deliberately elegant signature pace—how could the line outside not stretch endlessly?

Yet he’d genuinely shouted “Don’t crowd!” for three hours outside… those mad witches—this job was pure torture. He hoped no more signings would ever be held again.

But Lothar didn’t know what the clerk was thinking. Seeing him, Lothar was pleased and pulled a sealed envelope from his pocket, its gold-embossed cursive script gleaming.

“Could you please deliver this to the wand shop… Silven Ollivander? That’s his name, right?”

Lothar left through the back door, leaving the male wizard standing there cursing under his breath—but since Lothar was now a key customer, the clerk had no choice but to join the queue outside the wand shop.

Afternoon.

“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Lothar,” Silven hurried over. “So many wizards queued for the stickers—I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t make it sooner.”

“No problem. I completely understand this kind of happy trouble.” Lothar’s smile remained as warm as spring sunshine—as if he’d waited three minutes, not three hours.

“I now have to spend five hours a day replying to letters—snowflakes falling from my admirers.”

“That’s because Mr. Lothar is truly outstanding,” Silven said. “By the way, I’m going to buy another set of your books.”

“Another?” Lothar caught the odd phrasing.

“Hogwarts has made your books required reading,” Silven said. “I already own a set, but they’re all signed—I wouldn’t dare take them to the chaotic school environment.”

Lothar’s grin widened, barely holding back his eight-tooth smile.

“No need to buy—I’ll give you my complete collection, including ‘The Magical Me,’ which goes on sale tomorrow. All signed, of course.”

“Wow, really?”

“Of course,” Lothar said. “A small gift from a future professor to an outstanding student.”

Silven smiled.

Honestly, flattering Lothar was far easier—and far more profitable—than charming a young witch. A few words saved him thirty-five Galleons.

As for whether Silven actually owned Lothar’s complete signed collection… of course he didn’t. Why waste Galleons on such nonsense?

But Lothar didn’t know that—not everyone had a grandfather who remembered every customer’s name.

Still, what he’d just said was interesting.

“You mentioned… professor?” Silven asked, the question he most wanted to hear, as Lothar waited expectantly.

“Those butterbeers ruined my secret,” Lothar sighed. “But since you know—yes, this September, I’ll be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts.”

“Oh, really? That’s wonderful!” Silven said.

He was genuinely delighted.

Gilderoy Lothar’s value wasn’t just thirty-five Galleons. Silven welcomed this professor with open arms.

“Keep it secret,” Lothar warned. “I want to surprise everyone at the right moment.”

“I understand,” Silven smiled. There were no reporters from the Daily Prophet here—this wasn’t the right moment for a front-page headline.

“I understand,” Silven said with a smile. There are no reporters from the Prophet here, so it can’t make the front page—it’s certainly not the right time.

(End of Chapter)