"Oh my, Professor Lockhart, I didn't expect magically made food to taste this good."
Sitting at the dining table and hearing Darcy's slightly flattering remark, Lockhart smiled.
Although the original body had been practically useless in combat, his lifestyle had been quite refined.
If nothing else, his command of household spells was exceptional—he had even created a few of his own.
For Lockhart, who now possessed the original's memories, mastering them was easy with a bit of practice.
"You flatter me. We wizards rarely cook by hand—it's usually done with magic."
"So the flavor might be a bit better that way."
At that point, Lockhart smoothly shifted the topic, turning to Thor, who was quietly eating breakfast beside him, and asked with a smile, "Mr. Thor, I heard you mention yesterday that you're from Asgard."
"Is there magic in Asgard?"
Upon hearing that, Thor thumped his chest and proudly replied:
"Lockhart, Asgard rules over the Nine Realms. Of course we possess advanced magic. My mother, Queen Frigga, is the greatest sorceress in all the Nine Realms."
At that mention, Thor's mood suddenly dimmed.
He was likely reminded of being exiled by his father, making it hard to see his mother again—a sad thought.
Seeing this, Lockhart didn't press further. He had only intended to plant a seed for later.
Frigga, the greatest sorceress in the Nine Realms? Lockhart couldn't help but scoff inwardly.
What about the Ancient One?
Soon, he steered the conversation toward a more casual discussion about magic with Erik and the others.
Jane, sensing Thor's melancholy, leaned over and softly comforted him.
—
After breakfast—
Lockhart changed into casual wear, stood by the front door, said a few words to Erik and the others, and stepped out.
Once in town, he asked a few passersby about local real estate agencies.
After gathering some information, he headed straight to one.
As a wizard, he needed a private space—especially for practicing magic, which couldn't always be done inside his enchanted suitcase.
If he broke something, it would be a problem.
He needed to rent a house where he could train freely.
The suitcase was suitable only for emergencies.
He found a real estate agency, explained his requirements, left his contact info, and turned to leave.
Oh—and through a trade yesterday, he'd received some cash and a phone from Erik.
As for things like a driver's license or ID…
Lockhart glanced at the leather pouch on his waist and smiled faintly.
With Confundus-charmed documents, any Muggle who saw them would believe they were real—
Even if… they were completely blank.
—
Afterward, he walked into a nearby bar, ordered a glass of water, and sat by a window, quietly listening in on the conversations around him.
As a truth-seeking wizard, he never drank alcohol.
Before long, voices reached his ears.
"Smith, you drink less than an ant. You passed out after just three drinks yesterday—totally embarrassing."
"That was a fluke! Let's see who drinks less today!"
"…"
"Druce, did you hear? A satellite fell on the east side of town. Lots of people are going to check it out."
"Satellite? Are you sure? I heard it was a hammer."
"A hammer? What's so special about that? I've got plenty at home."
"I'm telling you, this one's not ordinary…"
From the chatter, Lockhart immediately caught the keyword: hammer. He quickly located the two men talking—both white guys in leather pants.
His eyes lit up.
He had come to this bar with a purpose.
Taking a sip of his water, he stood and called to the bartender, "Send two bottles of whiskey to that table."
He pointed at the two men.
They looked at him, confused.
Who is this guy?
Seeing their puzzled expressions, Lockhart smiled and explained, "The whiskey's on me, gentlemen."
"No special reason—I'd just like to ask a bit more about that hammer you mentioned earlier."
"Could you tell me exactly where it is?"
Thanks to the two bottles of whiskey, Lockhart quickly obtained accurate intel on the hammer's location.
With a polite nod, he left the bar.
—
To the east side of the New Mexico town—where Thor's hammer had landed.
A huge crowd had gathered, buzzing with chatter and noise.
Looking at the massive crater in the distance, Lockhart sighed inwardly.
Thor's hammer is no joke—it created a crater just by falling.
If it had been him, he would've needed most of his magic power and a Transfiguration Charm to produce the same effect.
He strolled toward the impact site.
Blending into the crowd, his handsome appearance drew the attention of many young women and married ladies.
But sensing Lockhart's aloof aura, no one dared approach.
At that moment, a burly white man stepped onto the mound of earth and flexed his arms.
Gripping the handle of Mjolnir, Thor's hammer, he gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength.
Unfortunately—
Even with his face red from effort, the hammer didn't budge.
Lockhart studied Mjolnir carefully, noting how unmoving it was, and sighed.
No wonder it's considered a divine artifact. If not for the fact that no one else can lift it, it would just look like a normal hammer.
As a wizard, he didn't sense even the faintest magical aura from it—a testament to the hammer's deep mystery.
Once the others gave up—
Lockhart stepped up to Mjolnir and imitated their attempts to lift it.
No luck—it didn't move at all.
Then—
He drew his wand, tapped the hammer, and quickly chanted, "Aparecium!"
A faint blue glow flashed for a moment—then vanished.
Lockhart's breathing quickened.
He glanced around at the surrounding Muggles, frowned, then waved his wand toward the sky.
"Confundo!"
In Lockhart's eyes, a transparent ripple spread outward, clouding the minds of all nearby Muggles.
To the crowd, the handsome man was gone—replaced by another white man, still struggling to lift the hammer like before.
Now hidden behind a magical illusion, Lockhart resumed studying Thor's hammer.
"Aparecium!"
"Aparecium!"
"Aparecium!"
…
One after another, ten revealing spells struck Mjolnir.
Suddenly, the hammer burst into a deep blue glow, and mysterious runes full of ancient power began to emerge.
Lockhart's eyes lit up, his breathing quickening.