Lockhart's Secret

Draco's request was only an interlude. Edmund did not dwell on it. Lockhart interested him far more.

The man was useless in practice, yet parts of his theoretical knowledge were not empty. He knew enough to be dangerous in conversation, and his reflexes during the demonstration with Snape had been too good for a wizard who could barely manage his own wand.

Edmund asked Flitwick about Lockhart's school years.

"He was an irritating presence," Flitwick admitted. "Always trying to be famous, always trying to show off. He once had house-elves deliver love letters to himself. He tried to create several school newspapers, if I remember correctly."

"What about his marks?"

Flitwick thought for a moment. "His Charms marks were good. Not brilliant, but good. His other subjects were less impressive, though he did pass his N.E.W.T.s."

That made the contradiction worse. A man who passed N.E.W.T.s should not have lost his wand to Cornish pixies in front of a classroom.

Edmund decided to ask directly.

In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Lockhart once again had students read scenes from his books with theatrical feeling. Since the pixie incident, he had stopped allowing practical exercises. To be fair, the books contained real knowledge, because the adventures themselves had been stolen from people who actually knew what they were doing. Some students still learned from them.

Harry suffered the most, because Lockhart kept dragging him into demonstrations. After class, Edmund followed Lockhart back to his office and knocked.

"Come in," Lockhart called.

He looked confused when Edmund entered, but his smile appeared by habit. "Mr. Gaunt! What can I do for you?"

Edmund sat across from him. "I have a question, Professor."

"Of course. With my extensive experience, I am sure I can answer it."

"Under what circumstances would a wizard lose most of his ability to cast spells, yet keep one spell at a very high level?"

Lockhart's smile froze. Edmund continued, calm and direct. "Especially the Memory Charm." Lockhart gave a strained laugh. "Ah, well, in Voyages with Vampires I once encountered-"

"Professor," Edmund interrupted, "I know many of your experiences were stolen. Your Memory Charms were not as clean as you thought. Some people still remember pieces."

That was a bluff. Lockhart believed it. His shoulders slumped, and for a second he looked much older. "If you already know..."

"Obliviate!"

"Protego."

Both spells sounded at once. Lockhart's Memory Charm struck Edmund's shield and vanished.

"Enough," Edmund said. "I am curious, not offended."

Lockhart stared at him, then leaned back as if surrendering. "What do you want to know?"

"Professor Flitwick told me you were not hopeless at school. You graduated. You passed your N.E.W.T.s. Why can you barely cast a standard Levitation Charm now?"

For a long time, Lockhart was silent. Then he spoke.

"I wanted everyone to know my name. Dumbledore was my idol. After graduation, I chased ruins, dangerous creatures, anything that might make me famous. For two or three years, I improved quickly. I could even hold out against an Auror for a short time."

His expression twisted between shame and old excitement.

"Then I wanted more. I thought if I could break into a pyramid and come back alive, the whole wizarding world would talk about me."

He laughed once, without humor.

"I failed. Mummies chased me through that place until I could barely stand. If another wizard had not pulled me out, I would have died there."

The smile was gone now.

"After that, my magic changed. I was afraid. The more afraid I became, the worse it grew. Within two years, my magic was barely stronger than a first-year's."

Lockhart gripped the arms of his chair.

"Magic abandoned me. So I used the one spell that never failed me. Memory Charms. I took stories from people who had done what I no longer could. It made me famous, and it eased the jealousy a little."

When he finished, he looked almost relieved.

"You can tell Dumbledore. Or the Ministry. I only ask one thing." Lockhart lifted his chin with the last scrap of theatrical pride he still possessed. "If I end up in the papers one final time, make sure they use a handsome photograph."

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