"Bless you, he doesn't get all too many visitors. I don't suppose he will after You Know Who's defeat at the School. So many hospitalised and even more, well, you know. What did you say your name was, Dear? Alohomora"

"It's Marguerite."

"Very unusual, Muggle name, is it?"

"Yes, my Mother is a Muggle."

"Ah, very pretty all the same. Gilderoy, Sweetheart. You have a Visitor." The Healer shuffled forwards, a warm smile on her face." There we go, he's up."

A man, the only one in the room rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Oh gosh, another fan. Rather busy these days, aren't I?"

The Witch named Marguerite took residence in the armchair beside the man's bed.

"Well then, I'll give you some privacy." The Healer directed a motherly look in their direction. "Just doing my rounds, just meet me at the Nurses station when your done and I'll sign you out." The Healer raised her wand and gave it a slight swish and the curtain around the bed decided to move around the rail.

As the door clicked Gilderoy Lockhart broke the heavy silence and turned his attentions to present company. "One of my biggest admirers you know." He nodded towards the door. "Just wish I could remember why..." His smile faltered as his broken mind tried it's best to figure out why. When it simply couldn't he award winning grin reformed " Have we met?"

The Witch gave him a small nod. "Yes, although I haven't seen you in a long while, Professor."

Lockhart looked perplexed yet mildly fascinated. "Professor, eh?" A thoughtful hand rubbed his chin.

For a moment the Witch said nothing but removed from her dress robe and 11" oak wand with dual unicorn hair. "Muffliato." She then brought the wand to the temple of the previous Defence against the Dark Arts Professor and whispered an inaudible incantation.

In that instant Gilderoy Lockhart's face change from one look of dozy complacency to that of confusion. "W-what did you do?" He queried as he rubbed his eyes and nipped the bridge of his nose hard. Images flashed behind his eyes. Names, faces, places, a bank of repressed memories suddenly sprung to life dying to remembered. "What have you done?" He demanded once more, though he struggled to voice the question due to his laboured breathing and pounding head.

The Witch's eyes fixed on his. "I repaired your mind. Something the Healers of this Hospital haven't had the time to do, especially of late." She stood up and edged to the bed. Wand still casually rested against his temple "However, without the second part of the incantation the moment I remove my wand your mind will return to it's previous dependant, blathering state." Marguerite took one of Lockhart's hands in her own.

"I-I do know you, don't I?" He questioned, like he hadn't heard a word she'd just said. "Why do I know you?"

"Later, Professor, Now, I know this is difficult but you need to concentrate. There you go. Look at me now. I want you to regain your mind, Professor. All I ask is..."

Gilderoy Lockhart concentrated on her and agreed whim's and terms despite the mental turmoil his mind was under. Some of her terms were audacious, and essentially rendered his previous life useless. Which was most likely the idea, he would have argued, but he missed this feeling of sanity, of coherent thoughts. You never really knew what you had until you lost it...

KNOCK KNOCK. "Mr. Lockhart!" KNOCK KNOCK. "Mr. Lockhart, its Iggy, Sir. I'm here for your wakeup call!"

Groggily he muttered a response and the Barman's footsteps gradually faded away. Lockhart found himself awaking in one of the more destitute rooms of the Drake and Wyrm. A new pub built to rival the legacy of the Leaky Cauldron. It might have been newer, but it certainly captured the Cauldron's grotty panache. A bright light filled his eyes; the pub just happened to be down the road from Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, a shop in which he quickly grew bored of its eccentric and bold front.

Drawing away from the over the top magic in his reality, Gilderoy thought back to the dream he'd had. Well the dream of his memory. That night he suddenly regained his sanity. After 5 years of no improvement and no counter spell effective enough to bring him round for more than an hour at a time his mind appeared to have just "sorted it out". It baffled Healers of all degrees. An apparent miracle and after all the admissions from the war no one questioned it or the Girl that visited him on the ward that afternoon. Not that she could be found.

3 weeks of careful observations, he was cleared with a clean bill of health and left St. Mungo's to be re integrated back into society. Harry Potter and friends, Heroes. Voldemort dead. Dumbledore dead, at least the man had had the foresight to leave Gilderoy a nice healthy compensation in his vault, in fact lots of people dead. Mostly Death Eaters mind you. Hogwarts was falling down around the few students and fewer staff. The Ministry in tatters, Gringotts ravaged by dragons, it took forever to get that pay from his Vault due to the tracks being destroyed. It was general chaos not a nice way to be welcomed back, not that he was really at all. Not until the hype about the war had died down. Then he was big news. Witch Weekly had offered another contract with him, and his publishers, given him a new manager. But that was two years ago now and he still had to see his therapist once a week.

After his mind wrenching tangent, Gilderoy thought back to St. Mungo's and more specifically the Witch who'd saved him. He hoped he would always remember her. That sleek black hair, oval face, alabaster skin, a mass of freckles and moles, not to mention those eyes. He'd never spoken about her to anyone, one of her terms. But she was constantly in his thoughts, Marguerite.

"You can never tell anyone about what we've spoken about, Professor."

"But how will I find you? Thank you?"

She smiled genuinely at him but something about it was bitter. "You won't it's not in your nature."

"But!"

She shook her head, and paused his speech with her lips. "Enough, I'll finish the incantation now..."

Lockhart swung his legs out of the warm bed, immediately regretting it. Shivering he forced himself to move and pulled his bed robe tighter around him. The cold floorboards creaked under foot as he made his way to his trunk. Snapping his fingers, it unlocked and the lid flipped back. He rummaged for the mirror and his morning ritual began. He prodded his face, eyed his hair. His locks were lifeless, a dirty blonde, he had huge, dark bags under his eyes and pale blotchy skin. Admittedly his younger self would laugh and poke fun and his hideous appearance but he had much more to worry about.

One of those worries thundered through the door, making light work of the locking charm he'd placed on it to keep it out.

"Gilderoyyyyy!" A sing songy voice blasted into the room, anything not bolted or charmed down shook with the noise. "Merlin's beard, man! Why aren't you dressed yet?"

Flo Beoran was a vivacious Witch. 5Ft tall a topped with flaming red hair and bright alert eyes. Most of the time she was suffocating and insufferable but Lockhart had a soft spot for his Manager for some insane reason.

"Laziness is counterproductive, Gilderoy. Plus that Skeeter woman is waiting downstairs with her new lackey, I mean, intern waiting for you. Editor in chief for The Quibbler, indeed. Hasn't been the same since Lovegood." She sighed, pausing momentarily. The War and its causalities was still raw for everyone. Almost everyone, except Lockhart himself, personally he didn't care that much. He wasn't in right mind when it happened and that sense of unity wasn't felt by him when he left Mungo's. "Well then you lazy sod, get dressed. I'm giving you 10 minutes. Lots to do and not enough time in the day, maybe I should apply for a time turner. Would you just look at you! Oh well, I suppose sympathy points is better than nothing."

She left the room with that and Lockhart shrunk back onto the bed, mirror in hand. It was like taking a physical beating being in Flo's company. Despite being 10 years his junior Flo acted like his mother, dressed like her too. She always had a fascination with Muggle clothing too. It was probably why he didn't find her attractive. Not the way she dressed, just the fact she dressed like his mother. He saw her in Flo every time and it scared him into giving up any fleeting thoughts about her.

Lockhart ran a hand through his hair out of sheer habit, something he used to do in his younger days that always got the hearts of many a housewife and school girl racing. Now it was a reminder about his past and how his life came crumbling down during his time at Hogwarts. Looking back, in hindsight, he could see that taking the Defence against the Dark Arts post was in his poorer judgement. Get close to Potter, he remembered thinking, the boy will boost your popularity. In the end all it did reveal his fraudulent behaviour and precarious past.

Of course, despite the hard falls and months initially living in his mother's old house Lockhart had found help in Flo. The only Personal Organiser in the Wizarding world willing to take on this lucrative and downright conniving man. Eventually anyway, she took a lot of convincing in his miraculous change in character. Something Gilderoy cringed about every time he was forced to remember his humiliation. Now he was back to writing, something he found comfort in, surprisingly. As a Wizard he may have fallen short, but as a writer he excelled. Despite what Rita Skeeter was determined to think. Bloody scavenger with a quick quotes quill, she wasn't the writer, he was. He finally dragged himself of the bed and forced his way back to his trunk; eventually Lockhart was dressed and ready to face the world. Except for Skeeter. He opened the door to his room and made his way down the cavernous hallways, more than once he'd gotten lost. They all looked the same. The same 17th centaury wallpaper and 17th centaury carpets. The same small lopsided windows and large irregular doors, the same tables that littered the hallways with replica's of the same vases sitting on each one. The few differences that he did notice were the badly charmed numbers on the doors and the assortments of Witches and Wizards that emerged from them.

Somehow he found his way down his last staircase and plastered the award winning grin falsely onto his face. Some heads turned from the creaking of the staircase and immediately turned back to what they were doing previously. Usually drinking themselves into oblivion. The room itself looked rather clean and fancy in comparison to the rest of the pub. High ceiling with French decor, Panelled walls and an assortment of marbled booths and polished wooden tables. Clearly someone was a Muggle Connoisseur.

"Lockhart, dear, what a pleasant surprise." The shrilly pitch of Rita Skeeter's voice reached Lockhart's ears momentarily he flinched. He looked round to see her emerging from one of the booths, notebook in one hand and Butterbeer in the other.

"Not at all Rita, my dear woman. You knew I was here you cheeky minx." He winked at her, and outstretched his hand, taking her own spindly one its grasp.

"You know me, Lockhart. You know me." She blushed, turning her face away in a falsified embarrassment. Indeed I do, grimaced Lockhart internally. He hand retracted and she looked at the Author. "How about a statement for the Quibbler? You know pre press before your launch?"

She was straight in, no beating around the bush with this one. "Now, now, Rita. You know all press release runs through my magnificent manager." He motioned to Flo, who looked like she was about ready to leap on Skeeter. She had one hand white knuckled around her mug, her face flushed red in anger. The poor intern Skeeter had brought along looked terrified of the Witch.

He mouth lifted into an amused smirk. "Surely you can give me a tinsy little something, without your Boggart biting?" She gestured with her fingers while giving Lockhart a coy look.

He gave her a hearty chuckle. "Persistent as ever, Rita. However, I simply can't. If you have any questions I would be most delighted to answer them in Flourish and Blotts later." Lockhart swerved around Rita and made toward Flo who was already on her feet. "And this is?" Motioning to the frightened Witch cowering the booth.

"Carmella Waites. I Just graduated from Hogwarts last year, ." The trembling intern outstretched her hand. Lockhart took it, and kissed it lightly. The Witch looked taken aback.

"An absolute pleasure to meet you . Now then, shall we go, Flo? Lots to do, not enough time."

Flo nodded, taking Lockhart by the arm and leading him away like a child. "Indeed. Ms. Waites. Rita." She almost spat the word out as they avoided the reporter, he quick quotes quill hovering expectantly about the page.

"See you later sir!" Waved Iggy the barman. Lockhart nodded his head towards him as they left the pub.

"I hope that woman gets on the wrong side of the security troll." Hissed Flo, enraged. "Now come one. My schedule is ruined."

They made their way out into Diagon alley to start the day.