Gilderoy Lockhart sat in his bed at 's hospital staring off into the distance thinking about the past. It was a cold Christmas Eve and the street outside was covered in snow. All the shops along the street looked magical, filled with glistening lights an sparkling decorations. The people who wandered past these shops were not to know that the most magical shop was the empty, bleak, run-down shop that held 's hospital. This shop front looked lonely and desolate with nothing but on old mannequin inside. But this place was magical, even if the people on the street did not realise it.
As he sat on his bed thinking of the past all seemed peaceful and fine. But there was only one problem; he couldn't remember anything from his past. Every now and again he would get little glimpses and snippets from his past, but never anything substantial enough to teach him anything about who he used to be. Sometimes he would awake with a feeling that he had dreamt about something he used to know, but he could never remember the dream.
He had been told by numerous people that they could do nothing for his memory. He had been told that only he could help himself now. He had been told that if he tried he could retrieve his memory. There was only one problem, he wasn't sure if he was going to like who he used to be...