I crept through the corridors of the Janus Thickey ward as quietly as possible. Maybe I wouldn't need Lockhart after all; perhaps I could find the portrait without him, and relieve myself of having to deal with his infuriating presence.

No such luck.

I was suddenly ambushed by something with a shock of wavy blond hair and bright white teeth.

"Well, hello there!" Gilderoy Lockhart said, cheerfully. "Come to give me an interview, I take it."

It seems having his memory shattered to bits did nothing to alter the man's self-absorbed attitude.

"Most certainly not," I answered, straightening my robes.

Lockhart's annoying smile faltered slightly. "I say, you look rather familiar. Do I know you?"

I blinked in surprise, and then recovered myself. "No," I replied, with an air that said the discussion was over. "I am actually in need of your assistance."

"Of course you are!" Lockhart exclaimed, his usual demeanor reappearing. "What can I do for you, my friend? I am quite famous, you know."

Smiling myself, I asked: "Yes, but for what?"

Lockhart's face went as blank as his mind. "You know, I'm not quite sure."

I sighed, and decided to get down to business. "Some of the patients across the hall said that you knew where the portrait of Hippocrates is."

Lockhart stared at me. "Portrait of Hippocrates?"

"Yes. The one who believed himself to be one of the seven dwarves said that you knew where the man trapped in the mirror was, and that you spoke with him all the time."

Lockhart thought for a moment, and I was about to give him up as the nut-job that he was, when he brightened and said: "Ah, the portrait! Yes, of course! He lives on my hall, you know. Very clever chap. Follow me!"

Bloody hell, it actually worked. I followed Lockhart as he lead the way toward his section. We reached an area marked "Closed Ward", and I followed him through the doors and into his hall. He stopped not far from the entrance at an ancient looking portrait, where a fat man in a powdered wig resided. He was snoring loudly.

"Here you are!" Lockhart exclaimed, triumphantly.

I stared at him, and then I stared at the name on the portrait.

Mungo Bonham.

The founder of St. Mungo's. Not Hippocrates. I whirled on Lockhart.

"This is not Hippocrates, you idiot," I snapped. The portrait jerked awake with a loud snort. "This is Mungo Bonham, founder of the hospital that you plague with your existence."

"I say, who is this Hippocrates fellow you keep going on about?" Lockhart asked. "You asked me to show you the man trapped in the mirror. Of course, those people across the hall didn't know any better. He's not really trapped in a mirror." Lockhart laughed giddily, as if he had discovered some great secret.

"Yes, but, they said that Hippocrates would be here..." I realized with a jolt that they never, in fact, mentioned Hippocrates at all. They just kept referring to him as the kind ghostly man trapped in a mirror. Mungo Bonham was a portrait, and from his powdered wig is perhaps where they contrived the ghostly appearance.

Bloody hell! That was the last time I took the advice of a fairy godmother and a dwarf.

"What is all this fuss about?" Mungo's portrait demanded. "I'm trying to sleep!"

I glared at it, but then my memory caught up to me. "An apparition which Bonham had come to see," I muttered to myself, reciting the Gunhilda's poem. "Grecian wizard of the past was this great man..." Louder, and directed toward Mungo's portrait, I asked: "Do you know where I can find the fabled portrait of Hippocrates?"

Mungo's portrait regarded me. "What is your reason for asking, sir?"

"Because I want to strip it down and sell it for parts," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because I am in need of it, you ancient, moth ridden painting!" I had had enough. I was tired, hungry, and thoroughly exasperated. I was sick of dragons, Charlie Weasley, vampires, and this bloody hospital. I wanted to go home and I wanted to be rid of this ridiculous wild goose chase!

The portrait blinked at me in surprise. "Now, see here-" it began, but I cut it off angrily.

"I have traveled all the way from Romania. Romania, do you hear me?" I shouted. "I had to fight off a fire-breathing dragon, rid a house of a Bundimun infestation, and try and survive a night in a vampire's pub! I was put under the Imperius curse! One of my former students is deathly ill, and I must find this portrait to garner a clue about creating a cure for him, or my entire expedition will have been in vain! Hippocrates is the only person who can help me, and you are the only person who can tell me where he is." I glared, panting, at Mungo Bonham's portrait.

It regarded me again for a few moments, before booming: "I have an oath to keep with him, that I would never directly reveal his position." He paused, and then added, "Yet, I see your great need and understand. A Healer's task is to help find cures, and you are in need of him. If you can answer my question, I will point you in the right direction. Would you prefer a mind-game, or a game of chance?"

What kind of question was that?

"So, you are willing to tell me if I pass your test?" I asked.

The portrait nodded.

Damn it all to hell! What must I do to be rid of this blasted adventure?

"Fine," I sighed, annoyed. "Anything. I just want to have this over with."

"I'd take the game of chance," Lockhart advised.

Hmph.

"In that case, I'll take the mind-game," I said.

The portrait of Mungo nodded, and then recited:

Red eyes hath shone.

Valuable is my egg,

I have plenty of backbone,

But lack a good leg.

"Is that all of it?" I asked. "And, no, that's not my answer."

Mungo nodded again. "That is your riddle."

"Oh, I love riddles!" Lockhart exclaimed. I resisted the urge to throw him bodily down the corridor.

Instead I pondered the riddle that Mungo had given me. I at first thought of a Basilisk, but it's eyes are yellow. I then began running through my head the list of species' whose eggs are valuable in potion making that also had red eyes, and no legs. It was most definitely some kind of serpent, and the only other serpent that I could think of that matched the requirements was an Ashwinder. Although Ashwinders do not live very long, and had a dull grey appearance, they were most well known for their fiery red eyes and equally red eggs. Ashwinder eggs are very valuable, if frozen, and were used in a variety of Love Potions.

So, I took a deep breath, and said, confidently, "The answer to the riddle is an Ashwinder."

For a moment Mungo did nothing but stare at me. I almost lost my head all together and had to fight myself from grabbing the portrait off the wall and demanding that it tell me where Hippocrates was or I'd smash it to bits.

But then the founder of St. Mungo's smiled. "You are correct."

I breathed a mental sigh of relief. Out loud, however, I said, "Of course I am."

"Hippocrates can be found wherever you have need of him," Mungo explained. "Now, go."

I didn't move.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked. "That doesn't tell me anything!"

"Of course it does!" Lockhart said jovially. "He says that it'll be wherever you want him to."

It took me a moment to realize just what exactly Lockhart and the portrait were saying.

"You mean, he'll just... appear wherever I choose?"

Mungo shrugged. "In a way. What ailment does your friend suffer from?"

"A rare form of Dragon Pox, or so I had thought," I told him. "But the portrait of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor said that it was not. Anyway, he has a contagious and deadly malady."

"Then where your friend is ill, he will appear," Mungo said with an air of finality, and promptly went back to sleep.

To say that I was furious would be an understatement. And I wish I could say it was because I spent the whole night searching the hospital, bottom to top, when I could have had the portrait appear right over Charlie Weasley's bed.

No. I was infuriated that Gilderoy Lockhart, the stupidest no-talent wizard that ever walked the planet, figured out what Mungo was talking about before I did.

I could either kill him, hide the body, and then pretend the whole night never happened, or I could go back up to the second floor and save Charlie Weasley, get some much needed rest, and then pretend the night never happened. The first option sounded very appealing. However, such things are frowned upon, so I went with the latter.

I removed myself from Lockhart's presence - finally! - and returned back to the second floor.