Chapter 22 – The Misunderstood Genius

After more careful inspection, Professor Lockhart wasn't exactly as Harry had remembered him. There remained only a flicker of the smile that had once littered the pages of Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet and earned him a fair portion of his formerly glittering reputation. His style of dressing was far more sedate, and there was none of the startling boldness in his manner to be seen.

"Professor, could I speak to you alone for a moment?" Harry asked hopefully.

The concerns that hung in the air were evident to all those present.

"Err, certainly Potter," she replied, turning to Moody and Lockhart, "Would the two of you mind?"

Moody nodded and grunted in acceptance, before pivoting round on his wooden leg and wandering out of the door. Lockhart's gaze lingered on Harry for a moment. He smiled briefly and made a subtle bow, then slowly turned to leave.

"I'm sure she's a very lucky girl," he said as left the room.

Harry's eyes widened as the door closed. He was trying to make sense of this, but was failing miserably. As if caught in a trance, he didn't even notice McGonagall sit down behind her desk.

"Potter? Potter? Would you like to have a seat?"

"Wha…? Oh, sorry, yes," he said quickly.

Before he could speak, she spoke for him.

"I realise that there is an explanation due to you," she said calmly, "so allow me to outline the circumstances in which we now find ourselves."

She re-filled her tea cup and also conjured one in front of Harry, from which he gratefully drank.

"It was, I believe, around late Spring last year that healers at St Mungo's Hospital began to notice great improvements in Gilderoy Lockhart's mental condition. He had started to make random comments and general observations about his childhood. Hardly something for most people to celebrate, but to the healers, this was a very encouraging sign, especially given the strength of the memory charm that initially backfired on him."

Harry remembered this incident all too clearly. It was something for which Lockhart would most certainly have to make amends, even though things had worked out for the best. The man had attempted to addle the minds of him and Ron in the Chamber of Secrets, and if it weren't for the fact that Ron's broken wand caused the charm to backfire, then Ginny would have almost certainly died.

"With such able care to hand, there had been, shall we say 'method to the madness' for quite some time," she continued, "and his memory continued to stabilise from day to day, though the healing process was still slow as it usually is when the brain has sustained a magical injury."

He found this quite easy to believe. On their last encounter in the mental ward of St Mungo's, Lockhart had been puzzling over fan letters, having not the slightest clue as to why he had been famous. Recounting this, Harry was now itching to find out how the professor had been offered yet another job teaching at Hogwarts.

"Six months ago, he had recovered to an extent that allowed him to be granted temporary release from the hospital. A week before he was due to leave, a healer's apprentice, Alicia Felmont, was on the point of leaving Lockhart's bedside to fetch him some pumpkin juice. This was not normally part of routine, as it was only served with meals, but Miss Felmont had read the man's work, and had taken quite a shine to him. As she was about to leave, however, he asked her not to bother, as he wasn't feeling particularly thirsty. This, Harry, came as something of a shock to the girl, who hastily reported it to her head of department, for she never actually spoke a word aloud about bringing him a drink."

The meaning of this was now dawning on Harry, and the Headmistress could see a vague flicker of clarity appear in his eyes.

"It would indeed appear that he was practising Legilimency upon her and it was determined, given the progress that he had made, that he had been accomplished in that field before the accident. Why we never knew when he was originally employed to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts is something of a mystery."

"But he hardly taught us a thing!" Harry protested, "He never mentioned anything about this, and he wasn't exactly modest about his so-called 'talents'!"

McGonagall sighed as she recalled this disastrous appointment in Harry's second year.

"I believe that is something you should discuss with Professor Lockhart, Harry," she replied, "Speaking of which, he will be taking your first lesson until lunchtime. Go downstairs and let him know, and if you would be so good, send Professor Moody back in here."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she silenced him.

"No, that's my final word, Potter. Now go."

Harry grudgingly tramped out of the office and back down the spiral staircase. After bidding farewell to Moody, he followed Lockhart to a formerly disused classroom that now contained nothing but a table and two chairs in the middle of it.

"Please sit down, Harry" said Lockhart blankly.

There was no cheer, arrogance, or false bravado in his voice now. As Harry did as he was told, he preferred to think that this was the result of a brain transplant.

"I will answer any questions that you may have, for one can study neither Occlumency nor Legilimency if one stands in the shadow of doubt."

Harry sat there, wondering where to begin.

"Well, to start with, Professor, why did you become a Defence teacher when you knew next to nothing about it?" he asked, half expecting the professor's temper to flair up at the insult to his pride.

Instead, Lockhart calmly sat down and addressed the matter.

"I'm sure you remember the volume of fan letters I received on a daily basis back then. Having been missing from the public eye for a few years, there aren't quite so many now and I have been instructed not to answer any of them while I remain at Hogwarts. However, there was a time when many proud parents, having read my work, were writing to urge me to become a teacher so that I could pass my, err, 'knowledge' on to future generations of witches and wizards. Such letters were also sent to the school, and to maintain my celebrated status, I could hardly ignore those requests forever."

Though satisfied with this frank admission, Harry had only just begun.

"Professor, after watching you teach last time, you must understand that I'm having a difficult time believing that you were so good at Occlumency and Legilimency all along – "

"Well then let's start with a lesson in morals," he interrupted loudly, "Being a fraudster in our world is somewhat more difficult than it is for muggles, Harry. To commit the perfect crime, no one must realise what you are about to do, what you are doing, or what you have done. Now, I took credit for the deeds of many great wizards, all of whom were fiercely proud of their lifetime of achievements. Do you know what it took to be able to accomplish that, completely undetected?"

Harry stared at him blankly, but understood that maybe there was a little more to this man than met the eye.

"Allow me to enlighten you," he continued, "Each had to be interviewed in depth, and more than a few were a little reluctant and suspicious; not exactly the forthcoming types. So, I required Occlumency to conceal my true intentions from them, and Legilimency to see firsthand what their experiences were really like, especially when they tried fobbing me off with vague details. I wanted to capture the sights, the sensations, and the emotions of it all, because it was all part of what would make my written work so captivating. My talents lie in the intricacies of the mind, so I used them to my advantage."

Harry was shaking his head at this, for there seemed such an obvious solution to it all.

"But if that's so, then why didn't you just find somewhere to teach what you actually knew about?" he asked, staring at him like he had just been freshly committed, "Or better still, why didn't you write books about it to begin with?"

Professor Lockhart sighed. This boy was far too innocent and pure of intention, he decided.

"Because I wanted fortune and glory!" he cried, "I needed something that would sell! As intriguing as my specialist arts were, I knew they wouldn't earn me the recognition I craved. People wanted to read about someone who had stared the dark arts in the face and overcome every adversary in their path, they wanted a hero. All I did was give them one!"

Though Harry still had little respect for him as a wizard, there was part of him that felt both sympathy and a sneaking admiration for Lockhart. After all, dishonest and fraudulent as he may have been, Harry had never known a wizard like him.

"Now then, if I have succeeded in lifting that veil of mystery, may we begin?" he asked impatiently.

After a brief hesitation, Harry nodded. He supposed that all he needed to know now was if the man actually did know how to teach him something.

"A little preparation will be required on your part, Mr Potter," the professor began, "I realise that emptying your mind is not quite as easy as it sounds, so we shall take this one step at a time. First, you are to recognise that there is nothing out of the ordinary about learning this subject. This is nothing but a normal school day for you, and any anxieties you have are simply ridiculous notions to be discarded."

Harry looked questioningly at him.

"But – "

"Harry, this first step is essential!" he cut in, wishing to hammer the point home, "You cannot hope to conceal truth and emotion without first accepting the circumstances in which you find yourself! You must be utterly convinced that there is nothing strange about this subject, or the fact that you are the only student learning it. Imagine that your friends are in here with you, like any normal lesson. Concentrate!"

Closing his eyes and concentrating as hard as he could, Harry tried to imagine himself in his old History of Magic lessons, as he felt only this could summon the very picture of monotony.

"Very good, Potter," murmured Lockhart, who had already begun delving into Harry's thoughts, "Next, you must allow your mind to trivialise past, present and future. Pick a memory. It can be any memory, so long as it is clear."

His mind couldn't help drifting to his chaotic lessons that Lockhart had conducted in his second year. The professor cleared his throat awkwardly as he saw the memory emerging. Every detail became clearer with each passing moment.

"Now, I want you to concentrate hard," he continued, "and draw a blank screen over every aspect of the memory. Every face must become a blur, every sound must be silenced, and every sensation must become numb. Draw a blank screen over it all, until the blankness is all that you see."

Harry knew that Lockhart would probably be very glad for this to happen in more ways than one. He persevered until a thick white haze descended over his mind, though keeping it in place proved to be quite a struggle.

"This isn't something you can just learn overnight, Harry, but so far you are doing very well," said the professor encouragingly, "What you must do now is be able to change the memory. Summon it to its former clarity once again, and convince me that something completely different happened. Convince yourself."

Concentrating with all his might, Harry tried to picture Lockhart's class being asked to teach the school owls to talk. He focused in on certain details, such as Hermione's owl naturally being the first to complete a coherent sentence, and Ron complaining how pointless the exercise was. Twisting the image was like re-sculpting a piece of clay, and Harry was surprised at just how easily he could achieve it.

"Excellent, Harry," Lockhart beamed, "You know, you're taking to this a lot quicker than I thought you would, but unfortunately, we are only just scratching the surface. When concealing thoughts from others, it is so often our emotions that give us away, so what I need from you now is a far more emotional memory. Whether it is happy, sad, frightening, exciting, I leave that to you."

This made it more difficult for Harry to focus, as there was now a multitude of memories from which to choose. He finally settled upon the thought of Ginny, the happiest thought he could imagine, but now he had to make a transition from the inept teachings of Professor Lockhart to the love of his life. Suddenly, like a fly caught in a spider's web, fighting against the inevitable, he found himself back in the Chamber of Secrets. Lockhart stood in his way, thinking only of his own reputation, while Ginny lay in grave danger at the heart of the chamber. Harry had managed to save her, but he still couldn't help thinking what would have happened if Ron's wand hadn't been broken. There now descended a red haze of anger and pain, and he could feel his hands balling into fists.

"Harry, calm down!" growled Lockhart.

She…she…

"SHE COULD'VE DIED!!" screamed Harry, opening his eyes and reaching for his wand.

He could now see Lockhart's wand pointed at him, and froze in his chair.

"I say again, Harry, calm down!" he repeated, "The fact remains that she did not die!"

Composing himself, Harry now looked incredulously at the wand pointed at him.

"What were you going to do anyway?" he enquired, "Remove all the bones from my arm again? Or perhaps you'd like to raise the stakes and remove my skull instead?"

Lockhart fixed him with a very serious look.

"Whether you like it or not, Harry, it is my job to teach you Occlumency, something I guarantee you will need when you go to meet your enemy. Now, I know that you have been thinking about how much you care for this girl since the moment you walked in this room, so if it helps, just think that you are doing this for her, as well as countless others. You saved her life before, but if you are unwilling to calm down and accept the lessons you are being taught in order to succeed, then you may as well have left her down there to rot."

Harry could do nothing but concede that the man was talking complete sense. And so, under the watchful mind's eye of his teacher, he continued to learn control over his thoughts.