The Bliss of Ignorance

A tattered white figure trudged through the shadows of Privet Drive. Had the muggle inhabitants of the street been awake, they would have reported an escaped mental patient was terrorizing the neighborhood in a craze. They would have been at least half right. There was, in fact, an escaped mental patient wandering the street. However, the man had no qualms with the rest of the neighborhood.

"Number four… number four."

Gilderoy Lockhart was indeed in a craze. Staggering like a drunk man he searched the houses for numbers, a permanent smile fixed on his face. He was panting heavily, his hair disheveled, robes tattered. He still adorned his strait jacket, the torn traps hanging at his sides gave him a ghostly silhouette. Lockhart searched his mind for what he used to look like. Fragmented bits and pieces of a man with perfect hair, spotless teeth, head held high, and a confident strut greeted his probing thoughts.

"He destroyed me… he killed me."

The medical staffs at St. Mungo's were successful in restoring some of the memories that had been obliterated. As it was his intention in the Chamber of Secrets to make Potter appear insane, stupid even, he did not intend for the charm to erase every one of his memories permanently. Gilderoy remembered his fame, his fortune, his beloved fans, all that was important to him. He read the books he had written, and yet could not remember writing. He learned what an amazing wizard he had been, and what and asset he was to the wizarding world. He was a hero! And he remembered Potter… Harry Potter they called him, pushing him into a dark chamber, wand raised, and anger in his eyes.

"He killed me… he destroyed a legend."

Potter must have erased his memories! An accident they called it. It was no accident! How they glorified the boy at the hospital!

"Did you hear what happened to Harry Potter?"

"Potter is in the paper again!"

"Potter…"

Don't they know what he did to me! I'm an embarrassment! Can't you see what he did? He made a fool of me and took the glory for himself… my glory! My fame!

"He killed me…"

Lockhart spotted number four, Privet Drive.

"I'll kill him…"

He removed his wand from within the loose folds of fabric beneath his jacket as he stumbled up the driveway. He was able to recover his wand from the hospital's holding unit for personal items using a summoning charm he learned from "Gilderoy Lockhart and the Escape from Grevodorian's Lair." He couldn't recall being in a lair, but the summoning charm was fairly simple.

"Alohamora"

Lockhart swayed on his feet, casually pushed open the door, and peered into the darkness.

He greeted the nonexistent entity before him.

"Thank you madam, I'll just let myself in."

He scoffed at the muggle home's lax security.

He made his way up the stairs with a slight bounce in his step. It looked as if he were skipping off to a picnic rather than preparing for a fatal assault.

He opened the first door he saw. The room was large and lavishly furnished. Two figures were sprawled out on the bed. One was snoring like a great walrus and was roughly the same size. The other figure was significantly smaller, scrunched up on the very edge of the bed as the "walrus" occupied the rest of the surface.

"Beg your pardon," Lockhart said to no one in particular.

He opened the next door where a smaller sea mammal slept, snoring in the same manner as the other. Gilderoy may not remember much, but he remembered Potter being… not so massive.

"Well that's not healthy at all," Gilderoy said offhandedly, as if reprimanding the sleeping figure.

The boy stirred, but did not wake.

Gilderoy traveled to the door at the very end of the hall. It was a bathroom. The next door, directly across from the fat boy's room, was a door Lockhart was sure must be a closet. It had at least seven locks and what appeared to remnants of nails on the sides. The paint was chipped and the knob was terribly tarnished. Curious, and in a dazed state of mind, Lockhart decided to take the time and see what was being kept in… or out.

The locks clicked softly, one after the other. None of the house's inhabitants stirred at the noise. He pushed the door open easily. The bare room was dark and in no better of a state than the outside of the door had been. Chipped, battered, and bleak described it best. On a small cot pushed against the wall was a small, skinny figure with a mat of messy black hair.

"There you are," Lockhart said sinisterly.

This was said just loud enough to jar Harry from his sleep. His eyes shot open, but with little benefit, as his glasses were still on the night stand. He sat up and reached for them, but he was not quick enough. Silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, a ragged, hunched, blurred figure raised an arm toward him.

The first thing Harry forgot before entering oblivion was a shot of blue light racing toward him accompanied by an incantation that he will never again recall.