"Ah, thank you for the dry-cleaning, my dear lady," Gilderoy Lockhart said, as he plucked a bottle of cream sherry and a few crystal flutes from the liquor cabinet. "I could have taken care of that myself, naturally, but I was hoping to study the, er… slobber, for… er…"
"For signs of stimulants?" Hermione offered eagerly. "To aggravate or temper a Giant's natural aggressivity to effectively control them? I see, I never even thought of that… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"
Gilderoy snapped his fingers.
"Exactly right, my dear lady!" he exclaimed. "But there's no need to apologise. I suppose I shall simply have to study the residue I left along the path on the way to the house."
He began pouring some sherry into one of the crystal flutes.
"Sherry?" he offered, but Oleandra and Hermione shook their heads. "Please, sit, sit…"
"I'll take a glass," Ron said eagerly, but Hermione pinched him. "I mean, no thank you."
They all took a seat around the coffee table.
Oleandra watched Gilderoy carefully with her remaining eye as he took a drink from his glass. She saw nothing in his aura to suggest he was using a disguise, although she had always found it difficult to distinguish a Wizard's natural magical aura from any magic acting upon him. Even so… nearly every sentence she had heard out of his lips since his return had been a lie.
Hermione rubbed her hands anxiously, waiting for Professor Lockhart to say something, but he simply continued taking small sips from his glass, smacking his lips contentedly. After a while, she could take no more.
"Do you remember me… I mean, us?" she said timidly. "You keep calling me dear lady…"
Ron's expression turned even uglier, if that was even possible.
"Why, of course, I have an excellent memory, as you'll surely recall reading from my best-selling books, Year with the Yeti, and of course my autobiography, Magical Me," Professor Lockhart said, sighing deeply. "How could I forget the brilliant Witches I once taught, so long ago… and their friend. Miss Hermione Granger, Miss Oleandra Greengrass, and Mr Roland Weasel…"
"Ronald Weasley," Ron corrected him moodily.
"Yes, yes, that's what I said," Professor Lockhart replied dismissively. "Now, to what do I owe this pleasure…?"
Oleandra decided to leave the talking to Ron and Hermione, contenting herself with listening. She was rather concerned by the way the lies spilling from Lockhart's mouth were beginning to pile up to the ceiling.
"Snape…" Ron began…
…but Hermione interrupted him almost immediately.
"Everyone believed you were dead— so many people saw the Basilisk eating you whole!" Hermione said, chattering a mile a minute. "How in the world did you manage to avoid its venom? Its stomach!? And why did Dumbledore have you fake your death? What have you been doing all this time? And…"
Lockhart raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Please, please!" he said, laughing. "I'd love to answer your questions, but even I can't manage more than one at a time!"
"Then…?" Hermione said hopefully.
Lockhart smiled and waggled his finger.
"I'm afraid you'll simply have to wait, my dear lady," he said. "It wouldn't do to show favour to only one of my admirers… As soon as You-Know-Who is brought down, you'll be able to read all about how I survived the Basilisk and later saved the Chosen One's life, everything I endured while roaming the underbelly of magical society under my secret identity, and all my exploits in my forthcoming book…"
Here, Lockhart took a pause for dramatic effect.
"Pompous windbag?" Ron muttered under his breath.
Oleandra snorted.
"…Defeating the Dark," Gilderoy Lockhart concluded. "It will be my magnum opus… how I personally helped bring low the man who single-handedly subjugated the British Isles, with my quick wits, swift wandwork, and great personal charm, and all at considerable personal cost to myself… I daresay I might stand a good chance of becoming Minister for Magic when this is all over, don't you think?"
"You have my vote," Hermione said bashfully. "Oh, and…" she reached into her handbag. "I've actually got all your books with me in my bag… I only managed to get Magical Me signed five years ago, so if it's not too much to ask, could I…"
By this point, the two Lockhart sisters had abandoned all hope of hearing anything of interest about their brother's magical life and began drifting out of the living room to go about the rest of their day.
"What are you doing!?" Ron hissed in Hermione's ear as she handed Lockhart her copy of Break with a Banshee. "Getting Lockhart to autograph your old schoolbooks? What about the mission!?"
Gilderoy Lockhart pulled out his fancy peacock feather quill and signed the book, before returning it to Hermione. She glanced at the signature, then sighed in relief.
"It really is you, Professor Lockhart!" Hermione said happily. "The way you kept dodging my questions, I almost found myself thinking you were an imposter!"
"Truly dark times we live in, that we must distrust each other like so," he sighed, looking slightly discomfited over having been outwitted by a teenage girl. "But yes, I assure you, I truly am the Gilderoy Lockhart… the one and only."
Now, Oleandra was just confused. Her Mystic Eye told her he was telling the truth.
"Now that we know it's really him," Ron said, glowering at Hermione as she reached for Gadding with Ghouls, "there's no bloody need to have him sign anything else, yeah?"
"Yes, we're all very busy people," Oleandra interjected. "Shall we get down to business?"
Hermione's shoulders sagged, and an expression of infinite sadness settled over her face as she slipped her books back into her handbag.
"So, Snape's a double agent, is he? And where do you fit in in all this?" Ron asked Lockhart suspiciously. "And don't say it'll all be in the book, it'll never come out unless we actually beat You-Know-Who."
Emphasis on we.
"Well, of course Snape's one of us; Dumbledore kept him around precisely because he knew You-Know-Who would appoint him as his replacement should he fall… even if he's not quite as skilled as I am," Lockhart said. "Ah— which reminds me… this should help to convince you…"
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a long and narrow wooden box, which he slowly opened to reveal…