Madam Mary had quite expected to be whisked away to Azkaban, for she was well aware of the grievous blunder she'd made in attempting to free a condemned criminal from the Ministry of Magic. Or, perhaps, she'd simply meet her end at the hands of Lockhart himself, understanding full well the harsh realities of this magical world where all power seemed to coalesce around a single mighty wizard. To cross such a formidable figure could easily lead to one's demise. Why, only recently, Lockhart had dispatched a thousand Dark Wizards—or so the tale went—who dared to attack Ministry employees and attempt a jailbreak, all without the customary Wizengamot trial. Yet, not a peep was made, and he was hailed as a great hero!
However, to her astonishment, she was not imprisoned. Instead, she found herself with magical restraints upon her ankles, serving as an experimental assistant in the Hall of Bloodline within the Department of Mysteries. This arrangement had not been easily conjured by Lockhart, for the Ministry of Magic, by its very nature, was an organisation that sought to curb individual power, requiring adherence to certain rules of the game.
But Minister Fudge, bless his crafty heart, could smooth over such matters.
Madam Mary had observed Lockhart and Fudge in a lengthy discussion, though she hadn't the faintest idea how Lockhart had managed to sway the Minister.
The truth, however, was quite simple.
Lockhart merely needed to tie up the loose ends left by his predecessor. He subtly hinted that this arrangement would allow him to escape some minor leverage Dumbledore held over him. A shrewd man, Fudge instantly understood how such a thing could benefit his efforts to draw this gifted young wizard closer to the Ministry's fold. The notion that Lockhart might not be entirely aligned with Dumbledore—oh, Fudge was absolutely thrilled by this revelation!
And indeed, Fudge's instincts were not misplaced.
Lockhart, you see, harboured no fondness for politics. In his mind, old Dumbledore seemed to dabble more in political machinations than in true magic, and to follow Dumbledore would inevitably lead one down that same winding, political path. Not everyone in this world wished to partake in the games played by Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. Madam Meliflua, Nicolas Flamel, Professor Flitwick, and many others felt the same way. Even high-ranking officials within the Ministry, such as Fudge and Scrimgeour, harboured no desire to meddle in such affairs. There were simply too many who preferred to steer clear.
While Lockhart held Dumbledore in high personal regard—he rather liked the wise and surprisingly tolerant old wizard—it did not mean he was prepared to pledge his very soul to him. Thus, he was unwilling to allow the old man to use his knack for pilfering memories as a bargaining chip. It wasn't about whether Dumbledore *would* use it, but rather, Lockhart simply couldn't afford to give him the opportunity, lest their amicable relationship eventually sour.
On this particular matter, Fudge was undoubtedly of immense assistance.
Curiously, this same principle could also be applied to the Dark Lord Voldemort.
When Lockhart first realised he stood firmly against Voldemort, he was quite eager to assist Dumbledore in vanquishing the Dark Lord. He willingly accompanied Dumbledore to confront a Death Eater, and once the old man confirmed Voldemort's absence, Lockhart readily divulged information about Voldemort's deepest secrets, his Horcruxes.
But he soon discovered his error.
Even though Voldemort revered the number "seven" in his magical pursuits, Lockhart realised that without knowing Harry Potter was one of his Horcruxes, and before Nagini was transformed into another, he simply couldn't ascertain how many more Horcruxes Voldemort might create, nor where they might be hidden.
He had, in essence, altered the future.
This was utterly despairing. If Dumbledore himself couldn't unravel Voldemort's mysterious methods, what hope did Lockhart have?
And then, the troubles truly began. First, Corban Yaxley, a prominent figure from a pure-blood family and a high-ranking Ministry official, targeted him. Then came Fenrir Greyback, the formidable leader of the werewolf community. There were simply too many followers willing to pledge their allegiance to Voldemort. So many, in fact, that Lockhart had no idea when yet another unexpected adversary would emerge.
He disliked this endless parade of bother.
To resolve this vexing predicament, he sought the aid of magic, hoping to influence matters through the diary Horcrux, Tom Riddle.
The results were rather splendid.
He first managed to circumvent the curse Voldemort had placed upon the Defence Against the Dark Arts professorship at Hogwarts, weaving himself into the very fabric of that magic, effectively shielding himself from being personally slain by the Dark Lord. And then came the audacious experiment on the night of the full moon.
He had successfully implanted a false impression in the past—a notion that he was, in fact, a close friend of Voldemort's—and skillfully concealed it within the mists of history.
This peculiar approach stemmed from his profound understanding of Voldemort. Indeed, no one knew Voldemort quite like Lockhart.
He had uncovered a truth that would astonish absolutely everyone.
Lord Voldemort, despite his reputation, was, at heart, a creature of deep sentiment.
Leaving Dumbledore aside, one need only consider figures like Professor Horace Slughorn, who had looked after Voldemort during his school days, or Mr. Borgin, his former employer. Their later experiences clearly showed Voldemort's regard for certain individuals and events. Even as his personality grew more extreme, there was a noticeable restraint in some of his targeting methods.
Lockhart had no desire to genuinely become an intimate of Voldemort's; he harboured a genuine aversion to the deranged wizard who embraced extremism and reveled in methods of terrifying coercion.
All he needed was to plant a single, deeply hidden emotion within Voldemort's psyche, concealed by the mists of history, and coupled with the blood-kin magic he had previously woven, it would be enough to instinctively prevent Voldemort from targeting him directly.
It was, in a sense, a profound and arcane magic.
Solving the problem through purely magical means.
Of course, this didn't mean Lockhart intended to join Voldemort's ranks. He simply wished to extricate himself from the stark, binary narrative of Dumbledore versus Voldemort. Voldemort could indeed be dealt with, but not by becoming cannon fodder in a war. The future stretched far ahead, and with Tom Riddle's diary Horcrux firmly in his grasp, Lockhart held ample control over what was yet to come.
"So then..."
"It's not yet time, Madam Mary," Lockhart reiterated, his words falling upon her bewildered gaze. He then smiled faintly as he withdrew his wand, checking Corban's condition.
The experiment had been a resounding triumph.
He now possessed a spy, a most useful pawn, within the ranks of the Death Eaters and the upper echelons of wizarding society. Far more valuable than simply dispatching Corban then and there.
Madam Mary's first task in the Hall of Bloodline within the Department of Mysteries was to tidy the remnants of the magical experiment. Her magical abilities were restricted, leaving her to kneel on the floor with a bucket of water, diligently scrubbing away the dragon's blood and potion-drawn magical markings.
As she cleaned, a wave of self-reproach washed over her. She couldn't fathom the effort and resources Professor Lockhart must have expended to help her recover her memories, only for her to commit such a monstrous betrayal.
Silently, she picked up a copy of **"Breaking Up with a Banshee"** from the floor and placed it upon a nearby table. Once everything was cleaned and Lockhart offered no further instructions, she picked up the book again, a spark of curiosity ignited.
It was a work by Professor Lockhart himself, one of his globally celebrated bestsellers. The book recounted his fantastical adventures on a mysterious island, and the intriguing encounters he had with the island's legendary banshee. There were moments within the narrative that struck her as strangely familiar, such as meeting a good friend named Tom on the island, and the villainous Dark Wizard (Corban) who had imprisoned the banshee...
She looked up at Lockhart, a flicker of bewilderment in her eyes.
"Time is a truly frightening thing, isn't it?" Lockhart strolled over, taking the book from her hands and gently stroking its cover. "Its contents have shifted. I even had my students verify it with their own copies of the book, and the content is no longer as I wrote it."
Professor Lockhart seemed a touch melancholic. "You know, for writers, their works are like their own children, born from their very souls."
"I am so very sorry," Madam Mary stammered, feeling quite flustered. She gazed at the professor, who still offered her a chance at redemption, a tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within her. "To help me, you..."
Lockhart simply shook his head, offering no further words. He merely drew a quill and, within the book's pages, signed his name and penned a single sentence: "I hope you journey far along this magical path, Mira Mary."
Having done so, he presented it to Madam Mary, a gentle smile gracing his features. "Now, this is your story, and I believe you will wish to keep it."
Madam Mary looked at Lockhart in stunned disbelief, like a child who had misbehaved and then been met with unexpected kindness, feeling an overwhelming urge to weep. She fought to suppress the churning emotions within her, then, with a solemn, earnest, and deeply respectful bow, she extended both hands and accepted the book. "Thank you, Professor Lockhart."
Some individuals truly warranted the epithet "great."
The elegant, learned, and understanding Hogwarts professor merely gestured towards Corban Yaxley, who stood nearby. "I hope that in your time spent with him, you will discover the answers within your own heart."
This only served to deepen Madam Mary's profound embarrassment.
She offered her heartfelt thanks once more.
Only...
She failed to notice that after Lockhart exited the Hall of Bloodline through the mist-shrouded passage outside, he did not take the Ministry of Magic's private lift. Instead, he stepped directly into a golden doorway.
And by simply walking straight through that door...
He arrived directly in his office at Hogwarts.
Lockhart glanced back at the fairy tale book resting on the floor, a mysterious smile gracing his lips. The little golden retriever, seeing the book, picked it up and trotted over, presenting it to him.
"Good boy, you are!"
Lockhart chuckled softly, ruffling the golden retriever's head.
Magic, you see, can be wondrous and brilliant at times, yet at others, terrifyingly peculiar. Such a fascinating thing it is.