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Chapter Twelve: Awakening
The universe began in nothingness—colourless, shapeless, silent. Nothingness was simply… nothing. Then came darkness, and darkness, at the very least, meant something existed. In that darkness, Lockhart felt like a creator drifting in a void.
Who am I? Where am I? Why is there no light?
Lockhart thought firmly, There should be light here.
And instantly, light appeared.
His eyes opened. At first, the light was a formless blur, floating in the emptiness of his mind. After what felt like ages, shapes began to coalesce.
His newly-awakened consciousness strained to interpret them. Thin, transparent tubes blurred in and out of view. A ceiling glowed with a soft, milky white light. And at last—a face.
"Sleeping Beauty is awake!"
A jumble of voices rushed in. It took Lockhart a long, bewildered minute to remember who he was. Am I dead? Is this heaven?
Sleeping Beauty? he thought, horrified. Oh Merlin—did the nurses do anything strange while I was unconscious?
A familiar old face leaned into view, pulling him back from his spiralling imagination.
"Welcome back, Mr Sleeping Beauty," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with restrained amusement.
Lockhart eventually learnt he had been lying in St Mungo's for months—and had somehow become the hospital's infamous "Sleeping Beauty". The nurses, apparently, had found endless entertainment in looking after him. That alone was enough to make him want to hex his way out of the room.
Still, there was good news. Someone called Lupin had taken over his classes, Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban, and—for better or worse—Hermione hadn't completely derailed the storyline he remembered.
"Ginny was being controlled," Dumbledore explained. "She's only eleven—she hasn't enough magical strength to cast a true Killing Curse. You see, the curse functions by tearing the soul from the body. Your soul appears to be… unusually strong, so she couldn't extract it. You've studied Occlumency, I presume?"
"Yes. You know how it is—when you're an adventurer, it's always wise to pick up a few extra skills."
Dumbledore cut him off gently. "A very fortunate skill, indeed. But your body, I'm afraid, isn't nearly as resilient as your soul. Fortunately, Nicolas believes he can undo the residual damage from the curse. You'll be visiting him shortly. The Ministry has already been informed."
"Hold on—who exactly is Nico? And why do I need Ministry approval just to visit his house?"
"Nicolas Flamel," Dumbledore said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He is under Ministry protection. They fear followers of the Voldemort will seek him out to extract his knowledge of the Philosopher's Stone."
"Oh." Lockhart blinked. His mind was still foggy from months of enchanted sleep. "What's the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dumbledore froze. Then, with a look of weary betrayal, he stood up and swept out of the ward without another word.
A moment later, a young witch with short blonde hair stepped inside. "Senior Lockhart? I'm Trainee Auror Nymphadora Tonks—you can call me Tonks," she said cheerfully. "I'll be escorting you to Mr Nicolas Flamel's residence. It's currently protected under the Fidelius Charm."
"Oh. Lovely to meet you, Tonks," Lockhart said, recovering enough to flash a polite smile. "I'm ready. Let's go."
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