"Harry Potter- Ravenclaw"Chapter 19: Tell Me the Way to Drive Dumbledore Out!
All along the corridor, Lockhart clutched his hat tightly, terrified that some errant breeze might lift it and expose his shame to the world.
It was just after class, and students in the hallway stared at him in surprise, whispering to each other as he passed.
"Why is Professor Lockhart still here?"
"Yeah, I thought he'd run away from Hogwarts by now."
"Better get to Potions! Don't give Snape an excuse to take points!"
…
The gossip stung him, almost as much as the loss of his hair. He let out a long sigh and spotted a familiar student up ahead—one of his former admirers. He hurried over. "Amittina, what's your next class?"
"Professor Lockhart?" Amittina blinked, her face a picture of surprise. But it was only surprise—none of the delight Lockhart had hoped for.
Her expression seemed to say, "Why are you still here?"
"History of Magic?" Lockhart forced a smile, tugging his hat lower. "What about Defense Against the Dark Arts? Who's covering that class?"
Amittina nodded. "Yes, there's a substitute."
Seeing her reaction, Lockhart pressed, "Who is it? Snape? Flitwick?"
"It's an old wizard… says he's from Armenia. He told us to call him 'Professor Avakian'…"
Before she could finish, Lockhart's eyes went wide. A wave of dizziness hit him, and sounds around him seemed to echo.
Seeing his pallor, Amittina asked with concern, "Professor Lockhart? Are you alright?"
He exhaled shakily, waving her off. "Where is this Avakian?"
"He should still be in the classroom—there's another lesson coming up." Amittina frowned. "Are you sure you're okay? You look…"
"Fine!" Lockhart blurted, then hurried away, vanishing down the corridor.
…
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom wasn't far. Students he passed wore the same stunned expressions.
But Lockhart had no time for them, his anxiety growing with every step, until he burst into the classroom and saw a familiar figure.
A chill ran down his spine. Goosebumps prickled his skin. "Altom… Altom Avakian?"
"Teaching's exhausting… nearly killed me!" Altom Avakian was still grumbling. Hearing his name, he looked up. "You talking to me?"
Lockhart broke out in a cold sweat, stammering, "Why… why are you… here?"
Altom Avakian twisted his waist, stretching. "Dumbledore asked me to help out, so here I am."
"How did he find you?" Lockhart hurried forward, as if he could confirm the man's identity by sheer proximity.
"Who are you?" Altom raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like a student… What are you doing here?"
Gritting his teeth, Lockhart declared, "I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor! Gilderoy Lockhart!"
"You!" Altom gave him a look of sudden realization. "You finally show up! I've been covering your classes for ages. These Galleons are easy money!"
Suddenly, it hit Lockhart. He pointed at himself. "You don't recognize me?"
Altom Avakian looked at him with open distaste. "You're not a new chip design. Why should I know you?"
"Ah, blast it! Not again!" He clutched his forehead, his right hand trembling as he fished a metal canister from his pocket and took a swig.
Lockhart frowned, testing the waters. "What's wrong with you?"
"Who knows? This stuff tastes foul!" Altom spat, shaking the canister. "My memory's shot. I need this just to stay lucid."
"Memory damage?" Lockhart sucked in a breath, then pressed, "How did that happen?"
"Why do you care?" Altom snapped. "Now that you're back, I'm free to get treatment!"
"What treatment?" Lockhart patted his pockets. "If you'll tell me, I'll pay you—a Galleon for every answer!"
Altom's eyes lit up. "A Galleon per question?"
"One question, one Galleon!" Lockhart promised solemnly. "Answer first, then come to my office and I'll pay you at once!"
Altom shrugged. "Ask away! This is Hogwarts—I'm not worried about you skipping out."
"Why is your memory damaged?"
"No idea. That's one Galleon."
"Who's helping you restore your memory?"
"Dumbledore. Two Galleons."
"What's the most dangerous thing you've ever faced?"
"There was this one time, dodging debt collectors, I hid out in a dark wizard village and ran into a werewolf! Nearly got bitten, too. I have no interest in becoming a werewolf!"
"We-werewolf?" Lockhart's heart skipped a beat.
Altom nodded. "Yep! He even picked the full moon for our duel—clearly up to no good! Four Galleons now!"
Lockhart's lips trembled as he forced out the next question. "So… how much of your memory has come back?"
Altom shrugged. "Just a small chunk from a few years ago left. If I keep up the medicine, I'll be fine in a year, right?"
"That's what Dumbledore told me. He said those memories are the most important, the root of my memory loss."
"If I get those back, not only will my headaches stop, but I'll know exactly who did this to me. And when I do—he'd better watch out!"
Lockhart heard a roaring in his ears. "A small chunk from a few years ago…"
"I'll go get your Galleons…" He staggered out of the classroom, barely aware of his own steps as he made his way to his office.
"Five Galleons! Don't forget!" Altom Avakian called after him.
Lockhart wasn't sure how he'd managed to sit down—one moment of dazed panic, and he was back at his desk.
"His memory can be restored… It's over. All over! Dumbledore!"
He pulled out the notebook marked "T.M. Riddle" and, with trembling hands, wrote: "You said you could drive Dumbledore away? Then tell me how!"
As the words vanished from the page, he hesitated, then added another line: "And… can you help me grow my hair back?"
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