Lockhart's Final Surprise

Stepping into the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione Granger shook the snow off her thick coat as the large wooden door swung shut slowly behind her, blocking out all evidence of the blizzard outside. As she hung up her coat on one of the hooks by the door, she stamped her feet to bring back the life in them. Then she turned and pushed her way through the crowded tavern towards the bar.

"Afternoon 'Mione," Tom said in his gruff voice. The bartender was getting on in years a bit now, as evidenced by the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and the early signs of arthritis setting in on his hands. "What can I get for you today?" Since she had graduated from Hogwarts three years ago, Hermione had moved south and now regularly visited the pub on her frequent visits to Diagon Alley.

"Just a butterbeer today, Tom. I need something to warm me up."

"Aye, it's a cold one today. Never seen snow like it," the gruff patron said as he poured her butterbeer into a pint glass. "Old teacher of yours in today," Tom commented, indicating across the room with his head. "What was his name? Luckwood? No, that's not right...hmm...Lickhead? No..." As Tom continued trying to remember the man's name, Hermione turned to where he had indicated.

There he sat - Gilderoy Lockhart, her first crush. Granted, he was slightly older than she was, but that had never bothered her before. He was also a lying slimeball who had milked off other people's success, but she had never liked him for his personality. The fact was this; Gilderoy Lockhart was drop-dead gorgeous.

"Lovewood...Lankhart..." Tom was muttering in the background, but Hermione was by now oblivious. At the sight of her former Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, all her old feelings of lust had returned.

His golden, once-wavy hair was now cropped quite short, and looked quite curly. He was hunched over a table in a dark corner of the pub, reading something lying flat in front of him. His garish pink robes stood out against the drudgery of the tavern. Hermione knew that if he were to look up, those perfect, forget-me-not blue eyes would be gazing straight at her. The thought gave her a feeling in her stomach that could only be described as giddy.

Grabbing her drink and paying Tom ("Linkbed...Lughead...no, that's not right...") she cautiously pushed her way through the crowds, eyes fixed on the figure of Lockhart. If it was possible for things to move in slow motion then they would have done so, but this wasn't a film, it was life, and so in not much time at all she was within a foot of the table Gilderoy was seated at. Hermione was just debating how best to get his attention when Tom did it for her.

"Aha! Lockhart!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, causing everybody in the pub to look sharply at him (more than one person spilt their pint) and causing Lockhart to bolt upright in his seat, when his eyes met Hermione's.

Hermione stammered for something to say, as it was painfully obvious that she had been staring at him, but he got there first. When their eyes had met, a look of recognition had crossed his face for a split second, which was soon replaced by a look of sheer and utter bewilderment.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he purred at her, flashing his perfect smile. On the table was a copy of Gadding with Ghouls and next to that was a large, rather empty bottle of Ogden's Old Fire Whisky.

"Erm, I doubt you remember...I...I was one of your students. You used to teach at Hogwarts," she managed to stammer out.

"I taught? Ha! I expect I was rubbish, wasn't I?" he said. "Wasn't I?" Lockhart prompted, as Hermione flashed him an embarrassed look.

"Well, um, yes, actually. You set a cage full of Cornish Pixies loose in one of the lessons and couldn't figure out how to deal with them."

Lockhart let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, I don't doubt you for a second. But maybe you can help me..." he said, gesturing for Hermione to take a seat next to him. "You see, I've found these books that have me on the cover and all these things inside of them that I apparently did. I don't remember any of it though. I don't remember anything before...oh, I think it was eight years ago - I just woke up in St. Mungo's one day, apparently I got on the wrong end of a bad memory charm. You don't happen to know who cast that do you?"

"Um, well, yes, I do," she stammered. "You did."

"I did?" he exclaimed. "Surely you can't be right? Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Well, it's a long story..." she replied.

"Ah well, plenty of time for that later. Now tell me, did I actually do any of these things that the books say I did?"

"No, you didn't," she said. "You interviewed the people who did and then cast memory charms to make them forget so that you could claim it for yourself."

"Really? Well that wasn't very nice. Tell me, when I taught you, what did you think of me?" he asked with a furrowed brow and a quizzical look.

This was the moment Hermione had been dreading - she couldn't lie to him, not when he was trying to get his memory back.

"Well, um, I actually had a huge crush on you." Lockhart's eyes widened in surprise at this, but she carried on. "But after I found out about what you did with the books, I thought you were a selfish prick. But, um...well, I guess I still fancied you. I guess I still do, really." As she had been talking, Hermione had been turning an increasingly bright shade of scarlet, which, had she been a Weasley, would have clashed horridly with her hair. Fortunately though, she wasn't, so that really didn't matter.

"Well, Miss..." Lockhart trailed off.

"Granger. Hermione Granger," she said into her almost empty glass.

"Well, Miss Granger, I'm very flattered. Even though we both know what an arsehole I was - probably still am - we both still love me."

"What? No, I never said I..." Hermione was cut off by Lockhart's finger over her lips.

"Shush. You know as well as I do how irresistible I am. Don't pretend you don't love me, everybody does. It's impossible not to. Now come on," he said, downing the rest of his Fire Whiskey and offering his hand to Hermione with an impish grin. "Let's have some fun."

Deciding that Lockhart's ego was still as big as ever, despite the memory charm, Hermione stood up and let him lead her to his room. She figured that at least she wouldn't be cold if she went with him.

Shutting the door to his room and locking it with a flick of his wand, Lockhart turned to Hermione, grabbed her, and roughly kissed her full on the mouth. His tongue forced entry past her lips and he proceeded to seemingly try and lick the back of her throat. He really was an awful kisser.

When it was obvious that Hermione wasn't going to kiss him back, Lockhart pulled away.

"What? Why are you just standing there? Don't you have an irresistible urge to get naked?"

"Um, well, no, actually," she retorted.

"Why not?" Lockhart queried, obviously shocked by this turn of events.

"Because you kiss worse than my pet cat, that's why," Hermione snapped at him.

"How...."

"Believe me, you don't want to know how I know what my pet cat kisses like. You really don't."

Lockhart was visibly stunned. He sat down hard on the bed, which gave a resigned groan.

"I should have known I couldn't fool anybody for much longer," he said, running his hand through his short hair. Suddenly, he yanked hard on his beautiful golden curls. Hermione gasped as they were pulled right off his head and replaced by long dark tresses streaked with grey. Standing up, Lockhart grabbed the top of his face and yanked down. It peeled off like a Halloween mask in reverse, gorgeous vanishing to reveal terrifying. Standing before Hermione was none other than Arabella Figg.

"Surprise," the crone groaned as Hermione hit the ground in a dead faint.