Chapter 2
“This is a waste of time,” Ron grumbled, straightening the trench coat that was hiding his red Auror robes from any muggles passing by.
Harry had to agree, but interviewing the primary suspect was the logical next step of their investigation - it would be a huge oversight missing from the paperwork anyway, even if Harry didn’t suspect it would provide many, or any, answers.
They had been able to identify the children, now adults, in the photographs easily enough, mostly just confirming the names and dates written on the backs. A handwriting analysis had confirmed the looping script, and the unique gouging caused by a peacock feather quill, to belong to Gilderoy Lockhart.
Cross-referencing the dates with Lockharts publishing schedule and “research” trips they were able to locate where all of the pictures were taken; Armenia, Russia, Romania, Tibet, Norway, Germany, each photo taken mere days before his departure and stored in a silver snuff box purchased in Russia to celebrate the acceptance of his manuscript for Holidays with Hags. Souvenirs of his travels.
Copies of the reports; how the British Ministry of Magic Aurors came into the photographs possession, and the believed circumstances of their taking, along with the originals (they had retained copies for their own files) were sent to the appropriate authorities. It would be at least a week before any request from a foreign authority to extradite Gidleroy Lockhart would be received, if they were sent. It isn’t our jurisdiction, it isn’t our problem.
Lockhart hadn’t spent much time in the country, only returning long enough to publish his latest stolen work, be showered with attention and accolades in the Prophet, and then leave on a book tour before galavanting across Europe in search of another more successful Witch or Wizard to swindle.
That was, he hadn’t spent any time in the country until he had been offered a prestigious position at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There were no photographs in the snuff box from this period, the evacuation of the premises due to the Chamber of Secrets and his subsequent misfiring of a memory charm making the usual ritual impossible.
“Yeah well, at least it should be quick, and then we can get back to doing some actual investigating,” said Harry, looking both ways before exiting the alleyway the two had apparated in to cross the street towards Purge and Dowse, an abandoned department store.
In actuality Harry hoped Ron was wrong, that this meeting would uncover something they could use as a starting point, they couldn’t check the minds of every former Hogwarts student from the school year of 1992-1993 - time being the least of the constraints, legilimency was a very invasive, and therefore relegated branch of magic. Only in war time were any means necessary.
The street was crowded with muggles, bustling through the sweltering summer streets towards their air conditioned destinations. Despite all of the witnesses, none noticed as one of the sloppily dressed mannequins in the store window turned to acknowledge Harry and Ron’s approach. Giving the two a slight nod, the two proceeded to walk straight through the glass display window and into the reception area of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
“Mr. Potter! How can I help you!” The Welcome Witch beamed from behind her counter, thrilled at the prospect of being of assistance to a pair of war heroes.
Removing his trench coat to reveal his bright red Auror robes Harry flashes her his Auror’s badge - Ron doing the same.
“We’re here on official business actually, nothing urgent, but we were wondering if we would be able to interview Gilderoy Lockhart,” said Harry.
St. Mungo’s reception area was filled with old wooden chairs, most occupied by a witch or wizard nursing, or accompanying someone nursing, a magical malady or injury - each and everyone not in too much pain to notice was watching the exchange.
“Of course, if his care does not allow it we would be happy to schedule a meeting at another time.” Harry concluded politely,
“Oh that’s hardly an issue, he has nothing but time,” she laughed amicably, before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially “Is this for a case?”
“Not at liberty to say,” Ron answers cheekily; it was hardly likely to be a social visit.
“Right of course, well, I can direct you to him,” she offers, rising from her seat, prepared to abandon her waiting room full of patients.
“Oh that's quite alright we know the way, actually,” Harry replies easily, replacing his badge back into his inner robe pocket. “But thank you.”
Entering the lift the pair ride up to the fourth floor, up to the Janus Thickney Ward, the ward dedicated to unliftable jinxes, hexes, and curses. Ron shook his head the entire ride “bloody waste of time.”
The ward didn’t look any different from any of the other wards, with long rows of hospital beds, separated by privacy curtains, lining each wall. It was only the amount of personal affects surrounding each bed that hinted at the permanent residency of their occupants. Harry spotted the Longbottoms first, recognizing them instantly; he had to force himself to look away.
“Ah, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, right on time,” Madam Strout, the ward's dedicated nurse smiled. Still looking matronly as she had when Harry had first seen her in fifth year, except now she had started going grey. “He’s having a very good day today.”
Moving further into the room they could see Lockharts bed - that it belonged to him was obvious, as the wall was adorned with fan mail and smiling photographs of himself from his time in the public eye - old photoshoots from Witch Weekly and Witch Chat, all signed.
Sitting up in his bed in a dressing gown just like any other hospital gown, except for the fact that it was lilac rather than starched white, was a middle aged man with wavy blonde hair, writing his name in beautiful calligraphy using a peacock feathered quill. With a flourish of the quill he placed the finished signature to the side, selecting a crisp new piece of paper from beside him to begin another.
“Gilderoy,” Madam Strout called, guiding the pair to sit at a couple of chairs she had prepared at his bedside. “You have visitors! Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, you used to teach them at Hogwarts, don’t you remember?”
“Well, if they are here for signatures they will have to wait, these are for my new book,” Lockhart patted the top of his pile of completed signatures with a grin, revealing a set of beautiful, straight white teeth.
“The publisher sent over a box of flyleafs for him to sign, the first 1000 copies sold will be signed,” Strout beamed with pride, Harry and Ron exchanged confused looks. “Go on, Gilderoy, tell them about your new book, everyone on the ward is so proud.”
From the top of a pile of copies of his previous works -such as Break with a Banshee and Gadding with Ghouls - Lockhart presents a cover completely unfamiliar to the pair, as it had not been one of their second year textbooks.
“Yes, well, I don’t know if you know this, but I am a very prestigious writer-” Ron covered up his snort with a fake cough, “my books are world renowned, in fact I’m sure you’ve read them all!”
The cover, same as all of the others, was a photograph of Lockhart, this time his youthful visage replaced with his now older face. “My public missed me so much they requested, no, demanded, that I return to the quill, and I obliged.”
Who Am I , the advanced reader copy advertised that it would be slated for a late November, early December release - just in time for the holidays.
“As you can see, it has kept me very busy,” Lockhart affirmed, gesturing to the flyleaf's awaiting his signature. Madam Strout took up the copy, lovingly returning it to Lockharts collection so he could resume his work.
“Um, Madam Strout, would you be able to close the curtains, this is a private matter - Auror business ya know.” Harry requested,
Her smile faltered. “Oh uh- of course, of course.” Closing the curtains she cast one last worried look at the trio before leaving them alone within the confines of the privacy drape.
Ron casts muffliato and some other privacy charms as Harry prepares his quick quotes quill. A much subtler model than Skeeters, the thing was dead useful for interviewing.
“So, you have a new book coming out?” Harry began, trying to keep the tone light and welcoming, as this often worked better with suspects, people were more likely to share incriminating details if they didn’t think you thought they were guilty.
“Oh yes,” Lockhart nodded, “people have been wondering all about me, I’ve been wondering myself.”
“Lots about your time at Hogwarts I imagine, I mean it was a very prestigious position,” Ron jumped in with the lead,
“Yes, I’ve been told I was a Professor, the best the school has ever seen. I fought the beast that lived in the Chamber of Secrets.”
“Before Hogwarts you used to travel a lot, I bet you met a lot of interesting people? Can you remember any?” Said Harry, trying a different angle.
“Oh my students adored me,” Lockhart continued, seeming not to even hear Harry’s question, or perhaps just immediately forgetting he had been asked at all, selecting a new flyleaf.
“I’m sure they would love to hear from you again, being as famous as you are,” Ron added. “Maybe you should send Vera Sokolov an autograph.”
“The staff too, yes, yes, everyone always wanted my attention.” Lockhart continued, still ‘remembering’ Hogwarts. “It is so exhausting being famous.”
“Yes I know, you used to advise me on fame, do you remember that?” Harry asked.
Lockhart responded with a vacant expression, “why would I do that? Who are you?”
This time Ron doesn’t bother to hide his laugh with a cough. The rest of the interview is much the same, just more talk about his adoring public, excitement for his upcoming publication, and that he had done many great things - things he had learned about from his previous books.
It was clear that this new book was a fluff piece, a cash grab from the publishers that figured they could make a cheap knut off of a senile old man. Under different circumstances it would be sad, Harry felt it may be deserved.
“Total waste,” Ron grumbled as he stepped out of the Janus Thickney Ward.
“Lockhart was a dead end,” Harry said.
“Obviously,” Ron agreed, pressing the button for the lift.
The lift shuddered as the doors closed and it began its descent back to the lobby.
“Right, so we need to find the victims instead,” Harry signed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“How Harry? We can’t exactly ask them, hell even if we did bloody ask they couldn’t answer.” Ron moaned, as the lift doors closed. “How are we supposed to solve a crime nobody remembers?”
Leaning against the wall of the lift, Harry pressed his forehead against the cool metal. They needed a new approach, they needed help. “We need to talk to someone who knows more about memory charms, how to spot when they’ve been used.”
“Find people the right age, right symptoms and keep narrowing it down from there,” Ron tapped his chin thoughtfully “could work, will take forever though.”
They had created a basic profile of the types of children Lockhart favoured; between the ages of 9-13, fair skinned, but that still left a lot of Hogwarts students.
“Well it’s all we have,” said Harry, leading the way from the lift to the exit. “We’ll need to hire an expert consultant.”
The Aurors Department have a budget for this sort of thing, Dumbledore used to do it a lot actually, explaining many of his absences from Hogwarts as he would go to the Ministry to help identify and explain the nature of Dark artifacts and enchantments - things the Aurors hadn’t seen before.
“Well that’s easy, I can ask one at dinner tonight,” Ron said, stepping down onto the sidewalk from the display window. The mannequin gave the pair a little wave farewell before resuming her frozen vigil over the entrance of St.Mungos.
After the war, Hermione spent the summer break before the next Hogwarts year in Australia, reversing the memory modifications she had cast on her parents. The complicated nature of the original casting, and the arduous reversal process had made Hermione a leading expert in the field of memory modification magic.
“Sorry Harry, if I knew you were coming I would have ordered a take away,” Hermione said, setting her plate of Molly’s leftover Sunday Roast down before taking her seat.
She and Ron had been living in Devon for four years already, selecting the old cottage for its proximity to the Burrow. The home had been purchased and renovated in preparation for the eventual children they had planned to have, and now with all of the paint dry and Hermione settled into her career she rested her hand on her slightly protruding belly; it was going to be a January baby.
With a wave of her wand, she casts a warming charm before tucking in. “So, someones been using memory charms to erase the memories of their victims then?”
“Yeah and we were wondering if there was any sort of damage, or side effects that should be noticeable?” Harry began, stabbing a potato with his fork.
“If done properly no,” Hermione said, wiping the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
“What about, Lockhart, he’s a complete nutter now,” Ron asked with his mouth full of roast.
Hermione rolled her eyes, whether at Ron's comment or rude table manners was unclear. “Well that obliviate wasn’t cast properly was it? These spells are being cast on the brian, it’s very delicate tissue, he may have given himself scaring, or even fried some portions clean off.”
“But that's not what usually happens?” Harry clarified.
“The way these spells work Harry is by rerouting the synapses in the brain, there are no effects at all, depending what the memory is, you could live with a memory modification your whole life and never know.”
So that was it then, there was no way to know. While he may have been rubbish at every other charm Lockhart's memory charms, when cast with a proper wand, were expert. Harry sank into his chair.
“Wait, what do you mean, depends what the memory is?” said Ron. Harry sat up straighter in his chair.
“Well, because it still happened.” Hermione explains. “If someone cuts you, remember or not you still have a scar, if you go through something traumatic you should still have some of the trauma responses. The memory is still there, it just can’t be reached through thought.”
Taking in Ron and Harry’s confused expressions Hermione elaborated. “When I modified my parents memories, even though they couldn’t remember that they were parents that had all still happened-”
“Obviously-” Ron muttered. Hermione shot him a piercing look.
“Well, that means that even though she didn’t know she had my mother had given birth - her body was changed by that. Were she to have gotten an x-ray a doctor would have been able to see, physically, that she was a mother.”
“And the memories are definitely still there, because if they weren’t there would be brain damage,” Harry reiterated.
Hermione nods while drinking her water. “Precisely.”
“Which means it is reversible,” Ron grinned. “Okay, so we can use magic, use legilimens, and see if these memories are there-”
“Well yes, if you know what to look for, and where to look for it.” said Hermione.
“What do you mean where?” Harry asked after a fork of roast.
Hermione gives a big sigh. “A memory isn’t a physical object you can hold in your hand - excluding using magic to make it that way for viewing in a pensieve, but in a bottle isn’t a memories natural state. In your brain, when you’re remembering something you are recreating it, your memory isn’t an objective truth of what is there, or what is stored, it is your interpretation of what you are able to recall.”
“So memory charms make you unable to recall the memory…” Harry asked, trying to follow.
“Right, you don’t remember everything all of the time, but if you see something familiar it will prime you to recall it. Diving blind into someone's head, you’ll never find anything, but if you show them something related to what you want them to recall, then it should be much simpler.”
“But it’s one thing to prime someone who you know has those memories, but… if you don’t know that they’re there you could create false memories.”
“Wouldn't legilimens know that they’re false?” said Ron, through a mouthful of potatoes.
“Well, no, actually they wouldn’t,” Hermione groaned. “You went through Auror training, do they not tell you why legilimency isn’t permissible in trial?”
“Anyone can imagine they are innocent in their own heads,” Ron said, nodding sagely.
“Or they can be coerced into imagining they are guilty.” Hermione rebutted, “you need to know, or at least, be as sure as you can be, before you start going into anyones head.”
Pushing her half eaten dinner aside Hermione rests her elbow on the table to support her forehead. “I understand you can’t give me specifics, but if I knew what was done to these people I could help you figure out where to look.”
Ron and Harry share a look, they don’t know who should verbalize it, or how.
“Well, uh-” Harry began, taking the lead. “This would have been twelve, thirteen years ago, but, uh, we believe that our suspect has sexually assaulted some yet to be identified children, potentially repeatedly using memory modification to cover their tracks.”
The tension surrounding the thrifted dinner table was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
“Where,” Hermione asked, her expression serious.
“Uhhh-”
Harry can see her mind going twenty miles a minute, connecting the dots of memory charms and Hogwarts and 1992. “You cannot take this case! Harry, Ron, you’re…we’re, we could have been victims, this is compromising our memories, compromising the case, plus it is a complete conflict of interest!”
“Well, you’re not allowed to know that so…” Ron argued weakly into his water glass, confirming Hermione’s suspicions.
Hermione shoots daggers with her eyes at Ron. “You need to hand over the case to someone else, you should have already.”
Except Harry can’t give up the case. He could chalk it up to feeling some level of responsibility; that he and Ron knew that Lockhart had used memory modification magic against others, having erased the memories of at least 7 witches and wizards in order to write his 7 books. They knew and yet never reported it, the world still saw him as a former great wizard who tragically suffered a magical injury in the Chamber of Secrets and not for the fraud that he was. Perhaps if the authorities had been looking then they would know now who the victims were. But that was only the half of it, there was no way knowing as much as he did that Harry could just sit around, go on with his life, waiting to find out what had happened - to have someone else root around in his classmates, and his own, past.
“Our memories are already compromised anyway, can’t do any more harm there.”
“But he, Lockhart was very fond of you,” Hermione faltered, afraid to say what she feared they may discover.
She looks to Ron for backup. “I’m not leaving him to solve it alone,” he shrugs.
“Well, that should definitely have some lasting effects for you to look for,” Hermione stated tight lipped, deciding to drop it for now. She had learned just how stubborn Harry could be. “I’ll find some resources for you.”
Taking up her fork and knife Hermione cuts her roast into neat pieces, much smaller than necessary. “So, how is everything at home, Ginny sent me the cutest picture of the three of you and Teddy at the zoo - I swear that boy is growing like a weed.”