Davina | hp. ✓

49 | An Unlikely Alliance

NIGHTMARES WERE A frequent occurrence for Harry Potter ever since the failed Battle of Hogwarts, and they had gotten progressively worse in the past few months. The nightmares seldom took the form of visions and premonitions of the Dark Lord anymore. They were memories -- memories that he had buried, that he didn't know he had, that he never thought about before. Now they plagued him constantly, flashing behind his eyelids every time he dared to close his eyes. He was as safe as he could be with the Weasleys, who were staying at a discrete, Unplottable manor in the countryside -- courtesy of William Peverell. Ron lay in the bed on the other side of the room, snoring and completely oblivious of his best friend tossing and turning. He had gotten used to it by now. 

Harry didn't know why this memory, out of all of the ones to haunt him, was taking up a slot in his dreams. It was by far the calmest dream he had in a while, but it awakened something in him. 

He was twelve-years-old again, frantically running alongside Ron.  He remembered the way the sunset cast an orange glow on the walls of the corridor, and the way his heart hammered in his chest as he and Ron pressed forward with extreme urgency. Ginny Weasley was kidnapped and dragged into the Chamber of Secrets by the Heir of Slytherin and his serpentine beast. Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever. The words written in blood on the wall flashed behind his eyelids and his stomach churned. They had to save her, and their only hope now rested in the hands of Gilderoy Lockhart. 

They reached Lockhart's office and busted through the door, slamming their shoulders into it. 

"Professor, we've got some information for you --" Harry panted, but stopped short in his tracks. The bare walls and empty shelfs of the office struck them like a blow to the chest, and they turned their gazes to the middle of the room where Lockhart was hurriedly packing the last of his belongings into a trunk propped up on his desk. He was fleeing Hogwarts when they needed him most. 

"Are you going somewhere?" Harry spat.

"Um, well, yes! Urgent call!" Lockhart spluttered, not paying them any mind. "Unavoidable! Got to go...!" 

"What about my sister?!" Ron shouted angrily, his face flushing as red as his hair. 

Lockhart paused momentarily and regarded the angry boy, but quickly resumed his packing. "Well, as to that -- most unfortunate! No one regrets more than I--" 

"You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" The boy exclaimed, "You can't go now!" 

"I must say, when I took the job, there was nothing in the job description--"

"You're running away?!" Harry balled his fists. "After all that stuff you did in your books?!" 

Lockhart shot the boy a wavering smile, "Books can be misleading."

"You wrote them!"

"My dear boy, do use your common sense! My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done all those things! No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all..." Lockhart shook his head and rolled his eyes. The boys exchanged furious glances.

"You're a fraud! You've just been taking credit for what a load of other wizards have done!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. There was work involved. I had to track these people down and ask them exactly how they managed to do what they did." Lockhart explained cockily, shutting his trunk. "No, it's not all book signings and publicity photos. You want fame, you have to be prepared for a long, hard slog."