It was Easter morning, and the closed ward of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was buzzing with activity. Family and friends surrounded every patient. Every patient, that is, except for Gilderoy Lockhart. Lockhart didn’t mind not having any visitors as long as he could pass out autographed pictures of himself to anyone who happened walk by his bed. Soon, everything that moved (and a few things that didn’t) in the closed ward owned at least two autographed pictures of Lockhart.

Gilderoy had still not quite recovered from the rather nasty memory spell he accidentally cast on himself. Although he knew very little about his surroundings, or even himself, he longed to escape the confines of his room and venture out into the world. In his solitude, he dreamed of traveling the world, passing out signed photographs to everyone he happened to meet along the way. He seized the first opportunity that arose.

“Oh, you poor dear,” cooed a motherly healer. “You still don’t have any visitors, do you? I know what can make it a little better: I’ll bring you a big chocolate egg!” With that, the healer bustled out of the room. Luckily, before the door closed, Lockhart was fast enough to stop it with his foot. FREEDOM!

“Where to go first?” Gilderoy mumbled to himself. “More importantly, where am I?”

As this thought occurred to Lockhart, a frightening wave of insecurity flooded his thoughts. His first instinct was to run down the stairs at top speed until he found something familiar (Which was highly unlikely, considering he had a memory span of about five seconds). Nonetheless, he continued to rush down the three flights of stairs to the reception area. Witches and wizards with various ailments filled the lobby, creating a crowd of interesting new friends for Lockhart to meet. At least he thought they were going to be friendly, Lockhart couldn’t fathom that all of these people could be in a bad mood just because they were emitting colorful smoke or shrinking a few inches every minute.

“That’s very interesting,” stated Lockhart as he passed a wizard with bubbles coming out of his ears. “I wish my ears did that.”

“Do you really?” asked the wizard, apparently annoyed. “That could be arranged.”

His fingers itched at his wand. Before the frustrated wizard could strike, Lockhart had already moved on to his next target.

“This really is a very nice house,” he declared while smiling winningly at a witch with three legs. “How long have you lived here?”

Soon, a frustrated and angry crowd had formed around Lockhart, preparing to physically remove him from the building. However, to the good fortune of the patients in the reception area, Gilderoy had managed to find his own way out of St. Mungo’s. After stepping through the enticing-looking sheet of glass, Lockhart looked back only to find a dirty store display window housing an unattractive aged dummy. Extremely confused (as he almost always was), Lockhart took in his surroundings. He was standing in the middle of a sidewalk, next to a street. Normal enough, Lockhart thought to himself. I think I even recognize where I am. Just then, a car zoomed by. Lockhart stood rooted at the spot, mouth gaping, with his eyes as wide as saucers. Or not…

After standing unmoving for several minutes and watching a dozen more cars whiz by, He finally found the courage to start walking.

“Well, I suppose my journey starts here,” Gilderoy mumbled to himself. He then continued in a raised voice, “Who wants my autograph?!”

As Gilderoy walked down the sidewalk, he was completely oblivious to the quizzical looks he received for being dressed in his nightclothes (the only clothes he had worn in St. Mungo’s) and passing out autographs.

After several minutes and quite a few curious looks, Gilderoy heard a yell from behind him.

“Mr. Lockhart! Wait Mr. Lockhart, I want to talk to you!”

I wonder who this Lockhart character is. Lockhart thought to himself, not even considering that it could possibly be him. As the ruckus continued, Gilderoy turned around to find the source of all of the commotion. Instantly, he spotted a rather short, plump, redheaded woman running toward him and waving her arms like a madwoman. Lockhart stood in wonder for a moment, thinking about what a strange woman she was, until she caught up to him and stopped.

“Mr. Lockhart, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you!” the woman panted, out of breath. “My name is Molly Weasley. I am a big fan of yours!” she proclaimed, shaking his hand furiously.

“Are you talking to me?” asked Lockhart trying to take a step away from this obviously mad woman only to find that she maintained her vice-like grip on his hand.

“Of course I am talking to you, don’t be silly,” Molly said with a small laugh. She slowly loosened her grip on his protesting hand to gesture emphatically, “You must come over to my house for tea.”

“Er…”

“Right. Off we go then,” Mrs. Weasley said while taking his hand again and half dragging him down the street.

“Here we are, the Burrow!” exclaimed Mrs. Weasley proudly pointing at the tall, crooked house with a flourish.

Lockhart stared blankly at the house, trying his best to understand why she had taken him here. Meanwhile, Molly held the door open, expecting him to be a gentleman, step inside and thank her graciously for inviting him to her home. She waited a few seconds more before clearing her throat rather loudly.

“Ahem, won’t you please come in?” Molly asked, hoping to jolt Gilderoy from his dazed state. She was rather confused about his strange behavior. Lockhart always seemed so elegant in his interviews and book-signings.

“What? Oh, sure.”

“Thank you ever so much for joining me,” said Mrs. Weasley, rather uncharacteristically.

“I’m hungry, do you have any food?”

Mrs. Weasley laughed nervously. She had never expected Gilderoy Lockhart to act like this.

“Let me whip up some tea and scones; it will just take a second. Why don’t you just sit down over here at the table?” said Mrs. Weasley as she guided Gilderoy to the table and let him sit. She then pulled her wand out of her coat pocket and started to make the tea.

“Thank you, ma’am,” replied Lockhart. “By the way, would you like to have my autograph? I’ve learned how to do joined-up writing!”

“Er…” Molly was growing more confused by the minute. “I always thought you had such lovely handwriting, Gilderoy.”

“And lovely good looks, don’t forget that!”

Mrs. Weasley blushed furiously, “No, I couldn’t forget your good looks.”

By this time, Mrs. Weasley had finished making the food. She carried a tray laden with the recently conjured pot of tea and plate of warm scones over to the table where Lockhart sat. His tongue hung out of his mouth as he concentrated his full attention on looping the cursive letters of his name just right. As Molly watched Lockhart, she thought about strange he had been acting. While she was thinking, she couldn’t help but notice that Gilderoy had finished signing his name and proceeded to slurp his tea quite loudly. This can’t be the Lockhart I know! Molly thought to herself. He must be Gilderoy’s twin brother or something. Before she could finish her thoughts, she heard a knock at the door.

“Just a moment!” Mrs. Weasley called out, but her words were drowned out by Lockhart’s noisy eating. When Gilderoy looked up, he found that Molly had left the room, so he got up to find her.

“…I’m not sure I understand.” came Molly’s voice from the doorway.

“Oh there you are Gilderoy. I have been looking all over for you!” exclaimed the motherly healer from St. Mungo’s. “You naughty boy, it’s back to St. Mungo’s for you!”

With that, the healer grabbed Lockhart’s hand and pulled him out the door, calling back to Molly as she did so. “I hope he hasn’t caused you too much trouble, the little rogue.”

The door slammed, leaving a very bewildered Mrs. Weasley rooted at the spot, trying to make sense of what had just happened.