"Ah, Gilderoy, It has been a while", said a stern, old witch in her trademark Scottish accent.

" How long has it been, 8 years?", she asked.

"Yes, indeed, Professor McGonagal. While I would like to reminisce, you will recall that I was particularly bad at your subject and I made it clear that I blamed you for it."

"Thats unreasonable!", she exclaimed. "I treated you just like my other students. You will recall,", she continued, upset, "you struggled with all your classes. I do feel happy that you have become accomplished enough to be invited by Albus for a teaching position. I wish you well with your interview". She pursed her lips, not wanting to make any more pleasant conversation. "If you will follow me to the headmaster's office.". She got up from her chair and lead Gilderoy out of her office.

"You do not wish to speak ill of a potential colleague, professor, or you would have said a lot more about my lack of academic accomplishments. You might consider me to have neglected my studies for 7 years at school. I did. I wasted too much time with transfiguration. And charms.

"If I was going to get an Average after all the effort, I might have as well stopped working and enjoyed my life and got the same grade. Or a Poor at worst. Its just that you cant see the effort a student puts in on the practical aspect of magic. You judge a student mostly by their essays. Which is fine, for History of Magic, and maybe even Potions, but for practical subjects like Charms and Transfiguration?."

Silence reigned the duo as they walked. "Ahem. I do understand the amount of effort it takes to control one mischievous child, let alone a castle load of them. So I can completely understand why professors are loath to do more practicals than they already do. Much better than a muggle school anyway. Its just that its easier to blame the professor than my own lethargy----Here we are. Strange. How did we get here so fast?" He frowned hard, trying to recall the route they took.

"Magic.", she said, a smile threatening to show on her frowning face. "Turkish Delight. Albus is waiting for you. A word of advice, he is not impressed by pretense, or pride."

**** In the headmaster's office.

"Ah, Gilderoy", said an old man with several feet of white hair and beard. Gilderoy's lip twitched. He pulled back a chair and sat down. "Ah Albus. And McGonagal said the same thing too. Ah Gilderoy indeed. And she said you are not impressed by pretense." Gilderoy put both his legs on Dumbledore's table.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up and he stared at Lockhart with amusement.

"So what are the results on the locket? My patience is wearing thin Dumbledore. Unlike you I am practically a muggle. My lifespan is limited. Especially if your best student finds out i gave you two horcruxes. If you don't have an answer, I' steal your kidneys and sell them to St. Brutus School for criminally incurable boys. They run out of-"

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Dumbledore choked, in a rare loss of composure.

"This is a delicate matter, Gilderoy. It cannot be rushed, or else some undesirable elements may find out. or worse, Kreacher may fight to his death perceiving us as enemies."

"You don't want to know about why St Brutus needs kidneys? I spent time to compose an explanation"

"I am sure. Would you like some chocolate frogs?"

"What makes animated food appetizing, I will never know. I will have some lemon juice, more water, less lemon, a little honey, no sugar. And how long will this interview last? That reminds me, how long will Bellatrix continue to breath damp, stale air? Its not like you cant send hitmen to impersonate death eaters and trick her into using Barty's trick."

"Nobody has been able to escape Azkaban in its nearly 300 years of history, let alone assassinate an inmate", said Dumbledore, looking at Lockhart, with an unspoken question.

"I prepared Barty for the interview. Junior I mean. While you called me to this interview with outcome predetermined, I just thought I might do myself a favour and off a half-blood hater. Or two.", said Lockhart, sipping the lemonade which popped into existence on the table.

Finally, Lockhart put down his feat. "Barty Crouch Jr. I mean. The first known Azkaban escapee, as of today"

Dumbledore's eyebrows shotup, as he stared at Gilderoy intently. "But-", said Dumbledore, then paused. His mind working in full throttle. A few seconds later he said, "Barty's wife was terminally ill. She visited her son one last time and died days later. Polyjuice Potion. So, Mrs Crouch is in the Azkaban grave, while Junior escaped...How did they smuggle polyjuice potion into jail? How did junior overpower his mother? With dementors nearby? An imaginative story, Gilderoy, and without proof, that's all it will be".

"Dumbledore, are you pretending that you cant read my mind? I wont argue with you. Senior helped Junior and his wife. The wife smuggled the potion. It was Mrs Crouch's last wish to see her son free of that accursed place. So Senior agreed-- under the condition that Junior will be kept at home, under the Imperious Curse. Unfortunately, Senior is not growing any younger. And all it takes is one moment's negligence." Gilderoy sipped his drink noisily.

The other headmasters' portraits-who knew when they woke up- were thrown into a shock and then into a hot debate of name calling.