As Snape set foot into the St. Mungo's room, he prayed to deities he never believed existed that he would survive the visitation.
"Hello, I'm Gilderoy Lockhart. Who are you?"
Snape exerted every ounce of his self-control to not let his eyes wander to the walls. Eyes on him, Severus. Get the necessary information, then get out.
Silence didn't discourage Lockhart. Instead, he spoke again in a louder voice, probably thinking that Snape hadn't heard him the first time. "Hello, I'm Gilderoy –"
"I know who you are!"
"You do?" Lockhart practically beamed. His overly white teeth were beginning to bother Snape. "Then who are you?"
"Snape. Severus Snape."
"Very nice to meet you."
"The feeling is not mutual."
If Snape ever doubted that Gilderoy Lockhart was a straw-headed simpleton, he had just gotten proof that the man was more idiotic than Neville Longbottom— "You're feeling not mutual? That's great! Do you want to be friends?"
That, Lockhart understood. Bleach-white teeth disappeared as his lips closed and shaped into a pout. "I'm very lonely here."
"I don't care. Now, be still so I can check on your condition."
"I'm not sick! I do remember something."
"Oh, really? Do tell."
"I remember this boy with horrible hair and out-of-fashion eyeglasses. He can't dress properly. His jumpers are always too big for him."
"That's his name? How boring." Lockhart quickly added, "Oh, and I remember that I used to be famous. People loved me –"
Snape turned abruptly and headed for the door. On orders or not, there was no way he would subject himself to Gilderoy Lockhart's self-gloating. One, two, three steps…
" – And I hate that Potter boy. If it wasn't for him, I'd still be famous."
Snape stopped, turned around, and smirked. So Gilderoy Lockhart hated Harry Potter. Maybe he could work with him after all.