Gilderoy Lockhart was a rational man. Or rather, after Brian produced an official certificate from St. Mungo's stating that "the patient's primary personality will have largely dissipated in three months," and after he had spent a long time shouting pointlessly in anger, only to finally realize that, for the first time since being forced to take the treatment potion, he had watched the clock's minute hand move through two large divisions, he had no choice but to begin a rational discussion with Brian.
Brian had three main demands.
First, write down every disgraceful thing he had done and contact reporters to make it public; second, become a kindhearted philanthropist who offered help wherever disaster struck, spending his entire fortune to atone; third, once his abnormal physical condition had been cured, take the smile that had won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Wizard Smile Award three times into Azkaban and give the Dementors a little shock.
Brian did not consider these demands excessive. Not only were they reasonable and legal, they were considerate, too. Wouldn't this fulfill Lockhart's wish to make the Daily Prophet's front page again? One obvious fact, however, was that Lockhart, with his numerous past offenses, certainly would not agree with Brian.
The good news was that something else was even more obvious: no matter what, Lockhart could not lose his temper at someone who held his hope of recovery. He did not want to die. He was still young, and death was something far, far away. All he could do was glare with all his might and grind his teeth furiously, like a feeble old dog that had been kicked.
"I don't quite understand what you're so angry about. Are you angry that there's still hope of saving your life? A stint of further education in Azkaban is