Enter the Professors
~*~
The hall was crowded, filled with men and women all jockeying for a position in one of the few overfilled benches. It was a normal scene for any train station in a crowded city, save for one very strange fact. Everyone there was wearing robes and carried a wand in their hand.
It was rush hour at King's Cross Station.
"Train 5 and 3/15 leaving in two hours!" a magical voice called, filling the cavernous space. There was a rise in the roar of sound, as some wizards and witches left their hard-won spots, which were quickly filled in by the "Train 3/8, just arriving".
He had managed to get a seat to himself, which said something on it's own. From a distance, the man wasn't much to look at; just a platinum handsome middle-aged wizard. But if one were to get closer, they could not fail to notice something else.
The man had the fullest, whitest set of teeth seen anywhere outside of television, and he was bestowing a toothy smile on anyone who passed. It could also be seen that people were tending to shy clear of him within a five foot radius; hearing distance, in the noisy station. Obviously, the man was not someone to be listened to for any amount of time.
"Hello, there, perhaps you could help me?" Gilderoy Lockhart called to an attractive young witch on her way to an arriving train. He flashed a charming smile, sure to knock her off her feet. "I was told to meet a man here, you haven't by any change seen..."
She walked off without so much as a how-do-you-do.
"Well," Lockhart huffed. "I say, pardon me..."
It had been a long time since he'd been in contact with people. A very long time, from what the Healers told him. Although he remembered none of it, apparently he'd been in an accident which wiped his memory. Fortunately, they were able to restore it to him.
"Of course," Lockhart thought to himself. "And why should they not? As I am the greatest wizard to live since Merlin himself...perhaps even better than that; I daresay not even Merlin's won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five times running. And he can't possibly have fought a selkie; they didn't come anywhere near England and Merlin certainly hasn't gotten around as much as I. And then there's..."
"Excuse me, Mr. Lockhart?" a voice interrupted. Lockhart looked up in annoyance. How dare this man interrupt... "Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart?"
Lockhart stood up, pleased to see that he was at least three inches taller than the stranger. That always looked good in publicity shots; it never would do to appear less than the other, especially they were as big a celebrity as he. Which was very rare, in any event, although he had looked rather well next to that young whatsisname...Harry Potter or something like that...."You are correct, good sir, and who might you be?" he said in a very friendly manner.
The stranger stared at him for a moment, during which Lockhart wondered if he hadn't been clear enough. The man did have a clear Welsh accent, perhaps he was a foreigner. But then he spoke in very good English. "I've been sent by Professor Dumbledore."
"Ah, very good, very good," Lockhart said genially. He pointed to the bench. "My bags are all there; shall we be on our way?"
The stranger gave him another long look before reaching for the two enormous suitcases. Lockhart began to find his penetrating gray eyes rather annoying.
"Well, where exactly are we going, my good fellow?" he asked curiously. "Do you have a car?"
"No, actually, we're taking another train," the man said, and to illustrate, he turned and began to make his way through the crowd. Lockhart followed.
"You sound as though you're from Wales; perhaps you've heard of my exploits there," Lockhart called to the back of the stranger, moving past a woman with two screaming children ("Watch where you're goin', 'ear!) He slowed to a halt in front of platform .360, as the man handed the conductor two tickets.
"Couldn't say I have," the stranger said in an uninterested voice. He moved fluidly down the aisle and stopped in an empty car, where he deposited Lockhart's belongings.
Lockhart (who hadn't been able to make it past the people in the aisle nearly as gracefully in his large, flowing turquoise robes) sat down comfortably. He frowned at the man. "You haven't heard? I wrote all about it in my book, 'Wanderings With Werewolves'. It's a best seller, how can you possibly have missed it?"
The stranger sat down across the way from Lockhart, with a small frown on his face. Back was the gray-eyes stare. "I don't really go for that propaganda, if you'll excuse my saying so," he said bluntly.
"Propaganda?" Lockhart exclaimed. What was he talking about? It had to have been his best book since...well, since 'Year of the Yeti'. So what if he'd stolen it all from that old monk in Dysynni Valley? The man wasn't ever going to be needing the titles! "My dear friend, you have no idea what you're talking about. I can quite clearly see that you're the kind of wizard that would take one look at a werewolf, or any lycanthrope for that matter, and go running in the other direction."
Strangely, the man smiled wryly. "I meant no offense, Mr. Lockhart. I have read the book. I found some of the information to be a bit...inaccurate. That's all."
The train started moving with a jerk and King's Cross Station moved quickly out of view, to be replaced with the rolling English countryside. Lockhart, however, didn't pay much attention to the idyllic view outside.
"Inaccurate? I assure you, all of the information in that book was taken from real life experiences! Take, for example, that werewolf in the phone booth that I wrote about..."
"I've found that werewolves tend to be claustrophobic, even in human form," the stranger interrupted. "Seeing as how you claimed to have been on a busy street, unless you'd particularly offended him I find it highly unlikely that he'd have chased you all the way into the booth if there were the chance of an...easier meal."
"I...," Lockhart paused. Claustrophobic? "You must be mistaken," he said. "There is nothing wrong with my memory."
Again, the wry smile. "Of course not, Mr. Lockhart. The Healers have done a magnificent job, might I add. You're looking quite well."
"Ah, yes, I have been through many a trial," Lockhart sighed. "Of course, I always come through. Might I add that I've won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row?"
"I believe Dumbledore mentioned that," the stranger said.
"Although you're looking a bit peaky yourself," Lockhart noted, peering into the man's face. There were deep shadows under his eyes. "Not enough sleep? I could remedy that for you, if you'd like. I'm very well renowned across the world for my..."
"No, that's all right," the man declined quickly. "You should probably save yourself for when we arrive."
"What does Dumbledore want me for, exactly?" Lockhart asked, leaning forward and pressing his long, perfectly manicured hands together. "Not that I don't want to help; I rather think that he could have called me sooner."
"He wanted to be sure you were completely...recovered," the stranger said. "You've heard that Voldemort has been rising in power again?"
Lockhart flinched at the name, staring at the young man. He didn't even seem perturbed, how...? "You-Know-Who?"
"Yes, You-Know-Who. Dumbledore feels that it won't be long before he makes an attack, and wants to make sure that we are very well prepared, so as to have as few casualties as possible. He's been calling in wizards from all four corners of the globe, each with their unique strengths and talents, for what could very possibly be the final conflict. He hopes to make an end of Voldemort once and for all." The stranger sat back in the seat and looked inquisitively at Lockhart, to see how the man took it all in.
Lockhart was in shock. "Ca..casualties?"
The stranger simply nodded.
'He can't possibly think I'm actually going to risk my neck for...for this,' Lockhart thought to himself. He took another look at his companion's worn face and cold eyes. 'This fellow's obviously seen...Perhaps...no, that's an impossibility. There is no way in heaven he could want me to go up against You-Know-Who. Absolutely out of the question!' Out loud, he said, "Is this what you do? Battle...the dark forces?"
"I help Dumbledore, yes," the stranger said. He paused to push his graying brown hair out of his eyes. "But this isn't a matter of a small group of wizards, anymore. We're going to need help."
"But if you're calling people from all over the globe, surely you don't need me," Lockhart said, grinning brightly. "After all, I'm a very busy man. I have many matters to attend to; busy world, and all that..."
"There might not be a world to be occupied by if Voldemort rises again. You remember what he did before. There's nothing to stop him from doing it again. And worse. So as much as you dislike the idea, Mr. Lockhart, we're going to need you."
Lockhart shivered, imagining that the entire train had gone cold and the sky gone dark, despite the fact that it was still very light outside and birds were singing.
"I understand," the man said softly, in a kind voice. "I'm not looking forward to it either."
"Are you suggesting I'm afraid?" Lockhart said sharply. The nerve! "I'll tell you this; Dumbledore sent you to get me with good reason - I am the man best equipped to handle this job. Why, I've faced more creatures and people of the dark than most come across in their lifetime! Why, I've even held a professorship at Hogwarts, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!"
"Really?" the man asked with the grin. "Than I believe we are colleagues."
Lockhart paused. "You taught?" There was a nod. "What position?"
"Same as yourself. I seem to remember hearing about you from the students. Very notorious reviews. I don't believe I'd have taken on Cornish Pixies, myself."
The train slowed and ground to a halt in front of a large platform. Lockhart climbed to his feet, leaving the stranger to take his bags again (noting that the man carried none himself). "Yes, the Pixies. Well, actually, I thought I was being rather easy on the children. A primary school Muggle could have handled them."
"Quite," the stranger said from behind Lockhart as he climbed off the train onto the platform. Waiting was a giant of a man, with jet black hair and beetle-black eyes, who moved forward quickly to meet them.
"So, yer finally 'ere! Dumbledore said th' train was runnin Enter the Professors
~*~
The hall was crowded, filled with men and women all jockeying for a position in one of the few overfilled benches. It was a normal scene for any train station in a crowded city, save for one very strange fact. Everyone Enter the Professors
~*~
The hall was crowded, filled with men and women all jockeying for a position in one of the few overfilled benches. It was a normal scene for any train station in a crowded city, save for one very strange fact. Everyone r simply nodded, his answer drowned out in the sound of the whistle as the train pulled out. Lockhart had the strange suspicion that the man wasn't being particularly complimentary.
"Well, come on, then," Hagrid said as soon as the train died out into the distance. "Th' Professors are waitin' t' speak t' yeh."
The walk up to the castle was a long one, and Lockhart found himself wishing very early on that Dumbledore had thought to send down a carriage. Imagine, asking him to risk his life and making him walk for miles and miles all in the same day? Honestly.
It was a good half an hour that seemed a lifetime until the enormous castle rose into view. Lockhart had never been as glad to see anything in his life, and almost kissed the disgruntled Professor that came to the front doors.
"It's about time," Minerva McGonagall said, shying away from Lockhart and addressing Hagrid and the stranger.
"Is the meeting in session?" the stranger asked, dropping Lockhart's baggage on the stone floor. Lockhart winced at the thought of some of the pictures of himself cracking inside. And seven years of bad luck for each...fool.
"About ten minutes. Sirius is waiting for you outside the southeast tower," McGonagall said. With a short thanks the man disappeared down a hallway.
"I'll be off, then," Hagrid said. "See yeh in a bit, Minerva."
He too made a quick exit. Lockhart was left alone with the Transfiguration Professor, whom, he remembered, was never a very kind and accommodating person.
"Pick up your baggage, Mr. Lockhart. I'll show you to your room, and then we can join the meeting," McGonagall said shortly. Under her breath, she muttered, "Pity Lupin didn't eat you and get it over with."
"What was that?" Lockhart asked sharply. "Who in the world is Lupin?"
"The man that met you at the station," McGonagall said with a small laugh. "Remus Lupin. Didn't he ever get around to introducing himself?"
Lockhart looked down the dark hallway the stranger had disappeared to worriedly. "Eat me?" he asked.
"He's our resident werewolf, Mr. Lockhart. But I daresay you should have nothing to worry about, what with your book and all," McGonagall said somewhat snidely. Turning abruptly, she added, "Follow me."
Lockhart simply stood there. "He didn't seem at all claustrophobic to me."
~*~
Author's Note: Yes, this is another pointless story that goes absolutely nowhere. I've wanted for a while to explore the chance of a meeting between Lockhart and Lupin, pretty much so Remus could run circles around Gilderoy. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not all that fond of pompous former Defense-Against-the-Dark-Arts teachers.
I know that the context of the story is somewhat confusing, so I'll explain that quickly. In this little scenario, Harry Potter is in his 7th year. Voldemort is rising again stronger than ever, and Dumbledore, in an effort to defeat him, is "calling in wizards from all four corners of the globe". I've been rolling this scenario around in my head for a while and there may be more. Cliché, perhaps, but I like seeing my (or J. K. Rowling's) hated and loved characters in the same situations together. Ah, allow me my little idiosyncrasies.
And now that you're done listening to me babble...the disclaimer:
Disclaimer: Yet again, none of these characters belong to me. Lupin, Lockhart, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Hagrid all belong to J. K. Rowling, and only the anonymous extras are my own creation. Thank you, and good night.
~*~
The hall was crowded, filled with men and women all jockeying for a position in one of the few overfilled benches. It was a normal scene for any train station in a crowded city, save for one very strange fact. Everyone there was wearing robes and carried a wand in their hand.
It was rush hour at King's Cross Station.
"Train 5 and 3/15 leaving in two hours!" a magical voice called, filling the cavernous space. There was a rise in the roar of sound, as some wizards and witches left their hard-won spots, which were quickly filled in by the "Train 3/8, just arriving".
He had managed to get a seat to himself, which said something on it's own. From a distance, the man wasn't much to look at; just a platinum handsome middle-aged wizard. But if one were to get closer, they could not fail to notice something else.
The man had the fullest, whitest set of teeth seen anywhere outside of television, and he was bestowing a toothy smile on anyone who passed. It could also be seen that people were tending to shy clear of him within a five foot radius; hearing distance, in the noisy station. Obviously, the man was not someone to be listened to for any amount of time.
"Hello, there, perhaps you could help me?" Gilderoy Lockhart called to an attractive young witch on her way to an arriving train. He flashed a charming smile, sure to knock her off her feet. "I was told to meet a man here, you haven't by any change seen..."
She walked off without so much as a how-do-you-do.
"Well," Lockhart huffed. "I say, pardon me..."
It had been a long time since he'd been in contact with people. A very long time, from what the Healers told him. Although he remembered none of it, apparently he'd been in an accident which wiped his memory. Fortunately, they were able to restore it to him.
"Of course," Lockhart thought to himself. "And why should they not? As I am the greatest wizard to live since Merlin himself...perhaps even better than that; I daresay not even Merlin's won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five times running. And he can't possibly have fought a selkie; they didn't come anywhere near England and Merlin certainly hasn't gotten around as much as I. And then there's..."
"Excuse me, Mr. Lockhart?" a voice interrupted. Lockhart looked up in annoyance. How dare this man interrupt... "Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart?"
Lockhart stood up, pleased to see that he was at least three inches taller than the stranger. That always looked good in publicity shots; it never would do to appear less than the other, especially they were as big a celebrity as he. Which was very rare, in any event, although he had looked rather well next to that young whatsisname...Harry Potter or something like that...."You are correct, good sir, and who might you be?" he said in a very friendly manner.
The stranger stared at him for a moment, during which Lockhart wondered if he hadn't been clear enough. The man did have a clear Welsh accent, perhaps he was a foreigner. But then he spoke in very good English. "I've been sent by Professor Dumbledore."
"Ah, very good, very good," Lockhart said genially. He pointed to the bench. "My bags are all there; shall we be on our way?"
The stranger gave him another long look before reaching for the two enormous suitcases. Lockhart began to find his penetrating gray eyes rather annoying.
"Well, where exactly are we going, my good fellow?" he asked curiously. "Do you have a car?"
"No, actually, we're taking another train," the man said, and to illustrate, he turned and began to make his way through the crowd. Lockhart followed.
"You sound as though you're from Wales; perhaps you've heard of my exploits there," Lockhart called to the back of the stranger, moving past a woman with two screaming children ("Watch where you're goin', 'ear!) He slowed to a halt in front of platform .360, as the man handed the conductor two tickets.
"Couldn't say I have," the stranger said in an uninterested voice. He moved fluidly down the aisle and stopped in an empty car, where he deposited Lockhart's belongings.
Lockhart (who hadn't been able to make it past the people in the aisle nearly as gracefully in his large, flowing turquoise robes) sat down comfortably. He frowned at the man. "You haven't heard? I wrote all about it in my book, 'Wanderings With Werewolves'. It's a best seller, how can you possibly have missed it?"
The stranger sat down across the way from Lockhart, with a small frown on his face. Back was the gray-eyes stare. "I don't really go for that propaganda, if you'll excuse my saying so," he said bluntly.
"Propaganda?" Lockhart exclaimed. What was he talking about? It had to have been his best book since...well, since 'Year of the Yeti'. So what if he'd stolen it all from that old monk in Dysynni Valley? The man wasn't ever going to be needing the titles! "My dear friend, you have no idea what you're talking about. I can quite clearly see that you're the kind of wizard that would take one look at a werewolf, or any lycanthrope for that matter, and go running in the other direction."
Strangely, the man smiled wryly. "I meant no offense, Mr. Lockhart. I have read the book. I found some of the information to be a bit...inaccurate. That's all."
The train started moving with a jerk and King's Cross Station moved quickly out of view, to be replaced with the rolling English countryside. Lockhart, however, didn't pay much attention to the idyllic view outside.
"Inaccurate? I assure you, all of the information in that book was taken from real life experiences! Take, for example, that werewolf in the phone booth that I wrote about..."
"I've found that werewolves tend to be claustrophobic, even in human form," the stranger interrupted. "Seeing as how you claimed to have been on a busy street, unless you'd particularly offended him I find it highly unlikely that he'd have chased you all the way into the booth if there were the chance of an...easier meal."
"I...," Lockhart paused. Claustrophobic? "You must be mistaken," he said. "There is nothing wrong with my memory."
Again, the wry smile. "Of course not, Mr. Lockhart. The Healers have done a magnificent job, might I add. You're looking quite well."
"Ah, yes, I have been through many a trial," Lockhart sighed. "Of course, I always come through. Might I add that I've won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row?"
"I believe Dumbledore mentioned that," the stranger said.
"Although you're looking a bit peaky yourself," Lockhart noted, peering into the man's face. There were deep shadows under his eyes. "Not enough sleep? I could remedy that for you, if you'd like. I'm very well renowned across the world for my..."
"No, that's all right," the man declined quickly. "You should probably save yourself for when we arrive."
"What does Dumbledore want me for, exactly?" Lockhart asked, leaning forward and pressing his long, perfectly manicured hands together. "Not that I don't want to help; I rather think that he could have called me sooner."
"He wanted to be sure you were completely...recovered," the stranger said. "You've heard that Voldemort has been rising in power again?"
Lockhart flinched at the name, staring at the young man. He didn't even seem perturbed, how...? "You-Know-Who?"
"Yes, You-Know-Who. Dumbledore feels that it won't be long before he makes an attack, and wants to make sure that we are very well prepared, so as to have as few casualties as possible. He's been calling in wizards from all four corners of the globe, each with their unique strengths and talents, for what could very possibly be the final conflict. He hopes to make an end of Voldemort once and for all." The stranger sat back in the seat and looked inquisitively at Lockhart, to see how the man took it all in.
Lockhart was in shock. "Ca..casualties?"
The stranger simply nodded.
'He can't possibly think I'm actually going to risk my neck for...for this,' Lockhart thought to himself. He took another look at his companion's worn face and cold eyes. 'This fellow's obviously seen...Perhaps...no, that's an impossibility. There is no way in heaven he could want me to go up against You-Know-Who. Absolutely out of the question!' Out loud, he said, "Is this what you do? Battle...the dark forces?"
"I help Dumbledore, yes," the stranger said. He paused to push his graying brown hair out of his eyes. "But this isn't a matter of a small group of wizards, anymore. We're going to need help."
"But if you're calling people from all over the globe, surely you don't need me," Lockhart said, grinning brightly. "After all, I'm a very busy man. I have many matters to attend to; busy world, and all that..."
"There might not be a world to be occupied by if Voldemort rises again. You remember what he did before. There's nothing to stop him from doing it again. And worse. So as much as you dislike the idea, Mr. Lockhart, we're going to need you."
Lockhart shivered, imagining that the entire train had gone cold and the sky gone dark, despite the fact that it was still very light outside and birds were singing.
"I understand," the man said softly, in a kind voice. "I'm not looking forward to it either."
"Are you suggesting I'm afraid?" Lockhart said sharply. The nerve! "I'll tell you this; Dumbledore sent you to get me with good reason - I am the man best equipped to handle this job. Why, I've faced more creatures and people of the dark than most come across in their lifetime! Why, I've even held a professorship at Hogwarts, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!"
"Really?" the man asked with the grin. "Than I believe we are colleagues."
Lockhart paused. "You taught?" There was a nod. "What position?"
"Same as yourself. I seem to remember hearing about you from the students. Very notorious reviews. I don't believe I'd have taken on Cornish Pixies, myself."
The train slowed and ground to a halt in front of a large platform. Lockhart climbed to his feet, leaving the stranger to take his bags again (noting that the man carried none himself). "Yes, the Pixies. Well, actually, I thought I was being rather easy on the children. A primary school Muggle could have handled them."
"Quite," the stranger said from behind Lockhart as he climbed off the train onto the platform. Waiting was a giant of a man, with jet black hair and beetle-black eyes, who moved forward quickly to meet them.
"So, yer finally 'ere! Dumbledore said th' train was runnin Enter the Professors
~*~
The hall was crowded, filled with men and women all jockeying for a position in one of the few overfilled benches. It was a normal scene for any train station in a crowded city, save for one very strange fact. Everyone Enter the Professors
~*~
The hall was crowded, filled with men and women all jockeying for a position in one of the few overfilled benches. It was a normal scene for any train station in a crowded city, save for one very strange fact. Everyone r simply nodded, his answer drowned out in the sound of the whistle as the train pulled out. Lockhart had the strange suspicion that the man wasn't being particularly complimentary.
"Well, come on, then," Hagrid said as soon as the train died out into the distance. "Th' Professors are waitin' t' speak t' yeh."
The walk up to the castle was a long one, and Lockhart found himself wishing very early on that Dumbledore had thought to send down a carriage. Imagine, asking him to risk his life and making him walk for miles and miles all in the same day? Honestly.
It was a good half an hour that seemed a lifetime until the enormous castle rose into view. Lockhart had never been as glad to see anything in his life, and almost kissed the disgruntled Professor that came to the front doors.
"It's about time," Minerva McGonagall said, shying away from Lockhart and addressing Hagrid and the stranger.
"Is the meeting in session?" the stranger asked, dropping Lockhart's baggage on the stone floor. Lockhart winced at the thought of some of the pictures of himself cracking inside. And seven years of bad luck for each...fool.
"About ten minutes. Sirius is waiting for you outside the southeast tower," McGonagall said. With a short thanks the man disappeared down a hallway.
"I'll be off, then," Hagrid said. "See yeh in a bit, Minerva."
He too made a quick exit. Lockhart was left alone with the Transfiguration Professor, whom, he remembered, was never a very kind and accommodating person.
"Pick up your baggage, Mr. Lockhart. I'll show you to your room, and then we can join the meeting," McGonagall said shortly. Under her breath, she muttered, "Pity Lupin didn't eat you and get it over with."
"What was that?" Lockhart asked sharply. "Who in the world is Lupin?"
"The man that met you at the station," McGonagall said with a small laugh. "Remus Lupin. Didn't he ever get around to introducing himself?"
Lockhart looked down the dark hallway the stranger had disappeared to worriedly. "Eat me?" he asked.
"He's our resident werewolf, Mr. Lockhart. But I daresay you should have nothing to worry about, what with your book and all," McGonagall said somewhat snidely. Turning abruptly, she added, "Follow me."
Lockhart simply stood there. "He didn't seem at all claustrophobic to me."
~*~
Author's Note: Yes, this is another pointless story that goes absolutely nowhere. I've wanted for a while to explore the chance of a meeting between Lockhart and Lupin, pretty much so Remus could run circles around Gilderoy. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not all that fond of pompous former Defense-Against-the-Dark-Arts teachers.
I know that the context of the story is somewhat confusing, so I'll explain that quickly. In this little scenario, Harry Potter is in his 7th year. Voldemort is rising again stronger than ever, and Dumbledore, in an effort to defeat him, is "calling in wizards from all four corners of the globe". I've been rolling this scenario around in my head for a while and there may be more. Cliché, perhaps, but I like seeing my (or J. K. Rowling's) hated and loved characters in the same situations together. Ah, allow me my little idiosyncrasies.
And now that you're done listening to me babble...the disclaimer:
Disclaimer: Yet again, none of these characters belong to me. Lupin, Lockhart, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Hagrid all belong to J. K. Rowling, and only the anonymous extras are my own creation. Thank you, and good night.