Better than Bryce

A/N: I do not own anything from the world of Harry Potter, nor will I gain any financial profit from writing this.

This fic was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Round 5. For this round, my task was to write about our team's chosen character, Gilderoy Lockhart, in his second year. I found this a little hard to not go over the top with his pig-headedness, thinking more that at twelve years old, he would not have realised that he was the one no one liked, etc. As usual, my Chaser 1 prompts were: (colour) bronze, (scene) sitting an exam, (dialogue) "I don't do well with snakes" (as underlined in the text for easy location).

Word count: 2993

A huge thank you to our team's amazing Seeker, Lokilette, for beta'ing this piece for me! And to Sable Supernova for giving such fantastic in her review! :D

Thank you everyone for reading too, and by all means, if something doesn't make sense or there is SPaG I've missed, etc., please do let me know :)

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Creakkkkk. Creakkkkk.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Gilderoy's brow was covered in sweat, and his eyes blurred through hot tears. His hand was cramping up- bones showing underneath the stretched flesh of his hands. His right leg trembled uncontrollably, his knee and thigh wobbling upon the impact of his foot tapping the ground. His stomach grumbled, once, twice: the gurgling painful enough to draw attention to him, but not the kind he wanted; a few students shot fierce glares at him, their eyes narrowed in a warning to tell him to keep quiet.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Gilderoy peered up at the tiny clock sitting upon the teacher's desk. Its steady ticking was drumming into his already pounding brain, driving out any answers he could've possibly had to the exam before him. Immediately, he wished he had not looked at the clock, for he realised with a jolt, his stomach plummeting, that he had only half an hour left. Half an hour until he sealed his fate, and his peers discovered he was a fraud; half an hour until his life, at least socially, was over.

Stifling a sigh, he allowed his blue eyes to search around the room. The Hufflepuff boy a few seats ahead of him, Lachlan something or other, was swinging back on his chair, the wooden feet balancing precariously on the floorboards. The creaking of the chair was nearly as irritating as the clock's ticking, except the clock had a pattern to it, rather than being random. Another boy to Gilderoy's left was tapping his quill against his parchment, a pink tongue protruding from his lips as he tried to come up with an answer, and further down the row a girl, Annabel Rice, was busy scrawling across her parchment.

If only he could remember a simple answer, just one. Gilderoy had been positive he would ace this exam; sure he didn't even need to study. He was marvellous at Charms, absolutely marvellous. His skill the year before, despite having two Muggle sisters that could not give him advice on the subject, had definitely impressed the professors. Why, just last week he had heard Professor Turlfort mention to the Potions Professor, "Oh look, there goes Mr Lockhart showing what he can do. Again."

Unfortunately, his parchment remained blank upon his desk, save for the numerous questions pre-written onto it. The crisp, white surface of the parchment seemed to mock him, as though its blankness was screaming at him that he was stupid. There was no way he could save himself now; no way he could achieve the Outstanding he needed. He'd probably get Dreadful, if he was lucky.

Finally allowing the sigh to escape his lips, he stared dejectedly at Annabel's long, brown hair, losing himself in the glistening tones of bronze and copper as he thought back to how he got himself into this mess in the first place.

Two Days Earlier

Every inch of his body ached, a heat burning through his muscles that he had never felt before. His shoes dragged through the dewy grass as he trudged up towards the castle, an air of defeat marring the disgusting odour emanating from soaked robes. Gilderoy desperately wanted to reach the showers and spend an hour or two cleansing the failure off him. His robes were already patched with nasty grass and mud stains, and he did not particularly feel like being caught in them any longer than necessary.

Of course, it was the Captain's fault for not allowing him to leave the pitch earlier as he had wished; no, the Captain thought he was trying out for the team as a joke, claiming the way his broom bucked him off constantly was a sign that he was mucking around. After Gilderoy had been caught trying to charm the list of successful participants to include his own name not too long after that, the Captain had thought it would be terrific fun for him to be forced to run around the pitch in penance.

Who needed Quidditch anyway? There were better ways to become popular at Hogwarts.

As he neared the doors, Gilderoy could see a small crowd of his peers chatting happily and mucking around. Their robes swished about their feet as the boys jostled each other and the girls ducked out of their way, pushing at the boys with squeals of delight as they passed.

Hurriedly, Gilderoy whisked a hand through his golden hair, carefully pushing down any stray strands that had come apart from his carefully styled do. He tried to scourgify his robes to lessen the smell, but stopped at the last second- no, the effect of stained robes might impress the girls by showing them how hard he had worked, he thought.

Putting on a large smile Gilderoy approached the group and waited for them to acknowledge him. The group appeared not to have noticed his presence, however, and after a few minutes of standing there, rather awkwardly as he tried to appear non-chalant, his chest puffed out impressively, he gave a small cough.

"Ahem."

"Oh, hi, Gilderoy." One of the girls, Evelyn, turned to him and gave a small smile.

"Yeah, hi, Gilderoy." Her friend, Annabel, snickered, nudging Evelyn and causing her to push her back.

Gilderoy beamed at the girls, glad that someone had finally realised he was now there. The rest of the group shifted uncomfortably, giving him polite nods. He didn't blame them for not sharing the smiles though, knowing they were probably upset that he was now there to provide some more interesting topics of conversation than they could have offered.

"Hello girls, boys. Nice weather we're having, though a little too hot in my opinion." Gilderoy continued to flash his smile, tugging at his robes in the process.

He was a little concerned that they had not immediately jumped at him with questions about how his try-outs went, especially as he had made sure that they all knew that he was destined to be a Chaser. Every night since they had returned for their second year, Gilderoy had boasted in the Ravenclaw common room, though not too loudly as to make the weaker of his peers jealous, of his intentions to make the team. He supposed that they all needed little prompting to remember though, and proceeded to make a show of his worn clothes.

Finally, Annabel took the hint. "So, how did try-outs go, Gilderoy? I'm sure your ideas on how the game should be played would've been much appreciated."

Gilderoy winked at her, pleased that she appeared to think his ideas about the game were rather good. Really, in a house full of brainiacs, he was surprised no one had thought that having larger goal posts was much better than the tiny six that already existed; how else was he supposed to score a goal otherwise? Determined now not to disappoint her, he stood taller and proceeded to tell her about his achievements, even if they were slightly- and only slightly mind you- exaggerated.

"Well, of course the Captain, Michael as he told me to call him, was very impressed that I had spent so much time researching ways to improve the game. Not to mention how amazed he was at my obvious talent in catching a Quaffle- one hand and all."

"Oh, of course," both girls chorused at once, the other students now grinning at him appreciatively.

Gilderoy was more than pleased that they easily agreed with him and began to subtly flex his arms, hoping that they would notice the muscles that could form as time went by. He noticed that Annabel continued to nudge Evelyn in the arm, pointing and giggling at his antics. Their keen attention only served to make him feel better about not actually making the team and his confidence swelled.

"Yes, it was a fantastic afternoon, really. In fact, I'm quite worn out from the exertion, as you can see," flexing his developing arm muscles again, he stifled a fake yawn. "Oh no, don't you worry girls, I'm quite able to carry on the duties that befall Quidditch team members; I will not let a lack of sleep or food due to long practice sessions allow me to let the team down. I'm willing to make the sacrifice too… I suppose."

With a practiced flourish, Gilderoy shook his head solemnly before placing his bright smile back upon his face. It wouldn't do to allow the girls to think that just anybody could join the team. If, and when, they realised that in fact he had not made it, he wanted them to know that it was by his choice and not the Captain's.

"So, I take it you made the team, then?" one of the boys in the crowd asked, his hazel eyes penetrating his own.

Gilderoy felt the heat begin to rise to his cheeks as his smile became tighter. It seemed it would be sooner than later that they found out, but he wanted to stall for time. After all, he hoped the Captain would change his mind given how he had managed to complete most of the laps around the pitch… eventually.

"Oh, well, they haven't exactly said who will be on the team, so many competitive players you know. But I'm sure I have an amazing chance -"

"I suppose you think falling on your arse got you in then, do you Lockhart?" a jeering voice interrupted him.

Gilderoy spun around, his eyes narrowing in a fierce glare as the other second years joined them, their own Quidditch robes as stained as his. His nemesis, Bryce Skeeter, was leading the pack of boys, a smirk plastered on his pale face.

Bryce had been the first friend Gilderoy had made the year before. They had had many adventures roaming the school corridors looking for clues of the Founder's existence and helping each other finish their homework; Gilderoy in particular loved being able to impress Bryce with his knowledge and help the boy correct his work when necessary, which was often. It was the least he could do as the boy's best friend. Unfortunately, by the end of the first year, Bryce seemed to tire of Gilderoy's brains and the way he was so popular with the other students- their wide grins evident of his joking ability- and Bryce's jealousy soon terminated the friendship.

Placing his curled fists by his side, Gilderoy took a deep, calming breath. He would not let Bryce get the better of him.

"Well, as a matter of fact, Michael, the Captain, was very amu-"

"You mean Mitchell, right? And yes, I'm sure he was very amused. Amused that you couldn't even manage to stay upright on your broom!" Bryce began to laugh, apparently finding himself very witty.

Gilderoy did not blame the others in the group for laughing alongside him; they were surely only doing so to ensure that Bryce did not feel as stupid as he was. Still, Gilderoy could feel the heat rising to his cheeks and crossed his arms impatiently, waiting for them to realise how rude Bryce was for interrupting.

"Well, yes, it's not my fault that the broom I was on wasn't up to my standards. No, my own broom, the very new Comet 360-"

"-the one we've never seen before-"

"-isn't with me at the moment. You see-"

"Wait, no, let us guess. You don't have it here because you leant it to your cousin who is a famous Quidditch player in New Zealand?"

"No, no, he doesn't have it here because it got burned when he helped his father wrestle dragons!"

"No, wait, he doesn't have it because he traded it to some mermaids in the lake so that he could be the first to learn their language. Duh!"

His group of friends began to laugh. Tears streamed from their eyes as they bent over to catch their breath from their excessive giggling. Some of the boys thumped each other on the back; others stamped their feet, gasping for air. Gilderoy rolled his eyes. What children he had to put up with sometimes.

"Well, no, my father does not wrestle dragons. I don't really like reptiles, really, especially snakes. I don't do well with snakes. I'm deathly allergic to their venom, you see. The medi-witches thought I'd have died when I was five years old and was bitten on the finger. A miracle I survived, really. So I'm probably allergic to dragons too. But, as a matter of fact, my cousin does have my broom- he needed it for the tournament they're in, and he thinks my broom is really fast."

"Oh yeah? What's your cousin's name then?" Bryce challenged, finally having caught the stitch in his side.

"Erm, ah-" Gilderoy's mind whirred, trying to think of common names that would be in the New Zealand Kiwis, "-Troy, Troy, uh, Troy Gibson." There. That should do it.

Bryce began to nod his head up and down slowly, causing the others to giggle again. "Ah- huh, sure."

As one, the group then turned on their heels and began to leave, heading off into the castle and as far away from Gilderoy as possible. He knew it was undignified to shout after them, but he needed them to know he was good- good at Quidditch and certainly better than them at anything else they tried.

"He is! And- and I will get on the team, you'll see!"

"I'm sure you will." Bryce called over his shoulder, rolling his brilliant blue eyes.

Gilderoy's mouth popped open, annoyed that no one was listening to him or paying him the attention he deserved. Bryce looked confident as he strutted away. Of course he would be; he was sure to get on the team. Nonetheless, Gilderoy knew Bryce wasn't so confident in other areas.

Trying to avoid any embarrassing spluttering, Gilderoy quickly called after the boy.

"Yeah, and anyways, who cares about Quidditch? I'm the uh, smartest in the grade, and that's much better!"

His boast seemed to have the desired effect, for Bryce spun around, eyes narrowed but smirk ever-present. Striding forward, he stood not a meter from Gilderoy, who resisted the urge to shrink back at his close proximity.

"Yeah? Prove it. Who was the inventor of the Wiggenweld potion?"

"Uh, that was, uh… That's not a normal question. I meant I bet I can beat you and get the highest grade of anyone here in classes."

"Is that so? Fine, we have a Charms class exam on Thursday afternoon. Prove you're so smart and get the highest score, which, if you are such a genius, should be one hundred per cent. If you can, well, maybe people will stop calling you a-"

"I will." Gilderoy interrupted the boy, not wanting to hear whatever insult that went with his name. He was sure no one ever called him anything bad, but it was hard to hear Bryce to even pretend they did.

Present

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Gilderoy scrunched up his eyes and rubbed a curled fist against them, hoping that applying pressure to his temples would somehow push the answers he needed forward.

He had to resist the urge to begin tapping his own quill against the desk. Casting his gaze around the room, he caught the eye of Annabel as she chewed on the tip of her quill feather in thought. Gilderoy winked at her, pointing to his paper, motioning for her to tell him an answer or two. He wasn't sure why, but Annabel simply rolled her eyes in response and turned back to her work- Gilderoy would've thought she'd be delighted to help him, given the way she seemed so impressed by his Quidditch try-outs earlier.

"Eyes on your own work, please." Professor Turlfort called to the class, but it seemed almost as if it was directed solely at Gilderoy.

Bryce looked up quickly at the Professor's words. As she looked down, he turned around and smirked at Gilderoy, as if to say, 'I told you so'. Gilderoy felt his cheeks heat up, a delicate shade of pink, once more, but thankfully Bryce turned back to his work. Bryce seemed to be writing rapidly, as though he knew the answer to every single question on the paper.

"One minute left."

Gilderoy wanted nothing more than to bang his head against his desk. If only he hadn't been so sure he would know all the answers and spent his valuable time studying instead of moping about the Quidditch pitch. He had spent yesterday afternoon carving his name into several stands, knowing that if he were not chosen for his team, than at least he would have some way to be remembered for Quidditch at the school. If only he hadn't bothered to try out in the first place. But no, he had tried out, had gotten a stupid, uncooperative broom, had tried to switch the Captain's successful list to include his name…

That's it!

"Quills down."

In a collective sigh, the students abruptly stopped writing, leaning back in their chairs and shaking their cramped hands gratefully. Professor Turlfort rose gracefully from her desk and began to walk down the aisles, dismissing each student. With a flick of her wand, each paper zoomed into a pile upon her desk.

As soon as she dismissed Gilderoy's row, he ran to the door, waiting for her to move up the back aisles. Carefully, ensuring that no students were lingering by, Gilderoy withdrew his wand. Pointing it at the pile containing both his and Bryce's paper, he murmured the incantation he was so familiar with.

"Vorto praenomino."

Smiling, Gilderoy skipped out the door, not looking back. Yes, he may not have been the best at Quidditch, but he was certainly better than Bryce in Charms and, more importantly, in casting spells that could change names on parchment.

Yes, the spell at the end is made up. I had to roughly translate 'switch name' into Latin, so the order of words, let alone the actual translations, may be wrong. Bryce Skeeter is also made up where, in my head, he is Rita's younger brother and shares Rita's inquisitive nature for the 'truth' (used lightly) behind rumours. Annabel and the others are also OCs, made purely because people (including myself) sometimes forget that there are other students at Hogwarts beyond those mentioned by name in the books/ movies. Also, I understand cheating is virtually impossible at Hogwarts, but think of this as a more informal class exam, rules still existing of course, where the teacher thinks no cheating will occur between the collection of exams and class dismissal.