Fame
.o0o.
"Are you seriously doing this?" asks Edric, running his fingers through his hair and peering at the pile of pink and red paper on his friend's bed.
"It's a fantastic idea, Eddy," he replies whilst sitting cross-legged in bed and tracing his wand through the air, deftly cutting the paper into various shapes. A second flick of his wand clears his bed of wastepaper and causes the rest of the the hearts to arrange themselves into neat stacks upon his desk.
"Who are you even going to be sending all these love letters to? You keep saying that you're going to have them delivered to the most attractive person in Hogwarts, but don't you think that a thousand Valentines are a bit excessive?"
Gilderoy looks up from the cards, a cheeky grin plastered across his face, and he chuckles. His friend, Edric Dyer, has always been a little slow for a Ravenclaw, but if his mate isn't capable of working it out for himself, he surely isn't going to tell him. His plan is foolproof, yet rather simple, and maybe he'll have the opportunity to surprise Edric with it.
"Not at all," he answers, "The person is worth all the effort, I promise you. Besides, I heard that last year the Marauders got three hundred letters on Valentine's Day between them, and they aren't even that good looking. Frankly speaking, mate, I have much better hair than Black, and tâ"
"Here we go again," sighs Edric under his breath, before flopping backwards onto his bed and tucking his hands behind his head for use as a makeshift pillow. Gilderoy ignores him, because he knows his friend is still listening even if he's pretending to be exasperated â it's not really a secret that Edric is a bit of a drama queen.
"It isn't fair," he concludes, "Even Lupin has half the girls in Hogwarts swooning over him, some tosh about his scars being sexy, and here I am, the most eligible bachelor in Hogwarts, without a lover this Valentine's Day."
"The way you go on about the Marauders, it's almost as though you aren't following them around all the time, and trying to be cool," interjects Edric.
"When the most beautiful and talented person in Hogwarts receives all these love letters tomorrow, there will most certainly be streams of people flocking to worship them. Think about it, wouldn't you find a person with so many admirers desirable?"
"This is ridiculous, and I'm telling you outright that I refuse to have any part in this." With a twirl of his wand, his bed curtains swish closed around him, but Gilderoy just shakes his head in mild annoyance. He shouldn't be irritated at such minor occurrences, especially since it's obviously hard for those not as amazing as him to understand the processes of his superior mind.
Frowning to himself, Gilderoy summons his inkpot and quill from the nearby desk and sets them down on his bedside table while he gets comfortable. A light grin plays on his lips after he successfully casts the charm, which is usually only taught to Fourth-Years, as it's just further proof of his prodigious skills. He may still be a Third-Year, but his Charms work is exemplary.
The fact that Charms is the only subject he truly excels at isn't all that important given the grand scheme of things, especially since it's just nature's way of telling the world that he's simply too good for the other branches of magic. Drivel such as Transfiguration and Potions aren't really that important, because his mind is above contemplating such trivialities, a fact that is enhanced by his father's favourite quote.
'The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination,' he thinks as he charms the ink to be silver and dips the raven feather quill into the thick liquid. His father's words ring strangely true, because who needs to waste time gaining wisdom when one could outwit you in sheer imaginative ability?
Time ticks by, and soon he can see a pale disc rising against the backdrop of night, the stars shimmering into existence, one by one. So far, he's only managed to complete three hundred or so of the cards, and he's already exhausted.
Then he feels the bed sink beside him, and he looks up to see a bleary-eyed Edric sitting on his bed, clad in a ratty, old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. In his friend's hand is a quill, and, though his eyes are somewhat bloodshot and they're both stifling yawns, Gilderoy feels a strange warmth spreading through his chest.
"What do you need me to do, git?" asks Edric, blocking his gaping mouth with his free hand as another yawn escapes.
"I thought you wanted nothing to do with this," challenges Gilderoy, pouting just a little at the rare feeling that he usually only attributes to his parents and sisters.
"You're my friend, Gil," grumbles Edric, though there's not a hint of irritation in his tone, "I can't just leave you here so stay up all night and suffer."
"Well then, Eddy," commands Gilderoy with a sleepy chuckle, "Can you just copy out this a few hundred times?"
"By hand?" exclaims Edric in confusion, "Are you a wizard or not?" Gilderoy glares, his pout extending as his friend twirls his wand in a series of complicated gestures, and suddenly there's silvery writing appearing across all of his blank cards, like gossamer threads being woven in seconds.
"You're a lifesaver," he declares, reaching out and clapping his friend on the back, "But, for the record, I knew that, I just liked having my personal touches on each letter."
"Sure you did." Edric hides his knowing smirk with another yawn before continuing, "So, who's the lucky person getting all these Valentines?"
.o0o.
"Do you live in your own world?" asks Edric, rubbing his temples as the seventh flight of owls dive bomb their length of the table, showering them with heart-shaped, silver-lettered cards. His head throbs with pain brought on by lack of sleep, and he curses having stayed up so late last night listening to how wonderful his best friend's valentine is.
Because, of course, Gilderoy had been talking about himself the entire time.
"Yes, but, unfortunately, I have to share it with the rest of you people," he replies, dreamily tracing the looping hearts with his fingers, his eyes not moving from the love letter in his hands.
"What a shame, Mister Lockhart," comes a stern voice from behind them, and Gilderoy turns, the colour draining from his face as he catches sight of a somewhat miffed Professor McGonagall. "I can assure you, though, your detention tonight will not have to be shared with anyone."
A/N: I really dislike this story â real life is being horrible to me right now, and I had no inspiration for this character. In all honesty, this submission is only because the deadline is in like 3 hours.
Written for the Third Season of the Quidditch League, Round Five, in my capacity as Chaser 3 of the Falmouth Falcons. This round, each team had to use one character, and my team chose Gilderoy Lockhart.
Prompts:
(quote) 'The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination.' - Albert Einstein
(word) detention
(word) ridiculous