Author's Note: Written for round five of QLFC. Prompt: Your whole team chooses one character and writes about this character during a specific year. My character was Gilderoy Lockhart, and my year was seventh year. Not only did we choose Lockhart, my team also collaborated in making an OC, Edric Dyer, who is featured in several of our stories! As such, if you want to read more about Gilderoy and Eddy and find out more about their story (of which mine is the final installment), I recommend you read about their previous years together, "Fame" by NightmarePrince (third year) and "Friends For Now" by GabrielGatsby (fifth year).
Words: 2,989
1981...
The quill planted the last period with an air of finality. The Ravenclaw pushed his chair back from the desk and gathered the parchment together to examine his work. The writing was barely legible, even to him, as his brain proved to be much quicker than his hand. That didn't matter. After two long years of research, it was done.
What's more, the thesis would be enough to bolster his career once he left Hogwarts at the end of the school year. Surely some well-positioned magizoologists would want to take on Edric Dyer as an intern, the young wizard who wrote a successful thesis on thestral social structures before even leaving Hogwarts.
Eddy placed the parchment in a hidden compartment in his desk—a trick his Muggle father had taught him for protecting important research from prying eyes—before snuffing his candle and plunging the room into darkness.
He had done it! Finally! Still, it felt like a rather hollow victory unless he shared it with someone. Eddy crept silently to the edge of his dormmate's bed and lightly shook his shoulders.
"Gilderoy?"
The fair-headed teen's snoring was interrupted by a series of grunts, and then he flailed his arm in the air, as if trying to shoo away whatever dared to disturb him.
"Wake up, Gilderoy. I've done it!"
"Done it? Done wha-..." Gilderoy lifted his head slightly and peeled one bloodshot eye open. "Oh, Eddy, it's you. What time is it?"
"Dunno. Haven't looked lately. I guess maybe three?"
"Three in the bloody A. M.? Merlin, what is wrong with you? I know this may be lost on you, as yours is a lost cause, but I need my beauty sleep. Can't look any less than my best. Come back in the morning."
Gilderoy pulled the comforter over his head.
"Whatever you say, Dorian Gray," Eddy muttered and rolled his eyes.
"I know you adore me, but, really, it's too early for pet names. Go to bed."
Eddy had to smile. Of course Gilderoy wouldn't understand the reference, regardless of how many times he heard the name in the seven years they had been friends. It was a character from a Muggle story and, as such, was far beneath him. Eddy, on the other hand, had a fondness for Muggle classics and thought the name was more than apt.
He pulled the comforter back down and waited for Gilderoy to open an eye before continuing.
"I've finished it! My thesis! It's all done and ready to be sent out."
"You mean that paper you've been doing with those disgusting horse things?"
"Thestrals, and they're not disgusting, but yes!"
"That's wonderful news, but can't we finish this conversation in the morning? If you let me go back to sleep, I'll teach the frogs to sing your praises or something."
"That seems a bit like overkill."
"What do you want from me, then?"
"How about you buy the first round of drinks at Hogsmeade next week?"
"Deal! Now, leave me be."
Gilderoy rolled over, and Eddy slipped quietly into his own bed. He was far too tired to sleep, but, despite his excitement, he managed to fall into uneasy dreams filled with thestrals and research papers.
...oOo...
Gilderoy was less than enthusiastic for breakfast the next morning. Of course, he had to keep up appearances for his adoring fans, but Eddy's revelation had ruffled his feathers. They were already in their last year at Hogwarts, and his friend was so sure of what to do with his life. His whole future was practically laid out at his feet.
Where did that leave Gilderoy? There was nothing in particular that he was suited for, except maybe Charms. He was wildly brilliant in quite a few things, but to do them for the rest of his life? Surely someone as talented as he would need a special sort of career that would afford him all the attention his skills deserved.
There must be something he could do during his last year at Hogwarts that would ensure his future, too. Thus far, his efforts had been spent garnering well-deserved attention, and he had, in the very least, succeeded in making Gilderoy Lockhart a well-known name at Hogwarts.
There was the infamous Valentine spectacle that had brought breakfast to a screeching halt in third year. The aftermath had been a bit messy and unpleasant; they were owls, after all. Then there was carving his name on the Quidditch pitch, which had won him quite a bit of favor, as well as a week's worth of detentions, but such was the price of fame.
But those were Hogwarts incidents. The whole world deserved to know about Gilderoy Lockhart. Anything less would simply be a travesty. Whatever became of this year, the one thing Gilderoy was sure of was that it would have to be something huge, something lasting that would be worthy of his name.
...oOo...
There are skeletons in the woods: large, dark, fangs bared, white eyes trained on him. He can hear the rattle of their bones as they walk. It sounds like death is coming for him. He turns to run, but he's in the woods, and the trees are bearing down, and he doesn't know the way. He's slipping and sliding on the carcasses of leaves, and all the while the monsters are drawing closer. He just wants to close his eyes and forget, but something keeps him hanging on.
Eddy woke to the hazy gray of twilight, twisted up in his sheets and drenched in sweat. He pushed his brown hair out of his face to get a better view of his surroundings. He was in Ravenclaw Tower, safe and warm. It was just a dream.
"You OK? You look awful."
He jumped at the voice, heart still pounding in his chest, until he realized that Gilderoy was sitting up in his bunk watching him closely. He had probably been talking in his sleep or something.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Nightmare is all. Sorry if I woke you. I was dreaming about skeletons in the woods."
"Skeletons?"
"Sounds crazy, right? They looked an awful lot like...horses."
"Skeleton horses does sound pretty crazy."
Now that he said it aloud, there was something familiar about the description. It wasn't nearly as terrifying as it had been. It was almost...comforting. Not skeletons, but skeletal. Large, black creatures in the woods. Yes, and they had wings, too. But what were they called?
Eddy carefully extricated himself from his covers and made his way to his desk, fumbling with the hidden compartment as he tried to recall how to open it. He glanced at the paper. Thestrals. That's what they were. He had written a whole paper on them, so why was he having so much trouble remembering now? Nothing was making sense.
...oOo...
Gilderoy watched his dormmate sleep, listening to the soft rhythm of his breathing. It had to be done. For the good of them both. If Eddy was even half as talented as he thought himself, it would be no setback at all to spend the next year writing another thesis. It certainly wouldn't hurt his future at all. How hard could it possibly be to become a magizoologist?
Gilderoy waited until he was sure the other boy was asleep before getting out of bed and creeping over to the next bunk. He pulled his wand from his robe and took a deep breath. He'd seen the spell performed before, heard of it before, but had never attempted it. The magic was tricky, hard to cast and hard to control, but he was confident in his abilities. Of course he was. Nothing was too difficult for the Gilderoy Lockhart.
Pointing his wand at his friend, he focused on the one thought he wished to erase—the thestrals—and whispered, "Obliviate."
...oOo...
The monsters are back. He can't remember why he's in the woods or how he got there, but there's no escape now. Giant, skeletal shadows bear down on him, gnashing their long, sharp fangs and flapping leathery wings against the ground. Each beat kicks up a flurry of air that smells putrid, like death and decay.
One of them turns a milky-white eye on him, and he holds his breath like that will disguise him. Silently, he wills it to be gone. There's nowhere to run, but he backs away instinctively. A root reaches up and snags his ankle, sending him sprawling, leaves crunching like withered bones under his weight. The skeletal beast approaches, and he squeezes his eyes shut to wait for the end. It never comes.
There's something wet and sticky under his palms. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes to find that he's staring into the glassy, gray eyes of his grandmother. They watch him accusingly. He was the first to see the muggers, the first to see the glint of a gun, but he never warned her. He watched as the bullet tore through her heart, never saying a word.
He's silent still as the fuzzy, black shadows of the muggers turn their attention toward him. Fear wells up inside him, but he can't hold it in. It's like a rising tide, enveloping him, dragging him under even as he gasps for breath. It churns inside him, as if it has a life of its own, and he releases it to the world in a blast of green light.
When everything settles, he is surrounded by dead: the Muggles, killed by magic, and his grandmother, killed by Muggles. They watch him with unseeing eyes.
Across the street, there is a large skeleton horse watching him, too, only he doesn't know if it's always been there or if it's come just for this moment.
Eddy woke with a start, struggling against his confines, grappling for his freedom. Someone called his name, but he ignored it. His sole concern was freeing himself from the monster's clutch.
Someone grabbed him and pulled him free. There is no monster; it was only a sheet. He looked around, but that wasn't any more reassuring. Nothing looked familiar, and he wasn't sure how he got there.
"Where am I?"
"You're in the dorm. You've just had a nightmare, Eddy. Snap out of it."
"Dorm?"
It took a while, but he remembered. He was at school. This was his bed. He looked at the fair-headed teen next to him whose wide, blue eyes were sizing him up.
"Who are you again?"
"Hilarious. Like you'd ever forget me, of all people. Honestly. Most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"Gilderoy."
Just saying the name was a relief. No, he remembered his friend. He was simply stuck somewhere between dreaming and waking still. That was all.
"Who else?"
"I had the weirdest dream."
"That's all it was, Eddy. Just a dream."
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
Still, he couldn't get the image of the skeleton horse out of his head, nor could he shake the feeling of being watched.
...oOo...
Something was wrong. That was becoming more and more evident. He was simply supposed to forget the thestrals, but the stubborn fool seemed hellbent on thwarting him.
Gilderoy paced quietly back and forth across the room, careful not to wake his dormmate. His memory seemed to be slipping bit by bit, relinquishing whatever grasp it once had on the idea of thestrals and theses, but at what cost?
What if he hadn't gotten the spell quite right? Hogwash. He was Gilderoy Lockhart. Of course he hadn't gotten it wrong. Maybe it just took time. Maybe it would take multiple sessions for deep-seated memories.
He approached the bed quietly and knelt down beside it. For just a moment, he paused, wand in hand. How far was too far for the sake of fame? Everything had a price, but was what he was putting his friend through worth it?
Of course it was. He dismissed the thoughts with a wave of his hand. Fame required sacrifice. Besides, it wasn't like he was actually hurting the boy. Just a snip here and there, so to speak, and the memory should just slip away. If anything, he was freeing him from the burden of such high expectations at such a young age. It would be far too heavy of a thing for such a commoner like him to bear, Gilderoy reasoned. For anyone not accustomed to fame and admiration already, such as he, it would cause undue stress and agitation. What sort of person would let their friend endure such a thing?
...oOo...
White eyes are watching him. No matter where he goes, they see him. He's running, with no sense of direction, lost to the world, but every time they still find him. He stumbles through the woods, spurred on by fear of what would happen if he was caught, but it's futile. They know what he's done.
There's blood on his hands that won't wash off; he's tried many times before. They're after him; they must have seen it. Skeleton horses meant to drag him off to Hell, kicking and screaming, to serve his penance. They never showed up until after the murders.
"It was an accident!" he screams, but the words are swallowed by the dark void of the woods. They don't seem to care. They're judging him anyway. Relentless. Unforgiving.
He watched her die, and then white eyes watched him kill. Accidental magic was the official ruling, but they knew the truth. He had wanted the Muggles dead for what they did to his grandmother. They had never shown up until after, like they could smell it. Like the scent of rotting corpses brought them. Like they were harbingers of death.
Someone was shaking him. Eddy could feel his head snapping back and forth from the force, but he didn't want to open his eyes. He was afraid of what he would see. He resisted for as long as he could, but he had to look eventually. He found blue eyes staring back at him from behind dirty-blond hair. But whose face was this? Where was he?
When he glanced around the room, his blood ran cold, and a scream tickled the back of his throat. Once it shook free from its fetters, Eddy found that he couldn't stop it. He screamed until they forced him to stop with magic he couldn't resist.
All the while, white eyes watched him from the corner.
...oOo...
The shouting woke all of Ravenclaw Tower. Professor Flitwick fetched Headmaster Dumbledore who, in turn, summoned the healers from St. Mungo's.
Gilderoy did his best to calm his friend, but no amount of coaxing would stifle the screams. He tried to follow the vacant, blue eyes, to see what they saw, but there was nothing else in the room with them. Whatever nightmares haunted him were a product of his mind.
A mind Gilderoy had broken. He had destroyed his best friend. It was never meant to end this way. It was supposed to be a simple memory wipe, to make it so the thestrals never existed. It had gone so horribly wrong.
When the healers left, Gilderoy went to Eddy's desk and opened the hidden compartment. It seemed a waste not to use it, not to send it out into the world. After all the time Eddy had spent on it, after everything he had sacrificed for it, making sure it was published seemed like the least that Gilderoy could do for his friend.
...oOo...
1993...
Eddy was sitting in the chair he always sat in during social hours at St. Mungo's. It was against the wall, where he preferred to be, so nothing could sneak up behind him. Only, today the staff had brought over a fair-headed man and deposited him in the next chair over. He didn't like strangers. They knew that. Why did they always insist on introducing him to new people?
"Who are you?" he finally asked after the man had locked eyes on him and refused to look away.
"My name is, erm, well, I don't really know who I am. You see, funniest thing, I don't seem to be able to remember anything."
"I don't remember much, either. Name's Eddy."
"Short for Edward?"
"No."
"Oh." The man looked almost disappointed. "Well, I'm going to call you Edward. I like it. Sounds very regal, very...gallant."
"Gallant? I'm not a knight, you know. Well, at least, I don't think so."
"Shame. I'm famous myself. Or so they tell me. I can't remember for what, but my adoring fans send me letters even now. It's so nice to have fans. They call me...what was it again? Gilderoy."
Eddy was overwhelmed by waves of both panic and comfort in equal measure, but he had no idea why. It was no use trying to remember. His mind had been shattered. Someone had erased the line that separated reality and fantasy. It was sometimes hard to tell which was which, but Gilderoy, he had no doubts, was real. Even his broken mind couldn't invent such a character.
"I'm writing a new book, you know. It's called Who Am I? Do you want to hear about it?"
Eddy wanted to say no, but there was really nothing else for him to do, and the man didn't seem like he would give up all that easily.
"Sure."
Gilderoy studied him for a second.
"You know, we could be good friends, Edward. I can feel it. Just stick with me," he said, and he launched into his book plans.
Even the skeleton horse in the corner, the one only Eddy could see, laid down to listen to the story and, for a moment, the nightmares were kept at bay.