For Amber - because May is the new February.

Gilderoy slid onto the weathered stool with none of his customary flair, signalling the barman for a shot of Firewhisky with only a half-hearted flip of his perfectly wavy mane.

That had been the fourth interview that day. And still, no job. How would he be able to go back and face his mother now? Six months after Hogwarts and still nothing to show for it.

We love your attitude, but we think you're a bit too enthusiastic for us.

He motioned towards the barman, who obligingly left the bottle.

We're looking for a more discreet look.

'Where did you come from, angel?' a high-pitched voice cooed at him, forcing him to look up from his glass.

A surge of anger rose within him. How dare somebody intrude on his wallowing? After the day he had had, surely he deserved a little self-pity. He opened his mouth, ready to give the woman a piece of his mind, when suddenly his mouth went dry. The woman must have been in her late twenties or early thirties, with voluptuous lips of a red so bold it should be illegal and curls so perfect that he knew she had used something illegal.

'Uh…' he mumbled incoherently, staring at the way her blond ringlets glinted in the firelight.

She let out a tinkling laugh, throwing back the curls with a well-practiced shake of her head.

'You look like you've had a tough day, sweetie,' she said sympathetically, scooting her stool nearer to his own.

He could only nod dumbly.

She took a drag from her elegant pipe, red lips parting to reveal teeth white enough to rival his own. That was her mistake. Noticing the crookedness, the way one front tooth was longer than the other, that there was a slight gap between them, made him feel better. He still had the most dazzling smile in the wizarding world then.

'They don't get it,' he said at last, a whine creeping into his voice. 'If only they'd give me a chance, they'd see just how good I am, but they dismiss me from the start.'

'It's a tough world out there,' the woman said, pouring herself a Firewhisky from his bottle. She drained it with a flick of her wrist, and he admired the way she didn't even wince afterwards. 'Looks aren't enough anymore, sugar. You have to learn how to use them.'

Gilderoy pondered this for a moment. He had always known he was the most handsome person in the room. He just assumed everyone else did too. But maybe this mystery woman had a point. Maybe he had to learn how to be good-looking and charming.

He suddenly realised that he wanted to get to know this woman better. It was a foreign feeling to him, but not an unwelcome one.

'I'm Gilderoy,' he said, shaking back the sleeve of his purple robes to hold out his hand. He gave one of his award-winning smiles for good measure. 'It's nice to meet you.'

She gave him a sweeping look from top to bottom, as if seeing through his friendly facade to the thirst for knowege beyond. Gilderoy held his breath for what seemed like minutes before her lips quirked into a smirk.

'Rita Skeeter,' she replied, her seemingly delicate hand vice-like in its grip. 'Soon to be senior reporter for the Daily Prophet.'

Gilderoy had heard of Rita Skeeter. She'd shot to fame about ten years ago for her book Armando Dippet: Master or Moron? and had been writing front page news ever since. Her reputation was less than stellar, though, with many attempting to have her stories removed for their lies.

'Is it true, what they say?' he blurted out, unable to contain his curiosity. 'Are you just making it all up?'

Another flash of pearly crooked teeth.

'Does it matter?'

'Teach me,' Gilderoy begged, his words slurring slightly.

He was back in the bar, this time settled onto a cushioned bench near the back. The red hue of candles soothed his burning eyes, having changed from their customary yellow when the clock struck twelve. It had been a week since they first met, and he had met the same resistance every time he asked since then.

Rita swirled the contents of her glass ― a ruby red wine that caught the light and matched her lips.

'And why would I do that?' she asked teasingly ― she never openly derided him, though it was clear that she didn't take him seriously. 'What would be in it for me?'

Gilderoy faltered, hesitating for a minute. No one had ever wanted something in return when he asked for a favour. But somehow, his beautiful smile and luscious hair didn't seem to have an effect on Rita. Or more accurately, her bobbed curls and crooked grin had too much of an effect on him for his charm to work accurately. He cast around for something to offer this woman who knew everything, had everything.

'I'm good at Memory Charms,' he stammered eventually. 'If you ever get tired of people complaining after you interview them, I can help with that.'

Rita's cat-like eyes widened for half a second, before they crinkled into laughing slits.

'Well, well, angel,' she said, a new tone of respect in her voice. 'Colour me impressed. Seems like you do have some claws hidden under that pretty exterior.'

Gilderoy grinned, preening at the flattery.

'Thanks,' he said, stepping into a crouch to reach the Firewhisky.

He stumbled, his fingers slipping past the bottle and his knees knocking against the low table. He awkwardly fell sideways, automatically steadying himself against Rita's shoulder. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, an apology already on his lips, when she shifted sideways, loosening his grip with one move that sent him tumbling on top of her.

Gilderoy had had girlfriends in the past ― he attracted them like flames to a moth ― but Rita Skeeter was a woman, and that made all the difference. He was all too aware of his frame that had yet to fill out, his heart beating wildly as he pressed against her curvaceous body, drinking in her heady perfume.

'Now, now,' Rita said coyly. 'This isn't that sort of place, angel.'

Gilderoy sat up straight, a stammering excuse at the ready, when suddenly her lips met his, the scent of wine pervading his mouth and thoughts until he was left in an incoherent bliss that ended all too soon.

Rita laughed at the disappointment in his eyes, her smile once again turning mocking.

'How about we continue this somewhere more… private?'

'Were you serious about using your Memory Charms?' Rita asked one evening, as they lay tangled in the sheets in her hotel room. 'That night when you told me thought you'd use them on people.'

Gilderoy looked up at her cat-green eyes, cool and calculating and yet lost in a faraway plot to better his life.

'Yes,' he said, and he felt lighter. He knew it was wrong, didn't dare say it aloud. But with Rita… He wasn't confined to what had to be right, what had to be proper. He could just… be himself. As clichéd as that sounded.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, taking the sheets with her to protect her modesty. Gilderoy loved that despite her biting wit, her merciless seduction, she was still shy about showing her body to him. Still, after months of being together, he knew better than to tease her about it. Just as she quietly paid for every evening, every meal they ate together.

He had a job now, if it could be called that. A menial clerical position in the Ministry. Nothing special, and certainly nothing to brag about. His Squib sisters had left home, one busy with her second child, the other a famous professor. And he, the child prodigy, was stuck still living with his mother.

'What do you think of becoming my assistant?' Rita cut into his thoughts, a smile twisting on the edge of her lips. 'I'm off to Ireland in two days to interview a woman who managed to banish the Bandon Banshee, even though she's never studied a spell in her life. Latent magic, or some such rot. Up until now, everyone thought she was a Squib.'

'Your assistant?' Gilderoy asked, only half listening to the rest. 'What does that mean?'

'It means you get to Obliviate someone into believing a better story than the goody two shoes one.' Rita was smirking now, her eyes sparkling. Gossip was her element, fabricated or no. 'You'll be well paid ― a cut from my profits ― and be mentioned in the acknowledgements of the book about it, though it'll mean you giving up your current job.'

'My current job was never more than a temporary fix,' Gilderoy said dismissively, feeling the excitement start to build. An acknowledgement might mean nothing to some, but Gilderoy knew it was a start. An in. 'My answer will always be yes.'

Rita smiled properly this time, and leaned in for a kiss, biting against his lip with her own. Gilderoy responded out of habit, letting his body take over. Inside, his mind was awhirl. This was it. This was going to be the start of the life he was meant to live.

As it turned out, the Banisher of the Bandon Banshee, as Gilderoy called her in his mind, was a hideous woman with a hairy chin. Not one or two hairs, no. Two-inch whiskers covered the bottom of her chin, and she couldn't even be bothered to shave them. Not only that, but her hair looked as though it hadn't been washed in weeks. Plus, she lived in some sort of rotting cabin.

Gilderoy suppressed a shudder of revulsion.

Thankfully, Rita hadn't needed him too much over the past week. He had been free to roam the countryside to his heart's desire, talking to the villagers who had been subjected to the banshee's wailing. They were an odd lot, preferring to use wild magic to live as closely with nature as possible. Elemental magic, to cook their food and build their huts. And persuasion magic, so as to commune somewhat with the creatures of the forest. A very strange bunch indeed.

The forest itself was beautiful ― all untouched canopies of filtered sunlight and mossy carpets that sprang back after he stepped. He made a note of all of it, fancying himself quite the poet as he wrote down his inner musings. In the evenings, he read aloud for Rita, asking her if it sounded good enough for the book, and swatting her with his parchment whenever she mocked him for his feminine side.

She told him about the rumours that the woman had lain with unicorns to get her sudden magical power, that she might have murdered her parents in a blood ritual and stolen their magic. She sneered at the idea: the hairy-chinned hag was as skittish as the door mice on her floor, unable to hurt a fly. The Banishing had been a burst of accidental magic, nothing more, nothing less. But that wouldn't have made for a good story.

Eventually, that honeymoon-like period ended. And now here Gilderoy was, back in the musty cabin and preparing his mind for the mental invasion of the Banisher's.

'You have to know these details by heart,' Rita reminded him for the upteenth time.

'I know,' Gilderoy snapped, losing his patience. She raised an eyebrow, and he forced himself to calm down. 'I'm sorry,' he said, quietly. 'I can't have any distractions when I do this.'

'Of course,' Rita said, her business-like manner softened by the touch of her hand on his arm. 'I'll wait outside. I trust you, you know that.'

Gilderoy merely smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He breathed in, savouring the spicy scent of her shampoo, before dismissing it from his mind.

'What are you going to do?' the Squib-witch asked, reminding him of her presence. She looked at him fearfully, worry swimming in her eyes. And she had every right to.

'Just standard procedure,' Gilderoy replied. 'We need to ascertain whether your magic can be taught, or whether it will always come in sporadic bursts. If so, you may need information on meditative exercises. I hear they can be rather useful in cases like these.'

'Oh.' The witch relaxed, glancing at the papers in his hands. They were, indeed, brochures on meditation. Rita thought it a good idea to pretend the witch was trying to atone for the murder of her parents. Gilderoy thought it was so that she didn't want contact with the outside world. 'Carry on, then, I suppose.'

Gilderoy took a breath, pointing his wand squarely at the witch's face. 'Obliviate.'

Sitting on the fallen oak branch, looking up at the sky. Rain falling, but the thunder has passed. Another shriek, this time closer. Rising to her feet, head turning. Nothing in sight but trees. No one in sight, not even the worms that crawl up to the surface for the storms. Brown leaves crunching, faster and faster, louder and louder. Running, the rain making it hard to see. Hair plastered to the side of her head, rounding the last of the trees. The door is open. They never leave the door open.

A man sits her down back on the fallen oak branch. His face is kindly, his teeth dazzling. Trying to understand what has happened. She is saved, they are all saved. But he is too late. The Banshee has her parents, dragged them into her world now.

Meditating. Feeling the cool rain on her skin and letting it relax her. She is one with nature, one with the creatures of the forest. Her magic is enough to live off and living is all she needs. The village is not safe, too many bad memories. Retreating, with one last look at what was once her home. The birds call to her, the squirrels nest in her tree. She is at peace.

The woman's eyes opened. Gilderoy waited with baited breath, feeling an unseemly trickle of sweat run down his temple.

'Thank you,' she said.

He smiled.

'Break with a Banshee?' Rita asked, her voice trembling as she brandished an article in front of Gilderoy's nose, nearly knocking over his Firewhisky in the process.

Maybe he should have avoided her flat that night.

But the meeting had only been scheduled for that morning, and how could he have known that they would show Rita the next day's copy that evening? He'd planned on spinning it, turn it into something positive for them both. She knew what you had to do to get ahead. It was what had drawn them together in the first place.

'Yes,' he said, as cheerfully as he could muster, carefully picking up his glass. 'I took your advice.'

'My advice to what?' she hissed dangerously, plucking the glass from his hand and throwing it aside. It shattered against the floor, but Rita paid it no heed. 'Stab me in the back? Make me look like a fool?'

'Your advice to use my skill with Memory Charms to get ahead,' Gilderoy replied, cringing back a little. He could only hope that Rita wouldn't use her wand. He edged towards his cloak. 'I contacted your publisher, and he agreed that my story is a surefire bestseller.'

'And meanwhile, my boss is wondering why I submitted a completely fake story about some hermit in the woods,' Rita replied, her lip curling, 'when I should have been interviewing my "assistant", Gilderoy Lockhart.'

'I'm ready for my story,' Gilderoy said lightly, turning his head to the right. 'Just make sure to get my good side.'

A resounding slap echoed within the room. Gilderoy gasped, clutching at his burning cheek.

'How could you?' he asked, hurt. 'My face is everything to me.'

'How could I?' Rita asked with a bitter laugh. 'How could you? I should really be applauding you, angel. Here I was, thinking I had taken away your innocence, when you were the snake in the fountain all along. What a masterful performance.'

'Rita, I ―'

'Don't Rita me,' she replied, drawing her wand. 'You've lost that right. Go on, run home to your Mummy. I know you want to; you've been cowering behind the counter all this time. Mark my words, though; you're going to get more than you bargained for.'

'You can't tell anyone,' Gilderoy said quickly. This was one thing he had thought of. 'They'll ask you why you let me Obliviate her in the first place. They'll know you were an accomplice.'

'Oh, honey,' Rita sighed, only this time her words were poisonous, derogatory. 'There's more than one way to ruin a reputation. You wanted to be famous? I'll make sure your name is on everyone's lips. You wanted to be adored? I'll make sure people are gagging over the articles posted about you. Fame is a fickle friend, Gilderoy, and you'll find out just how fickle I can make it.'

QLFC - Captain, Montrose Magpies: write about a character you've never written before.

WC: 2,853

GGE: Broken glass, wine, candlelight

Hogwarts - Muggle Music, You Sexy Thing: Where did you come from, angel?

365 prompts - (word) sly

The Insane House Challenge - (pairing) Gilderoy/Rita

Character Appreciation - (word) first

Disney Challenge - Circle of life: write about someone finding their place in the world

Book Club - Tala: (plot point) teaching someone something, (word) safe, (action) smiling

Showtime - Drink With Me - (setting) a pub

Count your Buttons - (object) parchment

Ami's Audio Admirations - (occupation) journalist

Sophie's Shelf - Stefano: write about someone who isn't safe.

Emy's Emporium - Airag: firewhisky