Pink Question Marks


Warning: Slash, Gilderoy Lockhart/Sirius Black

Disclaimer: Lockhart isn't mine, thank goodness, and Sirius and the Daily Prophet aren't either. Or anything else that's J K Rowling's. That's right: just because my first name begins with a J, doesn't mean I am the creator of Harry Potter's universe. Just the author of fanfiction. :)


1981
I picked up the Daily Prophet and scanned the front page. It had the predictable headings: You-Know-Who DEFEATED! Praise the Boy Who Lived! Dark Lord Killed by One-Year-Old Boy! and others to that effect. I would have to look further in for anything interesting, like the bestsellers list. And then, turning to page two, his picture caught my eye.

I gasped, and pink question marks whizzed round my head. Who was he? How had he got into the Daily Prophet? Why did I feel as though my head was on fire and my fingers had pins-and-needles?

I looked at the article, and started to read, slowly, and pausing often to look at the picture again.

Every so often, my thought process would be interrupted by some stray thought that had been left out of the initial explosion.

Ohmygod,he'ssocool! came in once.

As I finished the article, I sighed. Why did he have to be sent to Azkaban? He was too beautiful to be sent to Azkaban. Without a trial, too. Now that just wasn't fair. Why couldn't they give him a trial? Then I could see more of his wonderful face in the newspaper. It wasn't fair. And, apart from that, he looked a lot nicer than me.

I wish, I found myself thinking, that he was mine. Shame he did all that stuff. I mean, I'm in love with a man who blew up a street and killed thirteen people at once. Oh, he's powerful, I grant you, but I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him. So loving him might actually be quite a good idea.

I cut out his picture with muggle scissors, and stuck it on my wall. For months, I went to sleep smiling at a mad mass murderer.


1993

The nurse was watching me and holding a newspaper at the same time. I watched her, too, but more surreptitiously and cautiously. What did she want this time? Hadn't she pestered me enough? Evidently not.

She gave me the newspaper and I stared at the picture on the front cover. The face… was vaguely familiar. What was his name? I knew it; I was sure I did. Even if all of my childhood memories and most of my adult ones had vanished, I would remember his name. I would… I would…

His surname was some colour. White? Green? Brown? Grey? Pink? Black? Yes… Black… that was it. And his first name was some star or something. He'd been convicted for some crime… sent to Azkaban… or something… killed people… lots of people… and blowing up something… a street? A building? Someone's house? I couldn't remember…

"Sirius!" I exclaimed. "Sirius Black!"

The nurse smiled at me and spoke patronisingly slowly. "Yes, dear. That's Sirius Black."

I knew that. I remembered!

The nurse was very surprised when I asked her to cut out the picture and stick it on the wall next to my bed. "What for, Gilderoy, dear?" she asked, looking shocked at the thought that I would want a mad mass murderer leering at my visitors – the few I got – from above my bed.

I smiled happily. "To remember."


AN: Do you think I've overdone the pink question marks? Just a little bit? No, probably not…

Hey, there's nothing wrong with pink question marks!

You've read it (at least I hope you have. What's the point in scrolling past the whole story just to read the author's note?) so now you review (and if you haven't read it, you can either review the author's note, (all reviews make me happy) or you can go back and read it and then review. The advantage is you don't have to read the author's note twice).

Thankyou!