Gilderoy Lockhart was not a man of simple tastes. From the luxurious potions he used daily to keep his hair impeccable to the delightful silk threads of every single one of his robes, anyone could notice that his greatest interest in life was to procure the best, and only the best, for himself.
It was also not a surprise when he kept well away from any witch who showed interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with him because not a witch in Hogwarts was worthy of one day becoming Mrs. Lockhart. He wanted, after all, only the best witch for his future wife. And, while he found her, he could enjoy the multitude of fans his looks generated.
But it came the day when Gilderoy felt lonely and empty. The ravishing ladies who accompanied him wherever he wanted to go, weren't enough anymore. The magnificent feasts and parties he threw just because he could, were not filling the void in his heart. The beautiful pieces of art he commanded to be done just couldn't light up his world anymore.
Until he saw the mirror.
It was not the legendary Mirror of Erised, and not even the mythical Mirror that could tell you whatever you wanted to hear and make it true. The mirror was only a mirror.
But when Gilderoy Lockhart looked at it, he saw what left him most enamoured. There, on the polished surface of the ornate mirror, was his reflection.
Until that moment, Gilderoy had considered himself handsome (even by his ridiculously high standards of beauty), but The Mirror made him reconsider that thought. He was not just beautiful, but the epitome of perfection made human. If the gods dared to look at him, he was sure they would faint just by glimpsing at his fair skin and golden hair.
His tastes were not simple, and if he could find a beauty worthy of the gods on his face, surely others would. He had no right to keep his looks hidden from the world when they deserved to be shared with the rest of the humanity. Oh, the plain, ugly humanity that longed to be as perfect as him.
So Gilderoy took out brushes and oils, put on his best clothes and painted. Hours were spent in front of a canvas, besides the mirror, until every feature of his perfect face was conveyed to the fabric. It took weeks, but stroke after stroke the painting was completed.
He did nothing more than to stare at the painting one whole night, sipping wine from a goblet, feeling as if the Heavens had just opened for him and let him stare at their glory.
But after a week the painting looked plain. Made with mundane items, it wasn't perfect. It couldn't be. The eyes of the Gilderoy from the painting were bright, but dead.
Gilderoy decided to paint again.
Taking a longer canvas, he magically placed the first painting into a corner. Surrounding it, a Gilderoy made of paint and magic took life. With each stroke full of his magic, the painting-Gilderoy started to awake and his eyes, his hands, his manners revealed so much of him that the real Gilderoy lost himself on his portrait. So alive, so beautiful, so perfect it was that the painting started to paint.
And so the magnum opus of his life came to be.
He couldn't believe his luck at having that handsome god staring right back at him with the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen, gallivanting inside three square meters of canvas, occasionally stroking with, painted brushes, the original piece.
In that moment, Gilderoy became more in love with himself. But it wasn't weird at all. He was used to the very best, and when he was the most perfect creation of the universe, it was only logical for him to adore his portrait.
Written for the Monthly Drabble a Thon, using the prompt character: Gilderoy Lockhart. Of course, in the HPFC forum.