[summary] Gilderoy Lockhart's arrival at number seven Apple Blossom Avenue doesn't go quite as smoothly as some had hoped.
[1700 words]
"Oh, did you hear?" Rita — his neighbour — leant over the fence, as though she were about to impart information of the utmost importance. Lucius leant closer; she was a vile woman, but she had a knack for knowing everything about everybody. "The new neighbour — the one moving in next-door to you, Lucius." He nodded, refraining from rolling his eyes; how could he not have noticed the 'For Sale' sign that had taken up residence next-door. It was an eyesore.
"I heard he was the famous writer," Dolores — living next-door but one — said in that irritatingly simpering way of hers.
"The famous writer?" Lucius asked, tone dripping with scorn. "Ah, yes. I'd forgotten there was only the one."
"Don't be mean, Lucius." Dolores pouted, batting her lashes at him in what was likely supposed to be an appealing manner.
"He is a writer," Rita said, clearly tiring of being in the middle of this argument once more. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Mister Quirrell said."
"Oh, I've heard of him." Dolores leant further into Rita's front garden, the sleeve of her cardigan getting caught in Rita's rosebushes. "He's very handsome. Do you think–" Lucius scoffed.
"Mister Quirrell said things aren't going so well for him at the moment," Rita continued, ignoring her neighbours.
"And you've been spending a lot of time with Mister Quirrell, have you?" Lucius asked with an air of disinterest. Mister Quirrell, as he liked to be known — a quiet man with a stutter, whose hair had begun thinning mere months after he had moved in, and who had taken up wearing increasingly elaborate headdresses in an effort to hide it — used to be Lucius' next-door neighbour. Lucius had never really spoken with him much, but the man had got on quite well with Rita.
Enid stepped out of her house then — next-door but one to Lucius, on the other side to Dolores — clad in a fluffy, yellow bathrobe. She'd been living on the street for as long as anyone could remember, and was simultaneously Lucius' favourite resident of the street, and the most annoying woman he had ever met.
"What are you old ladies yammering on about?" she snapped. "Decent people are trying to sleep."
"It's eleven-thirty, dear," Dolores said, finally untangling her cardigan.
"Did I ask, you simpering toad?"
"Now, ladies," Rita said, looking between the two women. "I do not want a full-blown war across my front garden. Or do I need to mention the garden gnome incident last month?"
"That was Lucius," Enid huffed.
"You joined in," Rita said before Lucius could attempt to defend himself. "Ruined my tulips."
"Your tulips were an eyesore," Enid snapped, glaring across the gardens at Rita. Lucius heard Dolores gasp, and turned in time to see her clutching at her ample chest as though she were an extra on one of the soap operas she loved to watch.
Lucius decided he'd had enough of their bickering and, having no interest in foliage, decided it was time to head back inside.
.oOo.
At around three the same day, Lucius heard a lorry pull up in front of the house next-door. He debated ignoring it but, after a quick check of the kitchen, he decided that he could probably do with taking his bins out. If he added the back-issues of the TV Guide he'd been meaning to read.
He opened the front door, armed with his bin bag, to discover that Rita and Dolores had also had the same idea. Enid had brought out a picnic chair and was sat sipping her tea, which didn't surprise him in the least. She'd probably been out there all afternoon.
'Afternoon, Lucius," Enid called across the empty garden, raising her mug in a strange salute. "Taking the bins out?" she asked, smirking. "Popular activity in these parts."
"Well, it needed to be done," Lucius snapped.
"Yes. Perfect timing," she said, taking a large sip of her tea.
"For what?" Lucius asked, his tone bland, as though he didn't already know.
"You're not fooling anyone, Lucius," Rita said. She'd already thrown her black plastic bag in the wheelie bin, and was now leaning against her front fence. Dolores was quick to join her.
"Where do you think he is?" she asked. Lucius, reasonably sure her bin bag had been empty, gave her his most disapproving look.
"Did you think he'd be driving the lorry?" Enid cackled from her lawn chair.
A car pulled up behind the lorry, blocking Lucius' car into his drive. Rita grabbed his arm, shaking her head.
"Come keep an old lady company, Lucius," Enid called, producing another chair seemingly from nowhere. Lucius scowled, but opened his front gate just as a man stepped from the driver's side of the car.
He was well dressed, Lucius would give him that much, but his car was obnoxious — and parked in front of Lucius' gate.
Lucius joined Enid on her porch, sitting down with a scowl as Dolores and Rita approached his new neighbour and struck up a conversation with the man.
"Cheer up, Lucius," Enid said, leaning forward in her seat. "He's got a great arse."
Lucius rolled his eyes.
.oOo.
Lucius was woken up at four in the morning for the third time that week. Another peal of loud laughter from the street below was enough to get him out of bed. He threw on his dressing gown, hastily tying the silk cord around his waist, and slipped his feet into his favourite slippers.
Flicking all the lights on as he went, and muttering to himself the entire way, as he stormed down the stairs and flung open the front door.
"Uh, oh," Gilderoy said in an exaggerated whisper, giggling loudly. The woman hanging off his arm was unfamiliar to Lucius — then again, Gilderoy had a tendency to bring home a different one each night — but he found himself immediately disliking her, even before her obnoxious laughter sounded again. "Shhh!" Gilderoy hissed at her, placing a finger over his lips. "We mustn't wake the neighbours," he said in the same loud whisper. She laughed again.
"I think one of your neighbours is already awake," she said, grinning widely and swaying on her feet, clutching onto his arm for support.
"It's fine," he said flippantly, waving his hand for emphasis and almost hitting the woman in the face. "As long as it's not Lucius," he added, dropping his keys.
"What do you think you're doing?" Lucius snapped, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at the couple. The woman laughed, yet again. "Will you stop that infernal noise?"
"Shhh!" Gilderoy hissed, leaning closer to Lucius and pushing the woman away in the process. "Lucius might hear," he whispered.
"Are you honestly going to let him talk to me like that?" the woman squawked.
"Shhh!" Gilderoy hissed again, pressing his index finger to her lips. She shoved him into Lucius with a wordless shriek and stormed off down the street, her heels loud on the pavement. Lucius couldn't bring himself to care how she would manage to get home. "Oh, good," Gilderoy said, surprisingly cheerful. "She won't wake up Lucius."
Lucius considered leaving Gilderoy there — a night spent in his front garden would serve him right — or maybe even getting a bucket of cold water and seeing if that would sober the man up, though that last option seemed like it would be more effort than it was worth. With a sigh, Lucius bent down and picked up Gilderoy's keys, fitting them into the lock easily.
He couldn't just leave the man on the street, Lucius justified to himself, he'd bring down the value of the neighbourhood.
.oOo.
He stumbled down the stairs, exhausted, still wearing his bathrobe and slippers, and shuffled into the kitchen. He flicked on the kettle and, stifling a yawn, pulled open the fridge door. He'd just picked up the milk when he glanced out the window, and immediately wished he hadn't.
There, in his — Lucius' — back garden was Gilderoy Lockhart. Stark naked. Dancing.
Lucius froze where he stood, mouth gaping, just staring at the unusual sight for what felt like an eternity before his senses returned to him.
Leaving the fridge wide open, he rushed to the back door, and pulled it open with enough force that it banged loudly against the kitchen counter.
"Lucius," Gilderoy called, and Lucius felt his fury rising. "Come dance!"
"I've taught him my routine," Enid yelled, and Lucius whipped around to see her leaning from her back window. "He's caught on quite well."
"This is — this —" Lucius sputtered; his face turned beet red, and he waved his arms about uselessly, at a loss for what to do.
"No, like this!" Gilderoy yelled, and proceeded to slow his movements down, a wide grin spread across his features.
"Why are — What —" Lucius took a deep breath, calming himself, then marched over to Gilderoy.
"Oh, do you want me to —" Gilderoy began, but Lucius grabbing ahold of his wrist effectively silenced him. "I don't think I know this one," he said as Lucius stilled his movements.
"Shut up, you moron," Lucius hissed, dragging the man into the house and upstairs.
"I know this one," Gilderoy said, sounding pleased. "Didn't know you —"
"Enough," Lucius snapped, turning the shower to the coldest setting and shoving Gilderoy underneath the spray.
Gilderoy's shriek is mild compensation.
.oOo.
Lucius looked around the spacious living room. The house had the same basic layout as his own, but the furniture was a lot more ostentatious — the exact opposite of his own minimalist home.
He'd only been here once, when Mister Quirrell had first moved in, however. Lucius supposed this was preferable to Mister Quirrell's stark furnishing — not so much minimalist as lacking.
Gilderoy cleared his throat, and said:
"I know it's a little late, and most of us have already been introduced —" here, he cast a glance at Lucius, cheeks flushing a light pink, "— but I wanted to have an official housewarming party, so to speak, now that I'm unpacked. I hope this can be a new beginning for us, and that we can get to know each other better." Lucius scoffed at this.
"I liked what I saw last night," Enid whispered loudly.
"Well, Lucius had the best view," Rita called over from across the room, and Dolores gave one of her annoyingly simpering giggles.
"What? I — He —" Lucius stuttered, flushing red. "You're all insatiable."