"Well, well, well. Rita Skeeter," he says curtly, flashing his brightest smile. "The queen of ruined lives. To what do I owe this pleaure?"
The reporter returns his cheerful sarcasm with a determined grin. She's heard much worse, of couse. In her line of work, one needs skin tougher than leather to survive. "I thought you would be flattered to know that I've taken interest in you, Gilderoy," she says sweetly, sitting across from him and gesturing for her usual coffee. "A man with an ego like yours, and all."
He laughs, leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table "Well, I do love reading about myself," he confirms "Do your worst."
Rita pulls out her quill and parchment, getting comfortable. She peers up at him over her glasses which rest low on the bridge of her nose. "My readers are dying for a glimpse into the brilliant mind who has done so much in so little time," she says, and her quill springs to life, scribbling across the parchment. "We want the truth. What makes Gilderoy Lockhart tick? What hidden gems lie inside that darling little head of yours?"
"Should I answer that?"
She ignores him, moving forward. "First things first. The hair. Natural, or a wig?"
"Definitely natural."
As if not convinced, Rita reaches out, tugging gently at the blond locks. "I can confirm, dear readers, that his hair is, indeed, as silky as it looks," she reports. "Like petting a kitten. What is your secret to such perfect hair?"
"Now, Rita," Gilderoy says, his earlier hostility completely melted away, "I can't reveal all my secrets, though there is a wonderful chapter on my personal morning and night routines in my new upcoming autobiography."
Rita returns to her seat, fingers steepling under her chin. She purses her lips, studying him for a moment. "A new book? How do you find the time to write, busy as you are?"
"Oh, when one has a story to be told, one makes the time. My fans want to know about more than just how I survived an encounter with a yeti, you know."
"I know. Next question. Is there any truth behind the rumors that Albus Dumbledore has asked you to teach at Hogwarts?"
He smiles that ridiculously white smile, taking a sip of his water. "Yes. Our beloved Dumbledore has seen his former pupil's genius. How could he not want yours truly to be in charge of preparing such young, fragile minds for what's waiting for them beyond Hogwarts? Though, strictly speaking, I'm supposed to mention that just yet. If you could just..."
Rita waves a dismissive hand. Her quill strikes through several lines on the parchment before falling still again, waiting to be called upon again.
"Is there a Mrs. Lockhart in the picture, Gilderoy?"
"If there was, I can assure you everyone would know about it," he laughs. "After all, I can't even pop in Diagon Alley without everyone knowing exactly what I've bought."
"But is there anyone special? A bewitching witch who holds the key to your heart? A beautiful bloke who can keep up with your every whim and fancy?"
"No. None," he answers, his face forming a dramatic pout for emphasis. Rita considers reminding him that her readers won't be able to see his expression, but she decides it's far more amusing to let him carry on. "It seems that none can match my love."
"Terrible, terrible," Rita says, voice laced with faux sympathy in spite of the predatory smile that twists her lips. "Just one last question. Are you available Friday night?"
Gilderoy raises his brows, eyes wide. "You're not really interested in an interview, are you?"
"Guilty as charged," she admits. "Answer the question."
"Well, I was," he says. "But I think I might have a date with my favorite reporter."