It was another fine day at Hogwarts. The sun was shining, the sky was blue… and Gilderoy Lockhart sat slumped at the breakfast table, eyes covered with a large pair of sunglasses in order to hide their bags. Forget grinning, Lockhart hadn't so much as smiled in what seemed like years (it was in fact only a couple of days). The other professors of course were taking full advantage of the situation, their own dark shades absent as eyesight seemed no longer threatened with Lockhart's disgustingly glittering grin. For miles around, wise men (three in particular) had stopped following what they thought was the gleam of a holy star, and began to realise that they were in fact lost, with few provisions and an irrational urge for homicide. Never mind gold, frankincense and myrrh, it was choke-hold, overly frank speaking, and murder all the way. You may be wondering why the three wise men were following the shimmer of Lockhart's teeth in the first place. After all, everybody knows such legend happened many years ago, if at all.
It's my story, and if you don't like it, you can stop reading. Of course I'd prefer it if you didn't. It took a lot of work to sound this ignorant.
Face buried into his finely manicured hands, Lockhart gave the ghost of a groan, his un-freshened breath sneaking from the corner of his mouth and promptly choking a Hufflepuff third year into permanent paralysis. The victim's friend, who had also been strolling innocently by, appeared ready to object to his companion's definite turn in health but- catching sight of his Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher's yellow gnashers complete with half inch-thick fur- seemed to think better of it. He scuttled on by, sincerely hoping that his mate would not be trampled upon by impatient second years desperate for their morning bacon. Life hadn't been too kind for our hero (may I mention that I do use such word lightly) as of late. His relationship hadn't been going to well with Sybil recently as she had refused to dye her hair black or even deep brown, and appeared to think it bizarre when Lockhart asked her to speak in a slow, deep voice that sounded like a larynx drowning in a puddle of dark, melted chocolate. It was at times like these when Lockhart began to wonder if his relationship with Sybil wasn't, well… merely sexual. Bitterly, he cast his mind back to the night before, and the conversation that had ensued.
"Sybil…May I ask you a question?"
"Of course, my dear. Ask away." At this point Trelawney was in the splits position, completely naked save for a skimpy silver thong. Gilderoy remembered thinking that this wasn't particularly fair. He was trying to have a serious conversation dammit! Why did she have to be so… so… distracting?
"Sybil… what do you like?"
She caught his eye then, face flushed and bottle glasses glinting with a promiscuous passion in the half-light. "Why are you asking me such things, Gilderoy? Do you mean…?"
"Yes." Lockhart reached over and cupped her face. "I want to take this relationship to the next level."
Squealing with excitement, or as much as any miserable animal-of-the-farmyard-variety could muster, Trelawney leapt up and wrapped her legs around Lockhart's waist. "I've waited for this! I should have known… my crystal ball said that it would happen tonight!"
Gilderoy attempted to smile, then realised he really couldn't be bothered. "Go on, tell me. Tell me everything you like."
"I…I" Sybil's spectacles were becoming steamed up in excitement, which Lockhart thought was perhaps a tad inappropriate for such a straightforward question. "I LOVE the Kama Sutra!" The bombshell burst forth, shattering the glass of several of Lockhart's (favourite) colour portraits. "It's better than any spell book. That, my dear is better than the most powerful magic in the world! The positions I've learned. The…" Her eyes darkened with lust. "The erotica-exotica…"
"But.. But…"
"I mean military is perfectly fine, of course it is. But that little book has taken me around galaxies. It has made me see the stars!"
"But…"
"No buts Gilderoy, you promised! Take this!" She thrust a slim, and extremely worn volume into his unsuspecting hands. "I'll come back tomorrow, and when I do…" She gave a ghastly grin, dreadlocks barely covering her chest. "I'll expect a VERY naughty boy."
By then it seemed far too late to explain he couldn't really read...
One thing was certain: Lockhart had had it with Sybil Trelawney. There was of course a time when he had wished for nothing more than steamy nights of passion with the Great Unknown, to explore his fields, to become joined with nature. Now, he reflected as his face sagged into his breakfast of Lo-Cal porridge with almond, Sybil wasn't unknown at all. He knew every inch of her inside and out. For someone who chained themselves in a tower morning noon and half the night, Sybil had to be one of the least enigmatic, hell even charismatic women he had the severe misfortune to come across. Had she looked into her crystal ball and seen his never-ending misery? Lockhart, and surprisingly profound this was, doubted that Sybil had ever looked into her crystal ball and seen the reflection of the light fittings above. One thing seemed certain: Lockhart had had it up to his perfectly toned, if slightly effeminate, torso with casual sex. He wanted something more. He wanted… no, no… he needed a tall, dark stranger to whisk him off to paradise. Someone who would… he glanced upwards and caught a sudden flash of liquorice hair and hooked beaky nose.
"AAAARRRRRGGGGHHH!" With a terrible scream, Lockhart jumped to his feet, upending the Professor's breakfast table. Various food items flashed through the morning sun, splattering the walls, other students, the owls that had arrived to deliver the mail, and of course Lockhart himself. Staring downwards in horror, Lockhart noticed the his Lo-Cal porridge, almonds and all, had- with the viciousness of an extremely mean tidal wave- liberally covered his favourite rose pink robes.
"AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH!" These robes didn't understand the meaning of machine wash! Even if used with the most loving of non-biological washing powder and the water carefully measured to exactly forty degrees, the colours still ran with the joy of a troubled leprechaun making his merry escape! This robes needed to be dry-cleaned! Lockhart had never attempted to make a dry-cleaning potion in his life!
"Dear Robes, I beg you… please, please do not run your beautiful dye into my MCMAGIC-WASH machine. You still have so much to give!"
"Machine wash, my dear Sir? Pray, I do not understand. Perhaps you could assist with a charade?"
The only people who was capable of making a dry-cleaning potion to such a degree that it removed dry porridge, not forgetting the almond, were either Dumbledore… away, unfortunately… or…
Snape.
"ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!" Sunglasses falling from his face and revealing sleep bruises large enough to carry all of Lockhart's beauty products twice over, the professor ran from the Great Hall; much to the delight of the other students- some still with butter shampooing their hair.
"Do you think he'll have another break down?"
"I don't know… but if we play our cards right, perhaps Snape will kill him again!"
"Wicked! Lessons will be cancelled for at least an afternoon!"
Gasping for breath, Lockhart slammed the door of his office behind him, not even having the strength to check if his door-slamming had made any of his numerous photographs crooked. This was dreadful! Terrible! Was that… that man to haunt him forever with his devilishly sexy manner? Was there no way of avoiding him in the corridors, the halls or, even better, the rest of his born life? This whole debacle was catastrophic! He… he needed to talk to someone… but who?
There had been rumours of course. They were always going around together, and none so far had shown any interest in the girl. Rumour had it, when particularly cold they shared the blankets of their beds. The mother of one of them had pretty much adopted the other, calling him her son. Teachers, when the rumours passed by them, chose to shrug them off as foolish nonsense. For the first time, Lockhart began to wonder if there was any truth in the matter. Besides, he was special. He, like Lockhart himself, was famous. He'd understand, if true- and Lockhart was sure that it was- the sheer agony that his poor professor was suffering every day.
Yes, he needed to talk to Harry Potter.
222
Harry Potter was in Herbology when the nightmare began. The class were still discussing with much merriment Lockhart's little breakdown, and Harry was certainly having his three-thousand pounds worth. He was part the way through doing a rather accurate impression of one of Lockhart's more girly squeals, when the man appeared himself.
He's screaming. Camp. Check-mate.
"Ah, Harry… I was wondering if I could have a quick word?"
Harry looked incredulously at the pathetic excuse for a man before him. "I'm in a lesson, Professor."
"Why," Lockhart gave one of his dazzling smiles- he had since brushed his teeth- and the entire class winced and fainted simultaneously. "I'm sure Professor Sprout won't mind for two minutes, my boy."
Judging by the scowl on Professor Sprout's face, she did mind very much so, but she waved them outside with an irritable twitch of her hand. "Two minutes."
Feeling as if he was going to have a sudden unexplained epileptic fit or worse, Harry stared at the golden apparition in front of him. Lockhart smiled wanly at the boy's obvious desire, and shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."
Harry stood stock still, still too unsure of himself to answer. What did he want? Why…why was this man dancing in every shadow of his footsteps, leaping out from behind corners, and once, Harry shut his eyes with the horror of it all, actually waiting in the Gryffindor common-room for him to return? Curse the Fat Lady and her fancy. He'd never trust her again.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," Lockhart was still shaking his head smiling, as if playing an extremely annoying record that had no end. Harry caught sight of Hermione and Ron shooting him sympathetic glances from inside Greenhouse Three. Ha. It was fine for them. They didn't have some psychotic stalker following their every turn, knowing when they ate, worked, slept and shat. Oh yeah… it was fine for them all right.
"Harry, Harry, Harry."
"WHAAAAAT?... Professor?" Quickly, he swallowed his burst of annoyance. It wouldn't do to upset the man… Harry doubted if he'd turn violent, but perhaps his sheer stupidity was catching. "Professor… my class…."
"It's alright, my boy. I know. At twelve years old I must say… it's a little unorthodox, but if that's the path you choose then it's fine, it's fine. I was just wondering if you could help me out, perhaps?"
Had Colin said something? Had, and there was more motive to suspect this, had Malfoy said something? He was probably somewhere right now, laughing himself sick with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry mentally wished as hard as he could that Malfoy truly was laughing himself sick… a brief spell in the hospital wing may do the world some good. "Know what, Professor?"
"Ah, Harry, don't pretend you don't know! I've come to you for a little advice. I myself may be attracted to another of the er… other persuasion, and wondered if you could tell me what to do about it."
"I don't know what you mean, Sir."
"Harry, Great Scott, there's nothing wrong with it! By that I mean, there's nothing wrong with being…" Lockhart almost gagged on the word as it fell from his mouth. "… Homosexual."
Harry blinked, the epileptic fit-feeling suddenly much worse. "I'm sorry?"
"We've all been there my boy- perhaps I am merely a late developer! Yes, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, the five times winner of the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award! You're only a second year? Bad luck. I hear there are some fabulous clubs in the back end of Hogsmeade. Perhaps you and your er… friend," He shot the now gaping Ron a cursory glance, "can visit one of the quieter ones next year. But don't tell them who sent you! People may start to talk dear boy!" Lockhart gave what he fondly imagined to be a devilish wink.
The world was now lurching violently, and Harry grabbed onto the nearest stable object… unfortunately the front of Lockhart's fresh periwinkle robes. "You've made a mistake! I'm only twelve years old!"
Lockhart stared down at Harry's small, deathly pale hands and grinned even wider. "Harry, Harry, Harry… I know I've given you a lot, but I can't give myself to you! It would be so wrong. You're frightfully underage!" He clasped the shaking student into a bear hug, still nattering away manically into his ear. "Give it a couple of years my boy… Good things come to those who wait! It won't be me… your infatuation will have faded by then… but someone special, someone you can make your own!"
With a sickened cry, Harry lost all grip and fell to his knees. Blinking at the boy's deterioration, Lockhart grabbed the little left of his senses, and stepped back. He had probably been a bit too full-on. The boy was twelve, and with all those hormones rushing around, he could make this into something bigger than what it was. "I see my rejection has upset you." Bending down, he pulled the boy to his feet. "Don't dwell on me… concentrate on your work and Mr Weasley. Perhaps the two of you are destined for great things."
Harry watched ashened mouthed, as Lockhart coaxed him gently through the door of Greenhouse Three. "If you want to talk, you know where I am. Oh, and one more thing Harry… could you perhaps ask Miss Granger to make me a dry-cleaning potion? She is, after all, extremely talented." He gave another hearty wink, and still troubled, went on his way. The boy was no help after all, and seemed to have developed a little thing for yours truly. Oh dear, was his great fandom never to stop growing? Was the Gilderoy Lockhart charm destined to enchant every being of the planet, young and old?
Harry couldn't concentrate for the rest of his Herbology lesson, and received three out of ten for effort. When Ron asked him later if anything was wrong, Harry gave him one of the most startled and guilty of glances, then decided to keep his mouth firmly shut.
I updated! Many of you will have probably forgotten this story by now, but I decided to update and that's the main thing. Any new readers… Hello! I hope this isn't, in the words of Lockhart too "full-on". I had fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy. Bye now!
JQ.