Author: Amalin
Contact: Amalin32@aol.com
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on characters and settings in the books of J. K. Rowling. No profit is being made. The song "My Sundown" belongs to Jimmy Eat World.
Summary: When your memory
is something that other people play with and your mind their discarded
playground, what else can you believe in besides your own reflection?
When no recollection is a pleasant one, is it better just to forget?
How many new lives are too many, before the past catches up to you?
And what do you do when the face in the mirror is no stranger than the
dreams you once cherished? What then?
c h a p t e r s e v e n -- f a i r p l a y
"...i see it around me, i see
it in everything
i could be so much more than
this
i said my goodbyes, this is my
sundown
i'm gonna be so much more than
this..."
"Gilderoy Lockhart." Knowing eyes surveyed him, the grizzled man nodding slowly. "I remember you."
"I don't recall…ever meeting you," Gil said hesitantly. He was startled by the other's sudden bark of laughter.
"Yeah, well, you don't remember much, do you?" He chuckled. "All right, you got it restored. Well and good; there are other ways to break a Memory Charm, and they aren't so pleasant. But that's all over with, isn't it? Experienced the darker side of Bedlam…and the Ministry?"
Gil looked away. "Yeah."
"Go on, sit down. I'm Moody - Alastor Moody. Auror."
Gil took his hand hesitantly, finding his own firmly crushed. He collapsed in the chair. "Why am I - why am I here? Snape brought me here from St. Mungo's without a word, and I - I don't know."
Moody pulled up another chair, leaning forward to watch Gil intently. His eyes betrayed nothing, though Gil was sure that his own eyes told volumes. When he spoke his voice was painfully soft, and Gil had to strain to make out the words. "You heard of Voldemort's defeat, Gilderoy? Two weeks ago today."
"Y-yes."
"Very well. I understand you were an employee of a certain establishment that often catered to Death Eaters. Just over two weeks ago, the night before Voldemort fell, there was a masquerade party."
Gil's answer was more hesitant, though he replied with an uncertain yes.
The questions came more quickly now. "A ploy, I believe, to attract new Death Eaters. You accompanied one Asher Canning, did you not?"
"I - I did."
Moody's eyes were intense. "Who did you see there?"
"I-" He stopped.
His voice was still low, though dangerously hard. "Members of the Ministry attended that ball, Gilderoy. It is imperative that we know."
"I can't say." Gil glanced away quickly, eyes brushing the floor. "I - I'm not a Death Eater! I just-"
Moody's fingers were casually toying with his wand. Gil shifted uncomfortably in the chair and found that he could not move more than a few inches. He twisted and found his way invisibly obstructed. Moody smiled; it was not a pleasant smile. "The Council of Magic Law finds such a chair useful," he said. "For interrogating prisoners. You won't mind, I'm sure; all you have to do is tell me the truth."
"There was…a man with dark hair and a moustache, he was dressed as the Phantom of the Opera - it's a Muggle play, I-"
"I know. Vincent Talmidge, safe and sound in Azkaban."
"Er, Asher was talking to a man he called Ulrich-"
"Azkaban."
"Marvin Walden-"
"Azkaban."
"I don't know anything else." Gil stared blankly at Moody, hoping, praying, to be believed. Moody only smirked.
"Yes, you do. Go on, Gilderoy; tell me."
"I can't-"
"What is it? Are they paying you, did they threaten you if you told? Whatever it is, it's worth it to tell us. I don't care what your allegiances are; I'll get the information from you one way or another. I don't care if you think all Muggles should die or if you hate Death Eaters, I want the bloody names, Gilderoy!"
"I don't know."
"You know! I know you know, don't play stupid!" He crossed his arms, taking a deep breath. His fingers were still casually fingering his wand. "You're good at that, I know. Ah, well. I lost most of my morals years ago." The wand raised. "Crucio!"
Pain. If Bedlam was misery, the Cruciatus Curse was pain - a pain so staggeringly elemental that it seeped to every nerve in his body, every sense, every feeling, every minute cell. He saw flashes of red and black, but mostly nothing at all, body jerking with the excruciating pain - no, that was hardly the word. There were no words. It was feeling, pure and simple; he had never felt anything so powerful.
It hurt.
"By now I'm sure you're acquainted with the Ministry and its better kept secrets," Moody smirked, when the curse faded and he was left only shuddering and stunned but otherwise unmarked. "I suppose I'm one of them. Going to tell me?"
"Richard Mann," he forced through clenched teeth. "Works in…Department…Magical Catastrophes."
Moody scribbled this on a scrap of parchment, smiling rather jovially. "Good, Gilderoy. Cooperation isn't that difficult, is it? Come now, any more?" He waited. "No? Very well."
His world exploded; he was aware of nothing but the moment that screamed on for eternity. "I…don't kn…ow…"
It seemed to go for hours, though in reality it most likely lasted only minutes. He would offer a name, perhaps, slipping like a prayer through his lips - bloody by his own doing, biting them in his own fear and anguish. Or he would offer nothing but a simple, "I don't know," and in retribution…
"Crucio!"
Head clearing moments later, reeling with the coppery blood of his lips seeping over his tongue, he looked up wearily. "I don't enjoy this any more than you do," Moody assured him. "Well, perhaps a bit. But it's tiresome, isn't it? If you would tell me…"
He had been avoiding this all along. In the end he had gotten desperate, offering Crabbe and Goyle, though none of them had attended the masquerade. He had even offered Snape's name, though he was not surprised when Moody related that the other had been acquitted. He had only resisted so long as to prolong this. Anything to avoid…. He couldn't…
And why not, Gil? his mind asked reasonably. Why can't you? Is he that important? It would save you; Moody might believe you when you say you don't know…it's your last name, your one chance, just say it…
"You're a stubborn lad, or a stupid one. Of course, it's possible you really don't know, but I seem to think you do. Instincts never proved me wrong before."
And again the stinging, rushing, devouring feeling, searing every nerve ending in his body, freezing his mind into one single receiver of this overwhelming jolt…red and black and white and panic roiling into a kaleidoscope of…
"L…"
His fingernails were digging into his palms, sweat slicking his forehead. His eyes were squeezed shut. Just…say the words…"L-L-"
"Alastor!" The door scraped urgently and the curse was broken. Moody replaced his wand in his pocket, standing calmly. Gil collapsed in the chair. "Really," Dumbledore continued, shaking his head, "I don't see the rationalization of this. Gilderoy, are you all right?"
He looked away. "Yes, Professor."
"You interrupted," Moody seethed. "He was just about to tell me, weren't you?"
"I don't know anyone else, I told you!" The words whispered at the back of his mind. "Please, just don't - don't make me-"
"This is my case, Albus," Moody continued irritably, fists clenched. "Go back to governing your school! I will find these Death Eaters and bring them to justice! Gilderoy is going to help me!"
"An Unforgivable Curse," the headmaster returned. "Really; you know I don't approve. I'm sure the information could be gotten without such ridiculous measures. No better than-"
"Don't tell me how to do my job! You remember Grindelwald! And you were the one who-"
"That was the past, Alastor. I've put it behind me. Now, that's quite enough - Gilderoy, will you come to my office, please? Some hot chocolate, perhaps, and I think a thorough apology would be in order-"
Gil tried to move. The chair still restricted him.
"Let him out of the chair, Alastor," Dumbledore said patiently. Growling, Moody did so.
"This isn't the end of this," Moody scowled. "There's another name; he knows another name! No Death Eater, no Death Eater, will walk free, while I'm an Auror!"
Dumbledore put an arm around Gil and gently led him from the room. Moody's shouts followed them, though Dumbledore seemed not to hear. "You can't walk away from your past," he called, eyes dark with fury. "You know the truth as well as I do! Damn you, don't walk away!"
The door clicked shut and they were alone in the sudden silence of the hallway. Gil was surprised to recognize it. He glanced up at the impassive face of the headmaster. "P-Professor?"
"You needn't call me Professor anymore, Gilderoy," he said coolly, as if they were taking an evening stroll through the halls and nothing more. "But yes, you had a question?"
"Wh-why am I here? I-"
"Snape was visiting Bedlam on my behalf; personal business, you see. He found you and convinced the jailers to let you go. He brought you here. Alastor Moody immediately arrived here, without my knowledge, to interrogate you. I hurried down as soon as I found out."
"I-"
"I understand you helped us invaluably by providing certain names," Dumbledore continued smoothly. "I must thank you for that. You have done all you could. Please don't blame him for what happened; there are situations in all of our lives that are beyond our control, situations that point to the paths we take."
Lucius…
Gil nodded slowly. "Yes. There are."
"Why don't you get some sleep, Gilderoy? Tomorrow, I'm afraid, you face a trial. With luck, it will take only a short amount of time, but they can get lengthy. Take the guest room by the Slytherin tower; you know where it is, don't you?"
"I'll find it. Th-thanks, Professor." He turned away into the shadows. He thought there were perhaps footsteps behind him, and hurried away - would Moody haunt him as thoroughly as Patrick and the others, as completely as the memories of others long dead?
Hogwarts welcomed him back; living, breathing reality swallowing him, arms enveloping him like the prodigal son. And it stung bitterly, as it always had.
Welcome back, the razor blade shadows whispered gently. And despite the pain, despite the despair, he set his chin resolutely as he stepped into the darkness.
For the time being, he had kept Lucius
safe.
-=-=-=-
When he awoke there was a cool hand on his forehead and someone was tipping a glass of water to his lips. Gil swallowed painfully, his entire body burning.
"...such a shame," a familiar voice was saying. "Bloody Ministry doesn't give a damn!"
Forcing his eyes open, Gil saw Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "I can't say I disagree, I'll give you that, Miranda. Ah, Gilderoy! You're awake? How are you feeling?"
He tried to speak. He croaked.
"Have him drink this," Dumbledore ordered, holding up a vial of reddish liquid. "I'll send a student up with breakfast laster on."
The other by his bedside smiled, taking the potion from him. "Thanks."
The door swung shut and Gil turned his head, finding that there seemed to be three of her. He let the cool hands part his lips and tip the vial's contents down his throat, though his body rebelled when the potion assailed his senses. Coughing and gagging, he lay back on the pillows. At least some of the fire had faded from his limbs and his vision had cleared.
He blinked. "Y - it's really you?"
She took his hand, helping him sit up. "Did that help? Ech, bet it tasted worse than anything." The familiar teasing glint danced in her eyes. "Even Sam."
Gil smiled faintly. "Yeah. What - what are you doing here?"
"Paying a visit," she grinned. "Dumbledore owled me and I came as soon as I could."
His head was reeling once more. "You know Dumbledore?"
"Everyone knows Dumbledore."
"I meant, you know Dumbledore personally?" Gil frowned. "That's right, he called you Miranda?"
"Ah," said she, "but that's a story for another day."
He caught her hand as she withdrew, rising. "Meda." He bit his lip. "Please. I might not have another day."
They stared at each other, waiting, until Meda finally sighed. "Okay. You want my story? I suppose it's only fair." She sat back down, eyes distant. "Yes, my name's Miranda. I'm his great-granddaughter. I can see that surprises you, but that's nothing new. Most of this is his story, none of which I have permission to tell. Just, my father doesn't get along well with him; I wasn't even allowed to go to Hogwarts. My dad - well, we don't talk any longer, anyway - doesn't even know I've met Dumbledore.
"Anyway, though. Don't expect an epic, here. I grew up sheltered and happy, until I got my letter. Dad lives like a Muggle, see; that's why my mum left him. He forbid me from going. When I was eighteen I ran away to my mum, who was working at the Heron. Two months later she died."
From the impassive look on her face, Gil would not have known that she even cared. The crushing grip on his hand, however, said otherwise.
"I took her place. Worked there for a year until Sam found me and a couple others and took us to work at the Crane. That was the first time I had to reveal my parentage and when I learned the name Dumbledore meant something. Mum had taken a different name, see? After months of the Crane, I went to find him. I promised to keep his family a secret and he offered to support me." For the first time, she met Gil's eyes. "I declined."
"Why?"
Miranda shrugged. "I'm not sure. Maybe I've got some of my father's damnable pride in me. Maybe I just didn't want to send his world crashing down around him; no one knows of his family, you realize. Even Sam's sworn to secrecy."
"I - I won't tell," Gil said shakily. "I swear."
Miranda squeezed his hand before letting go. "I know. You're awful persistent, but you're trustworthy. He knows that, too."
"I guess." Lucius...
"Look, Gil. Yeah, we're not at the Crane, I'll use names. This trial. Whatever happens, please don't come back. You don't belong there. He's gonna do his best in every way to get you off easy, but even if you're acquitted - well, don't come back to the Crane."
"Why?"
"Because it isn't for you. Because you're so much better than that. Because you don't need to be alone and you don't need to follow your stupid pride. You're not running from a fiance in Spain or a past of death and destruction; you haven't grown up a whore. You..." She touched his cheek gently. "You're so much better, Gil. Please, take my word for it. Don't come back."
Gil glanced past her and out the window. "It's 'cause I took the job with Asher. All of this."
She nodded silently. "I know, Gil. Dumbledore - well, we keep in touch. It's dangerous, you know, but our correspondence is Charmed. I let him know what I see at a few of these gatherings, and he keeps in touch when it might be dangerous for me." She grinned quickly for a brief moment. "Sometimes he also sends me cookies or things like that."
"You knew? I mean, that the Ministry was coming to the party and I'd be in trouble?"
"Of course not!" She sighed. "There's always the possibility, but - Look, I would've taken the job, only Asher has-"
"Preferences." Gil exchanged a glance with her and they both inexplicably smiled. "I - what day is it?"
"Tuesday. Don't worry, Dumbledore postponed the trial due to the circumstances. After all you went through." She smoothed his hair back and rose, looking tired. "Don't worry, Gil. Things are going to be all right."
He could only give her a half-hearted
smile as she closed the door. He failed to notice the fact that she
also locked it.
-=-=-=-
His head throbbed angrily. The crowd was a blur of mute spectators, a silent collection of faces that stared upon him in accusatory blankness. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he could be swallowed up by the mass apathy of them, thrown into the gaping emptiness of their eyes and drowning there. But he did not dare try and single out a face. He was too afraid of who he might see.
"Gilderoy Lockhart," his opponent mused. "Can you tell us why you were present at the Death Eater party that night? It has become clear to us that you were not working for the Ministry."
The faces flickered. One, in particular, but…no, he did not want to know. Looking away and concentrating, he bit his lip and answered quietly, "I worked for a place called the Purple Crane." Yes, he would ignore the mutters. That was all there was - his voice and the stoic face of his interrogator and the stunned blue-gray gaze fixed upon him from the crowd. "The Death Eater and Ministry employee, Asher Canning, needed an escort for the gathering."
Gil was surprised at how unwavering his voice was. His hands were shaking, but somehow his nervousness did not seem to show. "That's all."
"Very well, Gilderoy. Were you aware that it was a noted Death Eater gathering when you were-" his mouth twisted - "offered the job?"
And now it comes, Gil thought, struggling inwardly. He wasn't exactly sure what he was being tried for, but it was a dangerous game to play. "Y-yes."
"Do you consider yourself a supporter of You-Know-Who?"
"O-of course not."
"Yet you went."
He hated himself for what he said next, hated himself for blushing and for avoiding those unwavering eyes in the crowd. How much longer could he deny that the face was in the crowd? "I worked for the Crane," Gil said firmly, feeling the warmth flood his cheeks. He could practically imagine 'Meda smirking at him. Have you learned at last, Ganymede? "We don't pick and choose."
"So you're saying that, were you not an employee of such an establishment, you would not have associated with Death Eaters at all."
The eyes watched him carefully. He could feel the gaze, and the crowd was no longer a pit in which he could drown himself but a throbbing backdrop to that one face. Why? Why must he stare so, the interrogating gaze that left him feeling like a liar? "No. No, I wouldn't."
There was a slow silence, as if the man wished his point to sink into the audience. Gil wasn't exactly sure of the point of such a point, but nevertheless felt an increase in the yawning hole in his stomach.
"So, Gilderoy, what exactly did you observe at this party?"
Slowly, carefully. He could not give anything away. "I - there were a lot of people there. In masks, costumes. There was a band playing, I think - it wasn't like a meeting, it was just some masquerade party that-"
"Get to the point, Gilderoy."
"I didn't stay long. I ended up talking with someone I'd gone to Hogwarts with, and then Asher found me and we Apparated away."
"Care to expound upon that? This someone you knew, who was it?"
The eyes were watching him patiently. Gil had the feeling that no matter what he did they would not be surprised, only tiredly resigned. "S - his name was Severus Snape."
The collective gasp in the crowd overwhelmed the speaker's voice for a moment, and he had to clear his throat loudly to continue. "Severus Snape has been cleared by the Ministry," he reported reluctantly. "He is also reported to be the spy that contacted the Ministry about the party. Were you aware of this?"
"N - not at all."
"It is known that you have been previously interrogated by Auror Alastor Moody and have reported several Death Eater names. What happened between the time of the party and then?"
If he told on Snape finding him in Bedlam, he would get Snape and/or Dumbledore in trouble. If he - oh, he had to step lightly, and he wasn't sure which eggshells he was allowed to crush. "I - I don't remember," he said carefully. "I was under a Memory Charm. I recall being in some sort of prison, for how long I'm not sure, not knowing where I was or anything about myself. I don't remember anything else until I woke in a room at Hogwarts, and Moody was there."
The man appeared unsatisfied, but he glanced at his watch and sighed. "That is all."
Gil slumped in his chair, trying to ignore the way his head throbbed when he closed his eyes. A certain blue-gray gaze was imprinted on the back of his lids, interrogating him.
Though he had to repeatedly tell himself not to, he managed to make it out of the courtroom without focusing on one person in the crowd. If he really concentrated, he could even blank out the familiar voice.
"You did well, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said at his elbow. "We can only hope that tomorrow continues as fortunately."
The voice had stopped. Gil
bit his lip and turned away.
-=-=-=-
Gil clenched his fists so hard that he could feel his nails digging into the soft palms of his hands. He tried again to concentrate on Snape's face in the witness box but only felt his head slowly drooping once more. It was his own trial; why couldn't he stay awake?
"And you, a known member of the Death Eaters, willingly released Mr. Lockhart from Bedlam?"
Snape pressed his lips together. "I am no longer a Death Eater, as you well know and have testified. And I released Lockhart because I knew he had valuable information the Ministry would want to obtain."
What lies do we weave? Gil wondered. The courtroom was filled with them, dancing together to make one large jumble around his future. Does the truth, really, hurt so much?
But then, contemplating it, he realized it did.
"Where were you the night of the masquerade party?" the pacing man continued, voice clipped.
"I was there, of course." Snape's eyes snapped warningly. "If you must persist in arguing in circles, at least show some recognition when we retouch a topic. You told Gilderoy yesterday that I called the Ministry."
"Yes, yes.... Tell me, Severus, why did you bring Gilderoy to Hogwarts instead of the Ministry? Why did you bring him right to Dumbledore?"
"That," Snape said coolly, "has no pertinence in this trial. Nor does anything pertaining to my own trial and my own motives. You are not subjecting me to this flawed legal system yet again. This is Gilderoy's trial." His eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, as he added, "I fear you will find it quite useless to question me further. It is a-"
"Answer the question, Severus."
His lips pressed together tightly. "I brought him to Dumbledore because I knew Dumbledore could help. And because Dumbledore is the man I work for. A simple answer to a simpler and more useless question."
Gil stopped listening. In fact, he had been paying only scant attention; his life was already measured and balanced by the meddling hands of others, why should he wake up and start protesting now? It wasn't as if he could do much about it. Instead, he gazed sideways out of the corner of his eye and regarded the figure seated calmly in the first row. His expression was serene and unruffled as he gazed at Snape, though he would occasionally bite his lip as if letting out the only sign of agitation he could.
I don't care about your little gay soap opera...
Did he remember anything? Did he ever try? His back was so rigid and his eyes were so cold that Gil wondered why he had even bothered to come. Entertainment?
...it was nice to see you again.
Was it? Was it really?
His eyes were the blue of the lake on rainy days, when storms roiled its surface. Gil could see the feathery dusting of hair along his jawline, the shadows flickering around his cheeks. He looked gaunt; he hadn't been eating, perhaps? But his mother made the most divine foods, puttering around the kitchen adding pinches of this and that as if she had grown up a Muggle housewife -
He tasted like rainbows and smoke, a whisper of dreams and reality. He floated better than Gil did. He always had to separate his food into stark sections, keeping the sauces and his vegetables and the meat and the bread all separated within imaginary confines as if their mixing would be the end of the world. Most certainly undigestable. Gil had often wondered if it had something to do with good blood and bad blood mixing; were there good and bad foods, too?
But Lucius ate everything his mother - or the house elves - prepared, and he always seemed loath to complain. He always seemed on the verge of laughter, at least during that summer. But he rarely really, truly laughed. It was like he was afraid that opening his mouth and showing mirth would let the world see his weaknesses and exploit them.
Gil wasn't entirely sure just what the rigid man - so strange, yet so familiar - to his right had as far as weaknesses. But he knew his weakness was -
No one seemed to notice as he slipped
into the effortless sorrow of dreaming.
-=-=-=-
There were fewer spectators on the third day than there had been previously; possibly they had tired of the endless questioning and had lost interest in the trial. But then, observers crowded into any trial they could: since the downfall of Voldemort, any trial was an event to be looked forward to. You never knew what Death Eater might be on trial.
But I am no Death Eater, Gil thought tiredly as he tried to focus on the judge and his imperious words. I don't kill people. I don't destroy lives. I just...
"Gilderoy Lockhart," the judge read, with a bored expression permanently fixed upon his face, "you have been found guilty of consorting with Death Eaters and possible aiding the dark forces of You-Know-Who, an offense which is normally punishable by death. However, taking into consideration the circumstances surrounding your offenses, the punishment has been lessened."
Beside him, Gil could see Dumbledore's usually twinkling blue eyes solemn with expectation. Further down, he could just glimpse Lucius, trying not to look worried. And Meda was there somewhere, gnawing on her lip for his sake.
He was rather startled that the coldness that squeezed his heart enabled him to feel so distant.
"You will be taken by the Obliviators immediately," the judge said in a tone that seemed to indicate his disapproval of the whole matter. "All memory of your life will be erased."
Despite the cold bands restraining his body, his heart seemed to stop. Again? What will happen to me?
Not...not Bedlam, not again...please...
Beside him, Dumbledore's smile appeared ever so slightly. It made Gil wonder exactly what strings he had pulled.
"Furthermore," the judge said, his frown deepening, "due to the leniency," more frowning, "of this court, your memory will be modified accordingly. You will begin a new life, free of all ties to any Death Eaters. If any suspicious activity occurs in relation to you, no trial will be held. You will immediately be sentenced to death. Is this understood?"
It took Gil a long moment to realize he was expected to nod. He did so, rather vigorously.
"You have no second chances." The judge smiled, a smile that reminded Gil more of a grimace; a wry sort of wrinkling around the mouth that did nothing for his displeased countenance. "Today, Gilderoy Lockhart, is the first day of the rest of your life."
The crowd murmured. At Gil's side, Dumbledore leaned over. "You're lucky," he related. "It could have been death."
Two men entered the courtroom from the side, waiting patiently for Dumbledore to finish. Gil was not entirely sure of how lucky he was. "Dumbledore," he said, fingers twisting together. If he concentrated, he guessed he could feel a gaze fixed upon the back of his head. Even that thought could not ease the throbbing fear from his limbs. "I won't - I won't remember anything?"
"You remember how it was in Bedlam," Dumbledore said sympathetically. "The Ministry's Obliviators are well trained in their profession. Don't worry, though, Gilderoy; it will be nothing like Bedlam. I've made arrangements. And now-"
But Gil had already turned from him, stepped into the aisle, and moved towards the men waiting to escort him from the room. He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling with the emotions that roiled within. They were talking about wiping his memory! They couldn't just do that! They couldn't dissolve a life with a wave of their wands; they couldn't -
But, when your reflection is only a collection of broken beauty and fragments of harbored regrets, are you grateful for a new beginning? Do you want a new life? Do you want to forget?
Head bowed, he let them lead him
away.
_________________________________________________________________
Belated A/N: Whee, one more
chapter! I hope Gil's trial - and, really, the entire chapter - was
possibly believable enough? I did my best. Until next time,
thanks to all my reviewers. ~blows kisses~ This one goes out
to Rulinian, the biggest Lockhart fan I've met. Oh yes, and the story
of Dumbledore hinted at here -- a project I hope to get seriously underway
when Untouchable Face finishes. But we'll see.
For all those who have stuck with me thus far, thank you times a million. Only a bit more to go.