Disclaimer: I do not own anything, it all belongs to J.K Rowling who I am eternally grateful to for the wonderful world she has created.
The Book Signing of the Century
The book signing of the century was taking place at Obuscurus Books, unit 18a in Diagon Alley. The writer signing the books in question was the one and only Gilderoy Lockhart, who had been away after some years. His new book, A Man Desperate for Fame, was due to go on sale that very day and was predicted to break all book records.
Unfortunately, due to the lack of space in Flourish and Blotts, they were having to holding it at the publishing house, much to his distaste. The rumours had been flying around for months. Some pursuing the small matter that it was his confession that he was obsessed with fame which, of course, he had denied. Who would know he was really desperate for fame and all the glamour that went with it?
The day dawned far too early for Gilderoy, though the thought of admiring fans and hordes of people fighting to see him was just too tempting for him not to get up. He took several hours in the bathroom, scrubbing his feet and pushing back the cuticles on his manicured nails. He dressed in a very expensive robe of dark beige before seeing to his glossy gold locks, which he used grooming products on at least twice a day to make it stay in its gorgeous state.
Eventually, he arrived to a huge reception, reporters from Witch Weekly to Transfiguration today were all clamouring for him to give them just a minute of his time. He stood up on the small stage that had been set up with a table, several large inkbottles, and a copy of his new book.
He beamed as the people surrounded the stage, pushing and shoving each other to get the best view of him. Him. Several magical flashes of light went off from cameras.
"Thank you. Thank you," he said in a suave, sophisticated voice that made several women at the front swoon, fanning themselves with their hands. "I would like to welcome you all to my official book signing of A Man Desperate for Fame." The crowd cheered ecstatically, clapping as they jostled with their neighbours for a better view of him. He sat down on the chair provided, pulling out his precious peacock feather quill. His favourite.
"Mr Lockhart! Sir! Could I possibly have a photo of you signing a copy of your book?" a photographer asked eagerly. Gilderoy smiled showing off his pearly white teeth, he flipped his blonde hair slightly before replying.
"Of course!" The more publicity he got, the more famous he became. The more, the better in his own opinion.
A witch at the front was gestured forward clutching her copy of the book as if it were her most treasured possession. As she drew nearer, Gilderoy couldn't help notice that she was batting her eyelids at him constantly, as though she had something in her eye. Not that he minded his female admirers; in fact he loved them almost as much as himself, but, not quite.
"What's your name my lovely?" he asked charmingly, taking the book from her and opening it to the front page. One of the assistants unscrewed the bottle of ink allowing him to dip his enormous quill into it ready for signing.
"Veronica, Veronica Smethley," she said breathlessly. Gilderoy's eyes widened slightly. Not the Veronica Smethley that had sent him— no, he was being stupid as per usual. She didn't seem like stalker material. Infact she looked quite weak and helpless as if she was about to faint. He smiled at her, posing for the photographer who took the photo joyously and began to dance around, he would not be losing his job after all.
"To Veronica. May-you-enjoy-reading-my-book. All-my-love, Gilderoy Lockhart," he said, stating what he was writing as he scrawled it out on the plain parchment page and handed the newly signed book back to her. She thanked him faintly, lingering as she opened her book up and gasped in sheer delight at the beautiful loopy writing.
*
Twelve hours later Gilderoy wasn't feeling amused. According to the assistant he had signed over fifteen hundred copies of his novel, a record in itself. His hand felt like it was about to drop off at any moment, he had completely ruined his enormous peacock feather quill and to top it all off his hair had turned into a ball of fuzz. He looked more like he had been dragged through several hedges backward without mercy.
He wiped away droplets of sweat from his brow with the arm of his beige robes, only to find that he know had a huge smear of brown streaked across his forehead. He had failed to read the label stating. Warning: If material comes into contact with liquid could stain skin for a matter of months.
He groaned, hitting his head against the table repetitively.
"Fame isn't all it's cracked up to be..." he murmured closing his eyes.
.
Author's notes: Please review, this is a one-shot idea that I had whilst revising. Exams suck.