Gilderoy Lockhart was glad to be back to his chambers, his new wand safely tucked inside his robes. The day had been exhausting, and he longed for nothing more than a nap — without high-octane children around, and certainly without golden-eyed conmen to interrupt. He hoped that his naked guest from last night would have found his way to his own home.
When he pushed the door to the living room, the place appeared empty enough. The long shadows of late afternoon made everything look softer, quite perfect for resourcing himself. An hour from now, Gilderoy pondered, he'd call for some dinner. Then an early bed, and in the morrow he would try and find himself a way to Hogwarts or, at the very least, England.
This train of thought was interrupted by several things — first and foremost by what felt like a truck crashing into his midsection and sending him tumbling to the floor. "What?" he gasped.
A big teenager with fantastic hair was straddling him.
"What?" he cried.
"Who the hell are you and what's this place," shouted the boy. Man. Youth. Whatever. American accent.
"What?!" he plaintively added for good measure.
There was a bit of silence during which our hero didn't move. Americans were notoriously twitchy, no need to give that one a reason to shank him as if they were in a bad Chicago suburb (Gilderoy Lockhart had once been to the States on a book tour, and his local editors had been quite clear that he wasn't to wander off unaccompanied) (he had also visited Yellowstone that time, and the bear advice had stuck). Since, however, the teen didn't move either, our hero felt that talking was appropriate and, for once, he tried to be truthful.
"I don't have a clue," he said. "Who are you yourself? And why would you punch me like that? I haven't done anything!"
With a sigh, the teen removed himself from our hero's lower torso, allowing him to move up with a grimace.
"I'm Steve," said Gilderoy's assaulter. "Steve Harrington. You?"
"Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class," snapped our hero. "Last night, I left a drunk Veela sleep off the hangover of a lifetime on this couch. You may have about the same hair, but you're definitely not him. You don't even speak the same language. Where're you from?"
"Hawkins, Indiana. You? You English or something? Is this England? Feels fancy."
"This is not England, you moronic Yankee. Like I said, I don't know what it is."
Gilderoy Lockhart finished to get up, and dusted off his robes. "I got here, let me see, the day before yesterday," he explained further. "Why did you attack me? Have I slept with one of your parents? Older siblings? Celebrity crush? Because I certainly never met you before, and you're much too young anyway."
The boy — Steve — had a look of severe disbelief over his face. His upper lip even curled in the process before he was able to voice a reply.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he finally croaked. "This whole place… I've spent the whole day looking at the window and it spooks me out, man, way more than the Upside Down ever did. It just looks too good to be true." As an afterthought, he also said that, to his knowledge, no acquaintance of his had slept with Gilderoy Lockhart. Gilderoy Lockhart looked a bit crestfallen. An uncomfortable silence fell.
At last, our hero remembered his manners as a host and waved his new guest to a seat. So much for a quiet evening.
"I'm so hungry," sighed Steve, rubbing his face. "Would you have anything to eat?"
It was then that Lockhart noticed the youth was wearing robes straight out of his (well, lord Celewhatever's) dressing. He pointed that out.
"What was I meant to do," shrugged the thief. "I couldn't stay naked. Please, can we order pizza or something?"
"Fair enough," agreed our hero. And he called loudly for Mister Secretary — he had found out during the day that, when he called, someone always ended up coming. It was just like having house elves.
Sure enough, a few instants later, Mister Secretary manifested himself, only to come back soon after with a tray loaded with salty things to munch on, nuts, fruits, two golden cups and a jug of water he very pointedly set in front of Steve. Once he was gone, Steve asked: "So you're not from these parts either? How did you get here?"
"Same as you did. I woke up stark naked with a terrible hangover, and everyone seems to think I'm some lord or something."
It had to be said, Gilderoy felt a bit smug about that. Having the upper hand, knowledge-wise, was a rare enough occurrence in his life that he felt allowed to savour it, and rub it in just a little bit. So he explained at length about what he had put up together so far: the Veela, the Guild, Annatar and Galadriel, and if he insisted a bit about his own cleverness in wand making, who was there to complain? But the wand, it seemed, puzzled Steve just like everything else did — that boy certainly wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. Gilderoy Lockhart was in the process of fishing said wand from his inner pocket, however, when a thought struck him.
"Say, Steve, you wouldn't be a Muggle, now, would you?"
The boy's expression stayed vacant for an instant, and then he grimaced. "Muggle? Don't even know the word. Is that like a, a regional thing?"
"Oh, good," said our hero. "Because if you were, you see, the Statute of Secrecy would prevent me from showing you — this."
With a grand sweeping gesture, Gilderoy Lockhart drew out his wand; of its own dramatic accord, the wand released a fantastic display of sparks, gold and — yes — black. Steve, who was picking hazelnuts from the bowl, raised his eyebrows.
"Wow," he said flatly. "You'd make a killing in Vegas. Is that where we are? Doesn't seem quite desert enough, though."
"We're not in Vegas. I've been to Las Vegas," explained our hero. "It's very noisy, there's skyscrapers everywhere, and you can walk the street dressed as a wizard and none of the Muggles care."
"Oh, so Muggles are people who live in Vegas. I was right, it was a regional thing, like your Geordies and Cockney and our Hoosier." Steve gobbled up a few salted nuts. "Anyway, my story is that yesterday night I was at a party, I played beer pong with some idiotic jocks, got unlucky as usual with the ladies although I had, like, the best wingwoman in the history of dating, crashed to bed, and woke up here. And you tell me that a guy who looked a bit like me but spoke the local lingo passed out on this couch. I don't know why or how, but it looks like we've been switched." He drank some water, grimaced, and concluded: "So there's probably been a very confused, what did you call him, Veela somewhere in Hawkins today who got me fired from my job because he didn't know to show up."
Until now, the thought hadn't occurred to Gilderoy Lockhart that some random Veela might have been suddenly promoted to teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts. It wasn't exactly comforting: he had been doing so well at his job, he hoped lord What-thing-or wouldn't get him fired. Because then he would have to kiss goodbye to the royalties of his next book. He thought Steve was very calm about his own ordeal, and expressed so to his guest. Steve, once again, shrugged.
"It sucks to be stuck in that weird place," he admitted. "But there doesn't seem to be a Demogorgon in sight, and that's a net positive as far as I'm concerned. You wouldn't believe the shit I've been through these past few years. Sorry for attacking you, by the way. I overthought it and I panicked."
"That was nothing," magnanimously forgave Gilderoy Lockhart. "I could have severely maimed you, you know; you've been lucky I wanted to spare you."
"Sure thing, bud," replied Steve with a straight face as he began digging into some small honey cakes. "So, have you seen any kidnappers around?"
The youth's callous attitude was starting to get on our hero's nerves, and he felt the need to assert who, in this room, was the boss — and that it was certainly not that teen of a Yankee. So, Gilderoy Lockhart coolly replied that, as far as he knew (and he knew quite a lot), there was no kidnapper. The switch had happened as if by fate, and there were certainly worse fates than becoming the all-powerful lord of a city of beautiful, and rich, Veelas. Although it was true that Gilderoy was quite anxious to get home, that was only because he had unfinished business there — business of the utmost importance, of course, quite unlike anything mister Harrington might have.
"Sorry," said Steve. "What did you say you job was again?"
"I'm a writer. I'm also a teacher at the Hogwarts School of Wizarding and Witchcraft, and was awarded the order of Merlin, third class, for exceedingly brave deeds in the fight against Dark Forces. Also made several times the cover of Witch Weekly. In a row."
There was a slight pause before Steve, visibly stunned by that array of titles, asked Gilderoy if he had hit his head. Schools of witchcraft didn't exist — although he had to say the order of Merlin sounded British enough to be real.
"Schools of witchcraft don't exist?" spat Gilderoy. "My dear, dear, young man, I already knew Americans were uncultured boors, but I thought that even a, a, midwestern redneck like you had heard of the Ilvermorny School! It is most prestigious! In your own country! I have taught there!"
He had been part of a two-day seminary on modern wizarding literature (at the beginning of his publisher-sponsored tour of America) where he had given a fifteen-minute talk, but that still counted as teaching. Hell, he could probably call himself an alumni too, since he had listened to the other presentations of the congress.
"Dude, I'm sorry," repeated Steve. "But magic, it doesn't exist. There's weird things all right, and there's the Upside Down, and superpowers like El has, but — wizards, wands, schools where you learn magic, and all that… Sorry to break it to you, that would make a neat book for kids, but it doesn't exist."
Gilderoy Lockhart was beyond furious. He was used to people (well, mostly Severus Snape) making snide disparaging remarks at him, because jealousy is a plague upon the world, but to doubt the very core of his being? What was that boy, a Muggle? So, Gilderoy drew his wand. He pointed it at his cup and bellowed: "Rosa sitflore!"
This spell — as easy as it was impressive — was meant to make a bouquet of roses appear in whatever vessel was at hand. Our hero had often used it to great effect in romantic endeavours, where the stronger will to seduce meant the more perfume. He therefore expected no scent at all. He was quite surprised.
Rather than a bunch of flowers, a rose-tree took root in the cup, making it fall on its side as it grew to impressive proportions. Vines grew around the cup, the spilled water as dew upon their leaves; flower buds formed before their own eyes and blossomed into yellow mossy flowers as an exquisitely delicate smell hovered about the room. As a small bonus, the wand also decided to sprout sparks like small silver stars. These came to rest amongst petals until they vanished and changed into pearls, that then fell rolling to the ground with a tinkling sound.
Turns out wands made out of Annatar's hair had a penchant for the dramatic. Who would have guessed?
Steve Harrington blinked. Twice. He touched a rose. His mouth was open with disbelief. He pricked himself on a thorn on purpose. The rosebush now covered the whole table, and he carefully lifted a few branches until he got the cup out of it — roots had completely surrounded it, and it took some tugging to free it.
"Wow," he said. After a few instants, during which our hero savoured his complete and utter victory like a cat enjoys fresh cream, Steve added: "Beats a Demogorgon. Is this, like, the opposite of the Upside Down? The Downside Up? Where everything's roses and stuff and magic exists?"
As much as it pained Gilderoy Lockhart to admit to ignorance, he was actually able to put his pride away (well, a small part of it, as the whole thing would have filled several rooms and three olympic swimming pools) to ask what that Upside Down thing was. He got a strange explanation that apparently would have been made easier if Steve had had a pen and paper, and it wasn't very clear, but he got the gist of it. An alternate dimension, then, a whole world same as the original one, except that it was dark all the time, haunted by bloodthirsty faceless creatures tall as a man who would gobble you alive — and a smaller version as well, dog-like in shape but not quite in temper. There was also a garbled tale about a girl with what Steve called superpowers, but that one was too complicated to follow. Our hero, always the pragmatic, focused on the important only, so he asked: "Have you ever thought of writing this in a book?"
Steve, who had to be the worst wizard in the history of magic, shrugged and said that no, he hadn't.
Our hero looked at him with the fascinated look of a squirrel that has at last found his nut. He slowly asked Steve if he would be willing to speak more about that Upside Down business. His fingers, still holding the wand, tingled. He was one Memory Charm away from a proper best-seller, one that would send his Hogwarts manuscript to the place where bad books belong (that is, a growing pile in the staff toilets at the Leaky Cauldron). This could absolutely be huge — to be said to have defeated a three-meter tall monster with a squid-flower for a face and to have discovered a proper, real, alternate dimension? Of course, that dimension would need to be sealed off in the last chapter, so no risk for loose ends.
Soon enough, Gilderoy Lockhart had assumed the role of Steve's off-the-book therapist. He would coax every single detail out of that boy, or he would die trying — not that it proved to be a difficult task, as Steve was more than talkative since Gilderoy gave every indication of believing him.
They were about halfway through the story of the disappearance of a child called Will Byers (which was absolutely gripping, our hero being brought on the edge of his seat for the sheer suspense and horror of it), and evening had quietly changed into night, when a visit from Annatar was announced.
As has been stated above, night had fallen, and lamps were now lit. While they gave off a blueish glow, eery and quite fitting for the telling of spooky tales, Annatar, however, shone like the sun. He wore extremely suggestive robes, all of a golden fabric with sheer patterns, and gems of many colours somehow managed to change the blue light in a shimmer of fire around him.
Gilderoy Lockhart rose to greet him, as effusively as he could (and he could do a lot in that respect). He had tucked away his wand faster than any Seeker had ever caught the Golden Snitch, and rand his hand by Annatar's waist. That creature may wave all the proverbial red flags in existence, but some things in life still were too good to pass. Annatar, in return, kissed his cheek, quite softly; when he turned to Steve, however, his amiable smile was but a facade ready to crack.
"Master Elrond," he said, "fancy seeing you there. I believed that you were still in Lindon, by the hem of the High King's robes. Had not our friend Tyelpe informed me that he had entertained you as his guest yesterday, I would still be under that assumption. What business, may I ask, do you have in Eregion?"
"Personal business," replied Steve, who had put on the semi vacant expression usually reserved, thought our hero, for teenagers used to lie through their teeth to authority figures. "And what brings you here so late?"
"Ah," sighed Annatar. "Blame Celebrimbor Telperinquar's wonderful charm — and I had this sudden idea for a ring of sorts, not quite conventional, worn elsewhere than on a finger, that prevented me from sleeping. So here I am, begging for the help of my favourite smith despite — or thanks to — the hour. The most talented, too. His hands work wonders, and I cannot wait to see them occupied again."
Our hero gave him a delighted smile in answer: that was the kind of wit that he personally found irresistible, and Steve's puzzled expression only added to the humour of Annatar's words. What a sheltered life that boy must have lived so far.
"Now now, my dear Annatar, you flatter me. I hope you're not jealous of the attentions I've given to master All-around — you must understand how important it is to please the High King's friend."
With the expert elegance of one used to charm his way through life, Gilderoy Lockhart whisked Annatar away from Steve, stealing a kiss as he did so.
Steve cleared his throat, earning himself a nasty look from Annatar, and tentatively asked: "Say, does anyone here know about compasses? Where could I get one?"
Our hero had never heard the word. Annatar, however, seemed to have, and perked up a little.
"Why would such devices be of interest to the High King's, ah, pawn?"
"It is not a question for you to ask," replied Steve not without grandiloquence.
There was a definite spark of interest in Annatar's eyes, now. Gears were turning behind his perfect face, and he gave an artificially bright smile before promising to send one in the morrow. It wasn't long before Annatar took his leave, shimmering away in the night like a scheming raccoon who had been given a particularly juicy piece of trash.
Once our hero was again alone with Steve, he asked what a compass was. His curiosity was piqued to the highest point.
"You don't know what a compass does? Shit, I knew the US is more technologically advanced than England, but, man," replied Steve. "You know, it's not often I feel clever. A compass shows you where the north is, something about magnets."
"But you can do that with a wand, too," objected Gilderoy Lockhart, taking out his wand again. He laid it flat on his palm and said Point me. The wand obediently spun on itself before settling in the direction of the wall. "It has come very handy to me during my travels."
"All right, David Copperfield. I'll check that when I get a real compass, you know."
Gilderoy Lockhart scoffed. His pride was wounded. But he still asked why Steve wanted a compass. The young man sighed and frowned like one not used to mental strain but who, given some time and gentle coaxing, would prove to be clever enough.
"I've told you about these little shits I'm always stuck babysitting, didn't I? They're proper nerds, these kids. Well, they figured out a way to find the doorways to the Upside Down using compasses. Dustin did, I think — the one with the tooth gap and the big mouth to go with it." Steve shrugged away some sort of nostalgia before going on. "So I thought. If this is the Downside Up or whatever, there must be a sort of portal somewhere to our world, and perhaps we can find it with a compass."
Reluctantly, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, third class, agreed that it made sense. To be outsmarted by a teenager (and an American one, to boot), stung — but then, he reasoned, the boy had more experience than him with alternate dimensions. And he hadn't come up with that one by himself, after all, only remembered it.
Comforted in his own intellectual superiority, our hero regained some confidence. His guest asked if he could once again crash the couch. As none of them knew where that Elrond was supposed to live, Gilderoy readily agreed. Despite himself, he was glad of the youth's company.