stanleybulstrode

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

Either Stanley Bulstrode was fishing for compliments or a glutton for punishment and Gilderoy, smile bright and gleaming in spite of himself, couldn’t help but be charmed by the request for feedback. He was surprised he hadn’t been slipped a comment card. “If you were doing awfully,” he replied glibly, easily, “I’d have faked an emergency call by now and made a hasty break for it out the service door. I think we can call that a passing grade, Bulstrode.”

And that was perhaps the first time anyone had called him a yenta, despite his penchant for gossip, and his eyebrows raised faintly, half-challenging and half-amused at the demand that he spill the good secrets. “I’m the very soul of discretion,” he replied dismissively, smile broad against the sneeze that sounded suspiciously like bullshit from Barty’s direction, “I’d never spread gossip across the campus,” another suspicious sounding sneeze greeted that statement and Gilderoy turned his head to eye Barty steadily with a polite, “Allergies, Barty?”

“Must be the dust,” he replied steadily with a bat of his eerie eyes.

“Must be,” Gilderoy concurred, turning his attention back to Stanley to lean in and happily let himself flirt, for once, with the kind of person he’d always thought wouldn’t have the time for people like him. Serious, dependable academics rarely involved themselves with overdramatic and frivolous creatures like himself. Or perhaps that had simply been his way of keeping the people who might get too serious at bay all these years. “So that’s what we’re doing,” he replied lightly, considering the naturally serious set of Stanley’s face and the graze of stubble on his jaw, “Keeping me on my toes?”

He grinned, the intent stare he’d fixed on Stanley dropping as he obliged in swapping their drinks, reaching for Stanley’s with an overwhelming sense of relief that he wouldn’t have to suffer through that abomination any further and washing the taste of it out of his mouth with an untainted sip of whiskey. “Bold of you to assume he was ever trained,” Gilderoy replied with a grin, watching with faint amusement as Stanley downed the failed drink in one swift motion and coughed away the aftertaste like it might make it better somehow. “Or that I’ve ever ordered a whiskey sour from Barty. He simply .. does.”

Gilderoy’s nose wrinkled and he took another sip of his whiskey, realising that perhaps the failing of his wit was a sign that he’d had enough to drink. He was usually much better about controlling himself at faculty parties. “And on that note,” he patted at Stanley’s shoulder as he slid off his stool, steady as ever, and breathed out a faint huff of laughter, “I think I’ve had more than enough to drink and I have to meet families tomorrow,” the sheer horror on his face seemed to indicate his feelings on the matter, he hesitated a long moment before adding, “Well, are you going to walk me home?”

He supposed that would be a fair indicator that he was doing poorly, and Stan’s shoulders relaxed a little in relief. I didn’t completely fuck up, thank god. “Well I always aim for passing grades,” he hummed, perking up when a bright, brilliant smile was fixed onto him. Never in his dreams had Stan thought that smile would be shone his way, because of him, and he couldn’t stop from smiling back, albeit softer, more fond. “Glad to see I can keep up.”

More like glad that he was even allowed to keep up, as if some invisible force created a barricade between serious people like Stan and outgoing people like Gilderoy. 

He watched the banter between Barty and Gilderoy curiously, unable to stop his snort at Barty’s ill-covered bullshit. Clearly the two of them had an... interesting relationship, and whatever it was made for great entertainment. “You’d never, hm?” Stan shook his head and held up a hand. “Alright, don’t tell me. Maybe one of these days you’ll change your mind.”

“You should be thanking me,” he insisted, deciding to go along with the bit he started. “Same thing every day can get boring, so you’ve gotta have something of chance in there. For example... I doubt you thought you’d be coming here tonight.” Stan spread his arms out a little, palms facing up and head tilting slightly back. “On your toes.” Frankly, he wasn’t sure if that even made sense, but between his drink and the fact that his brain was still short-circuiting over being on a date with Gilderoy, Stan expected nothing less. This was only solidified when Barty’s awful concoction slid down his throat, tasting like something didn’t give a shit about what went into the glass. “Okay, yeah, we’re going to the Century next time. Mags will make you proper drinks if you’d like.” 

It was still probably presumptuous to say there would be a next time, but Stan had a good feeling about this. That didn’t stop the uncertainty that curled in his stomach when Gilderoy got up, signalling a close to their night, but he made sure both drinks--bad as the one was--were paid for before getting up himself. He laughed at the horror on Gilderoy’s face when he mentioned meeting families, and after a long, uncertain moment: Are you going to walk me home?

Stan grinned and nodded, heart pounding in his chest. “I’d love to,” he murmured, deciding to be brave yet again and offering a hand for Gilderoy to take. If he didn’t want to, Stan understood, but if he did... well, the option was there. “I’m ready when you are.”

[stanleybulstrode]

registrar-dolores‌:

Dolores could imagine a million other people who would be more suitable for Stanley. “Literally, anyone else.” Dolores shrugged, unable to come up with a name, “At this point I might approve Ted Bundy before Gilderoy Lockhart.” Honestly Stanley didn’t need Dolores’s approval ( he was a grown man ) but she supposed that’s what friends did. Sought out each other’s advice. The word had never seemed like it was for her but here she was, a good man claiming her as his. Was this growth? Was she becoming a better person? As she looked around the office, everything seemingly in its place, Dolores tried to push those deeper, complicated emotions away. Now was not the time.

“Thank you.” Dolores answered, taking Stanley’s comment at face value. Believing that he was offended on her behalf and not noticing the slight smirk on the man’s face at the mention of Gilderoy insulting her precious babies. “Well, Stanley, I’ve never been short on ambition so it was relatively easy.” she answered, reveling in her strange accomplishment, “Gilderoy is too busy rubbing elbows with the other faculty, it only took about an hour…I got the glue from one of those obnoxious big box stores that try to force free samples down your throat.” Dolores moved into the room more, her fingers pushing the stapler on Gilderoy’s desk. “Not my most genius plan, of course, but irritating non-the-less. I almost feel bad for the maintenance people who will probably be called to peel the picture frames off the wall.”

“Really? Ted Bundy?” Stan stared at Dolores with wide eyes, trying to process that. She’d rather him be with a renown serial killer than be with Gilderoy Lockhart. “I know you two don’t really get along, but that seems a bit of a stretch.” He sighed and pocketed his hands, knowing the likelihood of getting through to Dolores about Gilderoy was slim to none. “I like him a lot, that’s all. If things go well between us, can you try to behave with one another? And before you say anything, I’d ask the same of him.” After their impromptu date, Stan was confident that he at least had a good start with Gilderoy. It was better than admiring from afar.

She was certainly not short on ambition, that much he knew as a fact.  Dolores Umbridge was someone he could be certain would get a job done, particularly if there was something in it for her. “An hour? I’m impressed.” And maybe he shouldn’t be impressed by the gluing of someone he was trying to woo, but he couldn’t help it; super gluing everything in an office was impressive. “We’ll probably hear him yell about it from across campus before someone could actually start taking this stuff down. Poor janitors.” Stan looked at Dolores with a raised eyebrow. “You know he’ll probably retaliate, right?”

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

A fortifying sip of his (frankly terrible) drink was all the preparation he was allotted before Stanley was nudging gently at his flimsy distractions, a smile surprised from his lips as he laughed, half-frustrated, with an insistence of, “I’m not a generous marker, Stanley, are you sure you want to know your grade?”

Which was, embarrassingly, rather high considering the choice of venue or the spontaneous nature of this whole night. He had begun his night with the ritualistic spiking of the Longbottom Juice and now — well now he wasn’t entirely sure how it was going to end. “Very generous of you to think so,” he replied, turning the glass before him in circles upon the bartop and shooting a wry smile his way, “I’d pretend it was true but mostly I come here for the gossip. Bella gets all the best gossip.”

And perhaps he’d veered into condescending territory with that particular comment, a thought that concerned him perhaps a little more than it should have done. Gilderoy had never felt particularly inclined to safeguarding the delicate feelings of the men he dated — especially on the first date. “Not too bad?” His eyebrows raised faintly in amusement, smile morphing into something wider as he leaned a little heavier onto his elbow and eyed him shrewdly. “A glowing compliment, Stanley, is this how you flatter all the boys?”

Knocking the side of his boot playfully against Stanley’s ankle to ensure he knew he was kidding he took another sip of his drink and was entirely unable to hide the immediate wrinkle of his nose in dismay that followed. “Dear lord, that’s terrible, I can’t do it, we have to switch,” he nudged his own tumbler towards Stanley and beckoned emphatically for Stanley to cough his up. “Go on, Bulstrode, be a gentleman.”

Are you sure you want to know? For a moment, Stan was tempted to laugh it off and say no, he didn’t truly want to know how much he might have been fucking up, but Gilderoy was laughing and smiling with him all night, so maybe it wouldn’t be as harsh as he was famed to be. “I think I would like to know, yes,” he finally said, raising an eyebrow. “I’d rather hear it directly if I’m doing awfully.”

Ah, so he came here for gossip. Stan couldn’t say he was surprised, really; Gilderoy seemed the type to hoard gossip like gold and use it later on. Not that that was a bad thing, of course, but still. “I see,” he said slowly, sipping at his drink. “You’re a regular old yenta, aren’t you? Tell me: what’s the most interesting thing you’ve heard from her, if she’s truly the best gossip?” His smirk indicated that he was pulling his leg, purposefully making a bigger deal out of the gossip than necessary, but Stan would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious.

Gilderoy leaned closer to him, grin wide and amusement on his face, and Stan’s breath caught slightly in his chest. In all his time of admiring Gilderoy from afar, he hadn’t thought that smile would be fixed onto him like it was now--teasing, but still there, rather than a figment of his imagination. “Only the ones I like,” he murmured, shifting in his seat so he was a bit closer to the other. “Would you like me to inflate your ego? Surely you already know how handsome you are. I figured that much was obvious already. Gotta keep you on your toes.”

He chuckled when Gilderoy’s boot met his ankle and lifted his glass again, nearly getting the rim of it to his lips before the other’s disgust for his drink was too much. He couldn’t say whiskey sour was his favorite drink, especially when it looked the way Barty had made it, but that didn’t stop Stan from sliding his glass over to Gilderoy and taking the other one in turn. “I feel like he needs to be retrained,” he said, not caring if Barty heard as he took a sip. His nose immediately crinkled in disgust, and Stan shook his head. He might have to down it like a shot to be done with it. Stan stared for a moment, thought about drinks that were far worse than this, before simply tossing the remains back and shaking his head with a cough. “Never order that from here again,” he managed after a moment. “God, at least it’s gone now.”

[stanleybulstrode]

registrar-dolores‌:

“Oh, well then..” Dolores said, shifting awkwardly in her seat before clearing her throat. It wasn’t often ( or ever ) that someone called her a friend. She was sneaky, underhanded, and generally unpleasant to most people. While it had seemed like a curse when she was younger, Dolores had learned to embrace her faults as she aged, using them to her advantage. She always had acquaintances, family members, but not many would deign to use the word friend in the same sentence as Dolores Umbridge. Stanley must have something wrong with him. “If you’re asking, Stanley, I think you can do much better.” she offered swiftly, always ready to offer her opinion on the man, “You deserve someone who isn’t so narcissistic.”

“Oh, the usual things. Besmirching my name all around Ravenwood like it’s his hobby. Calling my cats feral, ugh..The monster.” Dolores clicked her tongue in disdain, as if even speaking of Gilderoy put a bad taste in her mouth. “Most of it.” Dolores answered, a smirk gracing her features as she got to her feet to follow Stanley through the theater, “I was anxious to stay out of the line of fire but if you can keep your mouth shut, I’d be thrilled to show you my handiwork.” Once they had stepped into the hallway, Dolores took the lead as they silently made their way towards Gilderoy’s office. Thankfully, it was on the same floor. As they approached the doorway, there was a wicked, delighted smile on her face. “The man should really learn to lock his office.”

Dolores seemed uncomfortable when he called her a friend, and for a moment Stan considered apologizing for assuming they were. He stopped himself, though, because why should he apologize? Odd as the two of them were, he did consider her a friend, and whether she would admit to it or not he had the feeling that it was reciprocated. She gave her genuine opinion a moment later, and Stan snorted quietly because yeah, he couldn’t exactly dispute that. It was well known that Gilderoy was rather full of himself. “I won’t say you’re wrong,” he said with a shrug. “but everyone has their flaws. What kind of person do you think I should be fawning after, if not Gilderoy?”

“The horror,” he agreed, chewing his cheek to keep from smiling or laughing. The rivalry between Dolores and Gilderoy knew no bounds, and more often than not he seemed to be stuck in the middle of the feud. “I’m offended on behalf of your cats.” Stan kept his pace to match Dolores’, holding up his hands to show that he wouldn’t give anything away. When they got to his office Stan hesitated, glancing to the side and smirking at the wicked grin on her face. “Amateur mistakes,” he agreed before opening the door and stepping inside. Dolores hadn’t been exaggerating--she had superglued everything possible to their surfaces, and Stan attempted to move a pencil case on the desk to see how good of a job she did. It didn’t even budge. “How the hell did you get all the glue for this? Or the time, for that matter? This must’ve taken a bit.” He couldn’t hide the awe from his voice, though, not that he would’ve tried to.

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

Whether Stanley was faking it until he made it or genuinely confident that they would be going on a second date, Gilderoy was amused enough by the sentiment (or at least caught off guard enough to resist the urge to be his usual self and question it) to let it lie, head tilting to a considering angle before conceding, “I’ll hold you to that.”

And he was curious anyway, Ravenwood was hardly a thriving metropolis of things to do but Gilderoy had never ventured into the Century. Any considerable amount of time away from his job meant jetting off to elsewheres on solo adventures or with Sofia, though that schedule had changed somewhat with the addition of Blaise to the mix. He refused to acknowledge that his life had perhaps become a little more stationary or the thought that Stanley had found him approachable was a sign he was losing something of his sharper edges. You’re still here. 

“I suppose that means you’ve got a passing grade,” he offered at length, waiting for the usual restless itch for freedom to kick in at any minute and unable to stop the feeling of surprise when it didn’t, an oddly comfortable feeling keeping him on his barstool even as Barty ratted him out like snitching wasn’t frowned upon in his line of work. His head tilted in concession, a remorseless smile spread wide across his face, “The owner is a dear friend of mine.”

He took another sip of his whiskey sour (wrinkling his nose against the god-awful concoction) before adding, when it became clear that wasn’t actually an explanation, “You seemed so proud of yourself for the suggestion, I didn’t want to burst your bubble. Besides,” he turned on his barstool towards Stanley, resting an elbow strategically atop the cocktail napkin on the bar that Barty had added as an afterthought and turned on his very best smile, like it might just wipe the last few minutes off the board or detract from the fact that Barty was still hovering, “You’re cute.”

An eloquent misdirection if he did say so himself. 

The fact that Gilderoy wasn’t scoffing or laughing at the implication of another date with Stan (and he supposed that this was really a date, wasn’t it?) was a success in his book, and Stan smirked a bit, mostly to himself. He was bad at flirting, sure, but he must have had some charm still--like he’d said, Gilderoy was still there. He took a sip of his drink and watched Gilderoy curiously while the silence dragged, slightly surprised at how comfortable it felt. He didn’t necessarily feel the need to fill it with mindless chatter (not fully, anyway), so that had to mean something, right? Even if Gilderoy was evaluating him and making him feel like a spotlight was on him.

“Passing grade, huh?” he responded, gladly falling into the banter while his heart skipped a beat. That was as good of a confirmation as any that he was doing something right, and even the beady-eyed stare of Barty the Bartender couldn’t ruin his mood. “Now I’ve gotta wonder if I’m barely passing or somewhere up there.” Curious as it was, he raised an eyebrow to convey that he was joking so he didn’t start pushing his luck. The other eyebrow joined the first when Gilderoy said he was a dear friend of the Dark Mark’s owner, and that was certainly something he didn’t see coming. Not that he could say much--Stan didn’t know the person, after all, and people probably thought him odd for befriending Dolores Umbridge of all people--but it certainly changed his perspective on who Gilderoy Lockhart was outside of Bard Theater. “Then I guess it makes sense you’d come here a bit. Supporting a friend and all.”

“You make me sound like an overzealous puppy,” he said into his glass, hoping it would hide his slight embarrassment. Did he really come across as that proud and eager? Did Gilderoy go to the Dark Mark with him just to humor Stan’s attempt at asking him out? The thought dampened his mood slightly, reflecting a bit on his face, but then Gilderoy called him cute, and he felt his face burn as his eyes widened. Cute, huh? That certainly lifted his spirits if nothing else. He looked up fully at Gilderoy and smiled more genuinely than the confident smiles he’d been putting on the entire evening, licking his lips as he said, “You’re not too bad yourself, Gilderoy.”

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

“The audacity,” he replied with an amused raise of his eyebrows that was just as swiftly discarded with a puff of laughter, Gilderoy settling into the bar stool and drumming his fingers across the bartop, glancing sidelong at Stanley as he spun a story about a fugitive, on the run for treason, and his own casino. “You own a Casino but the first place you thought of to impress me was The Dark Mark?”

Gilderoy’s grin was far too wide, thoroughly amused as he huffed out another laugh, “When’s the last time you asked anyone out, Bulstrode? You’re burying your lead there.” And really, it was endearing. Gilderoy was endeared by it. He didn’t know whether that said more about him or Stanley.

He turned his head aside with a faint shake of his head, finding Barty had returned behind the bar to stare at him in that direct, eerie way of his when he had more information than he probably should. Gilderoy raised his eyebrows pointedly, making what he hoped was a subtle gesture designed to encourage Barty to just play along. The little shit just grinned at him, like he was considering dropping Gilderoy in it entirely.

“A good punch is an artform,” Gilderoy agreed, unable to stop the smug curl of his lips at the thought of the potent concoction he unleashed upon the faculty at every party. “Though you can’t go wrong with a good whiskey — Director’s Special might be a little beyond tonight’s selection.”

And Barty was cruising down the bar towards them with a cloth in hand, like he’d ever wiped a counter a day in his life, and the sight of it drew Gilderoy’s eyebrows together in a tiny furrow. “The usual, Gil?” he asked with a broad smile that was clearly designed to ruin all of Gilderoy’s hard work for the night.

Gilderoy sighed. “You know I don’t have a usual, Barty.”

Barty had already thumped a glass down on the bar and reached for a bottle of bourbon (bourbon, the little heathen) making a bastardised whiskey sour with a smug smile that strongly suggested he knew precisely what he was doing. He slid it in front of Gilderoy with raised eyebrows, like he was just daring him to push it back at him before turning his attention onto Stan and asking, “Who’s your friend?”

Bellatrix, Gilderoy thought, would never do him wrong like this. 

“Stanley,” Gilderoy sighed after a moment, waving a hand towards Barty, “Barty. Barty, Stanley. Barty is the world’s worst bartender.”

Gilderoy took a sip of his drink and immediately wrinkled his nose in dismay. “Too heavy on the sour, Barty.”

He chuckled as Gilderoy did, though he became a little uncertain when he brought up how they could have gone somewhere so much nicer than the Dark Mark. The Century would have been a much more appropriate place to take someone like Gilderoy: much nicer, and Stan would know what to expect in terms of service and quality of, well, everything. But he was grinning much too widely to be disappointed or put-off by Stan’s attempt of taking him out, and his heart beat a little faster in his chest as he replied, “Like I said: impulse. Next time I can take you to the Century, how’s that?”

Though maybe he was being a bit presumptive again with implying a second date, but being confident was much better than being uncertain, so he rolled with it. Gilderoy’s question made him laugh, and he scratched at his chin as he leaned his elbow against the bar beside him. “It’s been a few years, I’ll admit that,” he said, hanging onto that confidence as he continued with, “Guess I can’t be doing too badly though, right? I mean, you’re still here, so I’m hoping that means something good.”

“I didn’t exactly expect to get Director’s Special here, so we’re good on that front,” he said, eyes darting up as he saw a particularly shady-looking bartender wiping down the counter top and making his way toward the two of them. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, and Stan raised an eyebrow when the bartender stopped in front of them and addressed Gilderoy by name, asking about a usual. Gilderoy’s response sent his other eyebrow up with the first, and a small, cocky smile began to grace his face. 

“Barty, huh?” he asked, straightening his posture a bit and nodding. “Nice to meet you. Whiskey on the rocks, if you will.” Stan snorted when Gilderoy made a face at his whiskey sour and took his glass when it was served up. Definitely not the best, he noted after a sip, but better than nothing. “Remind me to introduce you to Mags. Her drinks are killer.” 

Another moment passed, and then Stan finally said, “So you’ve never been here before, hm? Never frequented here? Think Barty here proved that wrong, though I can’t say I know why you’d act like you haven’t been here before.”

[stanleybulstrode]

registrar-dolores‌:

The sappy smile on Stanley’s face spoke volumes and immediately Dolores had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Another victim of Gilderoy’s effervescence apparently. For some reason, Stanley’s interest in Gilderoy had always irked her a little more than anyone else’s. He was privy to their disagreements, Dolores had told him enough over time, and he still fancied the man. It didn’t make the least bit of sense. Dolores made a sour face, like she had tasted something especially disgusting. “Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, Stanley.” She sighed, knowing that pressing the issue anymore might offend the man and for some reason, she actually cared about doing something like that. “You know very well how I feel about him, so you can imagine what I would say about your interest in the man. I suppose, it’s not my place to say anything though.”

“Fine, fine.” she answered, furrowing her brow. She wondered if it would be a bad idea to admit guilt to someone who openly admitted to an infatuation with the man. He would find out tomorrow and usually look in her direction first. Dolores was his favorite scapegoat after all. “He left his office door open and I superglued most, if not all, of his things down. I can show you, if you like?”

Dolores’ disgust toward his infatuation with Gilderoy wasn’t unknown to him, and Stan half-expected her to go off on how horrible he was the moment he brought her roommate up. Hell, he could almost see her fighting the urge to show disgust, then actually cave and look sour, but rather than do what he expected she simply let it go with a blanket statement toward how she’d differ from his view of Gilderoy. It was much more mature than she normally acted when he was mentioned, so Stan gave her a grateful smile and shook his head. “Now I wouldn’t say that,” he said, eyebrow raised. “We might disagree on that front, but you’re still my friend Dolores. I’d say that means it is your place to voice your opinion to me.”

Stan stared for a moment as Dolores told him what she’d done, like a kid showing off her crayon drawings on the wall. Superglue. His first instinct was to question why she would do that, maybe even scold her like he would his children, but most of him was impressed that she managed to do all of that. “Do I want to know what he did that spurred that on?” Stan asked slowly, only for the corners of his lips to twitch up. “But now I’ve got to see this. You really got all of it?” And maybe it was bad to encourage something like that toward the man he was crushing on, but gluing down all of Gilderoy’s things without being caught? Impressive. He got up from his seat and gestured for her to follow. “Come on then. Let’s go see it.”

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

“A trial run,” he echoed slowly, teasingly, eyebrows inching upward in a way that was certainly designed to make Stanley squirm for trying to elicit another date before he’d even made any moves to ensure the first was a success. Honestly, it was cute, if not a likely harbinger of bad taste to come, but Gilderoy was frankly a little curious to see exactly how Stanley intended on pulling this night off. Anything had to be better than another round of Karaoke Frank’s greatest hits.

“And now I don’t just spend time in dive bars, I frequent them,” his eyes darted towards Stanley, amused as they closed in on the looming shape of the Dark Mark up ahead, and perhaps it was just this side of mean to be egging him on but Gilderoy had never pretended to be anything but a terror. “Maybe you are onto something Stanley, maybe I own shares in the place and you suggesting we come here was all a devious plan on my part that I’ve been sowing the seeds for all this time and tomorrow you’ll wake up in bath of ice minus a kidney.”

 A brief, amused puff of laughter escaped him, expression wry as he offered, “Oh I can guarantee there’s been more than one Elvis impersonation in that household, from wig to sequinned suit.”

Not an image that Gilderoy needed to indulge in, if the wrinkle of his nose had been any indication, but he carried on through the entrance to the Dark Mark with only a brief, amused glance backward as Stanley held the door for him, the relative quiet of the shadiest bar in Ravenwood a testament to the fact that the semester had yet to begin. He winked as he passed Barty clearing a table, receiving a suspicious squint in return that seemed to be leading towards a question so he made a sharp beeline for the bar. There was no sign of Bellatrix tonight. Perhaps it was her night off.

“You said something about a rebellious phase earlier,” he prompted as he eased onto a barstool like he belonged there. “What was your poison of choice back then?”

Stan gave an embarrassed laugh when Gilderoy continued to tease him, though it wasn’t like he hadn’t earned the treatment. He wasn’t exactly at the top of his game at present, and had intended to ask Gilderoy out in a much better way than implying a dive bar was the man’s venue of choice, but he seemed curious and amused so Stan was determined to make that work in his favor. “Probably could’ve phrased that better, but you get the idea.”

And maybe Gilderoy going on with the mishaps Stan kept spewing out of his mouth was a bit mean, or at the very least confusing since he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d managed to shove his foot in his mouth before the night began, but there was a twinkle of amusement in Gilderoy’s eyes and Stan had learned over the years to roll with the punches thrown his way, so he snorted and shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve heard, if you can believe it. I owned and ran a casino for years before teaching here; now I just own.” He felt a familiar pang in his chest, one that always accompanied his thoughts of the Century and his years building it from the ground up, but it was in good hands and he knew it. “Once had a guy tell me he was on the run from several countries’ governments for five accounts of treason, only to buy everyone in house a drink a few seconds later. Kinda hoping he was joking, but the amount of money we made that night was killer.”

Stan wrinkled his nose as the image of Frank in an sequined Elvis costume showed up in the forefront of his mind, though Gilderoy’s huff of laughter distracted him easily enough. So far, so good--they seemed to be getting along well, better than Stan could’ve hoped. Maybe there was a chance after all, so long as he didn’t mess up.

Despite the teasing back-and-forth they had going on, Gilderoy did look like he belonged there, far more comfortable in their surroundings than he would have expected. Perhaps he was onto something after all, though if he pointed that out he had a feeling it would be deflected into another joke, so he let it drop for the moment. Instead he chuckled and shook his head, getting onto the barstool beside Gilderoy and thinking. “Depends on where I was, really. There was this one frat house that was known for their parties, and one of the guys who lived there made a different punch every time that could knock anyone’s socks off. First time I had it, I was wasted two cups in.” Stan smiled at the memory and shrugged. “Anything else, though, and I’ve always fallen back onto something with whiskey in it, straight or mixed.” He paused. “Though I’m a bit of a snob with that. Can’t go cheap on taste--I’ve always been particularly fond of Director’s Special.”

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

Inclining his head as if to take a bow, he winked at the decidedly bold suggestion that inciting an in-college mutiny was something he would do for purely entertainment reasons. “I can almost hear the people sing,” he replied with an amused bat of his eyes, flicking aside his cigarette and crushing it beneath the toe of his shoe as he considered whether or not it was a symptom of a crush or merely boredom that might incite a man to tangle with the terror of the Drama Department. 

Stanley was either a masochist, a blind optimist or .. or Sofia was right about him.

Gilderoy wasn’t entirely sure which option was the better one quite yet. 

“Oh, there’s always a reason,” he agreed with a wry twist of his lips, eyeing Stanley perhaps a little too sharply as if he could determine what it was he was looking for here except, well, except he didn’t have to question it if the man was going to say it outright, did he? He was asking him out, with nary a stutter or dip of his eyes and clearly Gilderoy wasn’t in fine enough form if that was the case. Sofia would be wildly disappointed in him. “So that’s what this is?” he asked lightly, head tilting as he stepped back onto the main footpath, eyebrows arched upward in amusement, “You’re asking me out and your very first inclination is to ask me to a dive bar?”

And oh, he was a terror wasn’t he? He couldn’t stop himself from teasing the poor man, as if the Dark Mark wasn’t a regular haunt of his. Stanley didn’t need to know that though. “First I’m not scary and now I’m the type of man who frequents dodgy student bars? What on earth have you heard about me, Stanley?” his smile was broad, accompanying the teasing tone of his voice.

“Oh, I think we all know far too much about the Longbottoms and their curious ideas about foreplay,” he sighed aloud, following a familiar path on autopilot away from the distant hum of The Leaky Cauldron towards a far less sanitary watering hole. “More than I ever wanted to know, if I’m being entirely honest. I’m starting to think it probably involves polyester Elvis costumes and wigs.”

His nose wrinkled, as the familiar pound of bass began to crawl up the street towards them, the distant grimy glow of The Dark Mark of a Tuesday evening awash across the dark pavement. “You should watch out for your wallet,” Gilderoy replied, his face not betraying a hint of the amusement coiled on the back of his tongue as he turned toward the entrance, looking to pick out the hulking form of Rodolphus Lestrange loitering near the doors and finding him curiously absent.

It was a Tuesday, after all.

Stan snorted at Gilderoy’s reference and bow toward the possible mutiny he’d caused, though he felt like a deer in headlights a moment later when Gilderoy registered that this was them going out. Stan looked his way and examined his face; he didn’t seem to be against the idea, at least not physically, though he did seem amused as he teased him about the location. The important thing was that he wasn’t saying no, and that alone filled Stan with at least a little more confidence, even as he gave a small, embarrassed chuckle and rubbed his neck. “If you don’t mind it being that, then yeah. I’d like that.” Though a dive bar certainly hadn’t been the location he’d had in mind. “I didn’t exactly plan for this to be the date, not what I had in mind, but uh... maybe consider this a trial run? For whether or not you’d like to go out properly?” He took a deep breath and glanced back at Gilderoy. “If you’re interested, obviously.”

The smile that was sent his way set his nerves at ease though, and he smirked at Gilderoy as they walked along. “Well I’ve heard something about being a terror from the man himself,” he joked, shaking his head. “Everyone has their haunts. For all I know, this could be yours. You didn’t exactly say no to going, after all, so maybe I’m on to something here.”

“God, please don’t put that image into my head,” he said with a disbelieving laugh, absolutely not wanting to think of Frank dressed as Elvis as a form of foreplay but definitely being able to imagine it as an accurate statement. Though he’d said not to mention it a second ago, Stan smirked and proceeded to go on with, “Do you reckon he does that accent and everything? He probably sings the songs, if the karaoke is anything to go by.”

Gilderoy seemed to get a lot more serious the closer they got to the Dark Mark, and Stan started to think maybe he wasn’t that far off with the place being one of his haunts as he moved his wallet to his front pocket instead of the back one. It wasn’t like he’d never been to shady places before--he’d been a teenager after all--but he didn’t stop himself from thinking of a plan B in case Gilderoy decided this was definitely not somewhere he wanted to go for their pseudo date. He could have sworn he’d seen a figure standing outside of the place when he’d passed by before, though, so Stan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Gilderoy. “Guess we can just go in,” he said, heading over to the door and holding it open for Gilderoy. “Let’s see what this place is about.”

[stanleybulstrode]

registrar-dolores‌:

“Oh you know I’m not actually serious, Stanley.” Dolores huffed, trying to shrug off his comment. She would swear sometimes people thought she was some kind of garden variety psychopath. “You should be used to melodrama.” she quipped, “Don’t you hang around Gildeory pretty often now?” Dolores could see that special sparkle in Stan’s eye whenever her mortal enemy was brought up in conversation. Stanley was a lovely man, he could honestly do much better. I mean, even Gilderoy’s mother seemed to like her better than her own son. 

“I did witness a pretty colorful breakup this afternoon…That’s not it though. I swear, where do you get these ideas that I enjoy other’s suffering?” Dolores wondered momentarily if she should keep up this charade. Deny, deny, deny. It was certain that Gilderoy would put two and two together eventually though. Despite his off-putting qualities, many found him charming for some apparent reason. It wouldn’t be difficult to finger the culprit if he really, truly tried. Not to mention there were security cameras in the building.  “Well you’re asking..” Dolores smirked, her body suddenly buzzing with excitement once more. “I’m assuming you want to know. Really, you must think before you ask such silly questions.”

The mention of Gilderoy automatically brought a softer smile to his face, and honestly he couldn’t help but crush on the man. Stan supposed he was pretty obvious, but he didn’t care much for whether people new, save for perhaps Gilderoy himself--and even now, after the previous night’s trip to the Dark Mark, even he probably knew. “Uh, yeah, we hang out a bit,” he said, glancing at Dolores. She’d never been subtle about her dislike for the man, though Stan couldn’t understand why. “I actually asked him out last night? Kind of? The words go out with me definitely came out of my mouth, and then we went to a dive bar of all places because I’m an idiot.” And Dolores most certainly did not want to hear about Stan’s infatuation, he was sure, so he shut up with an awkward chuckle.

“Only from our previous interactions, Dolores, I assure you,” he joked, shaking his head. He wondered how long Dolores would put off the topic, but then something seemed to shift and suddenly she was practically vibrating from excitement. Now Stan was definitely curious. “I asked, didn’t I? I don’t think it’s a silly question when you keep being coy with it. Now go on, what happened?”

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

“Law and philosophy getting along?” Gilderoy clucked his tongue in seeming disbelief, cheerfully playing along as he took another drag of his cigarette and his eyebrows arched upward theatrically, “For shame, that’s how you end up with legal ethics professors, Stanley, and we’ve got more than enough of those already.”

A soft puff of laughter escaped his lips in a whirl of smoke, eyes bright and amused as he turned upon Stanley to ask, “Does that sound like something I’d do?” The amused expression on his face seemed to suggest masterminding an entire departments rebellion for the sake of setting the mood for an upcoming production sounded exactly like something he’d do. “They really should be thanking me, they’d never have the balls to say anything if it wasn’t for the helpful little nudge I just gave them. Vive le proletariat, or whatever, Team Bourgeoisie and I will be watching.” 

The blasé wave of his hand as if to dismiss the nefarious plan he’d just set in motion was followed by a exhale of smoke, Gilderoy staring happily up at the dramatic wisps that billowed away from him before Stanley’s declaration that he wasn’t scary demanded immediate attention. His cigarette was unceremoniously dropped to the pavement, ground into the concrete beneath the toe of his shoe as he replied, “Oh, I promise you I’m a terror, Stanley. Just ask my TA’s.”

And he was fully prepared to defend his mutinous reputation when he was caught off-guard by Stanley’s proposition, a surprised bat of his eyes hastily covered by a tilt of his head and an amused, “I am one of your colleagues, Stanley,” while he hastily added this particular development into the ledger that Sofia was constantly stacking up as evidence in her favour for Stanley’s supposed crush. He considered the nervous little way that Stanley looked away to steel himself before replying, as nonchalantly as possible, “Though, when you put it like that I can hardly say no to a good dive bar, now can I? Particularly if it means I’m not subjected to another round of the Longbottoms mating dances.” 

He’d seen enough heavy eye contact while disco dancing and robot moves to last ten lifetimes, give or take.

Pushing off the brick he patted down his pockets to ensure he hadn’t left anything other than a suitable recipe for chaos behind him and came away satisfied before adding, “Shall we?”

He snorted as Gilderoy played along rather dramatically, and he feigned horror, placing a hand to his chest. “I suppose you’re right. I’m ashamed for even suggesting we bring in more legal ethics. Though I’m not sure what’s worse: that, or someone who believes they can make a career with a major in crafts--as in arts and crafts.”

Stan grinned when he made Gilderoy laugh, smoke billowing up from his lips like a halo, and he chuckled at the question when his face clearly said he would, with absolute certainty, do something like that. “Oh, I definitely believe that’s something you would do,” he said cheekily. “It has just the right amount of drama in it to be entertaining, and you benefit either way. A win-win all around.” He rolled his eyes at the notion of the English department thanking Gilderoy for this uprising, because that would certainly never happen. No, they’d take the credit for the mob that was sure to barge into Slughorn’s office tomorrow morning if the tides turned in their favor, and they were likely to give the credit right back to Gilderoy if it didn’t work in their favor. Vive le proletariat, hm? How very Les Miserables of you.”

And he’d heard of the terror that was Gilderoy Lockhart from students, TAs, and--specifically--one Dolores Umbridge, may have even seen a bout of said terror from a distance while he was walking across campus to get some fresh air, but that didn’t deter him. Rather, it spurred him on, because that was just one more thing he wanted to know about the man, but he wouldn’t know any of it if he didn’t ask the guy out. Asking him to the Dark Mark was a good first step, he supposed, but was that a date? Did that qualify? Stan had no clue. 

“If you’re being a terror, I’m sure there’s a reason,” he said, not catching the surprised look in Gilderoy’s eyes since he’d turned his head. He could imagine it, though, or maybe he was just projecting that onto him, but Stan was certain he’d be surprised if Gilderoy came out of the blue at him like that. I am one of your colleagues, Stanley, he said, and Stan bit his tongue before replying instinctively, You’re different. That would make things awkward, maybe, and he didn’t want to risk that. Not when they were about to head out. “The other colleagues, then,” he said instead, finally turning his head back to look at Gilderoy. “If I meant you too, Gil, I wouldn’t be keeping you company and asking you out, now would I?”

He realized, a second after he’d said it, what exactly he’d implied, but he focused on the courage that had even let him ask Gilderoy to the Dark Mark anyway and didn’t try to correct himself. It was bound to happen eventually, why not with a slip of the tongue? “I’ve seen enough Longbottom mating dances for a lifetime,” he said with a laugh, stepping away from the brick wall and nodding before starting his way toward the dive bar. “Yeah, let’s go.”

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

A mysterious wink and cryptic smile were all the answer that Stanley would get on the subject beyond a teasing, “Do you?” at least for now, around an impressive curl of smoke from his lips and the understanding that he had successfully ensnared himself a rapt audience. A magician never gave up the tricks of his trade.

“Look at us, bridging the divide between the arts and business,” he replied with a mocking, theatrical half-bow as he flicked the ash aside from the tip of his cigarette and rose to glance thoughtfully at Stanley from the corner of his eye. If he were to trust Sofia’s opinion (and she was usually right about such things) the man was besotted but Gilderoy had done his share of counter-surveillance, if only to prove her wrong, and Stanley was just as likely to bolt in the other direction as to approach him, let alone talk to him. Skittish beyond belief. That did not an admirer make.

“Oh, my work for the night is about done,” he replied with a languid sort of bliss that wasn’t entirely fed by the hit of nicotine in his system, “By morning they’ll have worked themselves up to enough of a lather to petition Horace about it and I’ll be staking out the admin building to witness the inevitable Newsies-esque show down. The poor disenfranchised English department versus the miserly Dean Slughorn. I do so love a show.”

Sighing happily as he lent his head back against the brick, smoke curling absently away from the lazy motion of his hand at his side he added with another wry glance in Stanley’s direction, “Well, are you scared of the big, bad, Head of Drama yet? I have a fierce reputation to maintain, you know.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at Gilderoy’s wink and smile, figuring he’d get no where with that line of questioning tonight. The smoke only served to make him look more dramatic, which was fitting considering his position at the school, but it also fit Gilderoy as a whole.The man lived for the dramatics, and Stan was happy to go along for the ride.

“What will the world think of next?” he quipped, chuckling at Gilderoy’s dramatic bow and watching him thoughtfully. Why couldn’t he ask the man out, at least for a drink? He was intimidating as a whole, but surely some of that was merely an act; such was the whim of performers. His lip twitched up when he caught Gilderoy’s eye, and he crossed his arms across his chest. “Next thing we know the law students will be getting on with the philosophy students. Imagine the horror that debate would bring to the table.”

Stan could picture the scene Gilderoy described vividly, if only because that was something the English department would absolutely do to get what they wanted, even if it was doomed from the start. He admired their perseverance if nothing else. “You know, if this was all just an elaborate plan to produce Newsies, you could have just said,” he joked. “Though I suppose it’s more fresh to see a live reenactment rather than a bunch of college students acting as kids for a few hours.”

Gilderoy leaned against the wall, smoke floating lazily away from the end of his cigarette, and there was something picturesque about the moment that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Stan’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “Nah, you’re not so scary. I think that reputation is more for the freshmen, at any rate.” He glanced back down the street, toward the Dark Mark, and took a deep breath. The worst he can say is no. “So, um... did you want to get out of here? Not sure I want to spend the night talking shop with our colleagues, and I’ve never actually been to the Dark Mark before. Been meaning to, though.” He paused and chewed the inside of his cheek. “If you want, I mean.”

[stanleybulstrode]

registrar-dolores‌:

“I don’t know why I decided to come for this trash.” Dolores sighed, as she leaned further back in her chair. She knew exactly why she had come and exactly why she was going to stay. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than inconveniencing Gilderoy. He had made such a fool of her the other day in front of the Bard staff and a host of undergraduates. Plus, he was still talking badly about her, mouthing off. Gilderoy often claimed Dolores was obsessed with him but she was certain he was obsessed with her. “Whoever picked this out should be shot.”

At Stan’s insistence that Dolores was much too happy, she simply snorted as if he were being ridiculous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stanley.” Dolores whispered, a satisfied smirk gracing her features, “I’m always in a good mood.” A lie, a flat out lie. Even Dolores, as delusional as she might be, knew that she was reaching pretty far with that blanket statement. The truth was on the tip of her tongue and she couldn’t resist letting a little something slip out, “I’m just having a very good day. I handled some things…Some personal errands.”

Dolores, Stan decided, was definitely unhappy with the movie situation and didn’t want to be here. She made that clear the moment she called it trash, which yeah, that was true, but still. He didn’t understand why she’d stay here if she wasn’t fond of the movie choice, but even still she looked happy and that was even more concerning. Actually no, what she said next was infinitely more concerning. Stan had to reconsider his friends. “No, we’re not going to be suggesting people get shot over a movie. That’s... no.”

Always in a good mood? Stan laughed, thankfully timed with the movie and the rest of the audience’s laughter. At least he wasn’t a major disturbance. “Dolly, you’re perhaps the most bitter person I know. Not that that’s a bad thing, but I think that gives me valid reason to be concerned when I see you happy.” He turned his head to look at her. “So what was it? Did you see some students fall down the stairs? Witness a breakup just before term starts?” At the mention of personal errands, Stan raised an eyebrow and gave her a curious look. “Handled some things? Do I want to know?

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

Looking too much like the cat who got the cream with absolutely no justifiable reason why, Gilderoy’s smile broadened further and he turned aside, glancing back from the corner of his eye to add a very serious and cryptic sigh of, “You have no idea.”

And while it wasn’t like Horace didn’t know how to throw a party (he still did, and frequently, although clearly Stanley hadn’t made it onto his radar yet to be inducted into the ever elusive Slug Club) the problem had been that nobody had ever really wanted to cut loose around their boss so they’d been stuffy and sedate affairs and frankly, there was nothing worse than a group of college professors crammed into one room. Plus the man had eyes like a hawk — he’d made it much more difficult to spike the punch. No, the Longbottoms had proven far more malleable hosts. He mulled over this as he lent against the brickwork, cigarette smouldering in hand before he took a long drag and politely blew the smoke in the opposite direction from his twitchy companion.

“Wrong?” he repeated with an amused bat of his eyes, whatever internal debate Stanley was having warring across his face, “No, I’d say that puts you in excellent company, actually. Mine, for starters.” And he’d never claimed modesty as a virtue, there was no reason to go starting now. “Though I wouldn’t blame you for avoiding what’s inside.” A smile, just this side of smug lingered on his lips as he inclined his head towards Stanley to stage whisper, “I may have let slip to Dawlish that the theatres getting a new projector and all the seats were being reupholstered this semester when I know he and Flitwick have been campaigning for new projectors in the Scamander building for the past two years. The entire english department are on the warpath.”

A satisfied sigh escaped his lips as he took another drag of his cigarette, humming happily to himself. Establishing the drama departments superiority when it came to allocation of budgets (or heavily donated budgets, as the case may be) was never sweeter than when someone had you trapped in an unwanted conversation extolling the virtues of the Beat Generation. 

There was mischief in that smile, the smugness of someone who knew perhaps too much for their own good, and Stan wanted to know what. You have no idea, huh? The question of what that meant lingered on his lips, because what could possibly happen at a Slughorn party that would bring that expression about? “I suppose I don’t,” he said. “Do I want to?”

He grinned when Gilderoy batted his eyes at him, chuckling and looking down at his feet. God, he felt like a teenager with a crush, but Gilderoy had that affect on people and, evidently, he knew it. “Well good thing I like your company,” he said, looking back up. “Better than helping Frank crowd surf.” He leaned in closer to listen to Gilderoy’s stage whisper, perhaps unnecessarily because of the volume and the fact that they were one of the few outside. Stan laughed in surprise at Gilderoy’s confession, eyes darting up to him. He’d heard several of Dawlish’s and Flitwick’s rants about the lack of funding given to their department, something Stan didn’t have to deal with personally since his subject was a popular major. “I’m sure we won’t be hearing the ending of it now,” he said with a shake of his head. “They’re already noisy as it is. Now they’re going to be unbearable.” The corner of his lips twitched up. “Not bad. Are you going to be sitting around with popcorn while they gather themselves to protest yet again?”

Not that he thought the English department didn’t deserve funding, because everyone deserved to have up-to-date equipment at their disposal. Still, why have a shitty theatre? That would just make for an awful viewing experience. He glanced back toward the Leaky Cauldron, not sure if he wanted to mingle with his colleagues, stay outside, or go elsewhere. The only other place he could think of was the Dark Mark, but that place was shady as hell. 

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

“You know they only introduced that sacred rule after someone started spiking the punch every year,” Gilderoy replied with a far-too-amused curve of his lips. “Would you believe that these functions used to be sedate little affairs held in Horace’s own home before the Longbottoms took over the planning?”

And Gilderoy had swiftly seized upon the opportunity to make them entertaining, which was practically his duty as both a responsible faculty member and a human being. Nobody else needed to know that however. Still, Stanley and his grey suits, who had always seemed responsible and easily-flustered and just this side of stuffy, didn’t entirely shut down that delicate suggestion of streaming Karaoke Frank’s latest show-stopping number so perhaps there was a little more wiggle-room to him than Gilderoy had always assumed. 

His eyes sparked with just a hint of wicked intent as he knocked his shoulder lightly into Stanley’s with a hum of, “That’s the spirit,” and cocked his head curiously to the side to watch Stanley turn seemingly, impossibly, redder at the question. Perhaps Sofia was right (again.) She’d be insufferable about it he was sure.

“Well, we wouldn’t want you overheating in there,” he replied at length with a perfectly innocent bat of his eyes, unhooking the cigarette from behind his ear and humming to himself as he stepped away from the entrance to the pub, purposefully turning in the opposite direction of the sweet-smelling clouds escaping from an alleyway down the street and towards the other end of the building. Holding his cigarette between his teeth as he dug into his pockets for his lighter, procuring it with a flourish and lighting the cigarette with a flare of flame before he added, “It’s very sweet of you to keep the poor, exiled smoking lepers company. Are you feeling charitable today or are you just afraid of what you might find inside?”

“Well I applaud whoever that was, because they’ve certainly made the parties more entertaining,” he said with a smile, raising his eyebrows at the amused expression on Gilderoy’s face. He supposed he could get the amusement, considering the antics that the Longbottoms got into because of the spiked punch. His eyes widened a bit when Gilderoy mentioned how the parties used to be, and Stan shook his head. “Well then I’m glad I’ve come on recently rather than back then. I can’t imagine having a get together at Horace’s place. That would be... weird. And probably not very fun.”

His heart pounded in his chest as Gilderoy bumped his shoulder into his own, and Stan found himself grinning without realizing he was doing so. He turned his head before he could see the curious look Gilderoy threw his way, opening the door to the Leaky Cauldron a bit more and immediately snorting at the sight in front of him. It was crowded with staff, of course, and there on one of the tables stood Karaoke Frank himself in all of his glory. Stan lifted his phone up and zoomed in on Frank as he belted his last few notes and proceeded to swan-dive into the crowd, a few of the faculty catching him and letting him crowd surf around the pub. He laughed and closed the door, deciding that was a high note to turn his stream off to and did so, pocketing his phone and following Gildeory to the side of the building furthest away from the vapers. 

He didn’t know why Gilderoy made him so nervous. Hell, Stan used to be great at wooing people when he was younger, but he’d also been a lot more confident at his romantic prospects when he was younger too. He’d also gotten a bit (no, a lot) dorkier as he got older, so he wasn’t sure his chances were great. He’d already tried to bring himself to ask four times by this point, so finally succeeding on attempt number five wasn’t likely. Instead of mulling on that Stan leaned against the wall beside Gilderoy, smiling and shrugging. “Maybe a bit of both? I mean I did just see Frank crowd surf, so if that doesn’t scare you I don’t know what will.” He bit the inside of his cheek and decided fuck it. “Or maybe I just like your company. Is that so wrong?”

[stanleybulstrode]

registrar-dolores‌:

Dolores had been keyed up since her interaction with Gilderoy in the middle of the Bard lobby a few days prior. While the two had never particularly gotten along ( mostly Gilderoy’s fault for thinking he was God’s gift to man ) he had certainly touched a nerve. When Dolores’s feelings were hurt, there’s no telling what she might be capable of. That’s why, this evening, she found herself drawn into attending movie night.

The stage shows the Bard put on were usually overindulgent and garish. The stink of Gilderoy Lockhart all over them. Occasionally, they might show a quality film like Casablanca but tonight’s selection seemed to fall short. When Dolores read the title and synopsis, she thought that whoever had selected this film should be shot, or worse, imprisoned in a jail of their own bad taste. It was going to be painful to sit through but she would endure it so she could have some semblance of payback.

It seemed that Gilderoy liked to leave his office door unlocked whenever he was still lurking around the building. A rookie mistake for a professor who had been with the school so long. It only took about thirty minutes and a ridiculously sized bottle of industrial superglue for Dolores to feel satisfied before she made her way to the theater. No one had noticed her presence so she assumed she might have some plausible deniability.

“Oh hello, Stanley.” Dolores chirped as she moved to take one of the empty seats next to him. She was feeling quite pleased with herself, “No, no. This sort of garbage is not usually my speed.” She was reluctant to mention her lateness. If Stan asked, she would simply claim she had stepped out to use the ladies and had been here the whole time.

Something about Dolores was... different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but between the moment she walked into the theatre and the moment she sat beside him, Stan couldn’t help but feel something off about her. What could he say, if anything, to try and figure out what? The best course of action would probably be to simply keep conversation going, so Stan glanced back at the screen and shrugged. 

“Yeah, it’s not great right? I dunno who picked out the movie for the evening, but whoever it was should have probably left that job to someone else.” He’d seen some of the movies that had been put on in Bard for events and move-in weeks from the past, and usually they were better than this. Last year, if he was remembering correctly, they’d played the Princess Bride--an older movie, but a classic. He went quiet for a moment, glancing at Dolores curiously, and then it hit him: Dolores was happy. Something had obviously gone wrong for someone else. Stan straightened in his seat and fixed her with a look.

“You’re happy. What did you do, and should I be concerned?”

[stanleybulstrode]

lockcdhart‌:

There was nothing that quite caught Gilderoy’s attention like trying to hide something. His lips twitched, eyebrows inching upward as Stanley hastily attempted to pocket his phone as if it might dissuade his interest. Curiouser and curiouser. One had to find their intrigues where they could when they were faced with Longbottom season (spiking the punch had felt superfluous when this gathering was being held at The Leaky, but Gilderoy had done it none the less. Tradition was tradition after all.) 

“Nothing,” he drawled slowly in response, disbelief etched into every angle of his face.

(It didn’t help that he’d been using Stanley’s screen to check his hair and being so summarily cut off had been borderline rude.)

Thankfully the full force of his disbelief seemed to weigh upon Stanley, if the way he sighed and dug his phone back out of his pocket was any indication, turning the screen back towards them both with grim resignation. It was, frankly, adorable how easily he caved. (And his hair, he deduced with a quick glance, was still impeccable.) “A stream?” he asked dubiously, pursing his lips at the half-a-Gilderoy on Stan’s phone screen, “There are people watching this and you weren’t even going to give them a sneak peak at Karaoke Frank’s next swandive off the bar? For shame, Stanley. I thought understanding the laws of supply and demand were your area of expertise.”

Wiggling his fingers at the tiny camera (he looked exceptional at the very least) Gilderoy hummed, turning his head away to consider where best to slink away to indulge the desperate urge for a cigarette (as if summoned a great waft of vapour emerged from around the corner, bringing with it a candy sweet smell that made his nose wrinkle.) “At least big tobacco admits it’s trying to kill me,” he sighed beneath his breath, rummaging into his pockets for the sacred cigarette case and tucking one absently behind his ear. 

A flurry of little hearts had begun fluttering up the screen in conjunction with a rapidfire stream of comments that bubbled up and away without Gilderoy having the patience to make them out against the glare against the screen. Stanley, however, seemed to be turning a particularly vivid shade of red. “Are you alright, Stanley? You look a little flushed.”

Gilderoy’s disbelief was instantaneous and obvious, Stan could tell, so it was really easiest to simply pull out his phone and show him what was going on. It wasn’t that Stan was ashamed of his vlogging hobby per se, it was just that for years it had been something personal for him. Sure he had followers, but they were faceless, nameless people who he could write off as some omnipresent being that didn’t matter in the long run. Gilderoy, however, was someone he knew, someone he worked with, and having someone who he knew and encountered in his everyday life (and liked very much) made him feel a bit... well, silly.

There was no outward judgment, at least, which Stan was thankful for. Instead Gilderoy mock-scolded him for not showing the world the wonders of Karaoke Frank while waving his fingers at the camera, and he laughed quietly with a shake of his head. “Mm, but there’s the sacred rule of a Longbottom party staying at a Longbottom party,” he said, though as he looked back into the Leaky Cauldron he was starting to think a small peek wouldn’t be the end of the world. “Then again, I think everyone deserves to see Karaoke Frank swandiving. I think you’re on to something.”

Of course, the moment Gilderoy was around was the moment his followers, in their frenzy to get Stan to make a move on his friend (were they friends, or just acquaintances?), began spamming his stream in earnest with hearts and comments, many of them with blatant comments that Gilderoy could read if he so chose about simply asking the guy out already. He turned red, and of course Gilderoy would notice that, making Stan’s eyes widen as he searched for an excuse and tilted his phone screen more toward himself. “Oh, um, it’s just a bit hot is all.” As if that wasn’t vague or convincing. He chewed the inside of his cheek and looked to Gilderoy, unsure if he should just leave him outside to smoke or wait outside with him. Which would be worse (or better)? “I don’t mind being out here though if you wanted some company. Other than your cigarette, I mean.”