gillockhart

[gillockhart]

sofia zabini‌:

Who: Sofia & @gillockhart​ When: April 1979 Where: A wedding venue with large gardens overlooking a lake, Milan.

Sofia was nearing twelve weeks pregnant already. 

There was a very slight swell in her stomach, so slight that if you didn’t spend a great deal of time looking at Sofia’s typically tight and slender figure you might assume she’d merely eaten too much at the wedding buffet. It was taking a great deal of her strength not to cradle her stomach and the life that was growing there as she had so subconsciously taken to doing over the past weeks. In another month, it would be increasingly obvious that she was pregnant, and her silver tongue would come into use then more than ever before. She had to convince Salvatore’s family that she had fallen pregnant on one of their first meetings in person, rather than meeting him initially when she was already six weeks pregnant. An imperius had convinced Salvatore of that fact, now she just had to convince everyone else. 

The dazzlingly white wedding dress that she had chosen flattered her figure though and so for now it was easy to pretend that everything was normal as she sat at the head table, watching Salvatore’s family dance and laugh with one another. A new wedding ring rested on her finger, a simple golden band, and her new husband sat at her left hand side. He was besotted with her, the result of a simple but potent love potion. Sofia’s world had turned upside down in such a short period of time, but the one constant through everything was sat at her right hand side. Gilderoy was her only guest, a stark contrast to previous events where the room had been split almost fifty fifty. Gilderoy had always been the only support that Sofia had ever needed, and would ever need. 

The reception had been underway for a few hours, and Sofia was already aching for it to be over. The war was in full swing in Britain, the fight with Voldemort consuming any friends that she had made in England over the last few years meaning that she only had one guest. Gilderoy was the only friend that she needed though, the only real friend she had Reaching for Gilderoy’s hand with her left, and her glass of non-alcoholic white wine in her right, Sofia turned to face him. She leaned close, her voice low to ensure her new husband couldn’t hear her as she whispered: “It seems that the Albertelli family don’t know how to party very well. Thank god you are here, mio caro, otherwise I might go out of my mind with boredom. I should have invited some of the more interesting members of Italian wizarding society, but alas….it was terribly last minute. How I wish that this wine was real, it’s not quite the same.”

“So, do you approve of my choice this time? He’s far better looking than Nathaniel….and this one won’t be an adulterer, that much is certain.”

There was nothing that Gilderoy Lockhart liked better than a good wedding. 

Sofia, in that regard, ever so radiant in white, was perhaps his perfect match. A frequent bride who had mastered the art of throwing a wedding — but the bride could only do so much for the occasion and one couldn’t always account for the groom (or his family). A sea of grim faces glanced surreptitiously back at them from the cluster of tables filled with the grooms family, outnumbering the bride’s party by .. well. The bride’s party was more of a one-man-show today, not that it bothered him. He was more entertaining than a room full of stuffy purebloods on any given day.

Still.

His head tilted, eyes drifting toward the man of the hour where he sat at Sofia’s right and took a long sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing away at the back of his throat. Salvatore’s list of virtues, as far as Gilderoy could determine, were that he was handsome and utterly besotted with his wife. Neither of these things made him any more worthy of Sofia’s time than half the other Albertelli’s in the room — at least in Gilderoy’s estimation. 

“I’ve attended livelier funerals, my darling,” he replied wryly, swirling the fizzing mass of champagne in his glass and leaning faintly towards her to knock their shoulders together. Gilderoy had mastered the art of the wedding toast three weddings ago and it irked him to think he would waste one on the Albertelli’s and their gloomy expressions. It was as if they did not approve of the match and that wouldn’t do at all. “But one must make do with what they have at their disposal. Your Salvatore at the very least is much handsomer than dear Nathaniel, I imagine he’ll look well enough in the photos. Shall we liven them up a little?”

[gillockhart]

improper-dolores‌:

@gillockhart

Things had been quiet since that night at the pub. Dolores had initially given Gerald some space, feeling quite satisfied that she had him over a some sort of metaphorical barrel. It wasn’t until Dolores heard some rumblings ( gossip from her underlings ) about an upcoming party that she decided to get back in contact with her mortal enemy. It was time to put him to good use.

It had taken a few owls full of bickering for Gerald to agree to drag Dolores along to this fancy affair. Quite a few harsh words and threats thrown back and forth. Gerald insisting that he simply couldn’t bring Dolores to this party, that he hadn’t been invited, didn’t actually know the family throwing it. His excuses were paper thin. Dolores was certain that stupid name could at least get his foot in the door, if anything. It wasn’t like the bored, wealthy housewives of the wizarding world weren’t eating up the drivel the famous Gilderoy Lockhart seemed to concoct for them. Dolores had checked the numbers of his book sales, she wasn’t a complete and utter idiot. 

Here they were now, having apparated to the party after meeting in a neutral, disgustingly muggle location. Dolores couldn’t figure out exactly why Gerald had insisted upon meeting at that smoky, secluded cafe. Totally oblivious to the fact that he didn’t want to be caught dead with Dolores by his adoring public. Clad in hideous pink taffeta, Dolores pulled at the edge of her dress. Sniffing the fabric on her shoulder, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t just meet here, Gerald.” she said, heaving a sigh. He better not ruin this for her.

This, Gilderoy decided as he stood side by side with the taffeta monstrosity that was currently attached to Dolores Umbridge’s person, was easily in the top ten worst nights of Gilderoy Lockhart’s life. 

He had done his best to prevent the disaster from unfolding, digging his heels in determinedly when she had insisted on this being the party she needed to go to, first through owl and then again at the smokey, out of the way little cafe that he’d precisely designated as their meeting point. But he had made the arrangements regardless, his agent knowing better than to question the whims of his most lucrative client when going about securing an invitation, and now he found himself grimacing in anticipation of the gruelling hours ahead of him.

Dolores Umbridge would ruin him if he wasn’t careful and he most depressing part of that scenario was that it wouldn’t even have to be intentional.

“One is never early to a party,” he replied primly, as if that might explain how long he’d been dragging his heels about making an entrance, carefully adjusting his collar and tie and the lapels of his jacket before sighing and turning to look at her sternly. “Quit fidgeting,” he murmured beneath his breath as they eased through the outskirts of the milling guests and his grimace turned on a dime into a blinding smile, propelling him forward with a bright, “Thelonious! There you are!”

Thelonious Nott was a notorious drinker and already deep enough in his cups that he might not even remember who was attached to Gilderoy’s arm or even who had introduced them. He was also a member of St. Mungo’s board of directors. A prime target to throw into the lion’s cage for Dolores to gnaw on for the evening. “Have you met Dolores? She works for the Minister.”

With any luck she’d latch on and he’d be able to excuse himself to more pleasant company and a glass of champagne for his efforts.

[gillockhart]

kirkstanbulstrode‌:

The fact that Gilderoy saw the picnic basket and didn’t shut the door immediately in his face was something Stan considered a success. He’d been unsure as to whether he would react positively to the idea, and considering that Stan placed all his marbles there it was a good thing it worked out well. He smiled immediately when Gilderoy was in full view, and chuckled quietly at the man’s unusual outburst. “I guess you really don’t know what casual is,” he teased, stepping back to make room for Gilderoy as he closed the door behind him. You do realize who you’re dating, don’t you? sent his heart fluttering, and he felt his neck heat up as he nodded. “I’m well aware of who I’m dating, thanks. Unless there’s another Gilderoy Lockhart I should be looking for?”

You should not trust him, Stanley. 

He shook the echo of Dolores from his mind and nodded toward the elevator. Should he offer his elbow to him? His hand? Hell, was any of that too soon or too cliche? Stan opted for walking close to Gilderoy’s side instead, deciding he’d figure that out later once he saw how the date went. Of course he noticed the grooming that Sofia did, and Stan sputtered a bit with a half-hearted laugh. “Maybe a little. She offered back at Halloween, so I took her up on it. I meant it when I said you deserve the best, Gil.”

Stan shut his mouth before he could gush anymore, not wanting to sound like he was trying to butter Gilderoy up because of last time, and decided fuck it as he placed his hand at the small of Gilderoy’s back to guide him toward his car outside. “It’s a bit too open to just apparate there,” he said, ignoring the smirk Mags sent their way and the unsubtle thumbs up from dear old Randy. He was free from any other possible embarrassments from his nosy employees (Merlin knew he loved them anyway) once they left the building, and he dropped his hand to unlock the car for them both. Stan tucked the basket into the backseat before heading to the driver’s seat, shutting the door firmly behind him and looking toward Gilderoy.

“Ready? The aquarium opens in twenty minutes–plenty of time to park and get tickets. It’s no ocean cruise or Africa, but a taste of elsewhere is better than staring at London all day, right?” Maybe he sounded slightly defensive of his choice in destination, not wanting Gilderoy to be disappointed again, but he’d woken up with a good feeling about the day ahead of him and refused to let that feeling go. Everything would be fine.

“That would be copyright infringement,” Gilderoy replied, vanity thoroughly appeased by the idea that Stanley would brave Sofia’s wrath in order to ensure the success of their next date when, if Halloween was any indication, the pair got on like oil and water. If Gilderoy’s exacting standards and Sofia’s overprotective nature hadn’t driven Stanley away quite yet, maybe there was hope after all.

Gilderoy smiled, in spite of himself, as the elevator doors opened and Stanley pressed a hand to the small of his back to guide him through the lobby ignoring the smirks and waves from his staff as if it wasn’t precisely what he’d intended. Look at me, it broadcasted to the entire floor with a beaming sort of pride that Gilderoy could certainly relate to and perhaps apparition was a more stylish form of travel but Gilderoy was trying, today, to be just a little less demanding of perfection from an imperfect world.

Cars reminded him inherently of Gerald’s home; narrow, winding country roads boxed in by towering hedges. It reminded him of the thick, pungent smell of freshly turned soil and heavy rain and the steady, monosyllabic mooing of cows carrying through the country quiet. He swallowed that memory with the blaring sound of traffic and people and breathed in the sounds of the city, what felt like a million miles away from the person he’d once been, and got into the car. 

“The aquarium,” he replied determinedly aloud as his legs folded up like accordions (cars were not built for people of his stature), “Sounds wonderful.”

And whether Stanley had enhanced his thoroughly muggle car to avoid London’s gridlocked traffic or the tedious affair of finding parking at the aquarium, the ride went smoothly and the world didn’t end before they made it into the middling queue shuffling slowly through the ticket line. And Gilderoy had told himself he was going to give this a proper chance so he reached out and took Stanley’s hand as they waited in line, thoroughly ignoring the nosy looks of the people in line around them and tilting his chin up to an imperious angle.

It was .. nice. He held onto Stanley’s hand as they got their tickets and wandered out of the lobby into the darkened rooms, lit up by the soft wash of blue light from the tanks that lined the walls from ceiling to floor and there was no ceremony or etiquette to adhere to, just the echoey chamber and murmurings as tropical fish darted past in a rainbow of vivid colour, the heat of the tanks and the hum of the filters. His chin craned to watch as twin eels slunk past them, cruising in figure eight’s around them, and released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Look at the eels!” he declared, not entirely caring that it wasn’t refined or cool to be excited over sea creatures and tugging on Stanley’s hand to get him to follow after him. They were graceful, for inherently ugly creatures, slinking through the water together. His smile was reflected back at him in the glass. “Do you think they have names?”

[gillockhart]

kirkstanbulstrode‌:

Where: The Century / Aquarium / Park Who: @gillockhart​

Round two. Here we go. 

To say that Stan was nervous would be a hell of an understatement. This was his last chance to impress a man he really liked, one who evidently liked him back (though he couldn’t imagine why), and he refused to ruin it again. He had fretted for days after his visit with Sofia to figure out which of the restaurants he’d bring Gilderoy to and kept his bedroom door closed to protect the suit to the chagrin of Elijah, but something still didn’t feel right while he looked at it all. It certainly felt up to Gilderoy’s standards, sure, but shouldn’t it feel like him as well? They were both meant to be doing something fun, after all. An idea began to form in his head, and he slipped a note under Gilderoy’s door before beginning to plan it out.

Dress casual. See you Saturday. - Stan

He just hoped this didn’t fuck everything up. Gilderoy was a man of high taste, after all, but he had a good feeling about this time around. Taking some of the advice from Sofia, he carefully cultivated food the man was guaranteed to like and a wine that wouldn’t offend his taste buds before tucking them into a basket charmed to keep everything cool, fresh, and protected from damage. Though casual, he still dressed nicer than his normal go-to clothes and made sure he was tidy enough to make Sofia proud. The aquarium would open in half an hour–just enough time to get there, find parking, and get their ticket inside. Just as he was about to leave his flat and get Gilderoy, his conversation with Dolores came to the forefront of his head, and gave him pause.

What do you know of Gilderoy Lockhart? He is not a man that should be trusted.

No, he wouldn’t worry about that now. Now, he would go out for a nice afternoon and hopefully score a second (third?) date. Stan would worry about that later. With that decision in mind, Stan grabbed the basket, locked his flat, and headed over to Gilderoy’s door, swallowing thickly to keep his nerves at bay. Moment of truth. He delayed a second more before raising his hand and knocking on the door.

Dress casual.

Those words had haunted him since the day the note had been slipped under his door, taking on a life of their own and consuming him as he tried to determine what, exactly, he was supposed to grasp from them. Casual. As if anything in Gilderoy’s wardrobe had been crafted with the words casual in mind.

Stanley had to be testing him.

In the passing days he’d found himself intermittently flicking through his wardrobe, forehead furrowed with indecision. By the time that Stanley knocked on his door he had reached his fifteenth iteration of casualwear for the morning and had been studying it critically in the mirror. Crisp white and fawn-brown and carefully sculpted curls stared back at him, equally suspicious. (Wearing lighter colours and rolling the sleeves of his buttondown back to his elbows did so too count as casual, no matter what the traitorous voice laughing in the back of his head said. If he was still wearing a tie it was only because he had a reputation to uphold.) 

It occurred to him, halfway through opening the door, that he had been so preoccupied with his outfit that he had entirely forgotten to doubt anything else about the day ahead, about second chances or obliviation or the truly regrettable circumstances of their first date, all of which stuck to the tip of his tongue as he opened the door and stared, blinking, at the sight that greeted him.

A picnic basket. Stanley was holding a picnic basket. 

Which was actually, sort of — well, it was respectable, and the smile on Stanley’s face was a stern reminder of why he’d granted him a second chance because it was kind of adorable and Gilderoy was clearly, clearly, not prepared for this at all. “I don’t do casual,” he blurted out in a fashion he would generally be quite ashamed of, because he was a cultivator of conversation, not the kind of person who just said whatever popped into their head. “Clothing, that is,” he added, head tilting curiously like he might be able to figure out what the contents of the picnic basket was if he just stared at it hard enough, “You do realise who you’re dating, don’t you?”

The faintly suspicious furrow of his brow as he pulled the door shut behind him gave way, faintly, to a twitch of a smile. “You’ve been groomed.” It was only faintly accusatory. He’d read a Scamander novel front to back if those weren’t touches of Sofia’s influence he could see everywhere about him.

[gillockhart]

ministry-bones‌:

Amelia’s gaze fell back on Gilderoy, her attention finally drawn away from the artwork gracing Sofia’s walls. Self-deprecation is for lesser people. It was kind and encouraging, sympathetic but not pitying. Amelia appreciated it more than she would be able to properly express. It felt like some kind of inclusion, validation, like the door to Sofia and Gilderoy’s peculiar, little lavish world was suddenly open.

It only took a few seconds for that feeling to slip through her fingers. Gilderoy couldn’t seem to remember her name for a moment and it didn’t slip past unnoticed. Amelia made a slight face, her lips twitching downwards before ultimately deciding to let the social faux pas slide. Gilderoy was drunk and they had just met. It was foolish for her to start getting attached. A part of her was certain that the only moniker he might remember her by would be palomino anyway.

Amelia smiled weakly as Gilderoy patted her hand, much like he had patted her head earlier like she was actually a horse or some kind of house pet. She nodded in appreciation as he passed the bottle towards her. Silent, Amelia took a few large gulps of prosecco before clearing her throat to speak once more.

“I’m usually not so unsure of myself.” Amelia proclaimed confidently. It was unsettling actually, how one person could shake her confidence and happiness in such a way. She had always been the type of woman to be completely confident in almost all of her abilities. For some reason it all seemed to falter when Amycus was involved. That shaky, unsteady feeling wasn’t helped by Alecto sticking her nose in their business as well. “Being Amelia Bones usually is enough.”

“Not one person?” Amelia asked skeptically. Surely there had to be someone. Even if it had only been a schoolyard infatuation that faded away over time. Amelia could still remember the boys she had fancied and while she wouldn’t deign to call those feelings love, they had stuck with her all these years. Amelia moved to pass the prosecco back to Gilderoy, shifting on the coach to get a better look at the man. Leaning one arm on the headrest, resting her head in her hand. “Come on…” she prodded, “Be honest.”

Rearing his head back with a drunken sense of calculation, as if could determine some internal barometer on the state of her self-worth from the bottom of a bottle of prosecco and the liberated contents of the Zabini wine cellar, he determined that perhaps Amelia Bones was telling the truth. Names were powerful things, or so he’d determined at the age of seventeen when he’d killed his old one and crafted his life anew, and Amelia was a strong one. A name for mythic pioneers. 

“And why shouldn’t it be now?” he challenged with a tilt of his chin, as if self-worth was some kind of currency you could just amass until you needed it the most. “Some nosy sibling sticks her oar in and suddenly you aren’t worthy of what you want? That’s absurd.”

He punctuated this statement with a long swig of prosecco, gaze preternaturally focused for a man quite so drunk. That all devolved quite quickly at her dogged persistence of his own experiences in love.

Be honest. 

As if he had an honest bone in his body.

“Needed? No,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, straightening his spine and rolling upward with a regal tilt of his chin. “Wanted?” 

And that was the prosecco talking of course. “We all want things, darling. Love or family or sex or marriage or just—” His tongue caught between his teeth, recalculating before he persisted, “—Sometimes the wanting gets in the way, that’s all.”

And he wasn’t going to let little crushes on nosy, overbearing landlords get in his way any longer. 

Pushing the prosecco bottle back into her hand he sniffed, rolling to surprisingly steady feet and standing. “Speaking of — I have packing to do. Africa won’t wait forever. Don’t go letting what you want get in the way of the things that matter, Amelia Bones.”

With that he turned, padding towards the doorway, seemingly without another thought save a vague wave as he headed back through the doorway, snagging another bottle of wine off the drinks cart on his way out.

[gillockhart]

sofiazabini‌:

Being with Gilderoy was one of the most natural things in the world. It had been for many years - her nearest and dearest friend. Sofia leaned against him slightly, seeking comfort as she closed her eyes to gather herself. The thought of her troubles with love was throwing her emotions all over the place, when all she wanted to do was focus on the safari they had come to enjoy. 

At Gilderoy’s firm statement of enough, Sofia swallowed back any emotion that threatened to bubble up. Keeping herself calm and collected had developed into a necessity over the years, a necessity that was now keeping her alive in these difficult times. “Which animal species do you think is the most judgemental? I think tigers seem to be terribly judgemental animals. Cats are rather judgemental, their bigger cousins must be similar..”

Sofia couldn’t tear her eyes away as the lioness ripped into the zebra. It was so primal, so vicious….and yet something within her understood. Beyond simple survival, there was a need to be sated - a thirst for blood. The car started up again with a roar to match the lioness’ as they began to move away from the bloody scene, moving at a leisurely pace through the desert. “My darling I always need a pool-boy. You can be there to scare off whatever man I bring home next, which will inevitably be a terrible decision,” Sofia laughed, the image of Gilderoy terrifying some poor soul that was in bed with her flashing in her head. “You’d make a wonderful pool boy, my dear.”

The car slowed down once more as they neared a watering hole, and Sofia’s eyes lit up with delight. “My darling look at the elephants.”

If he imagined hard enough (and Gilderoy Lockhart had never suffered from a lack of imagination) he fancied he could wish away all the troubles of the world that had chased them here. He and his Sofia were not the type to settle for what they were given, they had always been far too good for the lives that fate had tried to deal them, had always striven for more than they were offered.

“Oh, tigers are definitely judgemental,” he replied loftily, rubbing his thumb along the the bones of her hand with an absent-minded sense of adoration, “But they have nothing on us, darling.”

It was a grounding feeling, to know that nothing at all could touch him when he had his Sofia at his side. He could be her pool-boy or her famous friend or her favourite travel companion and nothing would change between them. The only person he could never be, not with her, was Gerald. All the better to leave him buried in the dirt.

“Terrible decisions are our speciality,” he agreed, glancing slyly in her direction and dropping a featherlight kiss to the crown of her head, “At the least we  always have each other to scare off the most unworthy ones and terrify the ones who stick around into good behaviour.”

His neck craned, slow and curious and filled with wonder at the sight of the elephants, inelegant and oddly-shaped and majestic all the same, his heart filled with an odd fullness he didn’t want to study too closely as he leaned into Sofia’s side and watched the herd gather around the waterhole. 

“They’re beautiful,” he spoke softly, unsettled by how much he meant it. His head turned away, struck by an overwhelming wave of sentimentality as he added, “Did you know that elephants mourn their dead? That they remember their loved ones and go back, for years, to visit the bones of their fallen friends.”

“You’re the only one,” he offered after a long moment of battling those internal thoughts, the ones about chosen family and his inability to hide behind superficiality all of the time. “The only one I’d never forget.”

He squeezed her hand firmly, pointedly, before turning his head back to the watering hole and ignoring the burn at the corners of his eyes with a regal tilt of his chin. “I’m very glad we came here.”

And he may not have found peace, at least not for long, but at least Sofia was there with him.

[gillockhart]

improper-dolores‌:

Sofia Zabini seemed to be a sore subject. Was it a possibility that Gerald actually cared for this woman? Whether their relationship be romantic or platonic, none of that really mattered at the end of the day. Only that threatening to reveal the truth to this friend seemed to be the thing that had sent Gilderoy’s smug confidence that Dolores couldn’t ruin his life careening in the other direction.  “Well, if things work out in my favor, I don’t see why we would have to involve your little friend anyway.” Dolores made sure to punctuate the my of that statement as she straightened the length of her spine, folding her hands on the table in front of her. “I don’t care much for Italians anyway.”

Dolores had some influence, as minor as it might be. Despite her distaste for muggles, she didn’t necessarily believe that they could be exterminated. Voldemort, like most men who were in power, promised much more than he could deliver. That didn’t mean Dolores couldn’t make their crusade work for herself.  “What makes you think I don’t have something they want?” Dolores asked, unabashedly unashamed by the smirk now gracing her features. She might not have been a woman who would last in a duel but she did trade in information.

“I’m not sure if you trying to dissuade me is genuine concern or if you’re simply trying to get out of the situation…” Dolores raised any eyebrow, daring him to try to find some other excuse not to fold to her, ”I assure you, Gerald, I know what I’m doing and your doubts about my abilities will do nothing to dissuade me. Stop trying, it’s rather tiresome already.”

What kind of psychopath are you? “The kind with my own self-interest at heart.” Dolores answered, showing her teeth, “Hardly a murderer.”  Murder was too dirty, too much risk of ending up in Azkaban with idiots who had been too stupid to cover their tracks. There had been the one incident with her brother but that could be chalked up to childhood folly. Plus, he had been fine at the end of the day, so that didn’t count. Dolores would much rather tip the scales in her favor, push someone else’s hand towards taking action.

It took some effort to grit his teeth and bear whatever miserable thing was leaving Dolores’s lips at any given time (honestly, the idea of subjecting Sofia to her company was a slight he wasn’t willing to let go — certainly not if she didn’t understand that the Italian’s had been at the very center of the renaissance of art and culture and science and wonder. Gilderoy didn’t much care for her. 

And really, the passing whim of supposing he could dissuade her from her ridiculous quest to be accepted into the Pureblood echelons of taste and sophistication faded quickly as he reminded himself that Dolores Umbridge neither needed nor wanted his advice. She just wanted his name to use as a stepping stone for her own ascent towards the lofty heights the sacred twenty-eight held themselves to.

Let her fall.

It might do her some good to realise how ugly that fallout would be.

She might not count herself a murderer but there was no doubt that plenty of those lurked behind the gleaming smiles of the Sacred Twenty-Eight’s dinners and soirees and garden parties. What did he care what she got herself mixed up into, so long as she didn’t go dragging his name into it too?

“I suppose you can add blackmail to the list then,” he replied primly, dusting off the cuffs of his coat and sliding with deliberate casualness out of his booth, chin tilted defiantly upward as he added, “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure out how to contact me when you want something. Good chat, Dolores.”

Walking away to ensure one got the last word was undeniably petty but Gilderoy had never put himself above pettiness. He turned swiftly on his heel, waving off the bartender who looked like he might be going to ask, and pushed sharply through the doors into Hogsmeade beyond.

Dolores Umbridge was one hell of a plot twist.

[gillockhart]

Ashamed of his monstrous form, The beast concealed himself inside his castle, With a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.

The Rose she had offered, Was truly an enchanted rose, Which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another, And earn her love in return By the time the last petal fell, Then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast For all time.

As the years passed, He fell into despair, and lost all hope, For who could ever learn to love… a Beast?

Merry (belated) Christmas, @gillockhart​!

[gillockhart]

Once in a while, two people meet Seemingly for no reason They just pass on the street Suddenly, thunder showers everywhere

@sofiazabini

[gillockhart]

Will you recognize me? Call my name or walk on by

@kirkstanbulstrode

[gillockhart]

ministry-bones‌:

“Yes!” Amelia replied dramatically, clutching the bottle tighter to her chest. Oblivious to her social faux pas. It hadn’t occurred to Amelia that she should probably hand the bottle back. It felt comforting and if she were being honest, the prosecco was already making her feel a tad bit more relaxed. “Embarrassed me in front of all my coworkers, so I’ve been the talk of the department. Even before that, people kept asking me questions about why we were eating lunch together. It’s insane how nosy people can be.”

While Amelia couldn’t be certain that Alecto didn’t lock Amycus in some part of their home, whether that be attic or basement, she knew that they were close. She had somehow done something, squeezing her way between the two. While she should be angry ( she was, really ), Amelia also felt guilty. She loved her brothers deeply and the thought of some unknown figure swooping in and ruining things would surely make her sour.

“Oh, sorry.” There was a slight frown on her face as Gilderoy extracted the bottle from her grip. Maybe there was another? Amelia wasn’t brave enough to ask, she didn’t have free reign of Sofia’s homes, her things. Gilderoy seemed like a close companion and she didn’t want to press her luck. His encouragement felt nice but self-doubt was beginning to creep into her mind. The man did seem to have to have a lot more life experience than Amelia but, with her luck, he could be totally off base.

“You know, it’s just…Maybe I’m not good enough?.” Amelia sighed, momentarily thinking of how graceful women like Sofia were and how easy it was for them to attract partners. She could remember quite vividly, boys falling all over themselves for a chance with Narcissa Black. She was nothing like those women. Amelia was always too bold, too brazen, too boyish to attract much attention until she had gotten older. While not obnoxious about it, Amelia was outspoken and intelligent and didn’t take kindly to many ( especially men ) telling her what kind of woman she should be or what she should be doing. That seemed to be terrifying to most of them.

“I’m no Sofia Zabini, after all.” Amelia said, her voice somber, as she stared at one of the abstract painting adorning the wall across from them. Her brow furrowed as if she were contemplating expanding on that thought, her lips ticking downward, before glancing back over at Gilderoy. “Have you ever been in love?”

Gilderoy, something of a connoisseur of the art of nosiness, nodded intently, rearranging his limbs across the chaise lounge to pay better attention to the scandal unfolding before him. Sure, a dramatic confrontation in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic was nothing to sniff at, but it was hardly getting kicked out of a royal wedding party. Bless her strange little horse girl heart.

He paid little mind to the apology sent his way as he liberated the prosecco from her hands, waving it away without a care for paying it any more attention than the bubbly mouthful he took in payment. “Darling,” he started carefully, he hadn’t exactly intended to go getting philosophical today and he was hardly in a fit state for it, but still, like a champion he wore his drunkenness with a debonair air. “Self-deprecation is for lesser people.”

Patting absently at her hand he considered the bottle of prosecco before offering it back to her with a sigh. “The thing is,” he continued aloud, “There’s only one Sofia Zabini — much like there’s only one Gilderoy Lockhart,” he patted absently at his own chest. “And there’s only one — one—”

He squinted for a moment, scrambling uselessly before remembering, Earhart, “Amelia Bones. Why ever wouldn’t that be enough for anyone?”

And that was quite a beautifully constructed piece of advice, if he did say so himself, which was perhaps why he found himself floundering uneasily at the question that turned back on him with laser precision. “Me?”

There were any manner of glib answers to be had, of Monacan princes or mirrors or his work or any of the many swiftly abandoned flirtations with romance he’d shed over the years. There was also a glaring, ugly wound to his pride that he was viciously ignoring lest it make itself known with a dire need for more wine. “The greatest love of my life has always been myself,” he replied finally, decisively, toying with the silk tie of his robe and eyeing her through dark, inscrutable eyes like he had meant to say something entirely different.

(And even that was a lie, wasn’t it? Because he’d had to kill and bury all the integral bits of his first self to make Gilderoy come to life.)

“I’ve never needed anyone else — other than my Sofia, of course.”

Of course. He could survive anything so long as he had Sofia and that was all he needed to remember whenever that ugly little dent in his pride began to smart again.

[gillockhart]

improper-dolores‌:

Gerald seemed to be insisting that Dolores’s memories of their Hogwarts days were somehow incorrect. She tried not scoff as she crossed her arms and slumped back against the sticky booth once more, rolling her eyes dramatically. It was condescending and she couldn’t help the scowl that immediately crossed her face. Who was Gerald to tell Dolores what her reality was? A man who spent most of his adult life lying through his teeth.

It seemed futile to insist that dear old Gerald was wrong. After all, it was becoming apparent the man was more stubborn than ever. Having the gall to be rude to someone who basically held his pathetic future in their hands. What a complete and utter idiot. “You can live in denial all you want, Gerald.” Dolores sighed, her brow furrowing in frustration, “Perhaps you will never be able to see exactly what kind of person you are…A sane person certainly wouldn’t make up such colorful stories.”

Dolores watched Gerald huff and puff, pressing his hands to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tripping over his words like a complete and utter child. “I don’t have any interest in writers or quidditch players.” Dolores snorted in disdain. Penniless, hackneyed writers and mouth breathers who played quidditch were not what Dolores was interested in.

“Purebloods.” she announced with no shame. It was only in mixed company that she had to keep her disdain for anyone she consider lesser. Dolores didn’t particularly care what Gerald thought about her beliefs.  “The rich and wealthy circle you’ve seemed to slip yourself into. For instance your friend, Sofia Zabini. Beautiful, wealthy, pureblood. I’m sure you know a lot of others.”

Gerald’s warning felt like another condescending insinuation.  “I don’t need to be careful.” Dolores replied firmly. She wasn’t an idiot and didn’t appreciate being spoken to like one. “I know exactly what I’m doing. You claim I don’t really know you but do you really know me?” Dolores paused for a moment, staring him down with the same wild, crazy eyes she had while as a student at Hogwarts. “Do you know what I’m capable of? I mean…You barely remembered me, so, who’s to say I’m not some psychopath now?”

“I know precisely what I am, Dolores,” he replied with a clipped smile and he could imagine how much it must delight her to be dragging him down after all this time. His own recollections of Hogwarts were so far in the past, all covered in dust, that he hardly imagined taking such an interest in someone from all that time ago. I know what you are as well. 

And the announcement came with no surprise and little fanfare, as predicted; Purebloods. She wanted to belong amidst the sparkling elite of the wizarding world in a way that she never would — and while Gilderoy had managed to make that leap, it had taken far more than just a helping hand to get where he wanted to be. Dolores might be crazy enough to try but he sincerely doubted her ability to succeed.

Sofia’s name upon her lips, yet again, made him balk; nose wrinkling in distaste as he forced himself to think. He could hardly go about introducing someone like Dolores to all those connections he had so carefully been forging at the risk of being evicted from said social circles by association. Surely Dolores had some winning quality hidden somewhere to dredge up to the surface, some glimmer of leverage that wasn’t a long memory and extraordinary levels of pettiness.

“Sofia is not a bargaining chip,” he replied firmly, as if he might be able to keep her off the table as long as he kept her separate from this new disaster. Heaven forbid, dinner parties with Dolores. “And I really don’t think you do. Purebloods don’t exactly roll out the welcome mat for people who aren’t one of them Dolores, they aren’t going to let you in unless you have something they want.”

He sighed, turning his head away from the wild-eyed stare currently boring into his jaw and considered if it would be rude to go and get a drink. Surely in circumstances such as these there should be an allowance. “Oh, I’m sure you’re just as colourful as you always were. Though if we are going to be in each other’s company after all this time I suppose we must get reacquainted. So go on then, why don’t you tell me what sort of psychopath you are now?” 

[gillockhart]

sofiazabini‌:

It seemed that despite naming her new kitten after the God of Love, Cupid himself was not shining upon either of them. A disastrous date and a quiet affair with Nathaniel’s cousin while he was preparing to bury his own cousin. She couldn’t say it wasn’t dramatic. It would certainly make for an outstanding headline for the tabloids, a bombshell to shock the women who read them…and to break hearts across the country when they heard that Gilderoy had gone on a date. Thoughts of Avery allowed a melancholic cloud of emotion to settle over Sofia for just a second. Sofia was happy to talk about Matteo, Louis and even Nathaniel when the occasion arose.

But Christopher - well, he’d had his uses. But his presence among the walls of her freshly purchased manor seemed to darken the whole place, make it feel less like a home. His death had been her greatest display of power in years, and a well deserved one at that.

Sofia turned her head slightly so that Gilderoy couldn’t see the darkness that had crept over her expression, and she took a few moments to steel herself. Taking a few long, slow breaths, Sofia let her fury dissipate from her slowly as she breathed in the clean air. They were on holiday, far away from any of their baggage.

Christopher Avery could remain in the ground where he belonged, not among the beauty of the African plains. 

“Oh how vicious of them, mean little creatures,” Sofia murmured, going along with the ridiculous notion of zebra gossip. Just then there was a small rustle in the undergrowth behind them, and Sofia twisted her head slightly. “Their freedom may be over soon,” Sofia murmured, pointing at the outline of a lion who was eyeing up his dinner. “Nature at work.”

“I think that if your agent still gets monthly pages that he can eventually make into a book to publish then he shan’t matter too terribly. I have enough money to invest in a house out here….we could do it, you know. We could just leave London, vanish into the sun and remain here for the rest of our days.”

They couldn’t. Both of them had ties they did not want to cut, Sofia knew that much. But it was nice to dream.

And he supposed they could wile away their time on the African plains ruminating on their unluckiness in love, if needs be, but was that not what they had come to escape here? They were here to be them; beautiful and rich and inherently better than everyone around them and to leave all the tangled webs of England behind them.

“Enough of all that maudlin talk,” he hummed, tipping his chin a little higher against the confessions of feelings that didn’t belong here, “I imagine there’s some terribly judgemental zebras out there just waiting to judge one another’s looks.”

Following her gesture he caught sight of a rustle of grass, a flick of a tail, and he watched, enraptured by the sight of nature in its crudest form. Predator and prey. Even death out here was such a simple affair, there were no politics to determine who deserved it and who didn’t. Death was a matter of survival. 

There was a wistfulness that followed the suggestion that they could just up and leave, that they could live out here beneath that blue sky and never think of dreary London again. He couldn’t help but think that life would be that much simpler that way, that by returning to London he was committing to some unspoken agreement that something was going to change. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to.

With a sudden eruption of movement the lioness burst out of the undergrowth, flying across the plains into the scattering zebras and launching onto the closest one with ripping teeth and claws. The noise the zebra made had him turning away, clearing his throat and blinking away the smear of red from behind his eyelids. “Everything feels much simpler here,” he offered after a moment, curling their hands tighter together and breathing out a heavy sigh. “I could be your year-round pool boy.”

No more maudlin thoughts.

[gillockhart]

ministry-bones‌:

Apparently, Amelia was a blonde pony now. Much like Amelia Earnhart, she supposed there were worse things to be associated with in this world. Her brow furrowed as she searched the corridors of her mind for any reference to Flowers in the Attic. She was coming up with nothing. Her best educated guess was that it was some book or movie she had never seen. There seemed to be a lot of things Gilderoy knew that Amelia was ignorant of, she hoped he wouldn’t judge her too harshly for being so woefully unprepared to participate in this conversation.

She didn’t hesitate when Gilderoy moved to hand her the bottle of prosecco. Throwing any remaining caution to the wind and taking a long, unladylike drink that would surely make Sofia cringe. Thinking about the best way to explain her situation while simultaneously imaging this human tornado of a man in tiny swimming shorts, cleaning Sofia Zabini’s pool while she laid on a beach chair absentmindedly observing him. It was rather colorful and Amelia assumed Witch Weekly would have a field day, at least if Gilderoy were as well-known as he made himself out to be.

“There wasn’t any romance really.” she sighed listlessly as she took another long, unladylike swig of prosecco. The bubbles burned her nose, a miserable feeling that she could never quite get used to when drinking this particular kind of wine. The kind of wine Amelia was certain a classy woman like Sofia would love. 

Amelia pondered her situation for a few moments, the bottle of prosecco was now clutched tightly to her chest as if at any moment it could be snatched away. Much like her hopes of a relationship had been snatched away by Alecto Carrow and other assorted interlopers within the ministry. Why couldn’t everyone just shut up and move on with their lives? Why couldn’t she had her little bit of happiness without everyone seeing fit to ruin it?

“I don’t think it’s anything scandalous…Though I’m uncertain what Flowers in the Attic is about or if you’re literally talking about flowers in an attic.” Amelia answered, shrugging at her own ignorance of anything seemingly muggle related. Maybe she wasn’t as worldly as she had assumed? “I think all I’ve done is simply exist? We had been spending time together and she saw it fit to corner him in the atrium of the ministry, that’s where I work, and yell at him in front of all of our colleagues. Now, he’s disappeared on me. No owl, no office visits.” Amelia paused for a moment to catch her breath, “We visited a zoo together and he held my hand? He’s a bit peculiar but I thought that it meant something…Apparently not.”

“Oh,” he sighed sadly, with great understanding, as if the tragic proclamation that there hadn’t really been any romance was one he felt quite deeply. One couldn’t have romance when the taint of Pinot Gris lingered over everything, could they? He reached out to pat consolingly at the nearest limb to him (an ankle) and coiled forward to watch somewhat jealously as she swigged from the bottle of prosecco and crinkled her nose against the resulting fizz. 

Adorable. She was an adorable (blonde) addition who had no business being here but honestly, Gilderoy was beginning to forget what exactly he had to be offended about. 

“There’s always a scandal when it comes to disapproving families,” Gilderoy replied sagely, toying with the ends of the tie of his robe and staring through glazed dark eyes across at her as he tried to determine whether or not explaining his reference would completely crumple her sad little face. Perhaps it was best to keep that little spark of brilliance to himself.

“This is all very dramatic,” he declared, as if he weren’t draped over a chaise lounge in red silk at eleven in the morning, drunker than a socialite at a society brunch, “The sister caused a scene in the middle of your workplace over your — not romance?”

He bit back another Flowers in the Attic reference if only because it would be utterly wasted on his current company. “Over a date at the zoo?”

His eyebrows inched further upward and if he were in less of a state he might have been savouring the absurdity of it all. As it was he was merely bemused by the unconnected dots. “Are we certain his sister doesn’t have him locked in the attic somewhere?”

Batting his eyes he leaned heavily towards her to snag the prosecco back, hugging it to his chest with a protective hum and staring firmly across at her. “When you want something, darling, sometimes you just have to reach out and take it. Fuck his sister.”

There was a pause, nose wrinkling before he snorted and added, “I mean figuratively, of course, not literally. You go out there and you be—” he paused, incongruously, to take a long swig from the Prosecco like it might wash some conviction into his voice, “—you be the best palomino in the stable.” He sighed, taking another gulp from the bottle and lazed back into the sunlight, a warm and happy smile spilling across his lips. “Save your man from his attic prison.”

[gillockhart]

sofiazabini‌:

Where would she be without Gilderoy? Certainly she’d be dreadfully lonely. There wasn’t another soul in the world who understood her as he did, who saw her on a level that others did not. Others merely saw a superficial widow with a taste for the finer things of life, but Gilderoy saw her for all she was - and chose to remain regardless. 

Perhaps in another life they might have made an exceptional married couple. They suited each other down to the ground.

But that wasn’t what this life had for them.

Sofia hummed slowly at Gilderoy’s amusement regarding Fabian. Fabian Prewett had crept up on Sofia, and though there could never be anything permanent there, she wasn’t opposed to something more casual continuing for now. If only he had been a rich pureblood as opposed to just pureblooded. It was unthinkable for her to marry someone so poor, a man who worked in an even lower role in the ministry than Kingsley. “He is a curious man. I’m not convinced that our tale is over, I think there is still more there….but I certainly shall never be married to a Prewett,” Sofia fell quiet for a moment, before adding quietly “I think I would rather have the Prewett name than Avery, looking back upon it all.”

“A good date is on the cards for us both. The future is bright my darling, as bright as the African sun. We shall shine again,” Sofia said firmly. If she spoke it, perhaps it might become truth. 

Sofia squeezed Gilderoy’s hand with an excited smile, looking curiously at the wild animals as they crept ever closer to the vehicle that was invading their living space. “How fascinating. Do you think any of them are judged for their patterns, as we judge other people for their outfits?” Sofia asks with a tinge of amusement in her voice. A zebra, bolder than the rest of it’s herd, took a few steps towards the vehicle and looked up towards them. “Oh Gilderoy aren’t they gorgeous. Freedom is something I can only dream of, but how enticing it seems,” Sofia breathed. She was chained in more ways than one - chained by her web of lies, chained by the love she held for Kingsley, chained by her pledge of allegiance to the Dark Lord as a matter of personal survival. To be free was almost unthinkable at this point in her life.

“Do you think they’re happy? Out here in the African plains? Oh how easy it would be to abandon Britain entirely and live here in the sun…”

They made quite the pair; him mooning over an entirely unsuitable option who had had the gall to be ashamed of him and her, consorting with her late husbands cousin, even if he was a Prewett. He supposed that even the poorest of Purebloods were still considered purer than most, but his fingers settled absently upon her shoulder in solidarity regardless. The intricacies of her marriages weren’t always explicit and Gilderoy knew she held more than her fair share of secrets (some of which he liked to think he simply knew without the necessity of being told) but Gilderoy was certain that Avery was one man who should be very grateful of his early grave.

“I concur, my darling,” he decided aloud, tipping his chin up against the sunlight and staring pointedly outward. Honestly, London had a way of mixing him up in ways that he didn’t want to consider.

What he had needed, after all, was just some fresh air to clear his head away from the flashing lights of The Century.

What better place than Africa to find some equilibrium again? He stared out at the herd of zebras, watching them flick their tails and and ears at them. They were beautiful creatures, as Sofia insisted, and the brightness of her smile told him that they had been right to come here, for however long this sanctuary lasted. “Oh, certainly,” he agreed with a broad smile, “They all get together to gossip about the most unfortunate patterned zebra behind it’s back.”

And her sigh of dismay at never truly being free, of being stuck, resonated sadly within him. An odd feeling, one he couldn’t place, that tied him to London in spite of his vicious attempts to free himself. He felt like a fox caught in a trap, willing to gnaw it’s own leg off to get loose. “I think I would do almost anything to be free like them.”

He had been. For all the obligations that editors and publishers and agents put upon him, he had been free to wander as he liked, so long as he sent a few pages back every now and again. Just when had that stopped being so?

“I think,” he sighed aloud, as the zebras startled, spurred into a sudden gallop by something on the horizon, “That anything must be happy to live out in the sun, unbothered by all the ridiculous burdens we place upon ourselves. Do you think, my darling, that my agent would mind terribly if I simply moved here? I’m sure there’s a whole wealth of stories to be found on the plains.”

[gillockhart]

kirkstanbulstrode‌:

The thing was, as much as Sofia grated on his nerves Stan knew what she was saying was true. She would do anything for Gilderoy, proved as such by defending him from the threat she saw Stan as, and it would be more impressive, more honorific, if she didn’t hate his guts (not that Stan was exactly a fan of her either–quite the opposite, in fact). He also knew on instinct that Gilderoy would do the same for Sofia, so Stan only felt a little guilty when he saw Sofia’s hurt and Gilderoy’s guilt. They would be fine, he was sure. Friends fought all the time, and more often than not came out better for it. They would be the same.

Stan only caught a glimpse of Sofia leaving as he followed after Gilderoy, but she wasn’t his focus right now. Now his focus was on the hope that what Gilderoy had said was a yes, that he had a second chance to give him the date he deserved. He stopped just in front of Gilderoy as the man spun on his heel and started to go on about Pinot Gris (and he truly felt bad for the server behind him who was holding that very wine), but something Stan wasn’t sure of shifted and he was given an explicit yes. 

Gilderoy had said yes. 

The bite behind his words wasn’t quite there, but even if it had been Stan wasn’t sure he would have been able to hide the grin that formed at the answer. He hadn’t been entirely confident that Gilderoy would give him the time of day after the disaster date, but here he was agreeing to another one and Stan was over the moon. Then he was stepping into his space, fingers around the bow of his cape, and Stan felt the ghost of a kiss at the corner of his mouth. His heart pounded fast in his chest, and his smile widened a bit as his eyes closed to savor the moment. Then Gilderoy was pulling away, hand on his chest, and Stan decided to be brave, covering Gilderoy’s hand on his chest and meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Gilderoy,” he murmured. “I won’t let you down again.” 

Stan watched him turn to bug Mags, who was automatically grabbing whatever Gilderoy had requested, and he waited a moment before turning around and doing a small fist bump to himself. Across the room he saw Randy roll his eyes, but Stan couldn’t be bothered to care. Gilderoy had said yes, and even though he had to play host for a few more hours, he wasn’t sure anything could bring his mood down.

He wasn’t going to let Gilderoy down again. Stan swore by it.

fin.

[gillockhart]

improper-dolores‌:

“Maybe that’s your problem, Gerald.” Dolores answered, scoffing at his dismissive tone. “After all the past never really stays in the past does it? A cliche perhaps, but it’s always there. Creeping in the rear view. Just waiting.” Surely, Gerald realized that his bad behavior would catch up with him eventually? While Dolores spent most of her time weaving tapestries of lies and blackmailing her coworkers, at least she wasn’t out flaunting her bad deeds. It was all behind closed doors - harsh whispers in the break rooms, knowing looks at staff meetings. She wasn’t out there printing her photo on the sleeves of dust jackets and taking credit for other people’s accomplishments in print.

Dolores had to claw her own way to the top from birth. Stepping on the backs of her classmates, coworkers, even some she had deigned to call friends. Only she didn’t have to hide behind a stupid made up persona to get what she wanted. It was certainly hypocritical of her to point out Gerald’s foibles but it wasn’t something that would keep her up at night, after all, she fully believed he deserved every bad thing that might happen to him.

Dolores thought herself a lot smarter than old Gerald realized anyway ( he did look terribly old in this lighting, didn’t he? ) and he needed to know that she wasn’t the type to fold under pressure. Even if it killed her, she wanted to see him squirm and hear those precious two little words, you won. You beat me. You’re better than me, Dolores. She had been waiting for what felt like a century so the dark look in Gerald’s eyes, the snarling, his “handsome” jaw set in irritation, it all elated her immensely . 

“Don’t order me to keep my voice down.” Dolores responded firmly, raising an eyebrow. It was just like a man to think that he could order Dolores Umbridge around. She wouldn’t be where she was today if she had just sat still and looked pretty like Orford often insisted his daughter do when she was a girl. Her father, much like Gerald, was a man who only knew how to take. 

“I’m tempted to just shout it from the rooftops. I know you might say, Dolores, no one will believe you. I’m sure there would be a few people who would stand by you….At least in the beginning but once a seed of doubt is planted, it’s almost impossible to get rid of.” Blood supremacy was a very serious issue in today’s world and even the smallest whisper of someone having muggle blood could have catastrophic results. If Gerald didn’t suddenly become a social pariah, the death eaters might even come knocking at his door.

When he seemingly took a deep breath, placing his hand in the center of the table as if he were waving his white flag, Dolores knew she had broken him. He would give her what she wanted or face the consequences of his own actions. “An agreement works well for me.” Dolores answered, her eyes still wide with a wild type of excitement like she had somehow bested Gerald at his own game. “I’ve told you what I want. Connections. You will let me into your dumb little social circle or I might be tempted to take this to Skeeter at the Prophet.” Dolores paused, a wicked smile on her face, “She’s a gossip hound but you should know, people will believe anything. I’m sure she’d be more than willing to hear what I have to say.”

Gilderoy had never been a fan of history; he’d quite happily leave Gerald in the dirt to rot behind him if the world would just let him, but it seemed that the skeletons in his closet weren’t content to rest quietly and people like Dolores and Stanley were all too happy to go rummaging around to find them. 

“That isn’t the past, dear,” he replied with a soft, beleaguered sigh as he settled down for negotiations, the understanding that this was going to cost him far more than he was willing to give to a little gremlin from a past life settling grimly over him. “That’s just you.”

And really, he should be nicer to her, considering, but his tongue found itself entirely unwilling to turn silver in her presence, like it thought it might just tarnish if he dared to bare it in her presence. She wouldn’t appreciate the effort anyway, he suspected, and there was no use in trying to pretend this was ever going to be something it wasn’t. 

“My dumb social circle,” he repeated beneath his breath, shaking his head in vague dismay as he counted slowly backward from ten, pressing his eyes delicately closed and pinching the bridge of his nose for the duration before deeming it not quite enough and repeating the process. “You’ll need to be a little more specific. I sincerely doubt you have aspirations of conquering the literary scene and while I’m sure there is .. something that interests you I’m not entirely certain that rubbing shoulders with singers and quidditch players is the connections you’re looking for.”

No, of course it wasn’t. Of course it would be the Purebloods she wanted access to, the most elitist and gruelling circle to break into of all of them. Trying to imagine her charming her way through Lucius’s halls or delighting the Lestranges in passing conversation felt a little like fever dream. “You should really be careful what you wish for, Dolores.”

And that, he found with some surprise, was entirely sincere — the Purebloods he associated with were the kind he wouldn’t be surprised to find wore masks in their spare time and they weren’t exactly forgiving. He knew all too well what a tightrope he walked when he ventured into those parties — Dolores had none of those social graces to recommend her.