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Gilderoy couldn’t say if he’d always liked lists, or if this fascination of his was a by-product of the rather unfortunate bout of brain damage he’d suffered a few years back.
He quickly finished styling his hair, and with a flourish of his quill, checked off that line on his to-do list for the day. He smiled at himself in the ornate mirror he’d had installed in his suite at St. Mungo’s. His mirror-self smiled back most dashingly and pointed to the list he’d adhered to the top corner of the mirror.
You are a world-famous wizarding adventurer.
You are a hero, recipient of an Order of Merlin Second Class.
You are Gilderoy Lockhart.
Gilderoy felt himself swell with pride, chest puffing up and shoulders back. He crossed his arms to admire how that pose suited him, then quickly shook his head and tried another, one fist cradling his chin. Ah yes, that was much better. He made a note of it.
He supposed he did the same most mornings, not that he could remember, but there was something familiar about the feeling of pride in his past accomplishments. He exited the bathroom into his finely appointed rooms. There was a lovely window on the far wall, showing a brilliant cerulean sky and a white sand beach.
The window didn’t open though, and his post was delivered by a kindly looking woman in her late sixties wearing a nurse’s uniform.
“Good Morning, Gilderoy,” she said, and Gilderoy couldn’t help but notice that her smile seemed rather wooden when she looked at him that day.
Gilderoy swooped forward and seized her hand. He placed a gallant kiss on the back of her knuckles, “My dear, ah,” he glanced at her name tag, “Abigail, is something wrong? You seem less chipper than usual.”
Abigail’s smile became slightly more genuine as she considered him, “That’s very kind of you to notice, Gilderoy. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.” She handed him his pile of letters. Gilderoy couldn’t say for certain, but he thought it seemed smaller than he’d expected it to be.
He glanced once again at his list and thought he understood. “It’s this You-Know-Who fellow, isn’t it?”
Abigail sighed and shook her head, the wrinkles on her face looking a great deal more pronounced when she frowned like that. Gilderoy thought he ought to share some of his wrinkle reducing potions with her. He made another note. Then he looked up when he realized Abigail was talking as she busied herself around the room, changing his bed sheets and fluffing his pillows.
“And the Prophet thinks Harry Potter will be the one to deal with him. But he’s barely 16 years old, isn’t he? And after all that trauma last year, with the fits—and it’s no wonder, is it? Remarkable amount of pressure to put on a…”
Abigail continued speaking, but Gilderoy had lost his train of thought. He didn’t know who this Harry Potter person was, but surely Potter wasn’t half as brave and heroic as Gilderoy. Where, after all, were the series of books detailing Harry Potter’s adventures? Where were Potter’s fans?
Gilderoy sat down to answer some of his fan mail. His last one was another letter from Courelida Aldermaston, poor woman, her sister-in-law was muggleborn, and had disappeared just last week. Nobody knew where she’d gone, but they suspected You-Know-Who was involved.
Gilderoy shook his head and crossed off “Answer Fan Mail,” from his list. He sipped his mid-morning tea and considered long and hard the next item on his list for the day. It was a good thing Gilderoy was so brave, otherwise he might have been downright quaking in his boots considering what he had to do next.
He took one more fortifying sip of his tea and stood up. His wand was, thankfully, sitting on a nice velvet pillow above his fireplace. There was a bit of floo powder on the mantle beside it. Gilderoy had no idea how either of those things had gotten there, but the way forward was clear.
He tossed some powder in the fire, stepped in and enunciated clearly, “Kinloch house.” From there it was a simple manner of soothing the frightened old Perifida Kinloch so that she could explain how to get to the old Lestrange hunting cabin a mile into the woods.
“You’re goin’ to do it, then?” she asked, staring up at him with wide eyes.
Gilderoy ignored the giant, puss-emitting boil on the tip of her nose and nodded gravely.
“The Ministry n’er took me letters seriously.”
“Fortunately for them, you sought help from me, Gilderoy Lockhart: adventurer, hero, and recipient of the Order of Merlin, second class.”
With that he was on his way. He found the hunting cabin quickly enough—or well, he found a very dark and what for others would have surely been a quite terrifying part of the woods. Others likely would have felt a horrifying, near debilitating desire to turn around, to run away, perhaps even to cry. But not Gildeory.
He took a few deep breaths, simply because he liked breathing, certainly not because he was afraid. Haven’t you read Gadding with Ghouls? Gilderoy was fearless.
Finally, some half an hour later, despite the chill darkness of the woods, a rather unpleasant summer heat had somehow managed to sink in around him. A layer of perspiration was beginning to form at his temples, and Gilderoy realized it was well past time to act. He didn’t want to accomplish heroic deeds only to do it while looking like a sweaty beast with unkempt hair.
Gildeory took one more deep breath, filled his lungs with breath and shouted, “You-Know-Who!”
He coughed and patted at his chest. That hadn’t been much of a yell. Some (highly misinformed) observers might have dubbed it a fearful half-croak barely louder than a whisper. They were wrong of course.
Gilderoy cleared his throat and shouted again, this time far more loudly, “You-Know-Who!” he cried, “I beseech you! Come forward and face me!”
Gilderoy did not have time to ponder the thought that perhaps nobody was home, and really he should just give up and go home, when a sudden CRACK made him jump back in alarm. A grizzled looking man in fine black robes appeared and with wand held aloft, looked Gilderoy up and down.
“Are you You-Know-Who?” said Gilderoy.
“Am I what now?”
“You-Know-Who. Is that you?”
The man lowered his wand and raised a bushy eyebrow. “Lockhart?” said the man, “What exactly do you think you’re doing? I heard you were a permanent resident at St. Mungo’s.”
Gilderoy couldn’t help but feel a hint of pride that the dark wizard had recognized him. See, Gildeory knew he was very famous.
“I take it you’ve read my books?” said Lockhart. “Good then, you must know that I am here to vanquish you.” Lockhart glanced around, “Hm, where should you like to be vanquished? You’re standing rather close, perhaps if you’d take a few steps back we could be done with this, yes?”
The man was quiet for a moment, and then all at once he burst out in the most hideous, uproarious laughter that Gilderoy had ever had this displeasure of hearing. Gilderoy glanced uncomfortably at the list in his hands and then shoved it back in his robes. When the man had finished laughing, he choked out, “That’s a good one Lockhart. I reckon the Dark Lord could do with some amusement. Come on then, I’ll take you to him.”
“You mean You-Know-Who?” said Gilderoy, “You’ll bring me to You-Know-Who?”
“Said I would, didn’t I? Come on, you’ll not be able to apparate past the wards.”
The unpleasant fellow grabbed Gilderoy by the arm and began leading him through the forest. That horrible feeling of summer heat and endless cold only got worse the closer they got to the hunting cabin. And then they were inside.
The interior decoration was… well… certainly not something Gilderoy would choose. The walls were covered in the heads of various beasts, from wild boars to manticores. They followed Gilderoy and his guide’s progress as they entered the shack.
The man knocked at a door at the end of a long hallway. A high, clear voice said, “Enter!”
They entered the room and Gilderoy carefully did not blanch when he beheld the serpentine features of the man seated at the wide oaken desk. “Who is this, Rodolphus?” said the man.
“Brought you a present,” said Rodolphus, “This here is Gilderoy Lockhart. Wizarding adventurer.”
“And hero,” added Gilderoy.
“Hero?” said the high, silky voice.
“And recipient of the Order of Merlin, second class.”
The face that beheld Gilderoy was pale and utterly hairless. He had no eyebrows, but the papery skin on his forehead pinched up in an unflattering sort of amused disbelief.
“And what can I do for you, Mr. Lockhart? Why have you chosen to seek Lord Voldemort?”
Gilderoy found himself transfixed by the man’s papery skin. He wondered what sort of skin care potions, if any, he could suggest to help this Lord Voldemort fellow with his complexion. He shook his head to clear it, glanced once more at his to-do list and said, “Are you You-Know-Who?”
Lord Voldemort watched carefully as Lockhart’s hand returned to his robes pocket, depositing the list once again. Perhaps that was why he did not see Gilderoy touch his wand with his other hand.
“Am I what now?”
“You-Know-Who,” said Gilderoy.
“Well yes,” said Lord Voldemort, “I suppose I am.”
In truth, Gilderoy had not written out a very concrete plan on his to-do list that day. He’d already crossed off “Go to Inverness,” and “Ask Perifida Kinloch where the Lestrange Hunting Cabin is.”
And so, before he opened his mouth, Gilderoy could not have said which spell he would use to cross out the next thing on his list, “Vanquish You-Know-Who.”
He was just as surprised as anyone might have been that the spell that came to his aid in his moment of desperation was in fact a simple, “Obliviate.”
Gilderoy didn’t have the faintest idea how he knew the spell, much less that he could cast it so proficiently. In the very deepest part of his mind, there was a thought that a powerful Occlumens ought to have been able to thwart an obliviation spell, at least if it was cast by any sort of remotely sane person. Gilderoy didn’t think on it much.
There was a bright flash of light, and You-Know-Who’s stunned, furious face melted into one of polite confusion.
A quick twist and Rodolphus Lestrange was in a similar state.
Gilderoy eyed his wand for a moment and then traded it for his favorite feather quill and his to-do list. Ah yes, afternoon tea was next and then more fan mail. He was meant to have a floo call with his literary agent at 3:00.
The End.