Chapter 1 : Magical Me
| ||Rating: 12+||Chapter Reviews: 13|
Background: Font color:
“My favourite colour is, by tradition, lilac. You’ll see me wearing it now. Yes, that’s me. The handsome, inevitably desirable stud with the luscious golden curls sitting in front of you right now. Order of Merlin, third class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five times winner of Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile Award. I am, unavoidably, simply to die for.
“Oh, ha ha ha ha. I amaze myself. Do I amaze you? Of course I do. But you’re not all here simply to listen to me talk. No, you’re here to listen to my golden lull of voice in a song as my dazzling white teeth gleam at you. How many times do I brush my teeth? Well, I can tell you. Every second. But to me, that’s just not enough.
“You’ll see, in my book, that I have achieved many feats. Oh Merlin, there is a list so full that it shocks even I, myself, who achieved such glory. I think you’ll find that at the end of this sweet-tuned speech, that I will be signing books, parchment, robes, limbs and all. Because I’m generous like that. And that is why you love me. I love myself.
“You think I’m wearing a wig, don’t you? Yes, they all say that. They look at me, and they think me a god. A god of beauty and charm, a god of unutterable wisdom and - well, everything really. I can predict the weather, you know. Outside, when I smile, a ray of sunshine shall set its glimmer into your house, and when I am sad, the rain shall relentlessly fall. But I cry. How could tears possibly fall when my wonderful reflection smiles back at me?
“There’s a pidgeon outside. Its hopping around, and there’s a pip inside its mouth. I can defeat it, you know. Shall I show you? One smile and it shall chirp and be on its way. But I don’t do that. No, I have this wooden wand. But its broken. Words wonders. I’m stepping over to the window now, and the pidgeon is looking at me. Oh, its flown away. Well, what can I say, my humble admirers? I suppose it just knows who’s boss.
“I’m dominant like that. The dominant male. Alpha, some like to say. I’ve had women, oh yes. They love me. Betty Boucoup sent me a letter just the other day. The owl didn’t seem to want to let go of it. Shall I tell you what it said? Now, where is it. Oh yes. Ahem.
“Dear Mr Lockhart” . . . But you don’t want to hear about that, because everybody knows that all the women in the world want to marry me. I wouldn’t want to make you jealous. Ah, my lilac. It flatters me so. See how it compliments my features, how it draws such eyes to that of flawless perfection? Me. Magical, magical me.”
A door creaked open, revealing an elderly woman who was peering through. Her eyes were framed with the gold rims of glasses, and in her pale fragile hands rested a vase of flowers. She placed them nervously down upon the dressing table as she approached her son, a small frown drawing yet another crease across her aged face. “Gilderoy, dear. Its bed time.”
The man spun, his eyes wildly flashing. “But mother! How rude of you to interrupt!” He smoothed down his pale lilac robes and sighed as the woman placed a dressing-gown around his shoulders, draping it and ruffling a hand through his rich gold curls fondly. “I haven’t finished talking to my audience yet. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them now, would you?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and a small sigh passed her lips as she eyed the supposed “audience” her son was gesticulating at rather wildly. A widespread mirror filled the front of the lavish dressing-table upon which formed a large array of letters and a vacated peacock quill, dribbling dark ink. Her son’s face appeared once more in the mirror as he turned back to it, his grin wide, a flirtatious wink escaping his steady features.
“Well now, that’s enough of me for today. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Its never enough. There’s never enough of Gilderoy Lockhart. But, my dear ladies please! Do not weep in the sorrow that I am gone. For I shall be back on the mirror. As soon as I rise and smile, the sun shall do also, and I know you’ll be here, waiting for me. As you always are.” His fingers stretched out and grazed the mirror for an instant, admiring his own reflection. A small smile tilted upon his warm full lips and he parted them once more, as if to speak.
“Gilderoy!” His mother snapped crossly, her eyes rich with annoyance. Each night, her wayward son would perform such a routine. His ego had only since increased when asked to fulfil the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at his previous school, Hogwarts. Sometimes, when he returned, beaming from his adventures and claiming to have dealt with werewolves and the like, she couldn’t help but doubt him. Her son had never struck him as brave. Occasionally she thought that he might fall into the mirror and remain there, for he spent every hour of his spare time staring into it.
“I know what you are,” her son continued, completely oblivious to the fact that his mother was sending him to bed. “You’re the Mirror of Erised. And why don’t I see my desire?” He poked at the Mirror with a slightly chubby thumb, searching for answers. Within a moment, he drew back once again, his eyes glittering with decision and mirth. “Oh yes. I know why. Because I desire me. I am . . . everything I need.”
“Gilderoy! Bed, now!”
“One moment, Mother!” he hissed, flinging her one look of glowering fury. Turning back to the mirror, he waved it a sweet, good night. “You’ll miss me? Oh, you flatter me too much! I know you love me, yes, yes, yes, you don’t have to send me flowers. Oh, not the trousers - my dear lady!” he rebuked the mirror strongly. “That is quite enough!”
“Yes,” his mother returned, suddenly dragging him by the collar and hastily shoving him towards his bed. “That is enough. Now, lights out and be up at seven. You’ve got a long day tomorrow Gilderoy and - Oh no! Don’t you dare!” Her eyes flashed like lightening as her son attempted to approach the mirror once again. “One of these days, Gilderoy, your vanity will be the death of you.”
“Yes, yes, mother. Turn that light out. I need my beauty sleep.”
With a growl and an ill-oppressed “humph”, Mrs Lockhart turned and shut the door with a heavy snap.
Beneath the covers of his bed, a young man crawled, thumping across the floor and doing his best to keep explicably quiet. His hands gripped the desk, and slowly he pulled himself up, catching the white gleam of his teeth as he grinned through the dark. Piercing blue eyes met his own through the reflection of the mirror, and he sighed in a dreamlike manner.
“Wait, my audience! I can hear them!” Automatically, he began clapping his hands loudly, perhaps so for the next few minutes. “Oh, please stop! No, no, you don’t have to continue, its just me. Why yes, madam, yes I am modest but - Oh! What’s this? Chocolates? For me? Champagne? Oh my dear you stray too far! Please stop clapping.” His claps grew quieter. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you. I shall take my bow. I shall . . . Oh please!” His claps rose again, so loud this time that he could barely think. “You don’t have to honour me so! I can’t help who I am. I can’t help that the gods gifted me. I am, with utmost certainty, the most dazzling human alive. Gilderoy Lockhart. Magical me.”
A thump raised from downstairs and he jumped, almost falling over, the clapping rounding to an abrupt halt. His eyes flickered towards the doorway and a woman shrieked up the stairs.
“Gilderoy! This is the last time! Go to sleep before I come up there and hex your face into oblivion!”
Scrabbling away from the mirror, Gilderoy sank down onto the bed with a large sigh and a grumpy pout. He folded his arms across his chest and pulled the duvet up high, clutching a rather pompous looking doll to his waist and whispering into its hair.
“She’s just jealous, you know. They all are. They want to be me, they want to -”
“I’m warning you! One more peep!” his mother threatened from outside the door.
“Yes, mother,” he replied promptly, hugging the toy tighter. As the moon shone through and graced his angelic features, he turned over swiftly in his bed, and fell into an abrupt sleep.
A.N - Thanks to Snitchsista for sitting next to me and sniggering all the way through this, as I wrote. *hugs*
Other Similar Stories
The Chance t...