The Obliviator's Mask - formerly The Masterplan
A.N.: canon-compliant up until the end of the Battle of Hogwarts in DH. Inspired by a moment of hilarity and stemmed out of the belief that no one can be quite as moronically funny as Gilderoy Lockhart without a backstory. I was looking for something on youtube and stumbled on a pink panter video with the theme music – ta ta ta-tam, ta tam, … - you know it. And then I just got this picture of Lockhart sneaking out of the locked ward and I had to write it down.
The sky was still dark, a fathomless expanse of black, with a barely visible brighter spots of light posing as stars.
The night was silent, as if it was mourning. Which it probably was.
The only sign of life was the barely audible sound of weeping, which seemed to hauntingly carry through the grounds of Hogwarts. Most of the still remaining residents had fallen asleep several hours before. The only figure that seemed at least somewhat aware stood swaying, one foot on the railing, on the very top of the Astronomy tower. The weeping which seemed to encompass all that had been battle grounds only hours before, though the red had become black in the dark of the night, appeared to originate here, joined by the ghostly cries of the winds.
The figure crouched down and gripped the railing tightly with both hands, still nearly soundlessly weeping.
Time: Day 1 after the Battle of Hogwarts, 5:59 AM; Location: St. Mungo (London, UK), Secure Ward
Beep – beep – be – a hand muffled the sound.
Gilderoy Jauntifer Lockhart opened first his right, then, after assuring that no hospital personal was in sight, his left eye. He remained very stiff for a few moments, eyes darting about. After a few minutes, he exhaled loudly, and then jumped into action.
'Showtime!', he thought.
He quickly got out of bed, grabbed the bag he had packed for very different reasons – namely, to flee the country – a week before, heaved all his mountains full of personal pictures with autographs into the backpack – his signature had mysteriously returned to that of an adult as soon as the healers had classified his case as "hopeless, the poor dear" – and tiptoed to the potted plant in the corner near the window.
After a few seconds of desperate fumbling, only slightly aided by the lights of the white-greenish emergency lamps, he whispered triumphantly "Aha!", and stepped back. In his hands a tiny toy broomstick – or so it seemed. Gilderoy bend down, to pull his Hawthorn wand out of his left sock, where he had hidden it. He had finally managed to procure it the day before, during the induction of the new medical director. He would be the first to go; Death Eaters did not mix too well with hospitals, especially during peacetimes. And Gilderoy had heard the quiet, whispered exclamations of joy the night before, the clinging of the glasses of champagne, the fireworks… Others might have chalked that up to the new Director, or any Muggle Holidays, but Gilderoy knew better. Peace. Finally. After silently disabling the wards on the hospital window, he mounted his now enlarged Comet 260 and left his room of nearly five years, all the while silently contemplating the events that lead to this very day more than five years before ….
tell me what you think, please!