Gilderoy Lockhart
10 December 2011 @ 09:08 am
[a most important PSA]  
[Locked against CLF, sympathizers, etc. They don't need to know about this glorious day.]

Attention, denizens of Chicago!

I would like to remind you all that

my birthday is in two days!

No one needs to get me anything, but the sentiment would be very much appreciated! I enjoy chocolate, the color purple, gold (real gold, thank you; I can tell!), and cards with sonnets about me written on the inside*.

:)

(Look! I've learned how to use emoty-cons!)

*Other gifts are acceptable, but may be pawned at my discretion.
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
13 November 2011 @ 03:36 pm
[locked to Looney High students & staff]  
Attention, Looney High:

It is with great pleasure that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, officially announce the beginning of work on our school's production of Romeo & Juliet. Auditions will be held after school this Thursday and Friday in the auditorium. All students are welcome, but please come prepared with a monologue selection at least three minutes long.

All students in my classes will be required to audition. It's part of your grade for the term, so do show up! Any student not given a role will be offered a position backstage.

I'd also like to invite all interested staff members to contact me if interested in helping out.

Please direct any questions my way!

Yours,
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
20 September 2011 @ 09:48 am
for Miss Granger.  
Because it is Hermione's birthday shut up, backdating is awesome and Gilderoy actually knew, he decided to do something nice for his best student.

His gift to her is a gorgeous peacock feather quill (three guesses as to where it came from!) and a vial of indigo ink. These items are in a little blue box, the tag on which reads, simply:

Happy birthday, Hermione.
~Professor Lockhart


It's waiting for her outside her door.

Let us hope she doesn't step on it.
Tags:
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
25 August 2011 @ 03:10 pm
[SO PUBLIC.]  
A lot of people seem to think I'm gay, even in spite of recently and relutcantly publicized escapades with a certain Daily Prophet reporter.

I'm not.

I know this because I tried. I think his name was Aidain or Angus or something very Irish like that. We met in a pub in London while I was doing my publicity tour for Travels with Trolls, so it was in the spring of 1985. April.

Anyway, we just were talking because it was one of those pubs where no one gives a damn who you are, everyone just wants to get drunk and be alone (usually), but he started talking to me and I didn't want to be rude. I'm sure he didn't know who I was. I wasn't even dressed normally because I was so desperate to get away from my agent at the time that I went to extreme camouflaging measures. (Her name was Tilly Ashdown and she was absolutely out of her head. But, I digress.)

So next thing I know, we're up in some shitty dodgy old room above the bar. Dark, cold, probably crawling with Merlin knows what—I'm sure you know the type of room I'm talking about. You see them in films, right? When someone's about to either die horribly or make a really poor decision? That was exactly where I was.

He was drunk, I was drunk. I distinctly remember wanting nothing more than to fall over and go to sleep, but he wanted other things. And I remember saying to him, "Sure, why the hell not?"

I will tell you why the hell not.

I probably would have felt more kissing a tree. Absolutely nothing happened. Nothing "stirred," as they say, which actually did surprise me, as he was one of the more handsome men I've met. By that point I was certain I was in trouble. He was considerably more enthusiastic than I, but a few minutes later he passed out (this may be one of the luckier moments of my life) and I ran. I didn't even wipe his memory, I was in such a rush. But I'm pretty sure the alcohol took care of that.
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
20 August 2011 @ 12:09 am
[so very public, higher power help your brains.]  
The only reason Rita Skeeter never went after me is because I slept with her.

A LOT.

And you really don't want to defame someone who knows things like, oh, why yes, she is rather fond of handcuffs~

The fuzzy Muggle-made ones.



She liked them in green.
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
12 August 2011 @ 10:52 pm
[public with appropriate locks]  
As some of you may know, there's a meteor shower around this time every year called the Perseids.

It's supposed to peak this evening—or tomorrow morning, depending on how you want to read the clock—so I'd like to invite whoever's interested to join me up on the Kashtta's roof for a little viewing party of sorts around midnight. We may not see much thanks to the full moon and the city lights, but I'm sure there'll be something.

And if there isn't, at least we can all get some fresh air.

Bring chairs/pillows/etc.!
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
11 August 2011 @ 01:27 am
[public with appropriate locks]  
I really hate to be the one to say "I told you so," considering the current state of things.

However,

I TOLD YOU THERE WAS MOLD IN HERE.
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
06 August 2011 @ 09:55 pm
[rift] a note  
[Private to Harry, Hermione, and Luna.]

Would one (or all) of you please let me know what I've missed back home? I'm aware that you're all from later points in time than I am, and I'd like to get back in the loop, as they say.

I think it would be nice if we were all on the same page.

Please keep in mind that I don't want to know everything—for example: relationships, grades, Quidditch scores, and the like—just the important things. Hogwarts staff changes, major events, the state of things with You-Know-Who, etc.

Also: How long was Meandering with the Minotaur at the top of the Daily Prophet's best seller list? Weeks? Months? Did I publish anything after that?

Do let me know.

Professor Lockh
Gilder

G.L.
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
05 August 2011 @ 09:43 pm
[rift | fic] stuck in a show where I am playing me  
Chicago is nothing like the cities Gilderoy knows by heart. It has none of London's gloomy, old charm; its buildings are dizzyingly higher and far more crowded than those in Glasgow; and the faint traces of home—Belfast—lead only to a handful of Irish-American pubs.

Worst of all, there's nothing magical about it.
 
(Nothing he's yet discovered, anyway, save for his now ex-students.)

As he stands on the Kashtta's roof and surveys the city's glittering lights below, he wants to draw up some kind of metaphor—stars, or fireflies, or anything pretty—but his heart's not in it. He's far too distracted and concerned—or distracted by his concerns, rather—to focus on anything other than his own problems.

But that, he knows, is nothing new.

He backs away from the roof's edge and looks up. There's not much to see due to the light and particle pollution and clouds, but the moon is visible in spite of it all, hanging in the blackness like a hook.

That's when the nausea hits.

The thought that this isn't the sky that's drifted overhead his entire life, that this moon might not be the moon whose craters he knew so well as a boy, that the pricks of light he can barely distinguish might not make the same constellations he learned about in his father's books sends him reeling. His stomach lurches, his heart leaps into his throat, and he sits before his sense of balance vanishes.

This does nothing to stop the way the world is spinning. He shuts his eyes to close the vertigo out and claws through his memories, grasping onto the evening of March 29, 1975. All at once, he's back in the Ravenclaw common room, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and high windows and concentrating on nothing other than the fingers threading through his hair.

"Can you really believe we're almost finished?" he asked, tilting his head back to look into a pair of dark green, owlish eyes.

"It was… quick, yes. Too quick. Seven years, just like that, gone in a flash." The young lady seated on the couch above him smiled, somewhat preoccupied with unraveling one of his curls. She was pretty, but not stunning—her hair was the same color as Gilderoy's and her features were rather small and pointy, but he loved her just the same. It was a surprise to most of the school when they started dating—who knew Gilderoy Lockhart could care for anyone other than himself?—but their personalities meshed well, and they bonded quickly over many little things.

"I can't help but wonder what's next," he said. "I don't suppose you'd happen to know?"

The girl snicker-snorted, a strange but pleasing sound, and shook her head. "I will tell you nothing. Your journey will be exactly that, and I will have no part in guiding you through it."

He felt a pang in his chest and looked to the nearest window, blue eyes sweeping the sunset-painted mountains. "I know."

Though they made a fine couple and were happy enough together, both knew—one more certainly than the other—that their relationship would end with graduation. Gilderoy frowned at the thought. She didn't seem so bothered, but she was always difficult to read.

"There is... one thing. One thing that is very little right now, but will be very big someday."

He looked back up at her, fingers absently tracing the pattern in the ornate carpet underfoot. "What?"

"I know that you will always be a liar, Gilderoy Lockhart—" And here he opened his mouth to protest, but a slim finger pressed his lips closed. "But one day you will be handed a blank slate, and you must promise me that you will take it."

He considered her words for a few moments, then nodded. "I promise."

Part of him wanted to ask what she meant, when this slate-handing would happen, but most of him knew better. He trusted her.

Sybill Trelawney, after all, was rarely wrong.

When he opens his eyes, he's atop the Kashtta once more. The nausea's faded and his heart's back in his chest, but he can't shake the feeling that he won't be able to keep his promise. Even he's not sure who he is under all the lies and expensive fabric, so how can anyone expect him to let it all drop away so easily?

A breeze kicks up. He shivers, casts one more glance at the sky, then heads inside.
Tags: ,
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart
29 July 2011 @ 05:49 pm
[rift] journal entry the first  
...unfortunately public. )