[fic] beginnings
February 4th, 1968.
"Mum?"
Gilderoy Lockhart blinked up at his mother with owlish blue eyes, gesturing toward the half-open front door with hands covered by sweater sleeves.
"Hm?"
"There's a man here," he said, frowning. "To talk t'you. He says it's about me but I swear I didn't do anythin'! I don't even know who he is, mum!"
"Calm down, sweetheart. It's okay. I'll go see what he wants-and don't you think of going near that door again! It's freezing out. You'll catch a cold."
His frown deepened as he lowered his gaze, eyes trailing down the length of his mother's green wool dress. Catherine Lockhart, he thought, was especially pretty when she wore dresses. "Yes, mum."
He then retreated to the kitchen, clambering onto one of the rickety stools near the counter, and dutifully announced, "There's a man at the door. Mum's talkin' to him."
"Is she?" Emmet Lockhart, widely regarded as one of Ireland's most controversial-and yet still well-respected-physical cosmologists, smirked at his son from behind a handwritten essay. "Do you know who the man was?"
"Nope."
"I'm sure it's nothing important, then. Nothing important ever happens on Sunday afternoons," Emmet said, matter-of-factly. Gilderoy thought about that for a moment, then decided his father was right; he couldn't remember many Sunday afternoons during which anything of note happened, save for the days when his grandparents visited.
That Sunday afternoon, however, was different.
Catherine reemerged in the kitchen with an elderly-looking, bespectacled man in tow. He had surprising coal-black hair, light brown eyes, and a smattering of white stubble around his chin and jaw. Gilderoy and Emmet looked up in unison, two pairs of blue eyes trained on the stranger. "Hullo," Emmet said, setting his papers down.
"Mister Lockhart." The man bowed his head, then straightened and spoke with a faint Berkshire accent. "My name is Nigel Mills. Professor Nigel Mills, actually, of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But please-call me Nigel."
Emmet's brows furrowed and he immediately looked over to his wife, who stood straight as an arrow and silent as death, her left hand clapped delicately over her mouth. He blinked once and looked back to Professor Mills, then let out a humorless laugh. "Excuse me?"
"I'm here to tell you that your son," and here he nodded to Gilderoy, who immediately shrank back in his seat, "has been selected to attend our prestigious school."
"Your school of… witchcraft."
"Your son has magical abilities, Mister Lockhart."
Alarmed, Gilderoy jumped from his seat, knocking the stool over, and bolted for the staircase up to his room. A yell from his father stopped him dead in his tracks mid-way up the stairs. "I'm sorry!" he yelled back. "I didn't think anyone knew it was me!"
"Knew what was you?"
"Nothin', I just-"
Catherine finally lowered the hand from her mouth, her expression slowly shifting from one of quiet shock to clear anger. "Gilderoy Fintan Lockhart, you come back down here right now and explain yourself!"
He flinched at the sound of his middle name and slinked back down the stairs, stopping to stand between the three adults in the kitchen with a tremendously guilty look on his face. Professor Mills chuckled to himself, which earned him puzzled looks from Gilderoy's parents, and kneeled to meet the young boy's gaze. "Gilderoy, you did nothing wrong."
"I certainly think he did," Emmet grumbled, standing. "If he's riled up enough attention to have madmen show up at our door talking about things like magic!"
From his position near the floor, Nigel glanced up and smiled. "I am no madman, Mister Lockhart. Your son has an extraordinarily rare gift." Rare enough to warrant a visit from Hogwarts's resident Muggles Studies professor, the only man qualified to explain magic to two very baffled, suspicious parents.
Visit number two hundred and three, Nigel proudly thought to himself.
"I don't know who you are or what you want, but get away from my son. I'll get the police here!"
Emmet grabbed his wife, who very nearly took up the rolling pin on the counter. "I swear to God," she continued. "If I could just get to the phone-Emmet!"
"Stop!" Gilderoy hopped in front of his mother, waving his arms in the air. "Stop! I didn't tell you because I thought I'd get in trouble! I didn't mean to do it!" Unsurprisingly, this did nothing to calm his mother.
"If you don't tell us what you're talking about right now-"
"Remember when dad was rakin' the leaves in the yard a few months ago and they caught fire after he went inside? I did that. I dunno how I did it, but I did. I was really scared so I didn't say anythin'! Dad thought it was from his smoke, so I thought… I thought it would be okay. And no one would ever know it was me. I didn't mean to do it, I swear! I'm sorry!"
Catherine and Emmet exchanged glances. His father was the first to speak. "Were you playing with matches?"
Gilderoy shook his head.
"My lighter?"
He shook his head again.
"A candle?"
"No, dad! I wasn't playin' with anything! It just happened!"
"That happens sometimes," Nigel interjected, standing with a groan and brushing off his coat. "With very young wizards especially. It's not uncommon, and I assure you he didn't do it on purpose. Magic sometimes manifests itself accidentally. It can be just like sneezing."
Silence fell over the room.
"Believe me, I know what a shock this must be to the both of you," he continued, cautiously. "I'm the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts-Muggles being non-magical people, like the two of you-and it's always difficult for parents to understand it at first. I'm more than willing to sit and speak with you, if you'll let me. I can even demonstrate some things. I promise I'm not mad, nor am I here to do any harm to your family. I've nothing but Gilderoy's best interests at heart-"
Catherine wrung free from her husband's grip and practically lunged at the professor. "Who are you to tell me what's best for my son?"
The only thing that kept her from slapping him was Emmet, who suddenly but carefully laid his hand on her shoulder. "Darling? I think-and just humor me for a second, please-we should show our guest some hospitality."
Gilderoy and his mother wore the same expression: confusion.
Unwavering as always, Emmet smiled.
"Please take a seat, Professor," he said. "I'll put the kettle on. Gilderoy, pick up that stool and sit down. Cat, find some biscuits."
And with that, everyone did as they were told.