Fanfiction: Once Upon a Freakin' Time
So, has everyone seen the new Death Eater masks for OotP?
The Death Eaters Are Customizable
Gilderoy Lockhart, the fresh-faced Senior Traveling Sales Associate for Master Wizackawall’s Discount Robes, Cloaks, Wands, Masks and Assorted Wizarding Paraphernalia, Intl., stood before the cracked mirror in the cramped bathroom, trying to psyche himself up for a big sale. He’d hit the jackpot this time, for sure. He’d been asked to display the newest mask models to a gentleman wizards’ club, and he could practically smell the old money reeking from the other room where his prospective clients waited. This would be the big break he needed to prove that he deserved the Senior Traveling Sales Associate title he’d inherited when his predecessor was fired after he mysterious forgot his sales route, all his product information, and that he didn’t live in the south of France.
After checking his perfect teeth in the mirror to make sure there wasn’t a bit of spinach from lunch stuck in them, he briskly rubbed his cheeks to give them a natural rosy glow. He used to use a touch of rouge, but stopped after his Regional Manager, Benedict Swiftgall, told him it made him look “cheap.” Gilderoy Lockhart was many things, including cheap. But he would die before he looked cheap! “You’re a tiger, Tiger,” he said to himself in the mirror. “You’ve got what it takes. You look like a million Galleons in that sunset orange robe. You go out there and sell the hell out of the those masks!”
Mentally prepared, he threw open the bathroom door dramatically, spread his arms as if he was about to burst into song, and smiled as warmly as a bonfire on a mid-July afternoon. “Good evening, my good gentlemen. My name is Gilderoy Lockhart, and I am the newly appointed Senior Traveling Sales Associate for Master Wizackawall’s--”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted an annoyed voice from the end of what Gilderoy was just noticing was a very dark room. “Very upwardly mobile of you.”
Shot down before his spiel could really takeoff, Gilderoy spent moment fussing with his hair and robes before attempting to pick out who had cut short his introduction. As if Gilderoy could miss him.
The room was long and narrow, with high windows that let in the fading day’s dusky light. In the gathering shadows at the rear of the room sat a deathly pale man in an ornate wooden chair. Clumped around him, like silent sentinels, stood dark-clad, stiff-faced wizards and witches, all of whom watched Gilderoy like circling vultures. Circling vultures that were standing perfectly still. In two years, everyone would know who they were: Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. At this very moment, however, Gilderoy had no idea who he was facing, but had to suppose that maybe the man in the chair would benefit from a little sun, and maybe a quality moisturizer.
Gilderoy’s reverie on the skincare regiment of his newest patron was interrupted, however, when Lord Voldemort snapped, “Well? Get on with it. My schedule is booked solid tonight, and I don’t want to waste time watching some wastrel in pastel pose!”
“But I’m not wearing my Spring Colors robe today, ” said Lucius Malfoy, standing to Voldemort’s right.
“Not you, Lucius,” sighed Bellatrix Lestrange wearily.
Pretending the preceding conversation had been an icebreaker, Gilderoy strode down the room toward the huddled group, swinging his samples case confidently. He thought with some irritation that just maybe this group could have spread out a little more. Some of the people in the back might not even be able to see his presentation! “Do you have a table, sir?” he asked politely, looking around for a place to display his samples. He was greeted by silence.
“You’re right, sir. Tables are overrated.” Gilderoy quickly dropped his case to the floor. He gave it a swift kick, and it sprang open. Up popped a multi-tiered display frame, as tall as a coat rack, with each level displaying a different mask. The sight of his wares filled Gilderoy with glee. He was going to nail this sale! “Lady and gentleman,” he started, making sure to single out Bellatrix in his introduction. He had a way with the ladies, and maybe this would be the key to winning over this dark, humorless crowd. “I come to you today on behalf of Master Wizackawall to introduce you to the newest, the finest, the most modern collection of masks in the wizarding world. Wizackawall’s Custom Masques are all the mask you will ever need, whether you’re holding a masquerade or an esoteric ritual.”
“Actually,” said Lucius, “we’re trying to inspire fear by making people think we could be anyone and anywhere.”
“Well, it’s good for that too,” replied Gilderoy, nodding vaguely. “Allow me to show you one of our most popular models.” Gilderoy plucked from the stand a shining peacock-blue half-mask with large almond-shaped eyeholes rimmed with black. In truth, it was not one of the most popular models, but it was Gilderoy’s favorite because of the delicate scrolling at the edges, which called to attention his fabulous eyes without being too obtrusive or distracting. Decoration should enhance, not exist for itself, though not everyone was as enhanceable as Gilderoy.
Gilderoy presented the mask to Lord Voldemort with a little flourish. “It’s blue,” said Voldemort.
Gilderoy waggled his finger as one would at a naughty child. “Peacock,” he corrected.
Voldemort studied Gilderoy for a full second before deciding that lifting his wand to hex this idiot into oblivion was way more effort than he was willing to expend. “Blue or peacock,” he said, “I can hardly imagine inspiring fear in that.”
“I’m glad you brought that up, sir,” said Gilderoy, who was never one to miss an opportunity. “Wizackawall’s Custom Masques are offered in a wide selection of colors, shapes and sizes for the discriminating wizard. If you’d all just like to take a look at our color samples, in this book I have here, I’m sure you’ll all be able to find a color that inspires fear, disgust, heart attacks, whatever you would wish!”
Gilderoy handed his sample book over to Lucius, who immediately began to paw through the pages. “Look at all these choices,” Lucius said. “Apple, chartreuse, verdant, crimson, azure, chicory, ebon, fuchsia, plum, cinnabar, cinnamon, sulphur, wine--”
“Even if you order bulk,” continued Gilderoy, “you don’t all have to have the same color, sirs and madams.”
“How many do we have to order to get the bulk rate?” asked Voldemort, who was far more interested in business than in customizable colors. He wasn’t going to be wearing a mask anyway.
“-blush, mauve, papaya, scarlet, powder, russet, puce, sugar, saffron, lavender, charcoal, loden…Loden? That’s not a color. They made that up.”
“The usual amount is 50,” said Gilderoy, “but right now we’re having a special deal. If you order 20 masks, you can get the bulk rate. I don’t offer this to just anyone, you know.”
“Hmmm,” said Voldemort. “I’m going to need a few more minions.”
“-ochre, sienna, goldenrod, rose, olive, drab, indigo, slate, dusk, beige, bisque, almond, cyan, kelly, mahogany--”
“Maybe you should order extras,” advised Bellatrix. “That way you won’t have to call this fool back as your following grows.”
“That’s a very good idea, Bella,” said Voldemort.
“-honeydew, flame, sea foam, sunset, turquoise, salmon, brick, stone, thistle…this is going to be a difficult choice,” said Lucius, finally running out of breath. “What are you going to get, Snape?”
Severus Snape frowned. “Can’t I just get white?”
“No, but there’s an ‘ecru.’”
“I think we’ll order 30 to start,” said Voldemort.
“Excellent plan,” replied Gilderoy, pulling his account book out of his robe and making a note. “Now, I don’t want you all to think that we only offer customizable colors. We have a whole range of customizable features, which are illustrated in the back of the sample book. For example, how do you want your eyeholes to look? Should your nostrils be visible? Do you want a full mask or half-mask?”
“You’re all getting full masks,” stated Voldemort. “I really don’t care how pretty you think your mouth looks.”
“Awwww,” said Lucius.
“In that case,” said Gilderoy, “you’ll want to look at our selection of mouth holes. Let me get a few of our models off my rack.”
“We need mouth holes?” asked Antonin Dolohov.
“Of course we do,” said Snape, rolling his eyes. “Otherwise we’d all talk like this: ‘Mmmpfh mmerpfh mmmurdurfff mmmmppp.’”
“I don’t like that one,” said Bellatrix, snatching a pair of masks out of Gilderoy’s hands as he came back. “It’s a little too ‘grill on the prisoner’s cell’ for me. I prefer this spade topped one. It looks like the gate tops at our country estate. It says, ‘Fool with me, and I’ll cut off your head and display it on a pike for the peasants to gape at.’”
“Excellent choice, madam,” said Gilderoy.
Bellatrix glared at him. “Did you just hear what I said, you empty-headed idiot?”
Gilderoy gulped and took a step back. He’d been getting a bit too confident in this sale. Time to ratchet it up a bit. “This is our newest feature,” said Lockhart, lifting another mask from his sample case, and showing it around. He spun just slowly enough so that his robe would swirl out dramatically and display the lovely floral embroidery at the hem. “We’re really proud of this one. We now offer custom engraving on the exterior face of the mask. Now, I’m quite sure you gentlemen will not want to engrave your name or the name of your lady love for all the world to see, ha ha ha, but we offer numerous designs to enhance your mask-wearing experience. Why not a curlicue to accentuate that high cheekbone, or a tribal tattoo to make you look fierce?” He deftly switched one mask for another, revealing in his artistry, determined to make the best impression possible. “You can even have it engraved with your favorite licensed character!” he said, gifting Voldemort with his most winning grin.
“I am a licensed character,” answered Voldemort, his expression coldly dismissing Gilderoy’s gift smile as irrelevant and demanding a receipt for its return.
Gilderoy laughed a little, completely missing the menace. “Now, just so you all know, for today only, at no additional cost, I am going to offer you a chance to make your very own mask-base.”
“Huh?” asked Lucius.
“What that means, good sir, is that I will take an imprint of your face, bring it back to our manufacturing facility, and magic your mask to resemble your face! Proud of your Roman nose? No need to hide it behind a mask! Rely on that heavy brow to menace? No worries, your victims will still know its there. But what if you want an entirely different face? We can do that too! We’ll change your mask-base to look like anything you want!”
“Wow,” said Lucius. “Hey, Fenrir. You could get a mask that looks like a wolf!”
“I don’t need a mask that looks like a wolf!” snapped Fenrir Greyback. “I have a FACE that looks like a wolf.”
Gilderoy paused at the rude interruption, but continued as if it hadn’t fazed him. “All it takes is a quick facial in my special replication bowl, and your features will be marked down for exaggeration in your mask. It’s all too easy.” Gilderoy reached into the very bottom of his sample case and pulled out his Imprint Basin. “And it won’t mar your lovely complexion either, madam.” He risked a wink at Bellatrix.
“May I kill him now?” she asked Voldemort, flat-faced and toneless.
"Not yet, my dear."
The Death Eaters Are Customizable
Gilderoy Lockhart, the fresh-faced Senior Traveling Sales Associate for Master Wizackawall’s Discount Robes, Cloaks, Wands, Masks and Assorted Wizarding Paraphernalia, Intl., stood before the cracked mirror in the cramped bathroom, trying to psyche himself up for a big sale. He’d hit the jackpot this time, for sure. He’d been asked to display the newest mask models to a gentleman wizards’ club, and he could practically smell the old money reeking from the other room where his prospective clients waited. This would be the big break he needed to prove that he deserved the Senior Traveling Sales Associate title he’d inherited when his predecessor was fired after he mysterious forgot his sales route, all his product information, and that he didn’t live in the south of France.
After checking his perfect teeth in the mirror to make sure there wasn’t a bit of spinach from lunch stuck in them, he briskly rubbed his cheeks to give them a natural rosy glow. He used to use a touch of rouge, but stopped after his Regional Manager, Benedict Swiftgall, told him it made him look “cheap.” Gilderoy Lockhart was many things, including cheap. But he would die before he looked cheap! “You’re a tiger, Tiger,” he said to himself in the mirror. “You’ve got what it takes. You look like a million Galleons in that sunset orange robe. You go out there and sell the hell out of the those masks!”
Mentally prepared, he threw open the bathroom door dramatically, spread his arms as if he was about to burst into song, and smiled as warmly as a bonfire on a mid-July afternoon. “Good evening, my good gentlemen. My name is Gilderoy Lockhart, and I am the newly appointed Senior Traveling Sales Associate for Master Wizackawall’s--”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted an annoyed voice from the end of what Gilderoy was just noticing was a very dark room. “Very upwardly mobile of you.”
Shot down before his spiel could really takeoff, Gilderoy spent moment fussing with his hair and robes before attempting to pick out who had cut short his introduction. As if Gilderoy could miss him.
The room was long and narrow, with high windows that let in the fading day’s dusky light. In the gathering shadows at the rear of the room sat a deathly pale man in an ornate wooden chair. Clumped around him, like silent sentinels, stood dark-clad, stiff-faced wizards and witches, all of whom watched Gilderoy like circling vultures. Circling vultures that were standing perfectly still. In two years, everyone would know who they were: Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. At this very moment, however, Gilderoy had no idea who he was facing, but had to suppose that maybe the man in the chair would benefit from a little sun, and maybe a quality moisturizer.
Gilderoy’s reverie on the skincare regiment of his newest patron was interrupted, however, when Lord Voldemort snapped, “Well? Get on with it. My schedule is booked solid tonight, and I don’t want to waste time watching some wastrel in pastel pose!”
“But I’m not wearing my Spring Colors robe today, ” said Lucius Malfoy, standing to Voldemort’s right.
“Not you, Lucius,” sighed Bellatrix Lestrange wearily.
Pretending the preceding conversation had been an icebreaker, Gilderoy strode down the room toward the huddled group, swinging his samples case confidently. He thought with some irritation that just maybe this group could have spread out a little more. Some of the people in the back might not even be able to see his presentation! “Do you have a table, sir?” he asked politely, looking around for a place to display his samples. He was greeted by silence.
“You’re right, sir. Tables are overrated.” Gilderoy quickly dropped his case to the floor. He gave it a swift kick, and it sprang open. Up popped a multi-tiered display frame, as tall as a coat rack, with each level displaying a different mask. The sight of his wares filled Gilderoy with glee. He was going to nail this sale! “Lady and gentleman,” he started, making sure to single out Bellatrix in his introduction. He had a way with the ladies, and maybe this would be the key to winning over this dark, humorless crowd. “I come to you today on behalf of Master Wizackawall to introduce you to the newest, the finest, the most modern collection of masks in the wizarding world. Wizackawall’s Custom Masques are all the mask you will ever need, whether you’re holding a masquerade or an esoteric ritual.”
“Actually,” said Lucius, “we’re trying to inspire fear by making people think we could be anyone and anywhere.”
“Well, it’s good for that too,” replied Gilderoy, nodding vaguely. “Allow me to show you one of our most popular models.” Gilderoy plucked from the stand a shining peacock-blue half-mask with large almond-shaped eyeholes rimmed with black. In truth, it was not one of the most popular models, but it was Gilderoy’s favorite because of the delicate scrolling at the edges, which called to attention his fabulous eyes without being too obtrusive or distracting. Decoration should enhance, not exist for itself, though not everyone was as enhanceable as Gilderoy.
Gilderoy presented the mask to Lord Voldemort with a little flourish. “It’s blue,” said Voldemort.
Gilderoy waggled his finger as one would at a naughty child. “Peacock,” he corrected.
Voldemort studied Gilderoy for a full second before deciding that lifting his wand to hex this idiot into oblivion was way more effort than he was willing to expend. “Blue or peacock,” he said, “I can hardly imagine inspiring fear in that.”
“I’m glad you brought that up, sir,” said Gilderoy, who was never one to miss an opportunity. “Wizackawall’s Custom Masques are offered in a wide selection of colors, shapes and sizes for the discriminating wizard. If you’d all just like to take a look at our color samples, in this book I have here, I’m sure you’ll all be able to find a color that inspires fear, disgust, heart attacks, whatever you would wish!”
Gilderoy handed his sample book over to Lucius, who immediately began to paw through the pages. “Look at all these choices,” Lucius said. “Apple, chartreuse, verdant, crimson, azure, chicory, ebon, fuchsia, plum, cinnabar, cinnamon, sulphur, wine--”
“Even if you order bulk,” continued Gilderoy, “you don’t all have to have the same color, sirs and madams.”
“How many do we have to order to get the bulk rate?” asked Voldemort, who was far more interested in business than in customizable colors. He wasn’t going to be wearing a mask anyway.
“-blush, mauve, papaya, scarlet, powder, russet, puce, sugar, saffron, lavender, charcoal, loden…Loden? That’s not a color. They made that up.”
“The usual amount is 50,” said Gilderoy, “but right now we’re having a special deal. If you order 20 masks, you can get the bulk rate. I don’t offer this to just anyone, you know.”
“Hmmm,” said Voldemort. “I’m going to need a few more minions.”
“-ochre, sienna, goldenrod, rose, olive, drab, indigo, slate, dusk, beige, bisque, almond, cyan, kelly, mahogany--”
“Maybe you should order extras,” advised Bellatrix. “That way you won’t have to call this fool back as your following grows.”
“That’s a very good idea, Bella,” said Voldemort.
“-honeydew, flame, sea foam, sunset, turquoise, salmon, brick, stone, thistle…this is going to be a difficult choice,” said Lucius, finally running out of breath. “What are you going to get, Snape?”
Severus Snape frowned. “Can’t I just get white?”
“No, but there’s an ‘ecru.’”
“I think we’ll order 30 to start,” said Voldemort.
“Excellent plan,” replied Gilderoy, pulling his account book out of his robe and making a note. “Now, I don’t want you all to think that we only offer customizable colors. We have a whole range of customizable features, which are illustrated in the back of the sample book. For example, how do you want your eyeholes to look? Should your nostrils be visible? Do you want a full mask or half-mask?”
“You’re all getting full masks,” stated Voldemort. “I really don’t care how pretty you think your mouth looks.”
“Awwww,” said Lucius.
“In that case,” said Gilderoy, “you’ll want to look at our selection of mouth holes. Let me get a few of our models off my rack.”
“We need mouth holes?” asked Antonin Dolohov.
“Of course we do,” said Snape, rolling his eyes. “Otherwise we’d all talk like this: ‘Mmmpfh mmerpfh mmmurdurfff mmmmppp.’”
“I don’t like that one,” said Bellatrix, snatching a pair of masks out of Gilderoy’s hands as he came back. “It’s a little too ‘grill on the prisoner’s cell’ for me. I prefer this spade topped one. It looks like the gate tops at our country estate. It says, ‘Fool with me, and I’ll cut off your head and display it on a pike for the peasants to gape at.’”
“Excellent choice, madam,” said Gilderoy.
Bellatrix glared at him. “Did you just hear what I said, you empty-headed idiot?”
Gilderoy gulped and took a step back. He’d been getting a bit too confident in this sale. Time to ratchet it up a bit. “This is our newest feature,” said Lockhart, lifting another mask from his sample case, and showing it around. He spun just slowly enough so that his robe would swirl out dramatically and display the lovely floral embroidery at the hem. “We’re really proud of this one. We now offer custom engraving on the exterior face of the mask. Now, I’m quite sure you gentlemen will not want to engrave your name or the name of your lady love for all the world to see, ha ha ha, but we offer numerous designs to enhance your mask-wearing experience. Why not a curlicue to accentuate that high cheekbone, or a tribal tattoo to make you look fierce?” He deftly switched one mask for another, revealing in his artistry, determined to make the best impression possible. “You can even have it engraved with your favorite licensed character!” he said, gifting Voldemort with his most winning grin.
“I am a licensed character,” answered Voldemort, his expression coldly dismissing Gilderoy’s gift smile as irrelevant and demanding a receipt for its return.
Gilderoy laughed a little, completely missing the menace. “Now, just so you all know, for today only, at no additional cost, I am going to offer you a chance to make your very own mask-base.”
“Huh?” asked Lucius.
“What that means, good sir, is that I will take an imprint of your face, bring it back to our manufacturing facility, and magic your mask to resemble your face! Proud of your Roman nose? No need to hide it behind a mask! Rely on that heavy brow to menace? No worries, your victims will still know its there. But what if you want an entirely different face? We can do that too! We’ll change your mask-base to look like anything you want!”
“Wow,” said Lucius. “Hey, Fenrir. You could get a mask that looks like a wolf!”
“I don’t need a mask that looks like a wolf!” snapped Fenrir Greyback. “I have a FACE that looks like a wolf.”
Gilderoy paused at the rude interruption, but continued as if it hadn’t fazed him. “All it takes is a quick facial in my special replication bowl, and your features will be marked down for exaggeration in your mask. It’s all too easy.” Gilderoy reached into the very bottom of his sample case and pulled out his Imprint Basin. “And it won’t mar your lovely complexion either, madam.” He risked a wink at Bellatrix.
“May I kill him now?” she asked Voldemort, flat-faced and toneless.
"Not yet, my dear."