Challenge #001- Talking to One's Self
Title: Talking to One's Self
Rating/Warnings: G/None
Characters/Pairing: Gilderoy Lockhart
Summary: After the pixie incident, Professor Lockhart is discourage. Someone decides to give him a pep talk.
Word Count: 1183
Registered purchases?: None at the moment. :(
Talking to One's Self- by sobitxx
A Gilderoy Lockhart fic
Rated G
--
From Writer's Block (HiH Sub-community)
Challenge-001
--
Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. This had relieved most of the students of Hogwarts, second years especially who had witnessed the pixie attacks first hand and wished never to see such a thing again. Lockhart now only resorted to reading from the books accounting his dashing experiences, Year With The Yeti and Gadding With The Ghouls, please check Flourish and Botts for the complete sets. It was unbearably dull for Harry and his friends, but much better than facing pixies or other strange and dangerous creatures that was available in the Wizarding World.
While the Defense Against the Dark Arts students were satisfied with the dry lessons of only reading, the professor himself was not. One day, after the second years had dashed out of the classroom like Hippogriffs who had been denied of their meat for a day, Professor Lockhart retired to his studies with a sigh, a sigh so heavy that it hung in the atmosphere. He barely gave his grinning portraits a look and slumped down in his magnificent, gold-encrusted chair, ignoring the piles and piles of fan letters he had yet to answer (He should really get Harry Potter again to assist him. Such a help he was!).
Lockhart tapped his finger against the wooden desk, preoccupied with his thoughts. How, how, how had the pixies gone so wrong? He had been informed they couldn't be that bad. I mean, they were just blue beings with wings! Sure they had the sharp teeth and nails, but he hadn't been expecting it to be that bad.
"What's wrong now, Lockhart?" a voice addressed him. Lockhart looked up, his upset nature showing all over his facial features.
"I'm afraid everything's going wrong," he answered, certainly brought down from the pedestal he had set for himself. "I mean, I've won Witch Weekly's Best Smile Award five times! I think I'm entitled to some control over pixies."
"Calm down, Lockhart. The pixies couldn't have been that bad."
"They were. It was horrid!" protested the professor, sounding awfully like a little, whiny child. He flipped his curly, golden hair and groaned, shoving his head into the pile of letters from enthusiastic fans, causing glitter to fly into the air; obvious some adoring fan had inserted some pink glitter into the letter. It would've disgusted most people, but to Lockhart, it was a delight. It would've been, but he was too preoccupied with complaining to notice.
"Now, now, Lockhart. Look up. If you do that, you'll mess the curls in your hair and we know what that does to your mood," came the voice. Grudgingly admitting the truth of the statement, Gilderoy Lockhart, professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, raised his head with a sigh and stared at the portrait, a golden frame around the canvas, given the place-of-honor on his wall, the portrait of himself. As of this moment, the portrait wasn't grinning widely or shooting flirtatious winks, but it was staring at the real Lockhart with a disapproving eye.
"You're better than this, Lockhart. I mean, we're better than this! We've won the Best Smile Award five times! Look at all the books we've published! You're in Hogwarts, teaching! What's the problem? That you can't stop pixies from devouring your ear and hanging your student up on the ceiling?"
"That is a problem," Lockhart, the real one, shot back at the replica of himself. "A student hanging from the ceiling is a very big problem!"
The portrait scoffed, rolling his eyes which wasn't attractive at all, and replied, "He's Longbottom! A clumsy and forgetful boy. You know, I've heard he forgot his own Remembrall. I mean, who does that?"
"He was still my responsibility!"
"Look, it doesn't matter now," Lockhart Number Two answered, shooting Lockhart Number One a look. "That's the past, and we don't dwell on the past."
"I know," sighed the Defense professor, uncharacteristically looking sullen. "But I feel odd, just reading the books to the students! Shouldn't I do something? I mean, Professor Ketterly always demonstrated when I was at Hogwarts."
"Oi, Professor Ketterly was a nutter! If he was such a great professor, then how'd we end up with the lack of Defense skills?"
Lockhart gave him a weary look. "You know we never practiced or did the assignments. We were almost a Squib."
"Let's not look at the past," the portrait replied, looking nervous and disgusted at the thought of their Hogwarts years.
"Yes, yes," answered Lockhart distractedly. "But what am I to do in my class? Am I just to read my exploits? They've probably already read it! Most of the Wizarding World has, they can't be an exception!"
Lockhart in the portrait sighed, shaking his head and clutching his forehead as if the Lockhart not in the portrait had said something completely foolish. "Look. Lockhart, our books are like, the classics. Who doesn't reread classics? Everyone rereads the classics!"
"That's true," Lockhart admitted slowly, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"Of course it is." The one in the portrait sighed and reclined back in the chair that was provided in the portrait. "And I think you're doing them a favor. You know no one reads lovelier than us." The professor nodded back, agreeing fully. "And our books are wonderful. People should just constitute them to memory, they're so good!"
"You're right!" cried Lockhart, happily clapping his hands, causing a breeze which made few of the letters of admiration fall to the ground. He did not even care to pick them up. "That should be my goal for the year. Besides, I'm sure the students can learn plenty from just my travels!"
The portrait nodded in response. "That's right."
Lockhart beamed, shooting the world his oh-so-handsome smile. "You know, we really should've taught Charms. We're so perfectly charming!"
The duplicate Lockhart laughed, nodding agreeably, clapping his hands and pushing back his blond locks. Lockhart joined in, finding the situation hilarious while others found it completely nauseating.
"Well, Lockhart, you always make me so giddy," sniffed the professor Lockhart, wiping away a tear that had resulted from their gallivanting.
"You know that's my job," the portrait answered, smiling broadly. Lockhart nodded, carefully pulling up the sleeves of his forget-me-not blue robes.
"Better start answering the fan letters," observed Lockhart with a musing smile. "Can't let them pile up too much."
So he fell to scribbling in his perfectly flowing script using his peacock quill, reading the disgustingly sentimental letters and giggling softly to himself as if he he was only a teenage girl who had received a love letter from a variety of admirers.
The next day, he fell to reading his books enthusiastically, acting out the part and adding in details that were not in the books. Most of the students were alarmed and they could only wonder of just what had blown in their professor's mind and finally caused him to go mad. But only Lockhart and his portrait knew, simpering in their pride.
Oh, and look. Pink glitter from one of the letters.
Hanna//Hufflepuff
Rating/Warnings: G/None
Characters/Pairing: Gilderoy Lockhart
Summary: After the pixie incident, Professor Lockhart is discourage. Someone decides to give him a pep talk.
Word Count: 1183
Registered purchases?: None at the moment. :(
Talking to One's Self- by sobitxx
A Gilderoy Lockhart fic
Rated G
--
From Writer's Block (HiH Sub-community)
Challenge-001
--
Since the disastrous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. This had relieved most of the students of Hogwarts, second years especially who had witnessed the pixie attacks first hand and wished never to see such a thing again. Lockhart now only resorted to reading from the books accounting his dashing experiences, Year With The Yeti and Gadding With The Ghouls, please check Flourish and Botts for the complete sets. It was unbearably dull for Harry and his friends, but much better than facing pixies or other strange and dangerous creatures that was available in the Wizarding World.
While the Defense Against the Dark Arts students were satisfied with the dry lessons of only reading, the professor himself was not. One day, after the second years had dashed out of the classroom like Hippogriffs who had been denied of their meat for a day, Professor Lockhart retired to his studies with a sigh, a sigh so heavy that it hung in the atmosphere. He barely gave his grinning portraits a look and slumped down in his magnificent, gold-encrusted chair, ignoring the piles and piles of fan letters he had yet to answer (He should really get Harry Potter again to assist him. Such a help he was!).
Lockhart tapped his finger against the wooden desk, preoccupied with his thoughts. How, how, how had the pixies gone so wrong? He had been informed they couldn't be that bad. I mean, they were just blue beings with wings! Sure they had the sharp teeth and nails, but he hadn't been expecting it to be that bad.
"What's wrong now, Lockhart?" a voice addressed him. Lockhart looked up, his upset nature showing all over his facial features.
"I'm afraid everything's going wrong," he answered, certainly brought down from the pedestal he had set for himself. "I mean, I've won Witch Weekly's Best Smile Award five times! I think I'm entitled to some control over pixies."
"Calm down, Lockhart. The pixies couldn't have been that bad."
"They were. It was horrid!" protested the professor, sounding awfully like a little, whiny child. He flipped his curly, golden hair and groaned, shoving his head into the pile of letters from enthusiastic fans, causing glitter to fly into the air; obvious some adoring fan had inserted some pink glitter into the letter. It would've disgusted most people, but to Lockhart, it was a delight. It would've been, but he was too preoccupied with complaining to notice.
"Now, now, Lockhart. Look up. If you do that, you'll mess the curls in your hair and we know what that does to your mood," came the voice. Grudgingly admitting the truth of the statement, Gilderoy Lockhart, professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, raised his head with a sigh and stared at the portrait, a golden frame around the canvas, given the place-of-honor on his wall, the portrait of himself. As of this moment, the portrait wasn't grinning widely or shooting flirtatious winks, but it was staring at the real Lockhart with a disapproving eye.
"You're better than this, Lockhart. I mean, we're better than this! We've won the Best Smile Award five times! Look at all the books we've published! You're in Hogwarts, teaching! What's the problem? That you can't stop pixies from devouring your ear and hanging your student up on the ceiling?"
"That is a problem," Lockhart, the real one, shot back at the replica of himself. "A student hanging from the ceiling is a very big problem!"
The portrait scoffed, rolling his eyes which wasn't attractive at all, and replied, "He's Longbottom! A clumsy and forgetful boy. You know, I've heard he forgot his own Remembrall. I mean, who does that?"
"He was still my responsibility!"
"Look, it doesn't matter now," Lockhart Number Two answered, shooting Lockhart Number One a look. "That's the past, and we don't dwell on the past."
"I know," sighed the Defense professor, uncharacteristically looking sullen. "But I feel odd, just reading the books to the students! Shouldn't I do something? I mean, Professor Ketterly always demonstrated when I was at Hogwarts."
"Oi, Professor Ketterly was a nutter! If he was such a great professor, then how'd we end up with the lack of Defense skills?"
Lockhart gave him a weary look. "You know we never practiced or did the assignments. We were almost a Squib."
"Let's not look at the past," the portrait replied, looking nervous and disgusted at the thought of their Hogwarts years.
"Yes, yes," answered Lockhart distractedly. "But what am I to do in my class? Am I just to read my exploits? They've probably already read it! Most of the Wizarding World has, they can't be an exception!"
Lockhart in the portrait sighed, shaking his head and clutching his forehead as if the Lockhart not in the portrait had said something completely foolish. "Look. Lockhart, our books are like, the classics. Who doesn't reread classics? Everyone rereads the classics!"
"That's true," Lockhart admitted slowly, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"Of course it is." The one in the portrait sighed and reclined back in the chair that was provided in the portrait. "And I think you're doing them a favor. You know no one reads lovelier than us." The professor nodded back, agreeing fully. "And our books are wonderful. People should just constitute them to memory, they're so good!"
"You're right!" cried Lockhart, happily clapping his hands, causing a breeze which made few of the letters of admiration fall to the ground. He did not even care to pick them up. "That should be my goal for the year. Besides, I'm sure the students can learn plenty from just my travels!"
The portrait nodded in response. "That's right."
Lockhart beamed, shooting the world his oh-so-handsome smile. "You know, we really should've taught Charms. We're so perfectly charming!"
The duplicate Lockhart laughed, nodding agreeably, clapping his hands and pushing back his blond locks. Lockhart joined in, finding the situation hilarious while others found it completely nauseating.
"Well, Lockhart, you always make me so giddy," sniffed the professor Lockhart, wiping away a tear that had resulted from their gallivanting.
"You know that's my job," the portrait answered, smiling broadly. Lockhart nodded, carefully pulling up the sleeves of his forget-me-not blue robes.
"Better start answering the fan letters," observed Lockhart with a musing smile. "Can't let them pile up too much."
So he fell to scribbling in his perfectly flowing script using his peacock quill, reading the disgustingly sentimental letters and giggling softly to himself as if he he was only a teenage girl who had received a love letter from a variety of admirers.
The next day, he fell to reading his books enthusiastically, acting out the part and adding in details that were not in the books. Most of the students were alarmed and they could only wonder of just what had blown in their professor's mind and finally caused him to go mad. But only Lockhart and his portrait knew, simpering in their pride.
Oh, and look. Pink glitter from one of the letters.
Hanna//Hufflepuff