“Merlin’s beard, I’m going to be here all night!”

Elijah Macmillan was up to his elbows in what Mister Blott had referred to as ‘spring cleaning’. He assumed, though, that had that particular practice been observed at the prescribed time, it would not be so damnably difficult to do now, when he, Elijah, was charged with the task.

His father, Ernie, had always harped on him about getting excellent marks in school. Even at age eleven, though, Elijah had always been more concerned with Quidditch, girls, and general mischief, which had largely led him to be the first in the family to be sorted into Gryffindor House at Hogwarts.

Now, though, he lamented his dubious N.E.W.T. scores, because lack of distinction had led him to this miserable job, instead of something glorious enough, or at least not too embarrassing, to call a career. Working in the back room of Flourish and Blotts’ printing center, mending books and cleaning whatever needed to be cleaned, was definitely not a career. Far from it, Elijah thought.

After hours of backbreaking labor, though, his task was almost complete. There were just a few ancient crates of manuscript to either sort or toss, and he could finally go home. It was about bloody time, too. An extra hour of work here and there was one thing, but this task had been drawn out for eight days. Eight long, grueling, twelve-hour days, ones which Elijah would not be sad in the least to see come to an end.

When he opened that last crate, he sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall, cursing his aching back for impeding his progress. The papers were dated for 1990, which made the pile of parchment well over thirty years old, and the collection of dust within the forgotten tomes confirmed that analysis.

Mister Blotts had told him to sort anything from the past five years in one room and anything from five to ten years in another, but he never said anything about what to do with anything older than that, not that there was anything else.

Absently cleaning the documents as per his instructions, Elijah ventured to guess that he could probably best sort the contents of the crate if he actually knew what was actually in there, so he looked at the top page, just to see what it was.

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart. Who the hell is Gilderoy Lockhart? I guess I’ll have to read some of it to find out.

As Elijah prepared to skim through the forgotten volume, a picture in the crate caught his eye. It was of a blond man with attractive, symmetrical features, but not the manly sort; it was also signed with a rather girlish script. Pieces began to fly together for Elijah as he realized who this man was. His father had talked about Lockhart, who had been one in the long parade of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers at Hogwarts during the time before Voldemort’s defeat. According to Ernie, the man was a giant fraud and a git, to boot. Lockhart had never done any of the things that his books said he did; he had, instead, took tales from other witches and wizards, performed a Memory Charm on them, and passed the deeds off as his own.

Elijah scoffed. Year with the Yeti? The bloke’s probably never even been to the Himalayas, he thought to himself. He then decided to see if this was an actual original manuscript for a book or a rejected one. He pulled out and opened his Pocket File, which searched every known published literary work in the wizarding world and operated on vocal commands. It also automatically updated as soon as a book was certified as published.

“Gilderoy Lockhart. Year with the Yeti,” he inquired of the small device, which was the size of a ladies’ compact mirror and relatively the same shape. Immediately, the name ‘Gilderoy Lockhart’ appeared on the top portion, and on the bottom, ‘Year with the Yeti’ was there, along with a publication date of 1991, a year after the contents of the crate were submitted. There was also a brief synopsis of the novel, which was denoted as having 326 pages.

“Hmm, I guess this is the original, but it doesn’t look like it’s enough for that many pages. Maybe these are outtakes.” Elijah peeled back a few pages, looking for a chapter title to confirm his suspicions. On the fourth sheet, he found a heading that read ‘Maid of the Mountain’. When he checked the Pocket File again, there was no mention whatsoever of that chapter. “Ah, these are edits. I’ll just ask Mister Blotts tomorrow what he wants me to do with them.”

He took up the first three pages before the omitted chapter and leafed through them. The first was a simple title page, along with the table of contents before ‘Maid of the Mountain’ had been taken out. The second was a blank sheet. The third, though, had a little more substance to it. The entry seemed to be a single page from a different chapter that had been removed partially as compared to tossing the chapter entirely, as Mister Blotts had apparently done with ‘Maid of the Mountain’.

‘Our trek around the mountain was uneventful for nearly a month after our first encounter with the Yeti tracks. Our excitement only lasted as long as the sun did that day; instead, we turned our attention to one another.

‘The other fellows paired off in search of various items we needed for camp. That left me alone with the mountain guide. I suppose the other men did not want to be paired with me - they were obviously afraid to look insufficient at their tasks beside my admittedly rather dizzying outdoor skill.

‘She looked at me, and I looked back at her. It was a little awkward, of course, because I didn’t know her name. Before I realized what I was doing, however, I raised my hand and stroked her smooth cheek, one of the only parts of her body exposed to the cold, but I immediately removed my hand, realising how inappropriate it was to touch her, let alone without permission. Again, almost against my will, I breached the realm of propriety and left a small kiss where my hand had been just a moment before.

‘The danger in the air was nearly tangible. Her skin tasted sweeter than fruit�”not the regular kind, but a succulent one, such as a strawberry, or even the forbidden sort. I felt like I should say something to her to break the uncomfortable silence, but, as soon as I opened my mouth, she turned and walked away from me, a sour look on her face.

‘It was almost intoxicating, her reaction. I have always been so used to women chasing me in shops, writing me letters professing their undying devotion, and, in general, swooning in my presence. I was an established author and adventurer and had won the Witch’s Weekly Best Smile award multiple times, so of course they all wanted me for my wealth, my general affluence, and my stunning good looks, but I had never been intrigued by a single one of them. Yet this one, the one that shunned my company, held my interest like no other had ever done before...

‘I decided from there on to make a pointed effort to learn her name. Furthermore, I wanted to see her face.’

It was not exactly something he would imagine deleting from a book. It was engaging enough, even readable, which was more than could be said for the other rubbish the man had published.

Rising from the floor and brushing the dust from himself with his hands, Elijah gathered his personal items and prepared to leave. He was dead tired and eager to be as far from this place as he could get, but as he prepared to close the door behind him, something halted his exit.

Elijah turned once more to peer at the crate containing Lockhart’s castoff chapter. His curiosity was about to get the best of him, because he wanted to find out what was in those pages that caused them to be stricken from the book. There was always the next day, and since Mister Blott never paid attention to where he was, what he did, or how long he was there, Elijah figured he could probably read them on the job and get away with it easily.

However, something compelled him to read that volume, and that something wanted him to read it that night. Though it would technically be classified as stealing, Elijah took the small stack of parchment and stuffed it into his satchel. Besides, it was not like he would not bring the lot back the next day.

He surreptitiously scanned the hallway for any other occupants before exiting the building and casting the usual Locking Charm to ward off any trespassers, however unlikely that occurrence would be. Apparating back to his tiny rented room was symbolic, in a way. It was a sort of point of no return. He was in for a Knut, in for a Galleon. There was nothing to do now but read the book he essentially stole.

Once he was firmly entrenched in his reclining armchair, which was heaven for his aching body, Elijah scarfed down his takeaway dinner and started to read the pilfered work.

Maid of the Mountain

‘After nearly a month of following the tracks of the elusive Yeti, our party has decided to stop our search and weather the worst part of the winter indoors. They chose to return to the village, of course�”but I am truly the adventurous spirit you no doubt know me to be. I, instead, chose to stay with our mountain guide, whose name I learned was Sahira, who lives in a little cabin about a quarter of the way up the slope of Mt. Everest.

‘At first, Sahira didn’t seem to welcome my presence, but after a lot of persuasion, an autographed picture, and a promise of a signed copy of this book as soon as it comes out, she let me stay. I didn’t want to feel like a complete ninny by staying in the safe little village, and roughing it with nobody but a woman who could not be any more than a metre and a half certainly didn’t smack of cowardice in my book.

‘We didn’t speak to each other for about a week, from which I gather she was probably either bitter about having to share her tiny house with me or was jealous of my hair. I, personally, leaned more toward the hair�”it isn’t for nothing that I’ve won the Witch Weekly Best Hair award five years in a row now, you know!�”but I guess I’ll never really know. But when Sahira finally did see fit to talk to me, I discovered that I found her voice to be very pleasant indeed.

‘I also started to notice other things about her that had not caught my eye before spending time with her whilst not swaddled to the hilt in bulky winter clothing. Her eyes were the colour of the waters of the Mediterranean, belying her Indian heritage, and her face was heart-shaped. I think I even found her to be fetching, on the whole, though I do have to clarify that she wasn’t quite as attractive as myself. Needless to say, she was nevertheless not hard on the eyes. Her petite stature only added to her charm, and, though many would call me a fool or a sot, but I think that, within two weeks of her company, I had fallen in love with her.

‘Now, getting Sahira to fall in love with me was, as I’m sure you all will find very hard to believe, extremely difficult. It seemed that, at every turn, she found some excuse not to be around me�”but, instead of deterring my desire for her, that only poured fuel on the flames of my heart.

‘When Christmastime came around, though, Sahira started to warm toward me considerably. She prepared meals fit for a king just for me, and she even began to wear more provocative clothing. It seemed that she just could not resist my charms - not that I could blame her, mind you. I had been pouring it on quite thick to catch her favour.

‘I remember Christmas Eve like it was yesterday. She wore a slinky red dress which showed off her figure more than adequately, and I wore a set of gorgeous burgundy robes, which the rest of the party (searching for the yetis) had sworn was excess baggage�”in the end, as always, good ol’ Gilderoy was right. Together, we made an attractive pair, and the day only got better as it rolled along.

‘For breakfast, Sahira served strawberries that were dipped in the most decadent chocolate I’ve ever tasted. Merlin only knows where she got fresh strawberries in the dead of winter, but you won’t hear any objections from me! She sat on my lap and fed them to me, occasionally taking a bite herself, but only on the ones I myself had sampled. I found the experience almost erotic as her lips wrapped around the berries. I remember vividly that I was hoping that she would not notice the, let’s say, physical manifestations of my desire.’

Elijah crinkled his nose. It was not that it was a subject that he did not contemplate, but in his thoughts, the company was usually a fair sight better. Still, it was fascinating to see how Lockhart was starting to talk about Sahira more than himself, which seemed to be an aberration from the man’s typical self-centered personality. Still rather wary of further content, though, Elijah kept reading.

‘She smelled like roses and earth, but not dirt. She was never dirty, no matter how much slogging in the muck we did, even on the trail. The earthy smell was much like the clean scent one smells after a good rain. Goodness knows I know all about rain, having lived in Britain for so long. Her unique fragrance filled my nostrils and made my head spin. Whether it was my growing attraction to her or the depleted oxygen from the altitude, I’ll never know, but I personally believe it was the former.

‘After breakfast, we decorated a rather sickly-looking tree, the breed of which I don’t know�”it was the closest thing to a Christmas tree I could find in the middle of the Himalayas. She didn’t own any sort of traditional ornaments, so we made some from bits of parchment from my supplies, and I Transfigured some from spare pieces of firewood.

‘All in all, the day was gearing up to be a glorious one. We told jokes and stories, ranging from anecdotes about hapless relatives to bawdy limericks that one might hear in the meanest of pubs, but what I loved the most was how her eyes glinted like sapphires when she laughed. How I loved it when she laughed!

‘After our crude little tree was decked out in the finest Christmas glory we could muster, it was almost time for dinner. We had been so wrapped up in each other that we had entirely missed lunch, which was something I had never thought I would do.

‘Perhaps fate was intervening on our behalf, because it was snowing like the dickens outdoors. By sunset, we couldn’t even push open the door, because the entire cabin was covered in snow, the first of which had started falling early in December and had really never stopped. We were actually lucky�”if the same had happened to Muggles, they would most likely have starved. However, since, of course, I am a wizard of quite formidable talent, I was able to extend our supply of food and cast a rather potent Warming Charm when our supply of firewood expired by the end of the day.

‘The warmth and unavoidable closeness changed many things between Sahira and myself in those waning hours of December twenty-fourth. By the light of the bluebell flames we had conjured, her silhouette was more enticing than my wildest imaginations, more lovely than then most shapely of mannequins in Madame Malkin’s, and more approachable than ever. Months before, I would have never dreamt it, but I stopped thinking and just started to feel.

‘I leaned in to kiss her, and she responded with an ardour that matched my own. It was as if Merlin himself had crafted this beautiful girl and sent her straight to me from beyond, because, surely, such feelings did not exist on Earth.

‘When I became braver, my hand roamed to her�”“

Elijah slammed Lockhart’s writings onto the end table next to him; to his surprise, he was breathing heavily. It was as if he was there in Lockhart’s place, snogging the daylights out of this Sahira woman, and his imagination was working at light-speed. He could see why Mister Blotts would edit out this particular chapter, because young people were, as Elijah had researched as soon as he got home, the primary readers of Lockhart’s books. Adults would not read them, because most of them knew that he was a fraud, but adolescents did not discriminate when it came to a thrilling tale on whether it was true or not.

Casting a sideways glance at the manuscript, Elijah contemplated whether he was going to finish reading it. The handwriting, while a bit flowery for his own taste, actually lent a great deal to the mood of the story. His looping script portrayed a sort of beauty that went hand in hand with the general good feelings of the story.

He found that reading the rest of the story was something that he really wanted to do; so. Elijah resumed his reclined posture and reclaimed the pages, of which only a few remained. He decided to skip through the naughty bits, because he really did not need those types of erotic pictures flying about in his head before he went to bed.

After sorting through three pages of what Elijah tentatively identified as extremely passionate lovemaking, judging by the random words and phrases he picked up, the Christmas Eve segment was finally over. He continued after that point, allowing Gilderoy Lockhart to regale him with the tale of his winter with the Maid of the Mountain.

‘Christmas Day could only be described as the polar opposite of the night before. Even after the passion that we had shared in the wee hours of the night, Sahira had returned to her previous frosty demeanour, the same she had had when I first arrived. I did not know in the slightest what had prompted this abrupt change in our relationship, but I really wanted to find out.

‘Every day after that, I tried to get her to tell me what it was that made her hate me so, when she had clearly loved me for that one bittersweet day, at least. However, it seemed like her secret would remain so, because she would not even say more than two words to me at a time�”and, that too, only when she deemed them necessary.

‘I must admit, I was fit to be tied, because my feelings for Sahira had not changed even though she clearly hated me after we made love, something I still do not understand to this day. The uncomfortable days slipped into even tetchier weeks; at last, it was time for us to depart. She told me that she would find me a new guide, because she wished to stay in the mountains, alone, and do some thinking. I agreed, mostly because I wanted to respect her desire for space after our forced confinement over the long winter months.

‘Once my new trail guide was in place, I left my Maid of the Mountain, never to see her face again. What in her head caused her to revile me the day after she had loved me, I couldn’t venture to guess, but I do know this: after Sahira, I really do not believe I could ever fully love another woman again.’

Elijah felt his heart catch in his throat. This poor bloke had given his heart to a lady�”and, in the typical, fickle nature of women, she had trampled it in the rudest fashion. He never dreamed he would feel sorry for a man like Lockhart, yet here he was, near tears over something that had happened when his own father had been only ten years old.

In his fit of sympathy, Elijah almost missed the fact that there was one more page in the volume even after the chapter was obviously concluded. Crinkling his brow in confusion, he pulled out that last sheet of parchment. It was labeled as an Author’s Note, which was even odder.

Typically, author’s notes were always published, but perhaps it was pertaining to this missing chapter. Curious about this last bit from Lockhart, Elijah read the last page avidly.

‘In the chapter ‘Maid of the Mountain,’ I learned a valuable lesson, both about life and about myself, but it came at a cost. My adventurous spirit found itself to be severely hampered by my heartbreak, and I find that I no longer have the drive to go forth and seek magical beings for the benefit of my wonderful audience. This book, Year with the Yeti, will be my last grand tour, and I shall be retiring from the exploration business.

‘I thank you all for your support, letters, and adulation over the years; I hope to issue an autobiography to give you all one last piece of myself before I move on with my life.

‘Live every day with a lust for life, and remember where your heart is, whether it is at home, hiking through dark, murky woods, wading in treacherous waters with equally dangerous creatures, or even in a small cabin in the Himalayas. I bid you adieu for now.

‘Lots of love,

‘Gilderoy Lockhart, Five-Time Winner of Witch Weekly’s Best Smile Award.’

Setting down the page, this time with a certain deference, Elijah’s head spun with a mix of emotions. First, he felt absolutely terrible on Lockhart’s behalf, and second, he wondered what had ever become of the man after the autobiography, Magical Me, had been published. He decidedto ask Mister Blotts about it the next day ; he would conveniently strike the part where he had basically stolen the chapter from the conversation.

But, for the time being, Elijah required sleep to put an end to that long and trying day. He found, though, that his dreams were filled full of the love affair of the blond man from the picture and a pair of sea-colored eyes that seemed to penetrate his very soul.

The next day, Elijah dressed for work hurriedly, determined to catch Mister Blotts before his shift started. He was resolute in his desire to learn more about Gilderoy Lockhart and this mystery wench that had put the poor sot through the ringer.

Relieved to find his employer already in his office, Elijah knocked on the door, entering when he was summoned. Blotts was firmly entrenched in mountains of paperwork, which made Elijah feel slightly sheepish for complaining about the pile he had had to sort out, a fraction of what Mister Blotts was facing.

When he realized that his visitor was his young shop boy, Blotts cleaned his glasses with his sleeve and smiled at his employee. “So, Mister Macmillan, what can I do for you?”

His eyes meeting the older man’s, Elijah forged ahead. “Mister Blotts, whatever happened to Gilderoy Lockhart?”

“Ha!” Blott scoffed. “That nutter has been locked up in St. Mungo’s since 1992! He had an accident whilst he was working at Hogwarts, and it completely scrambled his wits.”

Elijah felt his heart sink. First, the poor man had his heart shattered to pieces, and then his mind went straight after. No one deserved that sort of rotten luck, not even someone like Lockhart. Shrugging nonchalantly, Elijah nodded his head, saying, “Thank you, sir. I was just wondering…there’s that old manuscript in the storage locker. Just wanted to know where I should put it.”

Blotts narrowed his eyes. “You mean that chapter I took out of Year with the Yeti?” When Elijah nodded, he continued. “I took that out because I don’t believe it ever happened.”

It was Elijah’s turn to emit a derisive laugh. “But none of those things actually happened to him! He was a right old fraud, and it’s unbelievable that you wouldn’t realize that.”

Blotts’ face lit with a conspiratorial smile. “But someone did those things.” Turning his attention back to his work, Blotts casually added, “Besides, it’s not like anyone would notice.”

As he left his boss to his work, Elijah grinned in a way that said that he knew something that others did not. Only a precious few people knew of that secret side of Gilderoy Lockhart, and it made him feel privileged to be one of them.

Once his day was over, Elijah decided to send an owl. He was vainly hoping that he could reach Sahira, at least just to make sure that she knew of Lockhart’s mental illness. If she had cared about him at all, she would want to at least know, even if she had no desire to visit.

Penning the letter proved to be difficult. No matter what he wrote, it sounded as if he were intruding in on something he ought not to know about. He did not want to put off the woman by sounding like a stalker or as if he were privy to too many extremely personal details. Finally, he settled on a rather innocuous message and sent his owl, Percival, to the Himalayas in search of a woman he was not even entirely sure existed.

After three days, Percival returned with a message tied to his leg; to Elijah’s relief, it was not the same one he sent. This one was addressed to him in a neat, feminine hand.

Dear Mister Macmillan,

Thank you for your information, but I’m sorry to say that you were a little too late. Sahira, the person to whom this letter was addressed, was my mother; she died last spring of pneumonia. She had been getting on in years, and her body just finally gave up on her, I suppose.

It saddens me to hear about Lockhart. She told me about him a few times. You see, he was my father, but Mum never got the courage to tell him about me, because, while she cared for him deeply, she didn’t think his adventurous spirit deserved to be trapped by a child he had not asked for.

I used to be bitter about it, but, after reading some of my father’s books, I realized that she was probably doing the right thing. He didn’t seem like the type to be tied down to one place, and I respect that. I only wish that he had gotten a chance to live his life instead of spending it in a hospital.

Again, thank you for your correspondence and best wishes,

Asha Lockhart

Elijah was gobsmacked, to say the least. He finally understood why Sahira had done as she did. When she realized that she was pregnant (in the wizarding world, of course, it was possible to tell as soon as the next day), she had started to alienate him in an effort to turn his attention away from her. What Sahira had intended to do by breaking Lockhart’s heart was to set him free - it had to have been one of the most painful things she had done.

There was still the matter of Lockhart not knowing he had a daughter. Elijah knew, in his mind, that he could never let that stand, so he decided to go the next day to visit the man.

When he arrived in St. Mungo’s, Elijah swallowed hard to dispel his irrational dislike for anything related to a hospital. It was a phobia he had carried since childhood, but he knew that needed to endure the discomfort for just that one day�”for Lockhart’s sake. He drew a deep breath in an attempt to calm his raging nerves and approached the friendly looking witch in bright green robes at the front desk.

“Can I help you, young man?” inquired said witch.

Elijah’s mind moved like lightning. There was not much of a chance of someone that was not a relative being able to see a patient, so he lied through his teeth. “I’m here to see my uncle.”

“Name?” she asked, as she withdrew a visitors’ badge from the desk.

“Gilderoy Lockhart.”

All the conversations that had been going on between the staff stopped abruptly as they stared at him. Elijah shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny, but there had to be some reason for this reaction, and he wanted to know what it was. “Is there a problem?”

The desk witch seemed to shake off her momentary stupor and stammered, “Oh, no, well, it’s just that…well, you see, young man, your uncle is not doing so well right now.”

”Oh.” Elijah had not counted on that. Lockhart would be in his mid to late sixties, which was not old at all for a wizard, but he probably should have taken into account the man’s deteriorated health. “So, I can’t see him, then?”

“You can see him, but I should tell you it’ll probably be for the last time. We just didn’t expect anyone to come�”he hasn’t had visitors in over twenty years. It’s actually quite fortunate that you’re here.”

Her statement made Elijah frown. Nobody cared about this man at all, and that was just sad to him. Everyone should be missed by someone, especially if that person was about to die. As the desk witch led him up the stairs to the fourth floor, which housed the Janus Thickey Ward for Long-Term Spell Damage in which Lockhart resided.

When the door opened, Elijah involuntarily shivered. The room smacked of its inhabitants. There were drawings of Merlin only knows what pinned to the wall, gum wrappers all over the floor, and a general sense of disarray. She left him at the bedside of a man who looked old, but not overly so; it was unmistakably Gilderoy Lockhart.

He seemed to be asleep, but Elijah thought that the information he bore warranted waking him. Cautiously, he shook Lockhart’s shoulder until he awoke, a stupid grin on his face. It nearly felled Elijah’s courage when he saw the madness in the man’s eyes. It was likely that he would not even remember Sahira, or his own identity, for that matter, but he, Elijah, owed it to the poor bloke to at least try.

“Mister Lockhart, my name is Elijah. I have something to tell you that I thought was important for you to know.” There, he thought. At least it’s a start.

Lockhart cocked his head to the side, curious about his visitor. “Do I know you? You look slightly familiar.”

Knowing that Lockhart was probably trying to appear as if he were not mad, Elijah highly doubted that the man could possibly recognize him, considering he looked very little like his father, who was the only person of whom he could think that Lockhart might recognize. “Oh, you might. I just wanted to ask you something first.” Taking a deep breath to gird up his proverbial loins, Elijah took the plunge. “Do you remember Sahira?”

The demeanor on Lockhart’s face changed in a flash. It went from one of idiocy to one of wistfulness. Elijah felt better, knowing that the man could die with at least a shred of his sanity. “You see, I work at Flourish and Blotts, and I found the chapter of Year with the Yeti that was edited out. I decided to try to find Sahira, but I’m sorry to say she died last year. I’m sorry, sir.”

Tears welled up in Lockhart’s eyes. “Sahira,” he whispered, almost like a prayer. Elijah almost felt like he was intruding on a private moment, but he was not done, and he was determined to finish what he had set out to do.

“There’s one more thing, Mister Lockhart. The reason Sahira turned on you was�”“ This was a difficult secret to divulge, and Elijah heartily wished that he could foist the duty onto someone else, but he knew better than to think he could get that lucky. He continued hesitantly. “You see, she was pregnant. She didn’t want to tie you down and make you miserable; she knew how much you loved adventure. She didn’t want you to resent her, or your daughter, for it.”

Lockhart wore an expression that made Elijah feel ill, it was so pathetic. His face was a mixture of grief and overt misery. Obviously, his memory was not as shoddy as the staff of this ward had thought, because no one on the planet could conjure a look like that and not recognize the person by whom it was caused.

When Lockhart said nothing, Elijah felt discomfited by the tense silence between them. After a generous round of hedging noises, he finally said, “I’m sorry; I really am. I just thought that it was only fair that someone told you.”

Elijah dared to pat Lockhart on the shoulder before adding, “She always loved you, just so you know.”

The dying man’s eyes closed, and Elijah was alarmed by the thought that he may have died right there, so he shook the man’s shoulders once again, desperate to know that he had not just killed the man by breaking his heart. When Lockhart’s eyelids fluttered open, Elijah felt a great weight lift from his shoulders.

The ridiculous smile returned; Lockhart cheerily called, “Hi! Do I know you, young man?”

This visit had just become more than Elijah could bear. “Oh, no, sir. I think I have the wrong room.” Unwilling to endure that whole fiasco again, he left the room in haste.

Once he was back in the lobby, the same desk witch that had escorted him up the stairs looked at him inquisitively. “So, did your visit with your uncle go well?”

Nodding woodenly, Elijah croaked, “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He strode out the door as fast as his legs, which had apparently decided to turn to Flobberworms, could carry him. He reached his boardinghouse in record speed for non-Apparition, because he was certain that he would not be able to concentrate properly to Apparate at that moment.

Elijah flopped down in his recliner, his mind heavy with the events of the morning. He had done what he set out to do, even despite the horrible dread he felt while doing it, but it seemed so unfair that a man could find out he had a daughter and not even be able to process that information. Then again, Elijah was not reasonably certain that he had fully absorbed everything that had happened over the past three days.

His brain felt like it was dangerously close to exploding, so Elijah abandoned his thoughts in favor of a large glass of Firewhiskey and a nap right there on the chair.

When he reawakened, Elijah checked his watch only to find that it was three in the morning. He had just slept for over twelve hours! It was his only day off for the next seven days, and he had wasted it sleeping. A tapping on the door, however, interrupted his self-deprecation; it would be the Daily Prophet delivery owl, right on schedule. He gave the owl its customary Knut and read the paper as he blindly strolled into his kitchenette and robotically made tea.

The headlines were nothing spectacular, but a small note on the third page caught his eye.

Gilderoy Lockhart Dies at Age 69

Former adventurer and author Gilderoy Lockhart died late last night of natural causes at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies. He had resided in there since 1992 when an accident with a Memory Charm damaged his brain permanently. He has no surviving relatives.

Elijah felt a funny sensation in his chest, which he supposed was some form of grief. He again mourned the injustice of nobody really caring that this man had died.

Resolution filled Elijah. He vowed that someone would remember Gilderoy Lockhart�”and not for the man they thought they knew, but for the man he really had been in the end. First, he wrote a quick missive to Asha to inform her of her father’s death, but, after that, he put his quill to parchment once more, this time for a different reason. After much thought, Elijah wrote the first line.

My Day With Gilderoy.