Chapter3: Epilogue
A/N “ Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author’s Note: Kerfuffle is a real word, it means a commotion; I think it has Irish roots.
Gilderoy Lockhart is the best character to write about. It is so much fun to make people sound like big-headed idiots; without going out of character, although I have exaggerated his stupidity a bit. I recommend it!
This is my attempt to be funny. If I’m not, please tell me so I don’t try to write a funny story again and subject you to my sad humor.
Lockhart’s opinion of modern art is not my own, so please don’t be offended.
Veansa Bon-Fortuné sighed as he walked up to the stage. He had, in the words of the magical mayor: “saved this city from a threat that preyed on wizards and muggles alike.”
“Listen, I don’t know why you think that it was a ‘threat.’ It was simply a poor muggle who had been bitten and had no idea what it meant. I did what any concerned citizen would do and did my best to protect the muggles against something they couldn’t protect themselves against.
“Personally, I don’t think that this is the end. Unfortunately, muggles aren’t bitten all that often as most wizards take wolfsbane potion and keep themselves locked up on the full moon, for others safety. I think you have a rouge werewolf on your hands.” He waited the kerfuffle his statement caused to cease.
“I think that it might be one of Greyback’s bunch. They are a group of werewolves who work with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; they are extremely dangerous. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named often pressures families who will not join him by threatening to have Greyback or one of his sympathizers bite their children. Needless to say it often works. As the werewolf I discovered is a muggle, it is more likely that he was between the werewolf and his prey, and was bitten accidentally.
“I would suggest that a strict curfew be imposed on the full moon and precautions are taken. It might be a good idea if everyone who is unable to apparate in a stressful situation to have a portkey on them at all times, particularly during the full moon.
“The spell that forces a werewolf to transform is ‘homomorphus’, the drawback of this spell is that your wand has to be touching the werewolf for it to work. If anyone wants to try, remember that is an extremely difficult charm and that werewolves can, after a time, throw of most binding spells, and, when they do, they will be immune to that spell until they transform back.
“Another useful spell to know when dealing with werewolves is ‘Lupus Ululatus’ which causes your wand to emit a howl that sounds uncannily like a werewolves. While it is unwise to use it in normal circumstances, as it will draw the werewolf’s attention to you, it is highly useful when trying to distract it.
“Remember that a wolf does not rely on its vision much and neither does a werewolf. An invisibility cloak or disillusionment charm would not work alone. With the help of an odorless charm and a silencing charm you might stand a chance of not getting detected but I wouldn’t risk it.
“Climbing a tree may work against ordinary wolves, but I wouldn’t recommend it with a werewolf; they have been known to climb.
“One of the only safe methods of keeping out of a werewolf’s way is in animal form. Werewolves may snap playfully at a particularly annoying specimen but only in the most extreme circumstances do they hunt animals.
“Thank you for listening, please remember my advice if you ever need it and I hope that you do not.” He stepped down from the podium to raucous applause; the crowd was obviously happy for the advice.
Gilderoy walked thorough Wagga Wagga, carefully looking for the address he had been given; it wasn’t considered polite to floo to see someone you didn’t know, and, even if you did know him or her, it still wasn’t polite to apparate into someone else’s home. Besides which, he had never been able to apparate to a place he hadn’t seen; he disguised it well, of course.
He found it. It was a large building by the side of the road. Either it was a muggle hotel or the owners had done a very good job at making it look like one. He thought the former.
He entered the foyer. Yep, he thought, the décor was definitely muggle. No moving portraits decorated the stark white walls, just those horrid splattered colours on white canvases that muggles called art. No portraits of handsome, dashing, charming, heroic Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin 3rd class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award smiled from the walls.
He looked around. The only doors were the one he had come from and a set of steel doors at the far side of the room. He headed for them. The thing was, he couldn’t figure out how to open them.
If only I did muggle studies when I could, he sighed mentally. Finally he spotted two buttons to the right of the door. One had an arrow on it pointing up, the other pointing down.
With great pride in his observational skills he pressed the top button, the one pointing to the sky. Nothing happened. He pressed it again. Nothing. Maybe you were meant to press the bottom one? He tried. Nothing. He pressed the top one again. Nothing . . . but what was that noise? It seemed to be coming from behind the door. He pressed his ear to it. Yes, there was definitely something in there. The doors opened.
He found himself looking down a rather curious looking tunnel. He stepped in and strode confidently towards the other door. Before he got there however, he bumped his nose. And looked up, into the face of Gilderoy Lockhart looking back at him, hands over his nose. But, that couldn’t be possible. He was in a muggle building, wasn’t he?
The answer came to him. It was a mirror. He whirled around, thinking to give up and try to find some other way into the building when the door close with a clang, right in front of his swollen nose.
Once again he spun, but seeing no other way out began to scan the small bare, mirrored room. Lockhart’s stretched out to infinity, which was an effect he found particularly amusing. He spent sometime admiring his many reflections and decided that when he got home he would have a room made like this one, with muggle mirrors. How could he find the solitude to admire his reflection with four other voices chattering away in the background?
Suddenly, remembering that he was stuck in the small room, he noticed a panel of numbered buttons to one side of the door. Numbers one through to five were there, as well as ‘G’ and ‘B’. He assumed that he was meant to press button number one first and he did. It moved. It moved up. Gilderoy staggered, before catching his fall on the metal banister that ran around the small room. It stopped suddenly and the doors opened onto a white hallway decorated with the same kind of abstract splashes of colour.
He didn’t move. The doors slid shut. He stood frozen. Soon he unfroze again and looked at the buttons with interest. He knew what they did now. He looked at the address.
Veasna Bon-Fortuné
Room 45, level 4
The Wagga Wagga Hilton
Without hesitation he pressed button number four.
Veasna Bon-Fortuné walked between the shelves as he browsed the bookstore. He paused before a particular book. A Week With A Werewolfby Gilderoy Lockhart. There was something, just on the edge of his mind that told him that he knew some thing about it, although he had never read the book.
On an impulse he brought it, apparating to his small flat to read it. When he was done, he knew that something was wrong; something was missing, but what? He had to know, he had to go, had to go to Wagga Wagga.