Tearing through the crowded streets of London, the young reporter stumbled into countless pedestrians, blushing furiously and apologizing hurriedly for her carelessness. Just after running headlong into an older man, mumbling something about “today’s youth,” the young girl rubbed her shoulder and stopped in front of a seemingly abandoned building and sighed. “Mrs. Crockford is going to be furious!” And, sure enough, just as she walked in the door --
“Rita!” exclaimed an older looking lady, wearing too much eye shadow to be taken seriously. “This is the third time this week you’ve been late!”
The young Rita Skeeter lowered her head as to avoid the menacing glare of her boss. Taking the adjacent seat, Rita looked up and saw a lady sitting next to Mrs. Crockford that she had never seen before. Noticing the look of confusion on Rita’s face, Mrs. Crockford began to explain. “This is Ms. Alana Delaney, whom I was just interviewing for a journalist position. What, with Mrs. Spinnet just off and quitting like that, I wasn’t sure we’d be able to publish this week’s issue! Luckily, Alana has just the experience we need. Would you know that she just completed her internship at the Daily Prophet?”
But Rita wasn’t as impressed as she might ought have been. Who was this woman, to come and take the promotion she had been dreaming of ever since she first began at Witch Weekly? It wasn’t Rita’s fault that Mrs. Crockford would never give her the good assignments. Crockford probably only likes her because she’s attractive, Rita thought glumly. The flaxen curls framing Alana’s angelic face were enough to make Rita sick with revulsion. She fingered her own thin, mediocre brown hair and wondered, ‘Why, if I had eyes that bright and a smile that fake, I would be sure to--’
“Rita? Rita!” Bringing the world back into focus, Rita smiled and extended her hand to Ms. Delaney. Alana took it, smiling, and said, “It will be simply wonderful working with you, dear! Mrs. Crockford has shown me some of your work. I truly believe that you have the potential to be a great reporter!” Smiling through gritted teeth, Rita nodded her consent, and with a mumble of something about finishing an assignment, she exited the room and headed straight for her office.
What Mrs. Crockford called an office was in reality little more than a crowded broom closet with a file cabinet. Rita sat down on the floor, brushed a spider off her foot, and pulled out her work from the previous day. These amateur articles on the new selection of dress robes at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions were not going to bring her the recognition she desired from Mrs. Crockford, Ms. Delaney, or any reader of Witch Weekly. She needed something new, something exciting, something eye-catching… Something eye-catching! Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She would have to work on it on her own time, but what witch wouldn’t want to read an article about the up-and-coming celebrity, Gilderoy Lockhart?
Rita came into the office early the next morning with her article on the dress robes. She was so early, in fact, that Mrs. Crockford had not yet unlocked the door, and Rita had to wait outside until Mrs. Crockford noticed that the person banging on the door was, as a matter of fact, her employee. She did not allow just anyone to visit, particularly outside normal hours. “What are you--” Mrs. Crockford began, but was hurriedly interrupted by a fidgety Skeeter.
“I’ve got the article you told me to write,” Rita said. “It’s all ready for the presses, so you don’t need to worry about a thing. Now, I’ve been working here for a while now, haven’t I?”
Slightly curious, Mrs. Crockford slowly nodded her head, as if trying to comprehend the situation. “Yes, you--” she began again.
“And would you say that I have been a diligent worker, and have completed all of my assignments up to the present?”
“Of course, but--”
“And I’ve completed my most recent work--a day or so early, I might add--and you now have another full time employee,” she took a deep breath, “for the more important assignments.”
Mrs. Crockford looked slightly unsettled. “Y-yes, Rita. Now, what exactly are you getting at?”
“Well, as I haven’t missed a day of work in the near three years I have worked for you, and some… important issues have come up, I was wondering if I could… take a leave, say, for a week?”
“A week! Rita! You know I can’t afford to let you go for that long! Now, what could possibly be so important that you have to go away for a week?”
“I… er… Everyone needs a break, Mrs. Crockford. I’m afraid the last few weeks have been rather stressful, truth be told, and I thought I would take myself a vacation, say… to Armenia, or some place,” she added in a rather nonchalantly.
“Armenia? Do you have family there?”
“Why… yes! A distant uncle, and er… a few cousins. Just thought I’d, er, go visit them for a while, you know!”
“Well,” Mrs. Crockford replied rather thoughtfully, “I suppose I we can manage without you, as long as you don’t decide to visit your… distant relatives for holidays and such. What a difficult first week for Alana, though. You really ought to have given me some notice! This isn’t like you!”
Rita paid no attention to Mrs. Crockford’s complaints at the moment, however. She ran over to hug her boss, and flashed a truly delighted smile. She waved goodbye and promised to be back at work in no more than one week’s time. As Rita dashed out the door, Mrs. Crockford shook her head in amusement. Despite her antics, Rita was a conscientious worker.
Rummaging through her drawers, Rita hurriedly shoved random pieces of clothing into a large suitcase. Quite familiar with the Muggle world, Rita had decided to take an airplane to Armenia, as it was too long a distance to ride her broom, or Apparate, for that matter. The only problem then was that her plane was to leave in 15 minutes and she had not yet reached the airport. By the time she had her luggage packed, a mere 10 minutes remained until departure time. Knowing she would never make it by walking, and being rather familiar with the airport as well, she Apparated into a large bathroom stall at the end of a long hall, and, to her good fortune, there was no one occupying the toilet at the time. She ran through the airport with her suitcases in hand and barely made it aboard the plane when takeoff was announced and all the luggage had been stowed away.
Breathing deeply, Rita now had time to plan her interview. Truth be told, she was not entirely sure where to find Lockhart. Just recently, Gilderoy Lockhart had been on the front page of nearly every wizarding newspaper in England. A young man, barely out of his teens, had reportedly saved a small village from a horde of angry trolls. The story had been quite impressive, actually, and some of the spells he was said to have used were rather complex. Over night, he had become a smaller sort of celebrity. Of course, it didn’t hurt that his large, almond shaped eyes were the brightest blue, and his head full of blonde hair seemed unnaturally perfect, and that smile! Oh, needless to say, it was his smile that shone with more magic than the light of the stars that brought him the most attention, particularly of the female kind. But he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it was one of his fanatic supporters that clued Rita in on his possible whereabouts. She and several others had said that he was going to a small town in Armenia, though none of them knew why. And Rita wanted to be the first to find out.
Once she had departed the plane, she didn’t know exactly where to go. Windymare, the wizarding village in which Lockhart was supposedly residing, was not far from where Rita was now, so she decided to walk. She loved the outdoors, and the change in scenery fascinated her. Once in Windymare, she stopped at a small tavern, hoping to find someone who could tell here where to find the famous Lockhart.
It didn’t seem that she was going to need much help after all, for soon after she arrived, Gilderoy Lockhart waltzed in through the doors and sat down at the bar to get a drink. It seemed as though few people in Armenia read the news from overseas, for Lockhart apparently hadn’t received the welcome he had expected. That being so, he still hadn’t managed to lose his inexplicable charm. Rita walked over to him, somewhat apprehensively, and hesitantly tapped him on the shoulder.
“Er… Mr. Lockhart? Is that you?” she began nervously.
“Why, yes it is!” Gilderoy turned around and flashed his trademark smile. “And what might a lovely young lady like yourself want of someone such as I?” he said smoothly, causing Rita’s cheeks to turn a violent shade of scarlet.
“I, er, work for the, er, Witch Weekly, you might have heard of it, back in Britain, you know,” Rita began to spiel. “I was wondering if, er, I might have… might have an interview with you? If you wouldn’t mind, I mean, I--”
Lockhart interrupted her abruptly, “I’d be utterly delighted! How about we move back to one of those nice booths back in the corner,“ he gestured towards the far side of the tavern, “so as to not be overheard. I’d rather not attract too much attention to myself, you know.”
As they moved across the room and took their seats, Lockhart continued, “I don’t believe I ever got your name. You are…”
“Skeeter. I mean Rita. Rita Skeeter of Witch Weekly.”
“And very nice to meet you! I must admit, I’m curious. Did you just happen to be in the area?”
“Well, actually, I had heard that you were to be in Armenia, and--”
“Is that so? I daresay, it seems as though my business is a public affair all of a sudden. Does it not?” Lockhart laughed heartily and Rita gave a high-pitched, noticeably forced giggle.
“It certainly is!” Rita exclaimed. “So, have people treated you differently since the newspapers got your story? Have you liked the attention?” Rita whipped out her quill and parchment.
“Well, it does get tiresome, I won’t doubt it. But I suppose that saving innocent lives is something to make a fuss over. It is quite flattering, though, hearing from all my fans, I guess you could say. Simply amazed that I could keep such a calm mind in a dangerous situation as I did.”
“How exactly did you manage? I’m sure we’ve all heard the story at least once, but it’s always better coming from the source. How did you stop those trolls?”
“I can assure you it wasn’t easy. First of all, I had to make sure the townspeople were at a safe distance. You know, not everyone can manage a full-grown mountain troll! Then, I had to take on each of the beasts separately. It seemed as though they wouldn’t stop coming! As more and more of them poured over the mountainside, I had to take on three and four at once, which wasn’t all that simple, as they were about twelve feet tall and positively massive. But somehow I managed, without so much as a scratch, I might add. Handled the situation myself, I did. Those poor witches and wizards. Where they would be without me, I don’t like to imagine…”
Rita stared in awe at the young man sitting before her. How was it possible, she wondered, for one man to be that good-looking, intelligent, and pleasant all at once? Gilderoy seemed to notice her stare, for he continued talking, but with a more confident air about him. Or perhaps it was merely the Odgen’s Old Firewhisky, because he seemed to be getting more and more relaxed as they spoke.
“So, why exactly are you in Armenia?” Rita asked, now hanging on his every word.
“You really want to know, do you?” Lockhart playfully asked.
“Oh, of course! Could you tell me?” Rita played along very well.
“I suppose I could, off the records, of course. Have you heard about a device called a Time-Turner?”
“I’ve only ever read about them. You haven’t got one, have you?”
“Smart girl! As a matter of fact,” he whispered as he started digging in his pockets, fumbling around for the small device, “I’ve got it with me now!”
“Oh!” Rita loudly exclaimed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she continued in a much softer voice. “Is that it? How… how does it work?”
“You see, you turn it over a number of times, depending on how many hours you’re traveling, see? And you can travel to any time, future or past, however far you need to go. It’s really a rather handy instrument, though I’ve only tested it once or twice. And I must say, it was quite an experience. Imagine, seeing yourself, but in the past! It’s as if there’s two of you!” Gilderoy explained.
“That is fascinating!” Rita whispered. “But… I had no idea… into the future? I thought Time-Turners could only be used to travel into the past.”
“Ah, yes. Yes, I understand. Traveling into the future is…er, a rare gift, one might say. Very scarce, these particular Time-Turners. But you mustn’t breathe a word of this, understand?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Lockhart.” Rita nodded furiously.
“Gilderoy, please. I feel as if we know each other well enough to use first names, eh?”
Rita blushed more fiercely than before. “I… why, yes… how… thank you! Er, but what about the Time-Turner? Is that why you’re here? I still don’t understand.”
“Well, you see,” Gilderoy continued in a barely audible whisper. “As I mentioned before, you can not only travel into the past, but into the future, as well.” He paused and seemed to be waiting for her to comment. Once she nodded her head, he continued. “Yes, well, you see, when I… obtained this device, I thought to myself, I said ‘Gilderoy, why don’t you take yourself a week into the future, and just… see what shape the world is in,’ you know?” Rita nodded again. “So, I did, and it was a fascinating experience. I suppose you could use such a tool for all sorts of things, like placing bets, for example. But I have bigger plans…”
“Really?” Rita whispered in awe. “What sort of plans?”
“Well, now, I can’t have you spreading all my secrets, can I?”
“Oh, I promise I won’t say anything! Honestly!”
“Hmmm…” Lockhart said, and Rita could not decipher whether he looked more thoughtful or drunkenly confused. “I tell you what. Come with me to the Kingsley Inn, that’s where I’m staying, and I’ll tell you there. Don’t want these common folk to overhear, eh?” he added rather loudly, causing several heads to turn in their direction.
“Deal!” Rita could hardly contain her enthusiasm. This was just the type of story she needed, and in truth, was far better than she had hoped. Not to mention, she was actually talking with the real Gilderoy Lockhart!
Gilderoy stumbled out of the booth they had been occupying, and ambled towards the door. Getting several amused stares, which he clearly misinterpreted, Gilderoy waved goodbye to his “fans” and walked straight into the closed door. Rita gave a small gasp and opened the door for Gilderoy. After getting lost once or twice, they finally found the right inn.
“Nice man,” Gilderoy whispered to Rita as he waved at the man behind the counter at Kingsley’s. “He reads the newspapers. He’s letting me stay here, free of charge! Imagine, a real celebrity!” Gilderoy said mockingly, and Rita chuckled to herself, though she did not quite understand what he was getting at.
Once they managed to find the room Gilderoy had been so graciously given, it was already getting dark. Rita pulled out her quill and parchment and began to ask, “So what are these plans of yours,” she blushed, “Gilderoy?”
But Gilderoy hadn’t heard, or at least hadn’t comprehended, a word of what she had said. Searching the cabinets for a glass, he had not been paying attention to much else. “Ah, yes, here it is,” he muttered to himself. He poured himself a glass of water and sat down across from Rita at a nice table setting in the corner of his very elegant room. “The Firewhisky,” he began, “gets me every time.”
Rita repeated her question once more, “So what about your plans, Gilderoy?”
“Oh, yes, about those… I’d rather you didn’t write anything down, not that I don’t trust you, dear! No, nothing of the sort. It’s just, well, what if someone were to find it? Couldn’t have it, unthinkable.” Rita had already managed to cast aside her writing utensils. “Yes, well, it happened the first time I traveled into the future, which was only a week or so ago. You see, as I was wondering about, I came upon a newspaper, and I thought, ‘How charming! I can read the headlines before they come about!’ So I snatched the newspaper, and headed back off to the present. Do you know what the headlines read?”
“No! What?” Rita gasped.
“Werewolves Attack Village in Armenia,” he spoke slowly in a hushed whisper.
“When is this supposed to happen? Has it already taken place?”
“Calm down, you don’t have to twist my arm,” he said, winking at Rita. “The headlines read March twenty-eighth, so it hasn’t happened yet…”
“Gilderoy! That’s tomorrow!”
“I know, dear! I know!”
“But…” Rita looked slightly confused. “Oh, so you’re going to do something to prevent it from happening, right?”
“Good idea, but not what I had in mind.”
“Then what--” Rita never finished her sentence, but was interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream that seemed to have come from just across the street. “What was that?” Rita screamed. The look of horror that had suddenly swept across her face soon changed to one of dawning, “Gilderoy, is this… could it be the…” She couldn’t finish her question, but pointed desperately at the newspaper on the table.
“Oh, heavens! Is it eight o’clock already?” Gilderoy grabbed Rita’s arm and pulled her into a closet, shutting and bolting the door behind them. Rita wondered at how the broom closet locked from the inside--a bit unusual, and wonderfully convenient.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to try and stop them?”
“No need for that,” Gilderoy said calmly, but did not bother to explain.
Rita could hear shouts of confusion coming from outside the door, even from inside the Kingsley Inn. Her heart began to pound and she could feel her body trembling from head to toe. “Gilderoy…” she whispered nervously. “What’s going on?”
“Just wait and see, my dear, wait and see.”
The screaming began to fade after Rita’s legs had long since gone stiff, and now seemed to be coming from a much greater distance. There were still noises coming from outside the Inn, but Rita could not make out what was going on, so she asked Gilderoy.
“That would be Ari Abaven, fighting the last of the werewolves. It should be safe in a moment. The attack was said to have been very swift. Seems Ari is a dangerous man to have as an adversary! They say he studied Defense Against the Dark Arts all through school--his favorite subject.”
“But why did you come, if only to wait out the attack?”
“Oh, that’s not all we’re here for. I tell you what, you said you wanted an interview? I’ll give you more than just that--you can be the first to write of my latest adventure, saving Windymare from werewolves!”
“But you didn’t--”
“Just watch, Rita. Watch and learn.” He carefully unbolted the many locks he had no doubt mounted just for this occasion, and helped Rita up out of the closet. Rita was still shaking all over, but Gilderoy seemed peculiarly calm. This gave Rita a bit more security, but confused her all the more. What on earth was Gilderoy doing?
Gilderoy and Rita walked outside the Kingsley Inn to find the streets nearly deserted, save for an old Armenian wizard, chest heaving and leaning beside a telephone booth. On the ground beside him lay a man, twitching and sweating profusely. “That’s the last of them,” the Armenian man explained. “Just turned the thing back into a man. Why didn’t you two escape?”
“Trapped inside the room,” Gilderoy blurted, before Rita had the chance to say anything. “We couldn’t get out, but luckily, neither could they get in! So, everyone else is gone?”
“Yeah, it looks as if the rest of the townsfolk fled the city. There were so many of them…” Ari shuddered and nodded towards the man lying on the ground. “I don’t think anyone was hurt, though.”
“How did you do it? Get this one down?” Gilderoy prodded.
“Oh, he put up a bit of a fight,” Ari explained. “I used the Homorphus Spell and changed him back, though. You ever heard of such a spell? Difficult, but thank goodness I had mastered it. Saved plenty of lives, that spell did!”
“Fascinating,” Gilderoy exclaimed, and Rita saw him reaching inside his pockets, holding what looked to be his wand.
Ari began, “Say, I never--” and Gilderoy whipped out his wand and shouted “Obliviate!” No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than Ari dropped to the ground. His head struck the cement as fell, and he seemed to be in some sort of deep sleep.
“What?” Rita exclaimed. “What is going on?”
“As far as anyone knows, it was I who saved them from the werewolves.”
“Gilderoy… is this what happened with the trolls as well?” Rita asked, shocked.
“Of course not! Well, not completely. The poor man who had fought them all off, well, he was struck with a club and lost all his memory. I managed to Petrify the remaining troll, and… it all spiraled out of control! Some young boy saw me do it, told the whole town it was I who saved them, and they all believed it! There wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it!” He suddenly pointed his wand at Rita. “But you can’t speak a word of this to anyone! If there’s one thing I pride myself on, it’s my Memory Charms. I don’t want to do it, but I will if I have to.”
Rita stood petrified and tried to speak, but no words would come out of her mouth. Gilderoy seemed convince she wouldn’t tell, and began to comfort the real hero, Ari Abaven, as he lay stricken upon the sidewalk. Gilderoy muttered “Lumos” and a light emerged from the end of his wand. Ari awoke with a start, asking, “What happened?”
“I saved you, I did,” Gilderoy said quite confidently. “This man beside you was a terrible werewolf mere moments ago. You fell back in shock and knocked your head upon the cement.”
“Thank you, sir! I… I don’t remember a thing,” he said dumbly.
“I don’t expect you do! That was some fall,” Gilderoy said, turning to wink at Rita.
Rita, who had snapped out of the near trance she had entered, quickly pulled out her quill and parchment and began to scribble madly.
“Look!” Lockhart exclaimed. “It seems as though a few of the people are returning!” Indeed, just as Gilderoy had said, several townspeople began walking back down the street, all fearfully glancing from side to side. “No need to fear!” Gilderoy shouted towards them. “There aren’t any werewolves left.”
“What happened?” asked one of the Armenian women.
Gilderoy stood up and gestured towards the man still lying on the ground, “I turned the beasts back into men!” One of the younger women gave a small gasp upon laying eyes on the pitiful man. “Oh, don’t worry--he’ll be fine. Just a bit of a shock, I suppose!” Gilderoy added hastily.
“Oi, Dzerban, it’s all right! This young man’s saved us!” an Armenian man shouted back into the darkness.
“How did you do it?” several people began to ask, all crowding up around him.
“You took them all on yourself?”
“And look at you, not a hair out of place!” Rita added playfully, as she whipped out her camera and took a photo of Gilderoy, surrounded by the grateful citizens of Windymare, smiling luridly back at Rita.
Back at the office the next day, Mrs. Crockford took the papers Rita was shaking excitedly towards her. “What’s this?” she demanded. “I thought you were going on vacation! And what’s gotten into you, dear? You’re--Merlin’s beard! It’s… would you look at that!” Mrs. Crockford had just gotten sight of the picture of Gilderoy atop the rather large article Rita had written, carefully explaining in excruciating detail how Gilderoy had once again proven himself. “When did this happen?”
“Just last night, Mrs. Crockford! And I was there! I saw the whole thing! And look! I got an exclusive interview,” she added breathlessly, “with Gilderoy Lockhart!”
Mrs. Crockford looked elated, though the power of speech seemed to have left her. “This is… this is unbelievable!” She sat down in her chintz armchair to read the article. “Imagine…” she muttered more to herself than anything.
“What’s all this about?” Alana Delaney emerged from the printing room looking curious, but not the slightest bit pleased.
“Gilderoy Lockhart,” Rita began to explain. “He saved an entire village from werewolves, and I was there to get the story.”
“How convenient,” Alana said in a rather sarcastic manner, and walked behind Mrs. Crockford to read the story.
“This article is gold!” Mrs. Crockford stood up and exclaimed once she had finished reading it. “All right, we’re going straight to the presses and changing our front page at once!”
“Mrs. Crockford!” Alana pleaded as Mrs. Crockford headed off towards the back room. “What about the National Witch’s Convention in Hertfordshire? People ought to know--”
“People don’t care about garbage like that!” Mrs. Crockford snapped. “But who wouldn’t want to read about Mr. Lockhart? It’s common sense, really, Alana--use your head.”
Rita stood fixed in place with a grand smile upon her face. It had all worked out so perfectly. And she couldn’t help but feel delighted that her story had been chosen over Alana’s, even though she barely knew the lady. And Gilderoy had told her to meet him in Bandon in another two weeks…
A Heart of Gold by the_evenstar
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: The wonderful characters of this story (namely, Rita and Gilderoy) and most of the names/settings belong to JK Rowling - I borrow them merely out of homage to her greatness.