Out of the velvet darkness of a London alley, a man jumped out and promptly crashed to the ground.
–I hate it,†he spluttered as he struggled to stand up. –I hate Apparition!â€
No one was there to listen to his complaint, which came as a relief to him. He wouldn’t have wanted anybody to witness his less-than-graceful manner of Apparating. He’d nearly flunked the test at age seventeen, but with a smirk, he remembered how he’d tricked the Ministry official into thinking he had landed on his feet at the stipulated spot, rather than the knees, twenty feet away. For that was his specialty, tricking people; making them believe with a simple flick of his wand that they had seen and heard things they had neither seen nor heard, or that they had never seen nor heard things they had actually seen and heard. That was how he’d become famous in the magical world of Great Britain and abroad, winning the Order of Merlin, Third Class, and Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award no less than five times!
In fact, he thought, his face now splitting into a grin that showed nearly all of his perfect white teeth, I’ve just gone and done it again, haven’t I?
The problem with being a famous writer (one who chronicled his own victories against dark forces) was that people always wanted to read more. His fans were crazy about his brave exploits. But there were only so many real heroes he could steal the stories from, so many witches and wizards who had the courage to battle banshees and hags and trolls and vampires and ghouls and what not. For some time, he’d been forced to rest on his laurels (not that he was going to run out of favour with his fans for a while--he still had that smile!), though he hadn’t been idle. He was always on the lookout for gullible magical folk who had more guts than him.
To his delight, two months before, rumours had begun to surface of a wild witch getting rid of about three dozens of Inferi somewhere in the north of Wales. He had wasted no time. Assuming a false identity, he’d hurried to the village and started his investigation. The witch had been easy to find.
And what a witch she was. He had to admit that he’d almost fallen for her. If it hadn’t been for the fact that his own interests must be given precedence above all else, why! He’d have proposed to her. Although she’d been described as –wildâ€, she’d been wild in an irresistibly voluptuous way, with her teasing cleavage, fashionably ripped robes, tall red shoes, and the enormous head of brown hair. After weeks of flirting, he’d ended up in her cottage earlier that same evening and listened to her thrilling tale over a glass of the most delectable red wine.
–I shall go and get the Spag Bol ready,†she’d said.
He’d nodded eagerly. As soon as she’d left for the kitchen, he’d started to think of a title for his next book. –Something that begins with the letter i,†he’d muttered to himself. His eye had roamed to her modest library in search of inspiration, and found a rather suitable sample. –Interview with the Inferi,†he said cautiously, as though tasting the sound of it. –Good. Very good.â€
Unable to hold his excitement, he’d gone to the kitchen and cast a Memory Charm, sacrificing for the greater good the drink and shenanigans he’d been secretly looking forward to. Then, he’d Disapparated. He was so excited that, instead of heading for his own house, he was going to pay his publishers a visit. They worked late into the night; their office would still be open. But as he turned into a corner, he found himself face to face with the one person he’d made sure not to meet again as long as he lived.
–Going somewhere, Gilderoy?†she asked him with a smile. –If you didn’t like the wine that much, you could have just told me, you know.â€
–I--I--†he stammered. –H-hello, again, D-Dora. I’m sorry I left like that. I ... Something important came up.â€
How the hell had she managed to recover from his charm?
–Ah, I see.†She raised her wand and ran its tip along his jaw. He swallowed, and then laughed nervously. –Something important? Like rushing off to your agent to discuss the prospects of--what was that? Oh yes, Interview with the Inferi!â€
–For you,†he said quickly. His wand was deep inside his azure robes; there was no way he could get it out on time, and even if he did, he was sure she’d get to him first. She was the one who had removed almost forty Inferi single-handedly, not him. –I was going to tell them about you.â€
–I believe you,†she said. She sounded serious. –You recall everything that I told you about my –interview†with the Inferi, don’t you?â€
He nodded.
–Then, you remember how I finished them off.â€
–Y-yes.â€
–How did I finish them off, Gilderoy?â€
An image flared up in his head: long, thin lassos of fire enveloping the mass of undead bodies.
–P-please,†he begged. –You must understand. I had no choice.â€
–I think you did. I think you always had a choice, you sad, pathetic excuse for a human being.†Ignoring his protests, she raised her wand.
–You can’t kill me!†he yelped.
–I have no intentions of murdering you,†she told him, as two thin but strong ropes flew around his body to tie him up. –You may be a vile bastard, but you don’t deserve to die like this. I’m only taking you to the Aurors.â€
–But I have to teach at Hogwarts this year!†he protested. –Albus Dumbledore has already accepted my letter. Think of the chances you’re depriving the school, the education you’re robbing the students of! Surely, they can benefit if I--â€
–You’re teaching at Hogwarts?†she asked, her voice sharp. –Which subject?â€
–Defence against the Dark Arts.â€
Her eyes widened, whether in shock or disbelief, he couldn’t tell. –I see,†she said, and with a chuckle she released him from the Entrapment Charm. –Then I shall let you go, Gilderoy. I want to know how the school ejects its Defence teacher next June, especially if it’s you who’s going to be ejected.â€
And with that, she was gone, her laughter still buzzing around his ear like an annoying mosquito.