TITLE: She Said, and Smiled
WORD COUNT: 450
PAIRING: Gilderoy Lockhart/Parvati Patil
SUMMARY: It's difficult to live with a crippled memory.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Part of my Summer Spells self-challenge (following the 7spells prompts). Prompt 2: five shades of white. I had intended to set this during CoS, but shied away from the age implications. So it takes place much, much later.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no money being exchanged, no blood no foul.
She Said, and Smiled
A new Healer came into his room, this one slender and small, with dark brown skin, long eyelashes, and a thick rope of black hair down her back. Lockhart was reminded of something, or someone. He couldn't think of what, or who. This happened to him so often that he didn't worry about it.
"Good morning, Pro--Mr. Lockhart." She had a nice smile, he noticed. Not like that Healer yesterday--what had her name been? No matter. This Healer's teeth were straight, and even, and very white. Her eyes lit up when she smiled at him, which he found he rather enjoyed.
"I have your breakfast, Mr. Lockhart." She lifted the cover for him. He spread his ivory napkin across his lap.
"You're welcome, Mr. Lockhart." Ah, the eggs were done easy, just the way he liked them. That meant it was going to be a good day.
Sometimes he wondered what he'd had for breakfast the day before, but trying to remember left him fatigued, so he didn't bother.
He sat in his armchair, looking from one photograph of himself to another.
"Everything all right, Mr. Lockhart?" He frowned at her. She looked too fragile, not like... not like he was used to.
"I don't know about another peacock quill, but I can get you more ink," she said. He couldn't remember her name.
"It's Parvati," she said, and smiled.
He decided to give her the photograph in his left hand.
"Just Parvati is fine, Mr. Lockhart," she said.
"All right... Gilderoy," she said.
"I'll get you a new one," she said.
He gave her the torn dressing gown -- the lavender, his favorite -- and watched her as she tended to the other people in the ward. There were lots of things he didn't remember these days, but he knew when she walked into the ward each morning that she would turn to him with a smile.
Parvati came to see him in the afternoon, which was an odd time. He no longer thought it odd that he could remember her name. She was not smiling, which was very odd indeed.
"I have to leave, Gilderoy." Her long eyelashes were wet.
"It's my mother. Padma won't go, and she needs--" He handed her a lily-white handkerchief.
"I hope you remember me when I come back," she whispered, and pressed her lips against his cheek. He was still touching the spot with his fingertips when she got up and left, with his monogrammed handkerchief held to her face.
He stared at the door for a few minutes, then went to his desk, where he kept his spare quills and ink and photographs ready for signing.
Her name, he wrote carefully in his best joined-up writing, is Parvati...