Summer (summerborn) wrote,

FIC: Beauty and His Paramour (Lockhart/Shunpike, PG)

TITLE: Beauty and His Paramour
PAIRING: Gilderoy Lockhart/Stan Shunpike
SUMMARY: In the grim future of Lord Voldemort's rule, two accidental Death Eaters find each other. I can't believe I just typed that with a straight face.
DISCLAIMER: I am not JKR or anyone else of the cool or character-owning persuasion. I am using these characters without compensation and completely without permission.
WARNINGS: See "Pairing."
NOTES: So Rana says to me, "you know who would make a good couple?" and there we go. Somewhat crack-like (but then, so was every scene with Lockhart in CoS). — 925 words.

Beauty and His Paramour

The temples were always cold and drafty, but that's not what really bothered Gilderoy. After all, lower temperatures meant he got to wear his fancy outer coats – although these days, all anyone was allowed to wear was black and dark green. He still kept his pinks and purples in the back of his closet, along with his periwinkles and his teals, his lilacs and lavenders and mauves, but it had been years since he'd worn any of those.

No, Gilderoy Lockhart wore his black robes along with everyone else in the temple. It wasn't the cold that bothered him – it was the humidity. Or lack thereof, he thought as he glanced around at the assembled masses. What was everyone else using as moisturizer? His own lotion had been quite ineffective against the extreme dryness that seemed to have taken over the world. It was enough to turn his hair gray – figuratively speaking, thank God.

The actual lectures at these meetings – or were they calling them sermons now? – had long ago ceased to hold Gilderoy's attention. It didn't help that he never seemed able to remember the words from one day to the next. And when his attention wandered, his eye wandered, and this particular morning his eye fell on the man – boy, really – sitting next to him.

If Gilderoy had ears like that, he would have had them magically reduced by now. And the haircut did nothing but emphasize the size of them! The boy looked to be somewhere around twenty-five, but he still had a bad case of acne. He was staring straight ahead, eyes slightly unfocused, and Gilderoy wondered if there was anyone in the room actually paying attention.

Just then, the boy turned his head and caught him looking. Gilderoy offered up his most innocent "who me?" smile, and the boy blinked.

Taking it as an invitation, Gilderoy leaned over to whisper, "I can give you the name of my stylist if you—"

"Shh!" One of the attendees in the row ahead of them had turned around and was glaring at Gilderoy. The boy looked chagrined, but Gilderoy just shook his head. Honestly, these people took everything so seriously!

He knew he was supposed to consider himself "one of them" and not say "these people," but every day when he woke up he had to work at fitting in with the sour-faced crowds. This boy, though... he looked a bit nervous, but he was far from sour-faced. Pimple-faced, yes, but that could be taken care of with the right mix of potions.

"I'm Gilderoy Lockhart," he whispered to the boy.

"Er... Stan Shunpike," the boy whispered back. Gilderoy had a sudden urge to offer to sign an autograph, but he was used to that particular urge, and it passed quickly enough.

"I say – if you're not busy after the meeting, I can show you a few products that will—"

"SHH!" The hooded man in front of them had turned around again to shush them. Gilderoy knew the next time, they would attract the attention of an Overseer. He winked conspiratorially at the boy and put a finger to his lips. They'd be quiet.

After the meeting – sermon, lecture, motivational speech – whatever the Overseers were calling them this week – when it was over, Gilderoy managed to drag the boy back to his room. Within five minutes, he had Stan sitting at his vanity and was already starting to trim his hair.

"There, that will keep it out of your eyes," Gilderoy said. He was rather handy with the Corteo spells, even if he did say so himself.

Stan said nothing, staring into the mirror. Gilderoy frowned.

"I say," he began. "You're taking all of this rather well." Actually the boy was taking it all like a blank wall, but Gilderoy thought it was best to be tactful.

Stan's eyes flickered up to meet his at that, but he remained silent.

Gilderoy chuckled and dug in the drawer of the vanity for the right gel. "You know, you don't seem like the Death Eater type." As soon as he said it, Gilderoy remembered that this was a grave insult in today's society. He turned quickly back to Stan, but the boy didn't seem to have taken offense.

"Neither do you," Stan said.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Finally Gilderoy went to the door to check the lock, and came back. "I'm not, really. Or at least I don't think I am. I don't remember a lot of things, but the Overseers said I was either a Death Eater or I was dead, and, well…"

Stan nodded. "That's what they said to me, too. I was in Azkaban during… during the war – I swear I didn't do the things they said I did! But then afterwards, when the Overseers were letting everyone out…"

"There wasn't much point in insisting on your innocence any more. Well, I won't tell anyone if you won't." Gilderoy leaned against the vanity and smiled wryly. "To be honest, I doubt if I'll remember this conversation tomorrow."

"Your memory has been getting better, though, hasn't it?" Stan was fingering his newly trimmed hair.

"Better, yes, but in order for anything to stick I have to be reminded of it every day for a while."

There was another silence, Stan examining his reflection in the mirror, Gilderoy examining Stan.

"So… what do we do now?" The boy's voice was a whisper.

Gilderoy straightened and brushed off his robes. "Now, we do something about that acne."
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