January 26, 1993, Tuesday
Guess whose birthday it is today?
Exactly. Mine.
Gilderoy Lockhart's.
Try not to sound too impressed, I can't hear you through the pages anyway.
I do have many glorious plans for today, of course. A hero of my stature deserves nothing less than celebration, reflection, and at least three cakes. But before I indulge in that, I suppose I should catch you up on the last month… because Merlin knows my life doesn't slow down just because it's winter.
The New Year was… unexpected.
Gwen invited me back to the old family home.
I brought Aurora and Rosmerta with me, naturally, one doesn't face emotional landmines without proper backup.
The reunion itself was… awkward. Emotional, and thoroughly undignified, if I'm being honest.
Especially when my father and I hugged. We both completely broke down, full sobbing.
Rosmerta later said it was like watching me hug an older version of myself, which I took as a compliment, even if it wasn't meant to be.
Turns out I got my looks and flair from him. He told me that himself, very proudly. Said the only reason Mother married him was because he "outshone everyone else in the room."
…Apparently she chased off other women with terrifying efficiency.
Looking back, I'm now fairly certain she used magic.
Then came the apologies.
I tried to apologise for… everything. What happened back then. The anger. The distance. The things I said.
Glenda stopped me. Actually stopped me.
Then apologised to me.
They'd blamed me for Mother's death.
She said it was wrong. That I was young. Foolish. Hurt. That young people break things, and that sometimes families break with them.
That some wounds don't come from guilt, but from grief that has nowhere else to go.
…That one stayed with me.
And then there was Emily, my niece.
Emily Prewett.
Which was very nearly more shocking than anything else, until I learned her father was a Squib from the Prewett line, distantly related to Molly Weasley.
Yes.
That Molly Weasley.
Small world. Dangerous intersections.
The real chaos, however, began when the topic of my companions came up.
Glenda was scandalised, absolutely scandalised.
Two girlfriends?
Planning to marry both?
She looked like she might faint.
Gwen already knew, since we'd been writing, so she just sipped her tea like she'd expected it and was just watching everything with an amused expression.
And my father?
He was proud. Utterly, embarrassingly proud.
Kept calling it "the Lockhart charm" and launched into stories about how my mother used to chase women away from him.
"She terrified them, son."
I'm now very sure she did more than just glare.
All in all…
Awkward, emotive, and strangely healing.
…
I must say, it's quite fascinating how much one can learn simply by keeping up with The Daily Prophet. Most wizards only skim it for Quidditch scores or Ministry gossip, but a mind such as mine understands the importance of reading between the lines.
Just the other day, I read about Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge's latest triumph, a new piece of anti-werewolf legislation. Truly inspired, from a bureaucratic standpoint. She's made it so difficult for werewolves to obtain lawful employment that even the most patient of them would struggle to find… well, anything at all.
It does explain rather a lot, actually.
I distinctly remember that, in the original sequence of events… ah, but no matter. The point is, I may have to help nudge certain people into the right positions again. After all, even with the curse on the Defense position about to be broken, incredibly brave work on my part, obviously, these sorts of curses have a way of lingering. Four years, if I recall correctly.
No doubt someone like Lupin would still feel cornered enough to accept the post.
And speaking of disasters narrowly averted by my sharp observational skills… Well, not exactly averted, but you get my point.
The Weasley twins.
Merlin help us all.
They somehow managed to outdo themselves by blowing up one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade, the one on the fourth floor, hidden behind that absurdly large mirror. Apparently, they'd been smuggling back a crate of experimental fireworks. Experimental, in this case, meaning unstable enough to nearly take out half a corridor.
Of course, it was I who caught them in the act.
They tried to play it off as "field testing," but I could see the truth in their guilty little faces. Naturally, I assigned them a fitting punishment. They took over Potter's cauldron-scrubbing duties.
But while Harry only had to scrub for a week, the twins had to do it for the rest of the school year.
I call that mercy. And strangely… healing.
…
Now, back to my birthday, which, most delightfully, happens to coincide with my niece's as well. Naturally, I sent her the latest toy broom on the market. Imported, polished, and enchanted with extra stability charms, personally inspected by me, of course.
I can already picture Glenda's face when she sees her precious little angel soaring over the furniture like a tiny, giggling Comet tail. Absolute horror. She'll likely send me a letter dripping with threats, long words, and at least three underlined exclamation marks.
But honestly? Completely worth it.
Some sacrifices are necessary for a child's proper magical upbringing. And if those sacrifices include my sister's sanity, then truly, I am a hero in more ways than one.
At present, I was on my way to the Great Hall for dinner. A quiet affair, I assumed. A modest evening of light applause and perhaps a discreet cake.
I opened the doors.
And the entire school shouted in perfect, thunderous unison:
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
Before I could even recover from the shock of such overwhelming affection, fireworks erupted from every corner of the hall, exploding in midair. Brilliant golden letters spelled out HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and, rather impressively, my smiling face appeared in shimmering sparks beside it.
Courtesy of the Weasley twins, no doubt.
Dumbledore was wearing a pointed party hat with bouncing stars. He looked delighted, the sort of man who would absolutely organize such a thing and pretend it was spontaneous. Professor McGonagall wore a tight, pursed smile that suggested she had agreed to this under extreme protest. Flitwick was clapping enthusiastically and had already conjured tiny floating streamers. Sprout looked genuinely happy for me, bless her.
Snape looked like he would rather be swallowed whole by a dragon.
As I walked through the student tables, hands reached out from everywhere. I shook as many as I could; left, right, left again. It's important to stay accessible to one's admirers.
I made my way to the podium and gave an impromptu speech, of course.
"Really, everyone, this is far too much. You didn't have to go to all this trouble for little old me…"
At that, I noticed several students rolling their eyes.
Utterly baffling behavior, considering I had only spent the last week casually reminding everyone that it was my birthday, how much I adored birthday celebrations, and how surprisingly moving a large public display of affection can be.
Honestly. Can't a man be prepared?
But still," I continued smoothly, unbothered, "I am deeply touched. Truly. To see such appreciation, such love, such radiant admiration… well, it makes growing older completely worthwhile."
Thunderous applause.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
…
Dinner proceeded magnificently, as most events do when I am present.
Then came dessert.
Instead of the usual fare, tiny cakes appeared in front of every student, each one decorated with my face.
Very accurate, I might add.
The cake in front of me had a single candle flickering gently atop a swirl of golden icing.
The house-elves had truly outdone themselves.
Suddenly, Dumbledore rose from his seat, and with a graceful flick of his wand, he conducted the entire Great Hall as if it were a grand orchestra.
And everyone began to sing:
"Happy Birthday to you…"
The sound echoed off the enchanted ceiling. The candles flickered in rhythm. The floating stars shimmered brighter.
I closed my eyes and made a wish.
That every year might be as good as this one.
And then I leaned forward… and blew out the candle.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then thunderous applause filled the Great Hall once again. And for once, I truly felt like I deserved all of it.
…
Later that night, Aurora took my hand and led me gently toward the Three Broomsticks for what she promised would be a "more private celebration."
Naturally, I trusted her completely.
Just before entering, she placed a blindfold over my eyes.
I quite like blindfolds. They add mystery.
When I was told to remove it, I found both Aurora and Madam Rosmerta standing before me… wrapped head to toe in elegant gift paper, red ribbons tied neatly around their waists.
They informed me, quite sweetly, that I was to open my presents.
Now, I'm a man of elegance, but I am not made of stone.
When I tugged both ribbons at once, the paper vanished in soft golden motes of light, revealing… truly exceptional craftsmanship in both fabric and intent.
Corsets, garter belts, silk stockings, the whole ensemble. All in contrasting colours to each of their skin tones, all white for Aurora's, and black for Rosmerta's. It felt like an angel and a succubus had banded together just to tempt me.
The rest of the night involved music, candles, a lot of frosting, someone getting tied to the bed (I won't say who)
I will say only this for the sake of decency:
It was, without question, the best birthday gift I have ever received.
And the details? Well, I leave those to your imagination.
…