May 29, 1993, Saturday
I woke up like someone had stuffed my head full of wet cotton.
For a long moment, I couldn't even open my eyes. My limbs felt heavy, sluggish, as if I were trying to move underwater. When I finally managed to rub at my face, it took more effort than it had any right to.
Then I blinked blearily around the room.
The gifts were the first things I registered, because how could I not? There was an actual mountain of them beside my bed: flowers of every color, boxes of sweets stacked precariously, hand-painted banners wishing me well, even a toilet seat with my own face on it. The Weasley twins' names were carved across the back like a signature. Of course.
And then I spotted it: a glorious portrait of me, standing triumphantly next to the basilisk's corpse, Gryffindor's sword raised high like something out of a legend.
Perfect. Absolutely magnificent. Whoever had painted that clearly understood art.
Somewhere between a bouquet shaped like a broomstick and a box of Honeydukes fudge, I saw my wand. I reached out and curled my fingers around the familiar handle, relieved by the weight of it.
"Tempus," I croaked, wanting to know the hour.
But instead of the usual, I felt my magic rushing like an ocean and the wand split down the middle with a loud crack. A burst of sparks shot into the air, followed by a sad sputtering sound I could only describe as a dying whine before it gave up entirely and exhaled a final puff of smoke. I stared at the broken wood in disbelief.
Right. So apparently I'd just… overloaded it.
I hadn't meant to. After Gryffindor's ritual I'd known my magic was much stronger, but this was ridiculous. I'd been able to cast fine afterward. I had control. But now… everything felt scrambled, blurry, off-kilter. As if the life-transfer ritual had rearranged something inside me and forgotten to put it back properly.
I sighed, running a thumb along the ruined wand. "Such a pity… I really liked that one."
"Mr. Lockhart!"
Madam Pomfrey swept into view like an angry storm cloud, pushing my hands back down. "Do not move. And do not try to talk."
She immediately began casting diagnostic charms, one after another, her wand tip glowing different colors as she waved it in tight, precise patterns. Every time I tried to say something, she shushed me with increasing ferocity.
Five long minutes and at least twenty charms later, she finally nodded.
"You've been unconscious for three weeks," she said flatly.
"THREE?!" My voice cracked as my eyes shot open, heart lurching. "Three weeks?! What about Miss Weasley? Is she?"
"She is perfectly fine," Pomfrey cut in, her expression softening. "Thanks to you."
A wave of relief washed over me so suddenly I nearly sagged back against the pillows.
"She was given a week off to be with her family, and has since returned to classes. She also came to see you every day, waiting for you to wake so she could thank you."
That… meant a lot more than I expected it to.
"Of course," Pomfrey went on, "most of the school has been trying to visit, so I had to restrict access to only a few people."
"Aurora," I said immediately. "Is she, is she alright?"
This time, Pomfrey's stern expression gentled into something almost maternal.
"She has not been well," she admitted quietly. "She has been worried sick. She spent most of her time at your bedside. I finally had to force her to sleep, she hadn't been doing so on her own." Pomfrey pointed toward the curtains on the far side of the room. "She's there now. She refused to leave."
My chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with lingering weakness.
Aurora… stayed. For weeks. And she worried herself sick.
My heart skipped in a way that felt far more dangerous than any magic.
…
Half an hour later, Aurora finally stirred.
I'd pulled a chair beside her bed, and when her eyes fluttered open, I was already leaning forward, watching her with a feeling I couldn't quite name. "You're finally awake," I said softly.
She blinked once… then promptly rolled her eyes, even as tears immediately welled up in them.
"That should be my line," she whispered, voice shaking as she reached a hand to my cheek, as if to confirm I was truly here. "Three weeks, Gilderoy. Do you have any idea how worried you had me?"
I opened my mouth… and then closed it, because there was really only one honest answer.
"No," I said gently. "No, I don't think I could begin to guess." I reached for her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. "But I'll make it up to you. For the rest of my life."
Her breath hitched, and then she pulled me down by the collar with surprising strength.
The kiss wasn't graceful. It wasn't elegant. It felt like she'd poured every sleepless night, every fear, every ounce of relief directly into me. When we finally parted, both of us needed a moment just to remember how to breathe.
Eventually, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and muttered, "Idiot."
I didn't argue.
She insisted I climb onto the bed beside her, Madam Pomfrey would have scolded us both into next week if she'd walked in, but I didn't care, and we spent the next while talking quietly.
Aurora filled me in on everything I'd missed during those three weeks. The students, the rumors, the constant stream of people trying to enter the infirmary, and Rosmerta who had visited as often as she could but still had to take care of the Inn, right, I'd have to go see her as soon as I could then. At some point she squeezed my arm and said, almost casually:
"Oh, one of our objectives was completed while you were out."
I frowned. "Objectives?"
She gave me a small smile. "Your Order of Merlin, First Class."
I blinked at her. "What?"
"Dumbledore pushed it through personally," she said, pride softening her voice. "They've been waiting for you to wake up so they can hold the ceremony."
For a moment I simply stared, unsure whether to laugh, be flattered, or accuse the universe of trying to overwhelm me in my weakened state.
But Aurora leaned her head against my shoulder, and somehow that made everything settle in place.
I had survived, and Ginny was also alive.
And, apparently, I was about to become a national hero.
Not bad for someone who'd woken up feeling like he was made of damp parchment.
…
The first to visit was Ginny.
She wasn't expecting me to be awake. I could tell because she walked in humming under her breath, clutching a small bouquet of daisies… and then froze like a Niffler caught in wandlight the moment her eyes found me sitting at Aurora's bed.
Her face went from pale to bright Weasley-red in a heartbeat.
"Oh! Professor! I, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!"
She spun around like she was preparing to bolt out of the ward entirely.
"Ginny, wait." My voice came out softer than I intended, still rough from disuse. "It's alright. Really. I'm glad you're doing well."
She hesitated, shoulders tense, then slowly turned back. Her eyes shone for a moment before she dipped her head.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice trembling. "For saving me. I-I'll pay you back, I promise."
"There's no need for tha…"
"No."
She insisted, cheeks still red but eyes unwavering. "I mean it. And I will."
I sighed, but in a fond way. "Fine. If I ever need help, you'll be the first I call."
An eleven-year-old's debt was the last thing I wanted, but she looked so determined I couldn't refuse.
That made her brighten… then she suddenly remembered she'd caught me sitting in Aurora's bed, and her face went red again.
"I-I'll see you later, Professor!" she squeaked before hurrying out.
Aurora chuckled softly beside me. I wasn't the only one amused.
Ginny had barely left when the door opened again.
This time, it was Dumbledore.
His expression softened the moment he saw me upright, and a warmth flickered in his eyes that I rarely saw.
"Gilderoy," he said, voice full of quiet pride, "I'm relieved beyond words to see you awake."
I tried to wave it off. "Just doing my duty…"
"No."
His voice was gentle but firm. "What you did was far beyond duty. Many would have hesitated. Many would have refused entirely. Your actions were… extraordinary, my boy."
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I simply inclined my head.
After a moment, I cleared my throat. "Headmaster… have you learned anything about the real culprit? Who opened the Chamber?"
Something in him shifted.
Dumbledore looked at Aurora, really looked, and for a second I thought he might ask her to leave. She saw it too and started to rise from her bed.
But he raised a hand, stopping her.
"I trust you, Aurora," he said softly. "But what I am about to say must not leave this room."
She nodded and remained seated.
Dumbledore raised a privacy ward and exhaled slowly, as though the words themselves weighed something.
"Miss Weasley revealed everything to me," he said. "The culprit was not a person… but a cursed diary. A diary belonging to Tom Riddle."
Aurora blinked. "Riddle? Who?"
"Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore finished grimly. "A preserved teenage memory of him, capable of manipulating and possessing the girl who carried it."
Aurora's hand flew to her mouth. "That's impossible, memories don't come alive like that…"
I whispered a single word, barely audible. "…Horcrux."
Dumbledore's head snapped toward me, eyes suddenly sharp. "Gilderoy… how do you know that term?"
Aurora turned to me as well, confusion etched on her face, not understanding anything.
I swallowed, keeping my expression appropriately troubled.
"I've been investigating," I admitted quietly. "Ever since I found one. Right here in the castle. Hidden in the Room of Requirement."
A tense silence followed.
"At first I didn't know what it was, only that it was incredibly dark. Wrong. But after… extensive research, I uncovered the truth."
Dumbledore stepped closer to my bed, gaze piercing but not unkind. "Where is it now?"
"In my quarters," I said. "Locked under layers of protective wards. Completely sealed. I wanted to bring it to you, but with everything happening… I, admittedly, forgot."
That last part was embarrassing, but believable given the ritual, the coma, the basilisk, and nearly dying in general.
Dumbledore didn't reprimand me. Instead, he placed a hand on my shoulder, and somehow, despite being an old man, it felt steady. Solid.
"You have done more than enough, Gilderoy," he said softly. "We will deal with it together. Once you have recovered enough."
Aurora reached for my hand beneath the blankets, squeezing gently.
For the first time since waking, I allowed myself to exhale.
The world hadn't stopped turning while I slept.
But at least… I wasn't facing it alone.
Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes twinkling with that impossible mix of warmth and calculation.
"In that case," he said, "I shall contact Cornelius immediately. Your Order of Merlin ceremony must be properly arranged." His smile deepened. "On which day would you prefer it to be held, my boy?"
I leaned back against the pillows, thinking. My body still felt like it had been wrung out, dried, and then wrung out again for good measure. But I wasn't about to attend my own award ceremony looking like a scarecrow that had been set on fire.
"A week," I said at last. "Enough time to recover… properly. And to have a new outfit made for the occasion. Oh-" I lifted the two broken halves of my wand, "-and to replace this. It didn't survive my attempt at a Tempus."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Very well. One week, then. I will inform the Minister."
He turned toward the door, his robes sweeping behind him in that way he must practice in the mirror, just like me. But then he paused, hand on the brass handle, and glanced over his shoulder.
"Ah, Gilderoy. Before I forget."
Something in his tone made me straighten. Aurora mirrored me.
"Nicolas asked me to extend an offer to you." Dumbledore's expression softened, tinged with something like pride. "He wondered if you would be interested in becoming his apprentice."
My heart skipped, actually skipped. Not from shock or excitement, but because for a moment it simply forgot how to function.
"His… apprentice?" I repeated.
"He insisted I ask," Dumbledore said. "He wishes to pass down what he can before his remaining time runs out."
I blinked. The room felt oddly quiet. Aurora stopped breathing entirely.
"But… he only has months left," I said slowly. "Why would he?"
Then it hit me.
Of course, the tests.
The ritual.
The silent, sharp-eyed way he had studied me from the moment we arrived at his home.
He'd been evaluating me. Judging if I was worth teaching. And the only way to solve my and Ginny's lack of lifespan problem, is the Philosopher's Stone. He'd decided I was worthy.
Somehow, the thought warmed me instead of frightening me.
"I'd be honoured," I said finally. "To learn from the greatest alchemist alive, or soon not alive." I winced. "Sorry. Poor phrasing."
Dumbledore chuckled again, eyes twinkling brightly as if he found my awkwardness reassuring.
"He will be pleased," he said. "I shall let him know at once."
He turned again, and this time he actually left, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
For a long moment, Aurora and I simply sat there in silence.
"…Apprentice to Nicolas Flamel," she said eventually, voice breathless. "Gilderoy. That's…"
"I know."
"You know?"
I laughed weakly. "No, I mean, I know." I rubbed the side of my face. "I'm trying to process it."
She leaned against me, head on my shoulder. "Well, you deserve it."
…