A while after Dumbledore left the infirmary, silence settled over the room, thick and expectant. The kind of silence that pressed against the ears until someone had to break it.
Aurora shifted beside me on the bed, her eyes never leaving my face.
"So…" she began carefully, "what is a Horcrux? It sounded… important."
Ah. The hippogriff in the room at last.
I gave her a faint smile and made to cast a privacy ward, then remembered the sorry, splintered remains of my wand. With a soft huff of annoyance, I glanced at her.
"Would you mind?"
She nodded at once, lifting her wand and casting the spell with precision. The air around us gave a subtle ripple as the ward sealed, muting the world outside.
Good. Now there were only two of us, and the weight of a very dark secret.
"A Horcrux," I began quietly, "is a piece of a soul. A fragment torn away and hidden inside an object."
Her expression turned ashen.
"By doing that, the wizard tethers himself to the living world. So long as the object remains intact, their soul cannot fully pass on. Even if their body is destroyed… they don't truly die."
Aurora's hand tightened over mine.
"So that's what he did…?" she whispered.
I nodded slowly. "Yes. Voldemort didn't just make one, either. He made several. Each one granting him another anchor to this world."
Her eyes widened with horror. "Then as long as he has them, he's technically invincible?"
I let out a dry chuckle. "Invincible is a strong word. Mr. Potter already proved that wrong." I smirked faintly. "Think of him more like a very persistent cockroach. An ugly one with delusions of grandeur. Lord Cockroachmort, perhaps."
A startled snort burst from her lips. She quickly covered her mouth, shaking her head.
"You're impossible," she murmured, but her voice trembled with relief.
"Charming, brilliant, and now apparently a hero of the realm," I added lightly. "It's a terrible burden, really."
She rolled her eyes, though her thumb brushed gently over my knuckles. For a while, we simply sat there together, saying nothing, listening to each other breathe, and in that quiet, I realized just how close I'd come to never seeing her again.
The thought nearly undid me.
The hours that followed passed in a blur of visitors. Concerned faces. Awed looks. Endless thanks. I smiled for them all, of course, some habits never change, though this time the gratitude warmed something deeper than pride.
When Madam Pomfrey finally allowed it, Aurora and I made our way down to Hogsmeade.
The Three Broomsticks looked exactly as it always had: warm, wooden, bustling… and Rosmerta stood behind the bar as if she had personally dared time to move on without her.
The moment she saw me, the glass in her hand nearly shattered.
"Gilderoy Lockhart!" she exclaimed, rushing forward. "You absolute menace! Do you have any idea what you put this village through, what you put me through?"
"Judging by the flowers, the gifts, and the commemorative toilet seat, I'd say quite a lot," I replied smoothly.
She laughed then, a little wet around the edges, and pulled me into a fierce embrace that nearly cracked a rib.
"It's good to see you standing, sweetheart," she said softly. "We were all worried."
I glanced to Aurora, her hand still in mine, and felt a warmth settle in my chest, real and steady.
"For once," I said, "so was I."
…
May 30, 1993, Sunday
I woke up early, my body still weak but finally listening to me again. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a faint golden glow across the room. For the first time since the basilisk, I didn't feel as though I were crawling back from death itself. I felt… determined.
Rosmerta was still sleeping on one side of me, Aurora on the other. For a moment, I simply lay there, listening to their slow, peaceful breathing, overwhelmed by the absurd, wonderful thought that I was still here, and so were they.
We spent the night together in Rosmerta's bed, an unspoken pact that none of us wanted to be alone after everything that had happened. It had been comforting, grounding. A small, shared rebellion against all the fear we'd lived through.
When they finally stirred awake, sleepy smiles were exchanged, and we decided to make something special out of the day, a proper start to my recovery. If I was to accept an Order of Merlin, then I would prepare for it properly.
We had breakfast downstairs in the Three Broomsticks. The regulars greeted me with disbelief, relief, and more than a few enthusiastic claps on the back. Rosmerta fussed over us, piling plates with far too much food, but for once, I had the appetite to match it.
Afterward, she left her barmaids in charge of the Inn and we made our way to the fireplace in order to use the Floo Network.
"First stop?" Aurora asked, knowingly.
"Ollivander's," I replied. "I can't attend a ceremony without a proper magical extension of myself, can I?"
Moments later, we were stepping out into Diagon Alley, the familiar hum of magic and commerce filling the air. The bell above Ollivander's door gave its usual soft chime as we entered the narrow, shadowy shop.
Mr. Ollivander was already seated behind the counter, a book in his thin hands. He glanced up at once.
"Mr. Lockhart. Ms. Sinistra. Ms. Gappleford. What a pleasure," he said mildly, as if we had simply come in for an ordinary afternoon.
I stepped forward, retrieving the remains of my broken wand.
"My old one… couldn't keep up," I admitted, placing the two cracked halves in front of him. "My magic has… changed."
He took it in his long fingers, examining the shattered core, running a thumb along the splintered wood.
"Ah… yes. I thought as much. A considerable increase in output. Rather violent on such a loyal tool, I'm afraid." Then he looked up at me, studying my face with unsettling intensity. "I don't believe any wand in my shop will be capable of housing what now exists within you."
My heart sank, only slightly.
"But," he continued, "I can offer you something else, I can craft you a staff."
"A staff?" I questioned. "But those are usually just oversized wands, aren't they?"
"Single-core staffs, yes. Decorative, inefficient pretenders. What I am proposing is rather different. A multi-core staff. Three cores, at the very least. That should be enough to survive your magic, perhaps even thrive in it."
Rosmerta gasped softly. Aurora stared at me as if seeing me for the first time.
"It is said Merlin himself wielded a seven-core staff," Ollivander added dreamily. "That level of power requires the hand of its maker… so should you ever wish for it, you will need to learn to create it yourself."
"Well," Rosmerta muttered, "second coming of Merlin, wouldn't you be stealing Dumbledore's title then?"
Ollivander's lips twitched. "Time will tell."
He ushered Aurora and Rosmerta toward a pair of old chairs and led me into the back, a cluttered, dust-filled workshop pulsing faintly with dormant magic.
"We start with the wood," he said.
He placed several blocks before me. Oak. Elm. Cypress. Ash.
One by one, I passed my hand over them, feeling faint warmth… faint resistance… faint nothing at all.
Then, I touched spruce.
Magic surged up my arm, warm and electric, settling into my chest as if it had recognized me.
"This one," I said without hesitation.
"Spruce," Ollivander murmured. "In the right hands, capable of the most flamboyant, dramatic magic imaginable. A fitting choice."
Next came the cores.
Without even realizing it, I was drawn to two dragon heartstrings, one from an Antipodean Opaleye, alive with a quiet, elegant energy, and another from a Hungarian Horntail, raw and ferocious.
"And for the final core…" Ollivander reached into a delicate crystal case. "…a gift, from Fawkes himself. He arrived only yesterday to deliver it."
A phoenix feather, burning faintly gold and crimson. "For this very moment, it seems."
Ollivander cradled it as if it were made of glass and sunlight, the delicate red-gold strands shimmering in the dim light of the workshop. It almost glowed between his long fingers.
"It is a rare honour," he said softly. "A phoenix does not give its feathers without purpose."
I swallowed. "Then I'd better live up to it."
A faint smile ghosted over his thin lips. "Indeed, Mr Lockhart. Indeed."
And the moment it touched the others, the air itself seemed to tremble.
I felt it.
This wasn't just a weapon.
It was a beginning.
…
Ollivander held my gaze for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he gave a slow nod.
"It will take approximately five days to craft your staff properly, Mr. Lockhart. This will not be a simple process. A multi-core staff must be shaped with great care, or it could tear itself apart… and the wizard beside it."
"I wouldn't want that," I replied lightly. "I'm rather attached to both my face and my torso."
The barest hint of a smile flickered across his lips. "Quite."
A pause followed, and a thought struck me. "By the way, do you think there's any possibility of a wand that doesn't explode as well? I do have classes to teach. My students might panic if I begin pointing a walking cane at them and shouting incantations."
He turned, considering the shelves behind him, before moving toward the far corner of the shop. He crouched, opening an old, dust-covered case I hadn't even noticed before. Inside, resting on worn velvet, was a very plain-looking wand.
"Applewood," he said, lifting it with care. "Troll whisker core. A failed experiment of my father's. Troll whiskers are… particularly uncooperative when it comes to channeling magic. Most wizards have to overpower their spells just to achieve the slightest effect. Three spells are usually enough to exhaust them entirely."
He offered it to me as if it were nothing special.
I closed my fingers around the handle. A faint hum stirred under my skin.
"Well," I murmured, giving it a small twirl between my fingers, "that sounds positively perfect for my current condition."
With a flick of my wrist, I cast, "Lumos."
A steady, unwavering light bloomed from the tip; soft, but powerful, as if the wand had been waiting for someone willing to dominate it rather than coax it.
Ollivander's eyebrows rose. "Yes… perfect indeed."
"How much?" I asked.
"Two hundred and fifty galleons for the staff," he said. Then, after a brief pause, he closed the old case and slid it aside. "And you may take this one as a gift. Consider it… a test."
I smiled. "I do love free gifts."
After bidding our farewells to Ollivander, we walked outside into the sunlight, then Aurora and Rosmerta gave me curious looks.
"Well?" Aurora asked eagerly.
"In five days, I'll be the proud owner of a three-core staff capable of bending reality to my will," I said rather casually. "And until then…"
I flicked the wand, producing a small spray of harmless golden sparks that made Rosmerta laugh.
"…this delightful little thing will have to do."
Our next destination was Twilfitt and Tattings, where I spared no expense. If I was to receive the Order of Merlin for slaying the basilisk with Gryffindor's sword, then crimson and gold were not merely appropriate, they were essential.
"Tailor-made," I told the witch taking my measurements. "Nothing less than perfection will do."
Crimson fabric, rich and deep as wine, lined with brilliant golden accents, patterned subtly with enchanted stitching that gleamed when the light touched it just right. I could already imagine the crowd gasping when I showed up.
And then, of course, I ordered matching robes for my two future wives.
Apologies, after all, should be visible.
The rest of the day faded into indulgence and laughter, ice cream from Fortescue's, Aurora stealing tastes from my cone, Rosmerta's arm looped comfortably in mine as we walked the length of Diagon Alley. We ended in the most luxurious restaurant we could find, crystal glasses chiming together in lazy toasts.
To survival.
To magic.
To glory.
And to the remarkable future that was, quite clearly, determined to claim me as its centerpiece.
…