|springsmutfairy (springsmutfairy) wrote in hp_springsmut,|
@ 2008-03-01 12:00:00
|Entry tags:||fic, gilderoy/rita, het|
Happy Springsmut, littleblackbow!
Title: Everything Old Is New Again
Pairing: Gilderoy Lockhart/Rita Skeeter
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. Title is lifted from the song of the same name by Peter Allen.
Summary: The story behind the story of the greatest scoop of Rita Skeeter's career.
Warnings: Vanilla crack!fic [Rita has swallowed Austen (plus a bit of derivative Fielding) and Bronte and what is reconstituted here bears only the scarcest likeness to those authors]
Word Count: ~2,250
Author's Notes: Many and varied and effusive thanks to N for her eagle eyes.
I, Rita Skeeter, am back with a tale that simply must be read to be believed. After many years I have rekindled my special relationship (which, I can candidly report, is still very special) with none other than that front cover flirt, Gilderoy Lockhart.
It is my great joy and unparalleled privilege to present for your exclusive pleasure the initial excerpts from my forthcoming biography: Lockhart - A Man of Many Charms…
Sally and Salome stood at the Level 5 nurse's station of St. Mungo's idly gossiping about their respective patients.
"He's a randy bugger, that's for sure," Sally scolded in her lilting Irish brogue.
"Aye, but he's fanciable," Salome conceded.
Sally swatted her colleague and best friend with the file in her hand in scandalised reproach.
"He is!" Salome insisted. "With those blue, blue eyes and lovely blond hair."
"That fat cock of his."
"Oh!" Now it was Salome's turn to affect scandal. Sally laughed.
"You know," Sally confided conspiratorially, "he almost makes sense when he's..." Sally nodded her head in the universally accepted way that indicates a sexual activity or indiscretion of some unarticulated kind.
"How would you know?" Salome asked, almost hiding the plaintive note of jealousy in her question.
"Oh, you know, in the course of rounds."
The pair shuffled abruptly off, their brief respite interrupted by the Ward Matron. As they left so did a small beetle that floated from its spot on the wall to cling to Sally's robes.
I'm sure we can all agree Gilderoy is as beautiful as the day is long. I'd be willing to wager that fact is as undeniable as it is irrefutable. But (and it pains me to share this private hurt with the public at large), Gilderoy's life has not always been as besotted as we had all imagined.
His conception is subject to speculation of the most scandalous sort. I have it on good authority dear reader that Gilderoy's mother Glinda Golightly used more than her part-Veela (very cruel race) charms to snare the dashing Lancelot Lockhart. I can reveal now, for the first time, that Gilderoy learnt from a tender age the world of possibilities a well timed memory charm could provide...
"Oh, Heathcliff," Rita cooed, smothering the night-time attendant of Level 5 with sycophantic praise. "You darling boy, Auntie Rita needs a favour."
"I need a little alone time with one of your patients."
"Which one?" Heathcliff asked eagerly. Rita cupped her hand to his ear to whisper hotly, "Gilderoy Lockhart."
"What have you got for me?"
Rita lowered her spectacles to the tip of her nose to look imperiously at her accessory in slander. "Photos of England's seeker...naked."
"Done," the poor nurse eagerly agreed, the great Harry Potter a temptation too great to refuse.
Young Gilderoy was a precocious boy of uncommonly good looks even as a tender child. Adored by girls and boys alike (more of this, naughty reader, in my published work - coming soon to all superior bookstores) Gilderoy struggled with his beauty and the house of lies into which he was born. He saw first hand the perils of relying on one's natural superiority of outward appearance in the affected ways of both his parents. He yearned for others to see beyond his obvious magnificence, to see him for the talented wizard he was. This burning desire was inflamed and fulfilled the moment dear Gilderoy stepped into the hallowed hallways of Hogwarts, on to the public stage and into our hearts...
Rita swished the curtains about Gilderoy's bed closed, obscuring from view the curiously idle stares of the other patients in Ward C. With a flick of her wand, she cast an Impervious charm to ensure her interview would be uninterrupted.
"Hullo," Gilderoy beamed, his manner charmingly vacuous like so many victims of misfired spell work.
"Hello," Rita replied with a saucy wink.
"We've met before haven't we?" he asked, bemused but not concerned.
"That we have." Rita paused a beat. "Gilly."
She perched herself upon his hospital bed, her hand patting his upper thigh, the gesture part assurance but mostly brazen assumption.
"I'm terribly sorry," Gilderoy apologised. "I can't quite place you..."
"No need, I've a feeling it will all come back to you." Rita had inched her fingers to the edge of the St Mungo's standard bed sheet and now began to peel the layer away from Gilderoy's prone form.
"Aah..." Gilderoy uttered as Rita snaked her hand between the warm flannel of his pyjamas and his soft skin beneath. She began to knead the supple flesh.
"Is this a new therapy?" he asked, surprised.
Rita laughed. "I suppose you could call it that." Gilderoy's shaft responded to the manipulation of Rita's ministrations - extending, hardening, reddening, and weeping.
"Rita Skeeter!" he gasped.
Rita smiled, the beginnings of a plan forming with the knowledge of how to tap lucid moments from the great galleon earner, literally, in the palm of her hand.
Many of us recall with fond remembrances our time at Hogwarts - trips to Hogsmeade, the first blush of romance, and indiscretions best forgotten. For Gilderoy, the adoration heaped upon his adolescent shoulders was nothing more than a heavy lavender scented burden. He failed to find someone who made his heart soar (although more than one caused his pulse to race!) - But fear not, curious reader, our hero does find a love that's true (but that's not revealed until page 362!)...
Rita wheeled a hospital-gowned Gilderoy in a hospital issue wheelchair to the magical lift that led to the rooftop of St Mungo's. Inside the small space, she tapped her wand against the numbered panel to send the lift skyward. They soared up at an alarming speed before halting to an abrupt stop, doors opening and Gilderoy rolling forward and out onto the sparse building top. Rita quickly stepped out and steered Gilderoy to the furthest corner secluded by a lopsided awning.
She knelt before his seated form, her midnight blue painted nails taking on the likeness of talons as she pulled apart the bow tying his drawstring pants together. She ran a manicured nail from the base of his cock to the tip of his impressive erection. His cock twitched, the bright vein that lined its length pulsing in anticipation. Rita rubbed the pad of her thumb cautiously across the gaping slit of his cock. Gilderoy hissed.
"Now your Fifth Year is where things get interesting - alliances are made and broken with Evans, Potter, Black, Snape, Lupin, Pettigrew. Who did you side with?"
Gilderoy gasped as Rita engulfed first the head and then the entire length of his shaft in her accommodating mouth and down her throat. Rita gobbled his cock whilst Gilderoy gabbled about his forgotten favourite subject.
I am flattered and flabbergasted by your insatiable need for naughty details of Gilderoy's extracurricular activities. My publishers have of course approved my detailed report in my forthcoming biography but editors these days must think of the innocent eyes that may stray across my wicked words in daily print...
Gilderoy's head slumped to his chest as he struggled to regain his composure after ejaculating spectacularly into Rita's ready mouth. She pursed her lips, faded from rouge to rose with her exertions, and pinched at puckered skin to remove any wayward cum she failed to swallow. With a patronising pat of Gilderoy's thigh, she stood up, the latest spoonful of the greater journalistic scoop - retrieved.
Gilderoy stood rapidly, the wheelchair Rita brought him to the rooftop in scooting backwards with his standing. He grabbed her by her shoulders, his grip as strong as his memory was feeble. His hold on her would have been alarming if he did not appear utterly ill-equipped to duel, wandless and pantsless.
"Gilderoy?" Her eyes were alight with surprise.
"I remember you."
"I know - you knew who I was when I collected you today."
"No. From before my...my accident." Gilderoy stammered, momentarily confused, battling the fogginess that overwhelmed him when he tried to place people and events of his past.
"I..." Gilderoy flicked his floppy fringe out of his eyes. "Well, now I forget."
Rita's lip curled in a disappointed sneer at the lapse. Gilderoy defensively claimed her mouth in a demanding kiss. What his mind may have forgotten, his body certainly had little difficulty in performing. His lips captured hers and pried them apart; his tongue snaked into her mouth to slide over her teeth, wrestled with her tongue, and tasted the salty remnants of his seed that lingered. He pulled away from Rita's limp embrace, smiling self-assuredly.
"That definitely rings a bell."
It has come to my attention that venomous slander is being directed toward the legitimacy of my impending biography of Gilderoy Lockhart.
May I state now, in advance of the lengthy and compelling account in Lockhart - A Man of Many Charms, that acts of Gilderoy's past have been largely misinterpreted and deliberately maligned in a misguided offensive against the premise of my much anticipated work.
I will simply say, compassionate reader, that we cannot all be as fortunate as some who level these heinous claims to shake off the shackles of solitude in school, befriended by those clearly superior in social standing and to slip easily from one Quidditch star's bed to another…
Gilderoy pinned Rita to the brick perimeter of the hospital roof, his fingers deftly coaxing her to heights higher than previously attained. She shuddered with the sensory uplift and downfall of her orgasm. Gilderoy rubbed his hard shaft against Rita's sweaty stomach.
"I don't know how this is happening, but when I remember something with you, I remember it."
He thrust into her without hesitation, his hips rocking against her, her arse pressed against the uneven wall.
"Must be love," Rita said off-hand. She arched into his hard body. Her hands fisted in his golden hair; and her mouth was inelegantly ajar in pleasure.
"Do you think?" he asked mystified. "Did we love each other once?"
He increased the pace of his indecent assault on her senses. She gasped for more.
"As much as either of us was ever capable."
He kissed her thoroughly, his hand twisting between their joined bodies to pluck at her throbbing clit. She spasmed about him, constricting, capturing, and enrapturing him.
"I don't remember much about who I was. Perhaps that's for the best. I think you might be able to help me find out who I am, instead."
He pumped erratically within her slick channel, jerking with the force of his orgasm, before slipping from her heat, to await her response to his admission.
I am delighted to see you have eagerly (and wisely) pre-ordered Lockhart to see it topple Harry Potter: A History from the top of Witch Weekly's Best Seller's List. Thousands of copies will be delivered by owl at dawn's first light tomorrow for your voracious consumption. You shall find an abundance of unseen photographs and unknown facts about our dear Gilderoy. Now, you may well ask how I got such exclusive details. The answer may shock you.
Reader, I married him.
The wedding ceremony was a surprisingly modest affair devoid of the gaudy monstrosities that had marred so many post-war celebrations. Gilderoy remembered few friendships from before his fall from fame and kindly lied to himself that he had in fact formed some of note throughout his travels. Rita forgave that particular fantasy of her husband. It would be wrong to say Rita was as completely a changed character as Gilderoy after their coupling but she had curbed her more excessive impulses of pride. Her desire to see her name in print and her winking portrait by her by-line now tempered by the warm flush of happiness when she lowered her quill and allowed herself to be swept along on the oft-dreamed reality of being Mrs. Lockhart.
The shared bedroom of Rita and Gilderoy Lockhart may have caused mere mortals to recoil in narcissistic horror, but to the couple in question the multitude of smiling, waving, preening portraits adorning dust-jackets framed about the room was merely a testament to their shared publishing ventures.
A large, marshmallow confection of a bed dominated the space. Gilderoy and Rita were sprawled naked upon its sheets, hands roaming freely over every available inch of the other’s body. Gilderoy's face bore a history of the kisses Rita had placed - each leaving a fainter impression of ruby red lips. Lying on her back, Rita ran her hands up her stomach, past the peaks of her nipples to fist her own hair before clutching at the headboard. Gilderoy drove into her cunt, kneeling before her, he brought her hips closer to his, her fleshy thighs atop his, his hands biting into her hips as he jerked and juddered to their mutual satisfaction. He collapsed, panting atop his bride. He gazed at the sated face of the woman who helped him restore his memories one satisfying fuck at a time.
"I love you," he sighed.
"I love you," she simpered in return.
"I don't remember ever loving like this," he confessed in post-coital truthfulness.
"Gilly, with me, you'll never forget."