Gilderoy C. Lockhart (best_seller) wrote in interns, @ 2010-07-24 20:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | gilderoy lockhart |
Who: Gilderoy Lockhart and Narcissa Malfoy.
Where: Diagon Alley, outside some upscale homewear establishment.
When: Evening, July 24, 1978.
Status: Incomplete.
Gildeory hadn't wasted any time in taking a turn past his future home. The moment he'd received the address, he'd set to pinning it down on a map and going to have a look in the flesh - even if he couldn't precisely sweep in and give himself a tour, he could at least get a feel for the neighborhood. The verdict had been mixed. It wasn't so bad, certainly no worse than some of the places he'd lived where bricks and mortar weren't the done thing, but if he was any judge of character (and he flattered himself he was) it would take some decorating, some very serious decorating to bring the interior up to snuff.
And so a few days later, here he was, picking up a few things to make sure his room would be home enough to bear. He'd found a pair of silver and ebony inlay candlesticks that would look absolutely smashing on one of the Tibetan hangings he had designated for use as a tablecloth, and the shopkeeper - who had been unforgivably snooty, really - had done a bang-up job of wrapping them just so in brown paper with the shop's elegant, twisting logo centered on the side (which Gilderoy dutifully turned to the street when he hoisted the package under his arm). It was a good start to what he hoped would be a solid and productive evening of accessory acquisition. It was nice to have something to do, quite aside from the need to spruce up his flat-to-be. Most summers he went to live with his parents, wherever the Ministry had happened to post them, but this year summer would be ending early - and so he had the house in Sevenoaks to himself, no great pleasure, while they were off someplace in Japan. It was a bit lonely. He was very much looking forward to moving in with his classmates again, and expected that without classes to muck everything up, it would be an unmitigated pleasure. It was lovely to have company.
He stopped short not ten paces outside the shop, on the corner, giving a skeptical eye to a greenish flow rushing past in the street's gutter - waste, as far as he could tell, from the apothecary next-door. He hadn't a clue what it was, but was pretty well sure he didn't want to find out what it would do to his boots. Vipertooth hide of any quality was hard to come by. And so he stood, wishing it weren't quite so warm outside, and waited for the street to clear so that he and his boots could cross in safety.