Nearly/Next Week/ Her Name [Lockhart/Bellatrix dabble]
..So...I was watching the 1994 Frankenstein movie the other day right? And Helena B. Carter was Frankenstein's wife right? Well, them I realize that Frankenstein is being played by the same actor who played Lockheart!
So....I wrote a fanfic.
He never asked her for her name.
The first time she met him, he was ordering her a drink. She was only 19, already branded by her lord, already engaged to that terrible boring Lestrange boy, already drinking more than a Scottish widow. He was...well...he was naive, and stupid with her perfect blond curls and his boy-ish honest face and his nerve grating amicability and good faith.
A week after the first time he smiled at her, he was sliding into the dirty bar stool beside her. He smiled. “Ah, Ma Bella Amour” He said sweetly, in the worst French she had ever heard.
“Oh, it's you Gilderoy.” She said darkly, already through her 2nd glass of port. She could feel his eyes on her. She tried not to smirk at it.
“You remembered my name!” He said cheerfully. “But then, you would.” He chuckled in a self-satisfied way.
“Who could forget a migraine like you, Lockhart?” She said and she let him buy her another drink.
And the next week, she let him buy her another.
And the next week. Each week the drinks would be longer, with more half hearted conversation and more self satisfied chuckling.
Until one week, after he bought her a drink, she allowed Gilderoy to walk her home.
He had never asked her for her name.
And the next week he walked her home again.
And the next week. She could feel him watching her, and she enjoyed the way his eyes shone when her looked at him.
And the next week. He had his arm slung carelessly over her shoulder, and she very nearly told him that she was getting married tomorrow. Nearly.
And the next week. She was a married woman, and she drank more than ever, and Gilderoy bought her more drinks than ever and he never asked her a single question about herself. She liked that. All he did was talk about himself and smile at her like she was damn beautiful or something.
Until one week, Gilderoy made it inside the house, half way through a drunken story about how when he was a boy he fought off a werewolf on Halloween than she was sure he was making up as he went along.
The next week they sat in her living room and drank an extra glass of whiskey.
The next week again.
And then they were in her hallway, and he was kissing her in his clumsy unrefined, honest way and she had drunk too many glasses of port and wine and whiskey to stop him. She nearly let herself really enjoy it. His curls against her neck, his smile in her mind, nearly really enjoying it.
Years later as she sat in her cell, staring at the walls, she wondered why she stopped seeing him. She wondered what possessed her to stop drinking and start avoiding him, to tell her horrible Pedestrian husband that she wanted to move, to get some fresh air and never see him again. Some nights, as she sat in Azkaban, Bellatrix very nearly missed Gilderoy Lockhart. Nearly.
She wondered...if maybe...just maybe...he missed her too.
But then, he didn't even know her name.