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Old November 19th, 2009, 6:12 am
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Lord Godric  Male.gif Lord Godric is offline
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Re: Temporary Last Author Standing Entries Thread


Topic: Gilderoy Lockhart wining an award for Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile

Entry #3

Gilderoy’s Gift

If it weren’t for his gorgeous dimples, he knew he’d be experiencing a prodigious amount of pain. As it were, his cheeks were burning from the rigidity he’d been imposing on his jaw muscles to maintain the impressive width of his smile. The Witches’ Gardening Club was buzzing with excitement as he stood atop the dais erected in the main lobby of the Ministry of Magic. He turned and posed from time to time, his robes rustling quietly, a veritable rainbow of forget-me-not blue, periwinkle, lilac and mauve. His wavy golden hair bounced, every curl in perfect placement about his neck and shoulders, a perfect frame for his two best features, his riveting azure eyes and his radiant, and now award-winning, smile.

As Gilderoy Lockhart absorbed the adulation of the middle aged witches that comprised the Gardening Club, he allowed himself a brief glance at the table in the back of the room, where stacks of his new autobiography, “Magical Me”, were literally flying into buyers’ hands. (He’d charmed them, of course. Whenever the five galleons hit the tray, the book would sprout wings and spring into the air and into the purchaser’s bag.) He placed his well manicured hands on his hips and thrust his chin forward, turning in profile to show that the wattage of his smile was as brilliant from the side as from the front.

In retrospect, it wasn’t a surprise that he’d won the Gardening Club’s “Most Charming Smile” award. In fact, the prize hadn’t been in any real doubt, save for one brief instance where serendipity intervened. The curve of his lips dropped ever so slightly, not even enough for anyone to notice, yet he knew and he reminded himself to force the smile wider. In the back of his mind, he remembered the precise moment he nearly lost and then won the prize.

Halloween in Hogsmeade was a festive time. The Witches’ Gardening Club, by happenstance, was a sponsor of the annual festival and Lockhart certainly knew that if he wanted to win the prestigious prize, he had to make an appearance. It was a simple enough thing to convince the proprietors of Honeyduke’s to sponsor his appearance, and ensured that he would be able to display his gleaming smile to the ladies who made up the voting committee, without actually lobbying for the award. (It was very bad form to actually TRY to win the award. It was, after all, a “spontaneous” vote.) Everything was in place. Honeyduke’s had set up a kiosk right outside their shop where every one of his bestsellers was on display, next to a life size, living image of him. He stood atop a raised platform, posing for pictures with his fans, most of them female, which gave him the opportunity to bedazzle one and all with this smile.

As the day wore into night, Lockhart was convinced that he’d locked down the award. His head danced with thoughts of completing his autobiography in time for the award presentation the following spring. Here and there, he saw members of the Gardening Club, pointing at him and then murmuring amongst themselves. Lockhart used those moments as an opportunity to direct his dimpled grin their way, causing them to giggle in excitement. The prize was as good as his.

However, movement in the crowd caught his attention. As if by magic (considering they were all wizards and witches, perhaps it was magic) the throng parted revealing the figure of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of nearby Hogwarts. For a moment, the ever ebullient adventurer (perhaps he could patent that moniker?) felt a tinge of doubt in the very pit of his stomach and with good reason. Dumbledore, by now, was nearly as famous and definitely more accomplished as he was. The current struggles against “He-who-must-not-be-named” had, among other things, elevated Dumbledore to new heights of attention because of his leadership of the opposition. Now, Dumbledore’s notoriety seemed to be standing him in good stead.

The amiable headmaster made his way through the crowd, shaking hands and nodding his head. Much to Lockhart’s chagrin, Dumbledore was granting his well wishers an adorable smile of his own. Lockhart hated to admit it, but Dumbledore’s smile had many things working in its favor. It wasn’t wide and overpowering, but its subtlety and understatement was powerful in its own right. The gleam of Dumbledore’s blue eyes looking over the top of his half-moon glasses lent an air of charm and familiarity that made the recipient of the smile feel appreciated and loved. Most of all, Dumbledore’s smile was sincere, without a whit of being forced or fake.

Immediately a plan formed in Lockhart’s brain. He stepped down from his stand and began walking towards Dumbledore. Perhaps if they stood together, the sheer glow of his pearly white teeth would outweigh the slight grin of the headmaster. As he neared Dumbledore, he felt the pit in his stomach grow deeper. Members of the Gardening Club were huddled around Dumbledore, where he was regaling them with stories about knitting patterns. The damage was worse than Lockhart had anticipated. Dumbledore could actually relate to the old biddies. Now Lockhart was convinced he had to take desperate action. He sidled up beside Dumbledore. Before he could wrap his arm around the tall, bearded wizard, a severe woman in dark green robes and a tall green hat pushed her way through the crowd to Dumbledore’s side. She leaned in and whispered, where only Dumbledore, her and because of his proximity, Lockhart could hear.”

“The Dark Lord has killed the Potters.” Minerva McGonagall’s voice cracked and her lips pursed together. A dark cloud covered Dumbledore’s face, his friendly smile disappeared, replaced by a laconic frown. He ignored the ladies around him and faced McGonagall. The Transfiguration teacher nodded.

“Their son survived and the Dark Lord is gone.”

“Gone?” Dumbledore finally spoke, but he could not hide the sadness in his eyes. He waved McGonagall ahead of him, all thoughts of chatting with the Gardening Club gone. “We have much to do. Let’s go find Hagrid.”

He left a befuddled gaggle of witches in his wake, momentarily stunned at his sudden departure. Lockhart took a brief second to watch Dumbledore’s receding back and then turned and faced the abandoned women. He broke into his most patented devil-may-care grin and spread his arms wide.



The current head of the Witches’ Gardening Club was finishing her longwinded presentation. Lockhart was more than practiced in standing and posing in one place for extended periods of time. He picked random faces in the crowd and gave a salutatory wink, causing rampant flushes from the attention. Yes, his cheeks burned, smiling so much was such a tedious chore, but when one’s most important avocation was the promotion of one’s self, smiling was a small price to pay and the exposure from the award of “Most Charming Smile” was already paying dividends in book sales and promotion.

It was a sure thing, after all, that he did, indeed, have the best smile in the world. He shook off the doubts from that cold October evening. He buried the images of the shock and sadness he’d seen on Dumbledore’s face in a place far away. The Dark Lord was gone, after all, and the smile on his face was his gift to a recovering world. The fact of the matter was that Dumbledore hadn’t stood a chance. Sure he was a charming old man, but Lockhart was the whole package. He was the perfect specimen of wizard kind. The roar of applause snapped him to reality and he waved with a flourish as he approached the podium. Despite the discomfort, his smile grew wider.

“This is so surprising.” His false modesty was applied with just the right measure. “I’m not even prepared to speak. I jotted a few notes down in haste.” He pulled three full pages of rolled up parchment and flattened them out on the podium. He cleared his throat and looked up at the crowd.

“Mother Theresa once said, ‘Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.’ I can only be so humble that the world has seen fit to accept my gift, my smile.”

Gilderoy Lockhart, the latest recipient of the Witches’ Gardening Club’s “Most Charming Smile” award, ramped up the shine on his charm and promoted his most prized product, himself. All the while, a toddler orphan with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead began a life where his own smile would be over a decade in coming, but that’s a story for another time.

Last edited by Lord Godric; November 19th, 2009 at 6:24 am.
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