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 Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2009 5:19 pm
Words - spat out in harsh, outraged syllables - fell on Gilderoy’s ears like biting flecks of ice; his heart fluttered and became frigid, the cold spreading to his stomach and seizing his lungs in an angry fist - even his teeth ached with the force of it, Harry pouring out his frustrations in sentences than bled together and became a white blanket of disapproval. Gilderoy couldn’t breathe from the strength of it; it wrapped around him, stretching over his mouth and sealing his eyes so that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t let the stinging tears in the corners of his eyes go. He could not verbalize his response - which would only have been as muddled as Harry’s words had become - as Harry wrenched him up from the mud and brought a palm against the curve of his arse, the shock of the blows tumbling into his already stunned condition… and Gilderoy snapped.
He was running away - staggering, hearing the fresh snap of twigs beneath his bare feet and the rustle of leaves and thorns against his calves but feeling no discomfort; his skin was numb - before he knew he could move.
Flashes of colors and light sparkled before him in a complicated montage of childhood memories, painfully laced with adulthood scenes of love and loss; he saw dozens of hands - his father’s fingers approvingly digging into his shoulder from behind, the frantic splash of red-streaked water around his sister’s hands, the gentle glide of his first lover’s palm over his hip, his own white-knuckled hand clutching the vibrant plumage of a phoenix, Harry’s fingers hesitantly touching the stark white sheets of his hospital bed, Adela’s delicate wrist sticky with melted popsicle as she licked it away, Poppy’s weathered hands pushing him back into his room, Xeno’s -
Gilderoy released a surprised bark as he toppled into the very man that had suddenly delved into his thoughts of hands and palms, dragging with him the unintentionally gripping vines draped from one of the trees shadowing his flight. Tangled and disoriented, Gilderoy released his tension and went limp, slumping forward as though giving himself over to death’s gaping door.
[*Stabs post violently* D: ]
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Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2009 8:05 pm
((XD Dammit, Nothing Harry says EVER gets through. XD HE would be so pissed if he knew.... XD Well he does, I s'pose that's why he's so angry...)
"Well there you are, Gilderoy." Xenophilius stated calmly, his arms firmly coming around the mud and squelch, the slime, vine, the man, supporting him with welcoming arms and a smile of hello. "There you are."
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Godfrey Potter-Lockhart Crew
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Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2009 8:18 pm
"I-" Godfrey stood awkwardly in the background, feeling as if he was a part of something he shouldn't be. Gilderoy had just run past him- a few feet from him - he hadn't recognized him at first. It was strange to see his Papa covered with so much dirt and goop, wearing only torn, wet, clingy pajama pants. And now he'd gone so limp that for a few moments Godfrey thought he was-
"P-?" He tried again, but it sounded strange and there was a weird choking feeling in his throat that was stopping him from speaking. He frowned, looking worriedly and nervously from Gilderoy and Xeno back to where Gilderoy had run out of. Godfrey looked up at the sky- where was his Dad?
He gave Gilderoy and Xenophilius another long look. He wanted to help but- he felt useless, then ashamed, so he slunk away towards where Gilderoy had burst out of the forest.
It didn't take him too long to find Harry, and he heard him before he saw him crying in the mud. I'm not supposed to see things like this.
He stood awkwardly between two trees, watching Harry's shoulders shake. And soon Godfrey was crying too, he didn't know why. He stood there and cried and then moved forward and knelt next to Harry in the mud, trying to sniffle and snuff his tears.
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Posted: Wed Jul 15, 2009 8:36 pm
What have I done? I shouldn't have- No, no, I did what I- What could I have- I don't know what I'm- this is all so hard, what am I supposed to-
Harry was distracted by the cacophony of voices in his head and his own depression by the sound of sniffles, and lowered his muddy hands from his face to see his son.
"Godfrey?" His voice was choked with guilt but he swallowed it, putting a muddy hand on Godfrey's shoulder. "No, no, it's okay kiddo, it's okay."
Harry wrapped his arms around Godfrey and pulled him close, then into his muddy lap, holding him like he hadn't for many, many years. When had Godfrey gotten so big? But he was still so small somehow.
"Shhh.... it's okay baby, it's alright." He held him closer and rocked back and forth lightly, trying to soothe the distressed cries, distracted from his own inner turmoil.
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Godfrey Potter-Lockhart Crew
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Posted: Thu Jul 16, 2009 10:34 pm
Parts of Godfrey were cold and wet, but most of him was warm and safe in his Father's arms. It was only then that he let himself go- pouring out all his fright, stress, frustration, and distress onto Harry, who took it and put it away for later when he'd need it to strengthen himself in the upcoming days.
"I want Papa." He gasped out, then sobbed. The man who had run through the trees was Gilderoy, but was still just a shell of him, of who he had been. Day after day Godfrey was reminded- and assaulted- with memories. Little things Gilderoy did that reminded him of something from long ago, but when he went to spoke it he couldn't. Would Papa remember? Would he remember right? Should he talk about it, remind him, maybe upset him? And Gilderoy's lies, the not-lies, the maybe-lies.... he enjoyed the stories everlastingly. But when he continuously couldn't pick out the facts through the fiction he felt queer, distressed. Papa did this, papa did that- Oh! Godfrey could do this too! Godfrey and Gilderoy both enjoyed this- but was it true? Picking out the truths from the lies was too hard, there were very little or no hints. Accepting everything made it easier, but left him feeling uneasy inside, dissatisfied, hollow.
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Posted: Fri Jul 17, 2009 12:15 pm
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Posted: Fri Jul 17, 2009 12:16 pm
Morning sunlight filtered in through Gilderoy’s magic-warmed blanket, a soft yellow glow kissing his eyelids insistently until the novelist dared lift his thick lashes. The underside of the blanket hugged his strong facial features with the tenderness of a lover, encouraging him to remain dormant and content - but dawn’s subsequently touch was sharp and bit at his pupils, frustrating him until he threw off the blanket and rubbed at his eyes to lessen the sting.
The hallway had become his bedroom of choice. Sharing a bed with Harry had become an unbearable endevour, and a concept of sleeping alone in a guest room was both frightening and frustrating - so the hallway, just outside his only son’s door, became the most desirable location for Gilderoy’s occasional catnap.
The novelist was depressed. Misery drew lines across his face and painted the purple smears of exhaustion beneath his eyes; and his hair - occasionally left to grow greasy when Gilderoy avoided that day’s post-lunch shower, though he’d only purposefully done so twice - was lank and falling unimpressively around his face. He stubbornly remained in silken pajamas striped in either lilac or royal blue, wandering around the house and running his hands over walls and decorations with the air of a man who was considering if the house’s worth was equivalent to his daily struggles with the urge to disappear in the woods again.
He had voluntarily begun avoiding his husband and the therapist, spending his week days obediently filling out Poppy’s questionnaires and owling them back for her review, and speaking only on weekends when able to pursue time with Godfrey or Adela. It was for them that he plastered an award-winning smile on his face, for them that he insisted his attire was merely due to his own happy laziness, for them that he showered and threw vegetables off the porch for the goats - of which he’d become fond, though still vaguely distasteful. He provided only short, deadpanned answers to any of Harry’s inquiries, and blatantly ignored Xeno, usually disappearing to read in a corner or sulk in Godfrey’s room when the boy wasn’t home.
But today was different. Today was Monday, and today he was going to accomplish something. He was, after all, the renowned adventurer and novelist Gilderoy Lockhart, known for slaying the world’s evils and providing the most handsome smiling bookcovers ever to grace the bookshelves of magical shops. Regardless of all the self doubts that had bled into his subconscious like an infectious vine of thorned weeds, Gilderoy could not argue with the lines of text within his books - he was a hero, and Godfrey would not look to him as anything but a hero unless he was a hero. And that logic was a solid as stone.
So Gilderoy delicately folded his blanket and stuffed its comforting fabric into the first closet he came across for safekeeping. He showered, lingering to enjoy the thick steam swirling around him and filling his lungs; shampoo smelling of crisp apples and cinnamon washed away the oils in his hair and left it fluffed and bright with natural highlights, and a lengthy physical discussion with a bar of soap left his skin soft and nearly glowing - an even longer engagement with his toothbrush scrubbed away the night’s fuzz, producing a dazzling smile that helped lighten the weary lines on the man’s face. He cautiously unwrapped a plastic-covered assortment of clothing ordered from a catalog he’d had delivered without Harry’s consent, donning tight jeans - a fascinating addition to fashion, really - and a thick, rabbit-soft sweater the same rich shade of brown as the accompanying boots.
A new wand - also a special order, owled all the way from France - balanced on his palm before the mirror, nearly humming in contentment at its new owner. On its handle, a flowering vine was carved and filled in with silver, the light red wood stretching a modest thirteen inches; Gilderoy preferred shorter wands, as they were much easier to conceal without disrupting his outfit. Technically, he wasn’t allowed a wand: Poppy had correctly ascertained that Gilderoy was in no condition to wield magic, but the blonde was unwilling to follow her friendly directions. ******** the old bat - he was a man, not a boy, and if he accidentally blew himself up it was his own problem.
Harry was much easier to locate than Gilderoy had assumed; apparently avoiding him really was much more difficult than finding him. The writer took note of this fact and filed it away for a later endeavor.
“We are going to have a late lunch together,” Gilderoy announced without the slightest trace of his former depression or hesitance, “And after that, I am going out to buy some things I need. Alone.”
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Posted: Fri Jul 17, 2009 3:43 pm
The paper Harry was reading rustled as he lowered it, taking in Gilderoy's surprisingly put-together presence.
"I.." He began, barely refraining from uttering a confused 'what?' But the words wouldn't come because he was, unsurprisingly, rather surprised. Where had Gilderoy gotten those clothes? Why was Gilderoy dressed and up and about on a Monday of all days? When Gilderoy had first gone into his depression, Harry was worried but slightly relieved when Gilderoy started to keep to himself. Of course he'd followed Gilderoy around discretely for a while to make sure he was alright- that he wasn't going to... do anything. And still he kept an eye on him.
But the relief at the lessening of the confrontations didn't last long as the depression stretched, only lifting on the weekends when Gilderoy put on a good face for the children. Xenophilius had told him to let Gilderoy be, and he had tried, but kept sinking deeper into worry - and guilt.
"Al-.... alright." Harry finally said, eyes widened slightly, a perplexed look on his face. 'No, you can't.' had crossed his mind briefly. Gilderoy? Go out shopping? Alone? If Gilderoy had come down stairs a mess and in his pajamas again, Harry would have, flat out, answered 'no.'
But a nicely- very nicely, he noted- dressed Gilderoy who appeared to be freshly groomed, the way he spoke, the word slipped out before he could think about it. After he said it Harry immediately thought of the incident in the woods- but that was different. Gilderoy wandered out into the woods and became distressed. Why shouldn't Gilderoy be allowed some time on his own? Harry remembered, with further guilt, that he had been somewhat stalking lately. And with Gilderoy apparently only happy on the weekends, why should Harry be able to say something, to stop him, when he so obviously wanted to get away? The thought of Gilderoy wanting to get away from him was incomprehensible until lately, and Harry now knew what Gilderoy might have felt.
"What.... what would you like for lunch?" Harry's posture was cowed as he let the heavy weight of his guilt fall onto his shoulders. But only momentarily, before he caught himself and straightened, shaking the paper out slightly before folding it up. He was in the sitting room, sitting in a chair at one of the small tables near the back window, where one could have tea, read, or play a game of chess, gobstones, or other such activities. Harry stood and picked up his nearly-empty cup, draining it before putting it back on the saucer and picking both up.
"I would like to know where you're going, though. What town. Would you... like me to drop you off?" Harry had been trying to enforce some sort of structure in the house before Gilderoy had come back anyways, and that was one of the rules. If you're going somewhere, you must tell someone where, adult or teenager. Even Harry told his kids where he was going now, before he went out. Just in case they needed to reach him. Just in case something happened. Harry would not usually budge on this rule, though it was hard to make certain others follow it at times.
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Posted: Sat Jul 18, 2009 3:46 pm
“I’m perfectly capable of taking the floo,” Godfrey said waspishly, but it was painfully clear by the slight tensing of his muscles that he was not only aware of his tone, but paranoid of voicing anything that would encourage a negative reaction from his former husband. Thus far Harry had agreeably let him be; but perhaps the wrong words would set the younger male off and subsequently send Gilderoy back to the hospital for another decade or two. “I’ll be visiting Hogsmeade - I can’t exactly go to Diagon, it’s practically empty, isn’t it?” the blonde asked, referencing a business article he’d read on Diagon Alley’s sharp decline during his absence.
“And I’d like a light soup,” Gilderoy continued, though with greater hesitation this time.
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Posted: Sat Jul 18, 2009 7:24 pm
"Well, yes. Yes you are." However, did Gilderoy appear to be.. nervous? Well, Harry thought, that was understandable. He was probably thinking Harry would say no, but what right did he, Harry, have to stop Gilderoy from doing such a thing, when he'd even come and asked instead of just going off? Harry didn't have to ask if he wanted to go somewhere, other adults did not have to ask. And despite the accident, Gilderoy was mostly of right mind- it was just his exact memories of things that was skewed. There seemed to be no feasible reason, other than unreasonable spite, that Gilderoy should not be allowed to do a bit of shopping.
Harry was still looking at Gilderoy, his eyebrows raised in slight surprise. "Alright, thank you. And... well... yes. Hogsmeade's gotten rather larger in response, I'd suppose."
He stood there and blinked for another moment or two, then gave a slow nod, turning and heading off to the hall. "Fish soup? Or perhaps a butternut squash bisque? We've the ingredients for either?"
Harry could hear the hesitation, didn't know why it was there, and decided the best thing to do would be to tip-toe around it so Gilderoy could perhaps re-gather his confidence.
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Posted: Sun Aug 16, 2009 6:39 pm
[I apologize ahead of time for the shortness of this post.... I don't know when my mother will arrive to pick up her laptop; additionally, it's kinda difficult to focus with Dexter on television lol. Also, thank you for the links -- very useful, and kind of you to add. <3]
"The... the bisque sounds delightful," Gilderoy agreed as he continued to use a soft voice, his footsteps as light as his tone as he trailed his former husband into the hallway. His fingers brushed the wall as if the male was searching for support - physical or emotional.
"So..." Gilderoy continued, "Our son is gay." The words left his lips without permission or prior thought, and without a trace of questioning as though the blonde had no doubt of Godfrey's preference - which he did not, considering the boy had informed him of his boyfriend.
Gilderoy's mouth teased into a thoughtful frown, confusion knitting his carefully trimmed and slimmed-out eyebrows as he struggled to internally justify the sudden change of topic. It had not even occured to him that it was a subject he wanted to discuss with Harry - he himself was quite fond of his own alternative lifestyle choice, so why should young Godfrey's so much as make him blink? Not to mention it had been addressed ages ago - and he hadn't had a single question beyond 'are you being safe?' until now.
Perhaps it had been lingering in the back of his mind during his sleepless nights; or perhaps he was low enough to use his own son's romantic choices to steer the conversation away from himself... The second justification disturbed him.
"Since when?" he asked in a rush to sweep away his mental chaos. "And our Adela? Does she date?"
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Posted: Thu Dec 10, 2009 2:19 pm
Harry paused, his hand on the swinging door of the kitchen entrance. He looked over his shoulder at Gilderoy, furrowing his eyebrows but at the same time smiling lightly at the somewhat comical (to him) question.
"Godfrey?" He turned fully to face Gilderoy, hand resting on the doorframe. Hundreds of instances, moments, events ran through his mind, the question itself so absurd, so obviously a random question Gilderoy had blurted out to cover the awkwardness, that Harry almost laughed.
"Either when Adela started putting him in dresses when they were toddlers, or since Godfrey started playing dress-up alone. In his room. At night. With the door barred by a chair that could hardly reach the knob."
Harry smiled a bit more and pushed open the door, holding it for Gilderoy to pass before moving inside and starting to gather the ingredients for the soup.
"And Adela? I would suppose she is." Harry set down an armful of ingredients and got out a pot, starting to chop the items for the bisque smaller so they would cook faster. "She just hasn't brought anyone home yet."
That I'm aware of. Harry thought in his head, knowing well enough how sneaky their children could be.
Something occured to him suddenly, and he faltered in chopping the squash. "They're..... I'm pretty sure they haven't engaged in..."
He frowned slightly down at the vegetables, but shook his head, dislodging the frown from his face. "No, they know they're too young."
He looked over his shoulder at Gilderoy. "I had 'the talk' with them a few years ago."
Suddenly remembering the earlier incident with the puppets, Harry awkwardly cleared his throat and went back to cubing the squash.
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Posted: Thu Mar 25, 2010 12:37 pm
“I see,” Gilderoy responded softly, his eyes settled on the movements of Harry’s fingers as he swiftly set about slicing vegetables in food preparation. Partially completed thoughts lingered in the back of his mind, accompanied by the growing realization that he was an outsider in his own home; the feeling had been gathering persistently in his stomach, fueled by his children constantly having to correct his concept of history and by the quick gazes shared between his husband and the supposed therapist. Secret gazes; the shared glances of – of what? Friends who shared a life of which he knew nothing? Lovers? Each thought made him ill.
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Posted: Thu Mar 25, 2010 12:57 pm
Harry nodded, putting a pan on the stove and then turning his attention to the preparation as Gilderoy fell silent, leaving him to mull over whatever he was mulling.
The familiar sounds of the knife chopping against the wood, the sharp smell of onions and herbs, the familiarity of the task started to relax Harry further, and though Gilderoy's presence faded somewhat into the background, it was again, so familiar that it set him at ease.
How many nights had they been like this? Harry and Gilderoy, and often the children, sitting together and making dinner... or Harry and Godfrey making dinner, the others watching and talking.
Harry splashed some olive oil into the pan and added the onions and herbs, the smell quickly permeating throughout the kitchen as they started to cook and caramelize.
The scene had changed since those days, and even now Harry could feel the ghost of Xeno's arms around his waist, hear the laughter bounce off of the brick walls and echo throughout the room. Unlike Gilderoy, Harry didn't feel afraid when Xeno was handling something as simple as an eggbeater.
He loved Gilderoy, really, but the man was-
......... Harry cut off the thought and frowned at the previous, using a wooden spoon to stir the herbs and onions around.
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