(Gilderoy Lockhart)
Wednesday, December 14, 1994
Three weeks had passed since my son's birth.
The first week had been wonderfully peaceful.
I spent most of it admiring my children, being admired by my children, and occasionally being informed by my wives that newborns were not actually capable of appreciating my magnificence yet.
An outrageous claim, since evidence clearly suggested otherwise.
Little Gilderoy smiled whenever he saw me, but Aurora kept insisting it was just gas.
I insisted it was recognition of greatness, and just like that, the debate remained unresolved.
Unfortunately, peace never lasted long at Hogwarts.
The second week had brought the announcement of the Yule Ball.
And with it...
Chaos.
Complete and utter chaos.
My ego, which was already roughly the size of a small country, had somehow expanded even further.
At this point, it was approaching continental proportions.
The reason?
An alarming number of witches had attempted to invite me to the ball.
Students.
Visitors from Beauxbatons.
Visitors from Durmstrang.
At one point, a seventh-year Ravenclaw had sent me a singing invitation accompanied by enchanted roses.
I had politely declined every single one, naturally.
I was a married man.
A happily married man.
Besides, accepting a student's invitation would be wildly inappropriate.
Still...
It was nice to know I still had it, not that there had ever been any doubt.
And as a result of my rejections, I had somehow become a hero among Hogwarts' male population.
Apparently, redirecting interested girls toward more suitable candidates had earned me a reputation as the ultimate wingman.
A title I accepted with grace and humility.
Mostly grace.
Very little humility.
…
At the moment, I was sitting in my office answering fan mail.
A mountain of unopened letters occupied one side of my desk, while another mountain was already answered and ready to be sent.
I was currently signing the final photograph of the day with my favourite quill.
A flourish here.
A perfectly angled signature there.
I raised it to appreciate it.
It was pure art.
Then suddenly, the office door opened without knocking.
I looked up and sighed.
"Mr Weasley. Mr Potter."
Harry immediately looked guilty.
"How many times have I told you to knock before entering someone's office?"
"Sorry, Professor," Harry said at once.
Ron simply dropped into a chair.
"It's not like you're doing anything private," he said. "You always answer fan mail at this time."
I set down my quill. "That is entirely beside the point."
Ron immediately recognised that tone.
And unfortunately for him, it was too late.
"It's about manners," I continued. "How many times have I told you?"
Both boys sighed simultaneously.
"Manners maketh man," they recited.
"Excellent."
"Sorry." Ron finally said.
"It's good that you understand."
Ron rolled his eyes, while Harry looked relieved that the lecture was over so fast.
I folded my hands atop the desk. "Now then. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
The two exchanged a glance.
Harry hesitated.
Ron suddenly found the floor fascinating.
Interesting.
Eventually Harry spoke first.
"Well... the Yule Ball is only a week away."
"Indeed."
"And we still don't have dates."
Ah.
Everything became clear.
"We wanted some advice," Harry finished.
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
"You don't have dates?"
Both boys shook their heads.
I was genuinely surprised.
"Harry, I assumed at least a dozen witches would have invited you already."
Harry's ears turned pink. "Some did."
"There we are."
"But..."
There was always a but.
I turned toward Ron.
"And Ronald. I personally trained you."
Ron groaned immediately. "You make it sound like martial arts."
"In many ways, it is."
I pointed dramatically. "I taught you conversation."
I pointed again. "Confidence."
Another point. "Presentation."
A final point. "And proper hair care."
"Then why don't either of you have dates?"
Harry lowered his head slightly. "The girl I want to go with wasn't one of the people who asked me."
Ah.
Young love.
Hopelessly inconvenient.
Beside him, Ron shifted awkwardly. "The one I want to ask already rejected half the castle."
He looked genuinely worried. "I don't want to get rejected too."
I leaned back thoughtfully, and for a moment, I studied them both.
Then I turned toward Harry first. "You wish to ask Miss Chang, right?"
Harry nearly fell out of his chair in surprise. "How did you know?"
I laughed. "My dear boy."
I gestured vaguely. "Everyone knows."
Harry looked horrified.
"You stare at her like a lost puppy."
Ron immediately started laughing.
Harry's face turned scarlet.
I shook my head sympathetically. "Unfortunately, I fear you're too late."
Ron's laughter died instantly and Harry looked up faster than a snitch.
"What? Why?!"
"Miss Chang already has a date."
His expression fell. "Who?"
"Mr Diggory, from Hufflepuff."
The disappointment was immediate, his shoulders sagged, and for a moment, I almost felt bad for him.
Then I turned toward Ron.
"And you."
Ron straightened nervously.
"You intend to ask Miss Delacour, am I correct?"
His face became almost as red as Harry's.
"Maybe."
Ron looked away. "Do you think I have a chance?"
Now that was a difficult question, and the honest answer was probably no.
Fleur Delacour had rejected enough invitations to populate a small village.
On the other hand...
The boy looked hopeful.
Very hopeful.
I sighed. "Well, you lose nothing by trying."
Ron immediately perked up.
"You lose every shot you don't take, and who knows, she still needs a date to the ball, maybe you'll be the lucky one." I added.
His eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Of course."
Then I raised a finger. "But."
His shoulders tensed.
"Remember to maintain your composure."
A second finger. "Bring flowers."
A third. "Make eye contact."
A fourth. "And for Merlin's sake, don't let her Veela allure turn your brain into porridge."
Ron nodded vigorously. "I can do that."
I had my doubts, but still, the effort was admirable.
Then I turned back toward Harry. "And you, Mr Potter."
Harry looked up.
"Why not ask your friend?"
"My friend?"
"Miss Granger."
Harry blinked and I continued.
"As far as I know, she still lacks a date."
Both boys stared.
"Really?" Harry asked.
"Really."
Then I casually added,
"And it certainly isn't for lack of interested parties. I've seen Mr Krum following her around for weeks."
Ron nearly launched himself from his chair. "Krum?!"
"As in Victor Krum?"
"The Victor Krum?!"
I nodded. "The very same."
Ron looked as though reality itself had betrayed him.
Meanwhile, Harry had gone strangely quiet.
I recognised that look immediately.
The boy was thinking.
More specifically...
He was wondering why he hadn't thought of asking Hermione himself.
At last he nodded. "You know what?"
His expression brightened. "You're right."
Excellent.
Progress.
"I'll ask her."
I smiled approvingly.
But whether she accepted was another matter entirely.
I rose from my chair and pointed toward the door.
"Now go."
The boys blinked.
"Go invite them."
"Right now?"
"Immediately."
I shooed them away and added, "before they accept someone else's invitation."
That was all the motivation they needed.
Both boys jumped to their feet.
Harry thanked me, while Ron looked simultaneously terrified and excited.
Then they hurried out of the office, the door slammed behind them.
When silence returned, I sat back down, picked up my quill, and smiled.
Being a professor truly was rewarding.
After all, not everyone had the privilege of dispensing wisdom on matters of the heart.
Especially wisdom acquired through such extensive personal experience.
I reached for the next letter.
Then paused.
"...I should probably watch that Ron doesn't make a fool of himself."
…