65 Resolve

(Double Chapters! Courtesy of the madlads from the Shivering Isles. They got a triple release, putting them a solid 9 chapters ahead of you folks.)

While in Hogwart Magnus was delving deeper and deeper in the nuances of fire proofing charms to keep a certain flower safe, in the other half of the world, a crazed looking wizard with naturally wavy hair was on the run.

From who or what he did not know anymore, but what he did know is that he had to run as far away as possible.

It all started with another warning, the severed head of a goat, from one of the many, many dark creatures he had supposedly wronged in his marvelous masterpieces.

In panic, he ended up doing multiple very poor judgment calls which culminated in his writing receiving more scrutiny than he was comfortable with. Obviously, experts all through the world took turns debunking every exaggeration, misinterpretation and outright lie he had ever written.

But Gilderoy was smart, he had been a Ravenclaw back in the day, and he was fully prepared for this unfortunate incident.

Ever since he published his first work, his first real work. By which he meant the first one that massively succeeded by capitalizing on his mastery of the memory charm and the general wizarding stupidity. Lockhart made sure to classify it under the 'Fictional Tales' label, protecting himself from all accusations of Fraudulence.

How could he be a fraud when everything was out there in the open? They just had to look!

(Cheesy Trivia: Lockhart's first book is apparently Guide to Household Pests; a legit and very useful work that was mildly popular among the commons.)

His reputation was in shambles, but the wizarding world would soon learn to forgive him. He just had to lay low, make himself scarce and let time do its job sweeping away the unsightly bits while he recreated himself anew.

Gilderoy Remastered, newer, better, more ethical.

People loved redemption stories, his would be no different, he'd be the rogue who cheated the system but soon learned the errors of his ways.

He just had to lay low.

So, he did a press conference with the daily prophet where he vehemently denied every single allegation, making a lot of people with gaps in their knowledge very unhappy.

These same people soon learned from an anonymous source that they might or might not have been on the wrong side of a memory charm some time ago. These very skilled, often heroic witches and wizards whose memory gaps coincided with his world class stories, it didn't take them too much time to realize what happened...and they were not happy, no sir.

And that's the fireball that burned down his house of cards.

They were out for his blood, he knew it, he just knew it. Everyone wanted him dead! The husbands, the obliviated, the vampires, the werewolves, the banshees and even the bloody house pests wanted a piece of him!

They had agents all around him, sniffing around for a weakness they could exploit.

He once went out to buy some food, his face under multiple glamours of course (His mastery over grooming and appearance charms became very useful.) and bumped into a wretch who did not even apologize.

That thing was obviously one of his enemies's creatures, the house pests if he had to make a guess.

So he packed his stuff, set his affairs in order (He wanted to burn down his collection of Gilderoy Lockhart nudes and eroticas, but ended up taking them with him.) and fled the country.

Wait, No! He certainly did not flee, it was more like an unplanned vacation or a tactical retreat.

The British were done with him, and so were the French, Italians, Germans and spaniards. (Why did he translate his books in so many languages again? Ah yes, money.) he did not speak african or whatever nonsense asian people spoke nowadays, so he did the next best thing and hid away in eastern europe.

It was pleasant enough, until he remembered a tiny little fact.

He was very disliked by blood lickers all over the world, yes? Which part of the world had the highest concentration of vampire communities again?

Hint, they don't speak African either.

There he was, jumping at the sight of every shadow while he hid in the muggle world, until he remembered just why he abandoned his family in that accursed place in the first place.

Muggles were so boring.

Their only worth was the ease with which he could cleanse their minds when he needed to, which was surprisingly often for a half-blood.

His Mingling with Muggles wasn't book worthy by any stretch (Though some artistic liberty should fix that.), but the supernatural side of the Balkans wasn't too thrilled to have their muggles mind fucked on a regular basis by an outsider.

They might've been muggles, but they were their muggles.

Useful tidbit of information here if you plan an outing in that region, there are more vampires and werewolves than wizards in that land.

Obviously, the first thing Gilderoy did when he saw a bloodsucker in his apartment (It belonged to a muggle family, but they were happy to leave it in his care.) was cast a wooden spike right at its face.

At least, in the books.

In real life, he screamed like a little girl, effectively discombobulating the dark creature long enough for him to apparate away in the woods.

What followed was multiple days of running away in the wilder parts of the world, apparating whenever he could and seldom letting his invisibility spell fade. Lockhart wasn't sure where he was, how long he's been running and whether or not it was safe to return to polite wizarding society.

So he continued running.

A very long time ago, if the young Gilderoy Lockhart had paid attention is hid Defence against the Dark Arts class when they touched the subject of wraiths and other evil specters, he would have known that acorporal beings didn't rely on physical senses (Which they didn't have, duh.) but fully used their innate magical perception to see, hear and sometimes communicate.

It translated into the ability to see through all but one form of invisibility.

The runaway wizard felt a chill on his spine, then an oppressive feeling until something huge and murky pried his mouth open and filled it with his essence like the glorified parasite it was.

He wanted to scream but he could not, he wanted to run but he could not.

After minutes of torture, Gilderoy just wanted to die, but even this right was taken away from him.

He collapsed on the grown, having consumed the last of the wretched wraith that forced itself on him. He did not pant, did not even breathe, but his magic sustained him all the same.

Inside him, the spirit of Gilderoy Lockhart was cohabiting with the desperate, barely conscious soul of Lord Voldemort.

Two pieces of shit, and one body to hold them.

…

Lord Voldemort had never suffered such a humiliation.

Nothing in this world, not even failing to slay a babe, could compare to the shame he was now experiencing.

Shame, and anger.

Anger at himself, for failing to keep his horcruxes safe, Anger at Lily Potter for using her own son as bait to end his rule and destroy his body, anger at Albus Dumbledore for stealing away shards of his very soul.

Where was all that preaching about love and good being the essence of the light? Where was his legendary mercy when he somehow found the sacred soul of his fellow man?

Nowhere, it had never existed.

Everything was just a mask, a make-believe the old goat used to make himself feel better and control the human urge to rule and prove his worth, it was the only way that empty shell of a wizard could avoid casting a killing curse on himself.

Voldemort knew it from the beginning, ever since he was the mortal and feeble little Tom Riddle, ever since he saw what little he had gained burn away in his closet.

Then he was young and tender, helpless to stop the strongest sorcerer from taking away what was his by right. Now he was old, strong, the most powerful darklord the world has ever seen.

Beyond death itself.

He was Lord Voldemort.

Even if he had to possess this wretch, even if he had to risk the fool's pathetic worthlessness bleeding in on him, even sundered, formless, bleeding.

The Dark Lord will come back, and take what he is owed.

E+S

(Cheesy Trivia: Apparently, within the Eagle Soars Extended Universe, Lockhart and Voldemort both went to eastern europe to flee and lick their wounds. Romanian Garlic Breadsticks are therefore the favorite food of wizarding criminals.)

E+S

"I think we have made enough plans, Magnus." Fleur said bemused, her hair were tied up in a ponytail which swayed as she talked.

"Nonsense, there's no such thing as enough plans." He shook his head. "But you do deserve a break."

After accepting his help for the incoming task, Fleur soon learned that having a scary good Ravenclaw with a paranoid streak and no wish to see her burned (The irony of a Veela being fried wasn't lost on her.) on her side came with many perks.

No wasted time, no needless stressing and worrying. As soon as they met up, he threw half a dozen pretty good strategies to win or at very least keep her alive.

Obscure spells to give her more safety, exploiting loopholes to give her an advantage, dozens of failsafes and contingencies if their main plans somehow went wrong.

It was overwhelming, but Fleur knew it came from a place of care, so what could she do but ride along and maximize her chances.

Magnus wasn't one for obvious displays of affection, at least not with her, much to her disappointment, but he did care and showed it in his own way; by throwing an unholy amount of work at her just to keep her alive and in one piece.

But if she had the work this much, she might as well win the damned thing.

"Resting can wait, pass me that book."

His smile told her she made the right choice.