(Third person POV)
When Gilderoy Lockhart finally returned to the Three Broomsticks, the sun was already high in the sky, its pale winter light filtering through the frost-lined windows of Hogsmeade. Noon had come and gone quietly, the usual bustle of the tavern conspicuously absent. The streets outside had been lively enough, filled with laughter, crunching snow, and the distant chatter of holiday visitors, but as he stood before the familiar wooden door, a strange stillness settled over him. He pushed it open carefully, almost cautiously, as if expecting resistance. For a brief moment, he half-expected the wards to reject him outright, to slam the door in his face as punishment for his failure to return the night before. So when nothing happened and the door swung inward without protest, he let out a slow, relieved breath.
Inside, the tavern was eerily quiet. No clinking glasses, no murmured conversations, no Rosmerta behind the counter greeting guests with her usual warmth. The hearth still burned, though the fire had been left to a low, steady crackle, casting soft orange light across empty tables and neatly arranged chairs. It was too clean, too still, as if the entire place had been deliberately cleared. Lockhart stepped inside, his boots echoing faintly against the wooden floor as he glanced left, then right, his instincts prickling uneasily. There was no one. Not even a single soul.
That, more than anything, made him nervous.
He closed the door behind him with a quiet click and made his way upstairs, each step creaking faintly beneath his weight. The corridor was just as silent as the common room below. When he reached the bedroom, he pushed the door open and found it empty as well. No sign of Aurora. No sign of Rosmerta. No immediate ambush. And for a fleeting, foolish moment, he allowed himself to hope.
Exhaling, he stepped inside and let himself fall backward onto the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as the tension began to drain from his body. The familiar scent of the room surrounded him, warm and comforting, lulling him into a false sense of security.
The door suddenly slammed shut.
The sharp sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.
Lockhart's arm dropped instantly, his body going rigid as he turned his head toward the door just in time to see two figures slowly materialize out of thin air. The air itself seemed to shimmer around them as their forms solidified, revealing Aurora and Rosmerta standing side by side.
Both of them were looking directly at him.
And the difference in their expressions was enough to make his stomach drop.
Aurora's anger was unmistakable. Her eyes were narrowed into thin slits, her posture rigid, every line of her body radiating restrained fury. There was a dangerous stillness about her, the kind that suggested she was only barely holding herself back. One wrong word, one poorly chosen excuse, and she might very well reach for her wand.
Rosmerta, on the other hand, looked… disappointed. Not furious, not explosive, but quietly, deeply disappointed. Her shoulders were relaxed, her gaze steady, yet there was a weight behind her eyes that made Lockhart's chest tighten far more than Aurora's anger ever could. It was the look of someone who had expected this outcome long before it happened and had already resigned herself to it.
Years ago, that expression would have been normal. Back when she had only been a friend, when their relationship had been casual, undefined, something that existed in the spaces between other things. Back then, his habits, his wandering attention, his so-called "private fan meetings" had been little more than an annoyance, something she tolerated with amused resignation.
But things had changed.
And she had not quite caught up to that change.
"Well, Gilderoy," Aurora said at last, her voice calm in a way that was far more threatening than if she had shouted, "what is your excuse for leaving us waiting the whole night?"
Lockhart sat up slowly, offering a sheepish smile that would have charmed most of the wizarding world. Unfortunately, he knew it would do very little here.
"We even sent Dobby to find you," Aurora continued, her eyes narrowing further. "But he couldn't locate you. Care to explain?"
Lockhart lifted his hands slightly in a placating gesture. "The Black Manor is heavily warded," he said smoothly. "Even against house-elves. They need to be registered into the wards beforehand to be allowed entry."
Aurora said nothing, simply staring at him, waiting.
"As for why I didn't return…" he added, his smile faltering just a fraction, "well… that's a rather long story."
Aurora pulled a chair from the corner of the room with a sharp scrape against the floor and sat down, crossing one leg over the other with deliberate patience. "Good," she said. "We have the whole day."
Rosmerta sighed softly, though there was no real resistance in the gesture, and followed suit, taking a seat beside her. The two of them settled in, their attention fixed entirely on him.
Lockhart suddenly found himself feeling far more exposed sitting on the bed than he ever had standing before a crowd.
Aurora's gaze burned.
But it was Rosmerta's that lingered.
And that was the one that hurt.
So he began.
He told them everything, or at least a version of everything that was close enough to the truth to be believable. He described the drinking, the escalating challenges, Sirius's insistence on ever stronger concoctions, and how what had started as a simple visit had spiraled into chaos. He spoke of blurred memories, of laughter, of reckless decisions made under the influence of far too much alcohol. His tone grew quieter as he reached the end, his usual bravado dimming slightly.
Then, lowering his voice, he admitted how he had woken up.
Next to Tonks.
When he finished, silence fell over the room.
Lockhart closed his eyes and waited.
A second passed.
Then another.
And then…
Aurora laughed.
Not loudly, not mockingly, but with a sharp, amused edge that caught him completely off guard.
His eyes snapped open, one at first, cautiously, as if expecting a trap. "You… aren't mad?" he asked carefully.
Aurora's expression shifted instantly, the amusement vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Mad?" she repeated. "Of course I'm mad."
Lockhart flinched slightly.
"You broke your promise, Gilderoy," she continued, leaning forward just enough to emphasize her words. "And I was very much looking forward to taking advantage of the ritual's… benefits."
She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening just a fraction as she realized what she had just admitted. Her hand came up to cover her mouth, but it was far too late.
Lockhart's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.
Aurora's glare returned with full force. "What are you smiling at?" she snapped. "You are not off the hook yet."
Before he could respond, Rosmerta let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head slightly. "What Aurora means," she said, her tone gentler but no less firm, "is that if it had been someone else, she would have been far angrier. But since it's Nymphadora… well, we already consider her one of us."
Aurora turned her head sharply toward her. "Far angrier?" she repeated. "If it had been someone else, I would have strung him up by the bollocks and paraded him through Hogsmeade for everyone to see before leaving him permanently."
Lockhart winced and crossed his legs protectively.
Aurora's gaze shifted back to Rosmerta, her expression hardening. "And you," she added, "need to stop being so soft with him. You're not just his friend anymore. You're his fiancée. He owes you the respect that comes with that, and you can't keep forgiving everything as if it has nothing to do with you."
Rosmerta opened her mouth to respond, but the words never came. Her expression shifted, the easy acceptance she had carried for so long finally cracking as realization settled in. She looked down briefly, her brows knitting together as she considered Aurora's words.
"…When you put it like that," she said slowly, "maybe you're right."
She lifted her gaze again, this time fixing it directly on Lockhart.
"In that case," she continued, a small but decisive nod accompanying her words, "a punishment is in order."
Lockhart straightened instinctively.
"For the next week," Rosmerta declared, "you'll be sleeping on the couch."
Aurora's head snapped toward her. "Rosmerta!"
Rosmerta blinked in confusion. "What? Is that too harsh?" she asked, already backtracking. "Then… three nights?"
Aurora's expression did not change.
"Two?"
Still nothing.
"One?"
Aurora let out a low, dark chuckle, shaking her head. "It's too light," she said.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as her gaze returned to Lockhart with renewed intensity. "Make it a month."
Lockhart's jaw dropped.
"And no sex," she added firmly.
Both Lockhart and Rosmerta reacted immediately, opening their mouths in protest, but Aurora raised a hand, cutting them off before either could speak.
"In fact," she went on, her tone brooking no argument, "he'll be staying in his room at Hogwarts. Otherwise…" her eyes flicked meaningfully toward Rosmerta, "I don't trust you to enforce it."
Rosmerta hesitated, then gave a small, sheepish smile, clearly caught.
Lockhart, meanwhile, sat frozen on the bed, staring at them as the full weight of his sentence settled over him.
A month.
At Hogwarts.
Alone.
He swallowed slowly.
"…This feels a bit excessive," he tried.
But Aurora's smile was not reassuring at all.
…