Gilderoy Lockhart and the Holy Grail

Gilderoy couldn’t remember the last time he had walked anywhere under his own power. Not since the first days of his captivity by his estimation. It was no wonder that he needed a lot of help from Potter. He could hardly feel his feet, which were still swollen, and was forced to look down at them to figure out where they were. He could only walk, with a slightly pigeon-toed gait, with Potter gently urging him forward, helping to give him both balance and momentum. He could not help but to feel clumsy and a bit stupid because of this.

Despite Potter’s assistance in getting into the tub, which was filled with deliciously warm water, he still managed to splash a good deal of it onto the floor. Potter quickly vanished it before finding him some soap with a soft, familiar scent that Gilderoy didn’t quite recognize and a cloth with which to wash. However, this gave rise to another problem. Due to the nature of his shackles, Gilderoy’s grasp was no longer so strong as it should have been. He couldn’t keep his grip on the cloth, much less the soap. Tears filled his eyes as he realized how utterly helpless he was.

“Let me help you, but not a word to Snape, all right?” said Potter awkwardly, taking both articles from him.

“All right,” he sniffed, bowing his head to hide the tears.

Gilderoy was surprised, given the young wizard’s age, which he supposed was no older the seventeen, if that, at how careful he was of his injuries and how gentle, yet thorough he was as he scrubbed the grime and blood and muck from his skin. When the water turned an unwholesome hue, he vanished and refreshed it with clean, warm water. When Gilderoy shivered, either from the pain or from the physical contact, he withdrew his hands and asked him what the matter was. When washing his hair, Potter shielded his eyes from the soap, and when untangling and removing the knots, he was careful not to pull too hard or to rush the job.

As Potter rinsed the last of the suds from his long blond hair, Gilderoy struggled to find some way to express his thanks and his gratitude, but he couldn’t find any words that were suitable, that were enough. His eyes filled with tears at his own inadequacy. Potter, noticing the tears, touched his cheek as he bent over him, wiping them away with his damp fingertips.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gilderoy sniffed, wondering how to thank someone for making him feel well and whole and like himself again for the first time in so very long.

Then, looking into the deep green seas of Potter’s eyes, he knew how he could express his thankfulness, what might be closer to enough. Gilderoy leaned up and pressed his lips to Potter’s, which parted in surprise before tentatively returning the kiss. The expression of shock that initially filled the young wizard’s eyes faded to a half-mischievous amusement as his eyelids drooped.

The sound of someone clearing his throat at the door behind Potter made him pull away very quickly. Gilderoy saw that it was Snape, who had his arms folded over his chest and looked quite disgruntled ... to say the very least.

“Unless you were attempting to bathe the inside of his mouth, one might consider that taking inappropriate advantage,” remarked Snape in a very displeased, reproving tone of voice.

“Hey! He kissed me!” objected Potter, blushing to his ears and leaving his spot beside the tub.

Gilderoy, feeling a flicker of fear, drew his knees up and waited for something to happen, but Snape merely snorted at this and remarked, “If you’re quite finished, I would suggest helping him out of the bath and back to bed. I want to treat some of those bruises.” Then he merely turned on his heel and strode back into the bedroom.

“You heard the man,” sighed Potter.

Assistance from both of them was required to get him back into bed. Gilderoy noticed as he clambered none-too-gracefully onto the four-poster that Snape had removed the top layer of linens instead of merely refreshing them. They were in a pile in the corner of the room, well out of the way. Potter, who was still a somewhat rosy hue, helped him maneuver into a seated position and placed a comfortable pillow behind him.

Gilderoy watched Snape select a jar from the collection of vials, bottles, and other vessels on the stand by the bed, which he rightly surmised to be a bruise remedy.

“The ones on his calves need attending,” said Snape, though mostly to himself.

“Do I need to restrain him or anything?”

“No, I don’t believe so. This salve has a tendency to feel refreshing. I have never known it to cause pain,” replied Snape with a note of vague condescension in his voice. “You can help apply it,” he added, taking a small amount from the jar before passing it to Potter.

The bruises to the back of his calves were caused by a thin rod that one of her helpers had used to beat him on a regular basis early on in his captivity. They had lingered in part because of their severity.

Gilderoy bent his knees to accommodate his caregivers and watched as after they applied a thick coating of the greenish-gray salve the bruises began to diminish in size before nearly disappearing entirely. His skin cooled slightly in response to the salve, which did indeed feel quite refreshing.

“Wrists?” queried Harry as they finished with his legs.

“And ankles,” Snape agreed with a nod.

The bruises were from the shackles, of course, but not just from them alone. His torturers had often yanked or pulled at the bonds or thrown him to the floor, causing them to bruise his skin wherever the bonds came into violent contact with it.

Potter quickly moved to take care of his bruised ankles and the tops of his feet while Snape chose to manage the application of the potion to his wrists. Even as the elder of the two wizards taking care of him examined the bruises and applied the potion, Gilderoy found that he could not bring himself to look the wizard in the eye. After he had walked in on him kissing Potter in the bath, he felt a strange tension between Snape and himself. He didn’t know its source, only that he had somehow trespassed.

But that was silly, wasn’t it? Potter seemed to be nothing more to Snape than a student and helper. Why should he have any claim to the young man’s lips or any other part of him? Gilderoy couldn’t understand; he only knew how he felt about the situation now.

“Potter, fetch some leftover stew for Lockhart and water to go with it. I’m certain you noticed that his lips seem parched,” ordered Snape a bit snidely as Potter finished up. “I can administer the other potions without your assistance,” he added before Potter, who had flushed red again, could say a single word.

Gilderoy felt a twinge of emotional pain as Snape referred to him by his surname instead of by his first name, or less familiarly than before the incident with his student in the bath.

“You... you can call me Gilderoy,” he said weakly as Snape began measuring out a globby blue potion into a cup.

“You can call me Snape,” he answered back without looking up from what he was doing.

“I only kissed him because I wanted him to know how grateful and thankful that I was,” said Gilderoy quietly, twisting the edge of the towel that was wrapped around his waist in his hands.

Snape paused and turned toward him with a quizzical, half-surprised expression on his face. “Grateful?” he questioned.

“Yes,” he said softly, daring to glance up at him, “and I didn’t have the words, so I ...”

“So you kissed him?” Snape finished for him.

Gilderoy nodded silently and continued to stare down at the fluffy white towel he was wearing until Snape placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Very well then, although a simple thank-you would probably have sufficed,” said Snape, although he could scarcely hide his amusement at this.

“Seemed so inadequate, after everything ... everything both of you have done for me,” he said in a barely audible voice.

“All in a day’s work,” commented Snape before releasing his shoulder and taking the cup of potion from the bedside table. “Drink this. It is a Healing Draught and should help to alleviate any lingering pains as well,” he instructed before pressing the cup to Gilderoy’s lips.

He didn’t especially like the taste; in fact, it was the worst thing he could remember swallowing in a long while, but he tried not to let on out of fear of insulting Snape. He managed to get it all down and earn a mildly approving look from the other wizard, who immediately began preparing another potion.

“What’s that one?” asked Gilderoy.

“It is a protective draught used to prevent and ameliorate nerve damage following traumatic injury. I happened to have some on hand due to an unfortunate incident last month involving one of the Weasley’s and a severing spell,” Snape informed him.

“Severing?” he squeaked.

“The dimwit carelessly lost a bit of his leg in a brush with Death Eaters,” he supplied impassively. “The draught should help with the sort of damage you have sustained as well. At least until I can prepare better remedies,” Snape continued, measuring out a relatively small amount of the potent draught.

The first draught soon became the second worst thing he had swallowed as the second was even more foul tasting, though Gilderoy still struggled, and failed, not to show it as he sipped the concoction.

“Sorry,” he murmured after pulling a slight face.

“The draught is hardly butterbeer, but it does have the advantage of having very little after taste,” Snape said as he replaced the stoppers in the potion bottles. “Harry should be along with that soup momentarily.”

“Who’s Harry?”

Snape winced quite visibly and said, “Potter. That young wizard you kissed. The only help Dumbledore could arrange for your rescue.”

“Me,” said a voice from the door that belonged to a familiar dark-haired wizard carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a pitcher of water on it.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Harry brought the tray to Gilderoy’s bed and sat down with it.

“Harry’s a very nice name,” ventured Gilderoy tentatively.

“Thanks,” said Harry, accepting an empty glass from Snape and filling it with water for Gilderoy.

“Don’t let him drink too quickly,” Snape warned as Harry held the cup to Gilderoy’s lips. “I don’t fancy cleaning up potion-vomit,” he added as he watched him carefully sip from the vessel.

“Thank you,” murmured Gilderoy after he had drunk his fill, savoring the cool, clean taste of it. He was glad to have something to drink, possibly for the first time in several days, though he could not be certain of anything regarding time. “How long was I ... I held?” he asked them as the question came to mind.

“The better part of a month,” answered Snape as Harry refilled his cup and stirred the stew. “Would have been twenty-nine days as of midnight tonight,” he added for clarification. Leaving the bed, he said, “You should eat some stew now and recoup your strength.”

Gilderoy worried as he watched Harry dip a spoonful of hearty stew for him that he might not be able to keep down, but the savory scent wafted toward him and he desperately hoped that he could manage, because it would be a terrible waste if he couldn’t. Accepting the proffered spoonful of stew, he found that it tasted just as good as it smelled.

“Good,” said Harry encouragingly.

“Gilderoy,” called Snape from the doorway, almost as an after-thought, drawing his attention from the stew. “Severus. My first name is Severus.”

Following the stew, Harry found a suitable robe for him to wear folded up in the bedroom’s rather imposing wardrobe. Dark, almost midnight blue and spelled to keep away dust, age, and moths, the garment was vastly preferable to lounging around in naught but a towel. Harry mentioned finding pajamas for him once Snape said that this was all right; he didn’t want the cloth to stick to any of his injuries. Gilderoy agreed with that assessment.

“Snape is going to be brewing all evening, probably all night too, so if you wanted to try and rest, maybe take a nap, until he returns with another potion,” Harry suggested as he stood, leaning against one of the bed posts.

“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” laughed Potter. “Where would I go?”

Gilderoy relaxed somewhat at this, and though many of his injuries still caused him pain, it was so much less agony than that to which he had become accustomed that he was certain he would be able to sleep, not just nap, for a good, long while. Managing to slip lower on the bed without assistance and recline more completely, Gilderoy murmured his thanks and closed his eyes.

A moment later he felt himself being covered with a blanket and tucked in, which brought a soft smile to his lips.

“Sleep well,” said Harry, awkwardly patting his shoulder through the blanket.

She was licking the blood from her lips with apparent relish, and Gilderoy could hear himself screaming, though the sound was wrong, distant, almost as though hearing it through water. The knife was in her hands; she was twirling it between her fingers. And he knew that she was just waiting for his cries to cease before impaling him with it. Pain like he had never known before, not in his old life, unremembered, and not in his new life, rushed through his body. Would it ever stop?

Gilderoy was jerked forcefully out of the nightmare, breathing raggedly, suddenly aware of hands holding him down. One pair of these hands tilted his head back and poured something cool and bitter-tasting into his mouth, like mint without its natural sweetness, only a bit of it at first and then more as he swallowed. Others were holding him still, keeping his legs and torso pinned to the mattress, and holding his arms folded to his chest to prevent him from lashing out. He opened his eyes to find the world around him a very bleary, half-dark place.

“Thank you. I think I can handle him for now, Tonks,” said the silken voice that he knew belonged to Severus.

The hands that had been holding his legs in place released their grip. Gilderoy didn’t even try to move. He was still too afraid and too disoriented.

“Right. I’m just down stairs. Call out if you should need me,” said a feminine voice that made him shudder uncomfortably.

As his vision began to cleared, he saw her silhouetted against the open bedroom door. Just a witch with short, oddly colored hair, who was wearing plain robes of a dark color over rather Mugglish clothing. Nothing more. Nothing threatening.

“Gilderoy?” questioned Harry, chafing an uninjured patch of skin on his lower arm to get his attention. “Can you hear me?” he asked as Gilderoy turned his head in the direction of his voice.

“Was I dreaming? Or am I dreaming now?” he asked thickly.

“You were just having a nightmare,” Harry told him, letting go of his arms and sitting down next to him on the bed. “Snape’s given you a Calming Draught. Try to breathe and relax while it takes effect, all right?”

“How long was I asleep?” he asked, breathing deeply just as Harry had told him to do. His pounding heartbeat was beginning to slow down.

“Almost three hours,” Harry answered, taking his wand and using it to light a lamp across the room, making it just a bit brighter. Gilderoy had the impression that it was after nightfall, but he wasn’t certain.

“Not long,” said Snape, though it was more of an observation. Gilderoy turned his head to see that he was preparing another potion at the bedside table. In the half-light, he seemed pale, even more so than before.

“How do you feel?” asked Harry.

“Afraid, but ... better now than before,” Gilderoy replied.

There were still residual aches and lingering pains, of course, and occasional, more acute twinges, but nothing like the agony he had known during his captivity. As Harry helped him to sit up in bed and untangled the blankets, he realized that he could feel his feet and hands more properly now. Relief flooded him for an instant as he realized that he wasn’t completely helpless anymore.

“Your hands?” questioned Snape, no doubt watching him flexing the appendages.

“They ... tingle, but I can move them a bit more than I could,” answered Gilderoy with a slight, tremulous smile.

“Good. I brought a potion to help improve circulation. It just needs a few more moments to cool; however, if your hands are improving on their own, I doubt you will need more than one treatment,” said Snape, gesturing to a steaming cauldron on the corner of the table.

“Can you wiggle your toes?” questioned Harry, moving the blankets aside for him.

“I can!” observed Gilderoy, though his feet still appeared to be swollen. The last lingering effects of the nightmare seemed to be dissipating, leaving a warm sort of calm in its place.

“He’s improving faster than I thought,” Harry commented to Snape with a pleased half-smile.

“Yes, he is more resilient than I had given him credit for either,” agreed the other wizard as he measured a dose of potion. “This is to help fight off infection and repair certain internal injuries,” Snape explained as he held the cup out to Gilderoy.

Gilderoy took the cup with shaking and hands, but with a bit of assistance from Harry, he managed to drink it with little fuss or difficulty. It tasted bitter, but not as foul as the other draughts he had been given. Snape gave him a mildly approving nod as he took the cup back from him.

“I have the potions for your other injury brewing in my laboratory in the cellar. One of my associates is watching over it for the moment. Unfortunately, it will not be finished before early morning and I am reluctant to apply anything topically for the pain, though I understand that it must be substantial,” said Severus with an uncomfortable expression in his dark eyes. “If it is very discomforting for you, I can give you a sedative, though not a Dreamless Sleep potion,” he added carefully so that Gilderoy would understand what he was telling him.

“It hurts, but ... I’ve felt much worse than this. Believe me. I ... I don’t think I want anything ... in case I have another bad dream ... I don’t want not to be able to wake up from it,” he said uncertainly.

“Very well,” said Snape with a nod as he checked the cooling potion again and gave it a slow stir.

“Ready?” asked Harry.

Snape answered with a nod and used a ladle to scoop a dripping greenish mass from the cauldron. Gilderoy thought it looked perfectly disgusting. Like ground-up seaweed with bits of other things mixed into it. And it didn’t exactly smell terrifically pleasant either. He turned his head as Snape scooped the substance from the ladle with his fingers.

“I’ll take his left hand,” volunteered Harry.

“Just remember to apply the potion evenly or he will have additional bruising and swelling,” warned Snape.

Gilderoy just closed his eyes and tried to pretend that it wasn’t disgusting. He was surprised, however, by the way the warm, sticky potion felt as they smeared it onto his hands. The mushy substance was surprisingly soft and adhered immediately to the skin, almost as though they were applied liquefied cashmere gloves to his hands. He had expected it to feel like mud or moist grass shavings, but instead it felt like nothing of the sort. Gilderoy almost giggled. He lifted one eyelid to watch them apply it to his feet as well.

Harry chuckled as he noticed and said, “Not as bad as you thought?”

“No, it feels rather good,” said Gilderoy with his surprise quite evident in his voice.

“It has to stay on until it dries for you to receive the full benefit. That will require about an hour, so do not pick at it in the meantime,” Snape told him rather seriously before spelling his and Harry’s hands clean again. “I think you should attempt to rest for a while now,” he informed Gilderoy.

“If you can,” Harry added.

Gilderoy nodded, realizing that he was beginning to feel sleepy again, thanks in part to the initial Calming Draught that Snape had given him, and closed his eyes as Harry helped him to recline just a bit more.

“I think he’ll manage,” quipped Snape as he returned the stoppers and lids to the potion vessels on the bedside table.

Though he was already beginning to drift to sleep, Gilderoy was aware that both Severus and Harry left his bed a few moments thereafter and stepped into the hallway; he could just make out the sound of them talking in hushed voices, in fact. He missed the first few snatches of the conversation until Snape raised his voice just slightly.

“He is already suspicious, Harry,” said Severus with a slight, audible edge to his voice as he made that statement.

“Is that supposed to be my fault?” Harry answered back shortly. “Was I supposed to slap him when he kissed me? Shove him? Bite him or something for Merlin’s sake?”

“Harry...”

“Look, Severus, I know how hard it’s been to conceal our relationship from Dumbledore and from the rest of the Order. I know it’s a bloody stupid idea to let Lockhart get wise to it, but I hardly think you’re upset about him getting ideas about the two of us. You’re just bloody jealous of him!” said Harry angrily, though keeping his voice relatively low.

Gilderoy opened his eyes, hardly able to comprehend what he had just overheard. Snape and Potter were in a relationship? With each other? His potion-fogged brain could hardly make sense of that. Student? Teacher? Older? Younger? Though the notion of two wizards together didn’t startle him in the least, having been in many such relationships himself, although he could only clearly recall a bit of fumbling with a number of the younger Healers-in-training at the hospital. Nevertheless... his two rescuers were, dare he even think it, lovers?

“I am most certainly not jealous,” corrected Severus stiffly. “I do not get jealous. I am not a jealous person. And besides that, I couldn’t be. You’ve seen everything Lestrange did to him. How on earth could I be jealous?”

“All right then,” said Harry, cooling down a bit, “but you know...”

“Yes, I know, Harry. He does need gentle handling right now. He does need people around him who will let him act upon his feelings without fear of harm or physical pain of any sort. I’m not the ideal candidate to give him that sort of reassurance or attention. Neither are you, really, but...”

“We’re all he has until it’s safe for him to go back to the hospital.”

“Precisely, and I do not want us to do more harm. He ... well, yes, he was a terrible git, but even the worst git in the world doesn’t deserve a tithe of what he’s gone through. I merely don’t want to lose ... that is, I am not interested in losing something of value just for his sake.”

“You don’t happen to mean me, do you, Severus?”

“And if I did?” he challenged Harry.

Gilderoy watched through the open door as Harry, several inches shorter than his companion, reached up and locked his arms around Snape’s neck before pulling him into a passionate kiss. The older wizard’s arms snaked around his waist and held him in a tight embrace. Such a good fit, he decided. Gilderoy sighed softly to himself and allowed his eyelids to droop again as the two wizards parted and he vowed silently to help them keep their secret, though there were many things that he did not understand.

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