Scarred

Scarred

Gilderoy Lockhart stared down at the rippling water, the acid in his stomach churning away at his insides.

It was not as though he had come to Peru with such horrid intentions. Yes, he had read about the young woman who had managed to lure the Peruvian Vipertooth away from her mostly Muggle village, no doubt saving dozens of lives in doing so. Yes, he had every intention of tracking her down, Obliviating her, and taking the credit for himself, just as he had done so many times before; but it was not as though he were really stealing anything away from the girl. She certainly wasn't using any of the fame that could have been squeezed out of this.

Yes, the girl had encounter a particularly vicious dragon and come out of it alive, but it hadn't been without a price. In the struggle, the creature had managed to get in several good attacks, leaving the girl's face horribly burned. She would not allow the press to visit her in the hospital to see her, refused to be photographed, and wouldn't even allow the hospital staff to divulge her name. For all intensive purposes, the girl was a ghost. Even after she returned to her village, she kept herself locked away in her small hut, and on the few occasions she would venture outside, she would keep her scarred face wrapped in silk scarves, so it could not even be certain that it was the same girl who had lived there before.

In reality, he had probably done the girl a tremendous favor. It was clear that she had been beautiful at one point, from what Gilderoy had been able to see. She was petite, her body graced with gentle curves, and she had beautiful feet. He had never see feet he would describe as beautiful, but hers most certainly were. To lose her beauty, her face, her identity, it had probably been an act of mercy, what he had done.

The cliffs beside the reservoir were the most desolate and lonely place within walking distance of the village. It was also the only place the girl would agree to speak with him. Whether the girl believed Gildroy to be a reporter or a good soul who just wanted the scarred young woman to share her story with him, he didn't know. She retailed her encounter in careful, schoolgirl English. She didn't make eye contact, but with her face completely covered, it didn't make much of a difference either way.

But, just as so many times before, Gilderoy only found himself paying attention to the important detail, the more emotional aspects being thrown to the wind. All he really need from this girl were the key facts for when he retold this story, giving him an outline for a possible book, then the girl's memories would be gone. When he led her back t the village, he would probably even be praised as a hero: helping a poor disfigured girl who had lost her way, not at all deterred or repulsed by her heavily scarred appearance.

At first sight of the wand, though, the girl panicked. She flew to her feet, screaming in rapid Spanish. Before Gildroy even had a proper amount of time to react, the girl lunged at him, grabbing at his wand. What was he supposed to do? Isolation and devastation had clearly made the girl mad. And who knew what she was capable of? When he pushed her away, he had been shocked by how light she really was. She was absolutely flying, falling at least five feet away from the cliff. At some point during her plunge, the scarves unwrapped from around her face, although she was too far away for Gilderoy to get a truly good look at her scars. The scarves continued to flutter in the wind, even after the girl crashed against the surface of the water. But even when the silk fragments finally did touch the ripples, the girl still didn't come up for air. One hour became two, and then day became night, but she still did not come up for air.

It wasn't like anyone would ever know. No one would miss the girl; no one even really knew who she was. She was quite alone in that hut of hers, and likely no one would report her missing. And even if one of those Muggles in the village did notice something, who were they going to report it to? It wasn't as though the Muggle justice system could do anything to him.

At any rate, he had gotten what he came for. The glory of the Peruvian dragon was now his for the taking, and there wasn't going to be anyone coming around to refute his claim. And his books were written in English; it was unlikely anyone in Peru would even read this story and notice any parallels.

He was ready to leave in every sense of the word, but something still held him back, keeping him at the edge of the cliffs. He wondered whether or not he should say a few words on her behalf. Was it poor form to speak on behalf of the dead when you were the one responsible for their...condition? Actually, the man had never know anyone who had died before.

Of course, he had never murdered anyone either...

Instead, he took off running down the stony path he came from. He hadn't moved like that since he was a small boy, running from the wrath of some impending punishment.

**********

At St. Mungo's, permanent resident, Gilderoy Lockhart, struggled to get the young apprentice Healer's attention. The young witch dropped her tray of potion phials and rushed over to his bedside, worried he might be in agonizing pain or some other life-threatening situation.

"There's a girl in Peru!" he told her frantically. "She's in the water and no one knows she's there!"

Upon hearing this, the young woman took a deep sigh of relief. It was just another one of the poor man's insane ramblings. Every now and then, the poor wizard would go on about some abstract memory, hidden deep inside his mind, although no one could ever make any sense of them. It was possible that even poor Mr. Lockhart didn't understand what he was remembering.

"She must have family somewhere!" he shouted, only succeeding in becoming tangled in his sheets. "Friends, someone who misses her! She risked her life, sacrificed her face to save people who were strangers to her! She doesn't deserve to be forgotten!"

"Yes, Mr. Lockhart, yes," the apprentice tried to assure him, untangling his limbs from his bed sheets. "I'll make sure someone from the hospital finds out. We'll take care of it. Don't you worry."

Upon hearing this, the man seemed to calm, catching his breath, allowing the young woman to fix his bedding. "Good," he breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. No one should ever be forgotten like that."

The young apprentice smiled at him. If only the poor man understood the irony.