âI donât spend much time thinking about Hogwarts at all,â he replied dismissively, honing in on the hard bitter edge in her voice and concluding that perhaps Gerald hadnât been her favourite person in the world either. On that matter at least he imagined they could relate. Still, Dolores had certainly been busy, rummaging around in the details of his life and drawing conclusions that she probably shouldnât but then sheâd always had jealous eyes, hadnât she? Ones that picked apart all the things in the world she didnât have and hungered for.
And while he was sure he could convince any crowd any day over her bold accusations (how much proof could she have when heâd erased it all to the very last memory) there was one chink in his armour that heâd never be able to protect himself from. His friends. His high society, elitist friends with their pureblood ideology whoâd turn their backs just as soon as the stain of half-blood was splashed over him and all the sparkle and allure heâd clawed his way to was covered over by the dust of some sad little farm in Kent.
Gilderoy froze, realising that sad little Dolores Umbridge had finally managed to spin a web capable of entrapping him, his fingers poised on the edge of the table and eyes turning hard. Would Sofia care if she knew? Heâd like to think that she wouldnât, that she cared about who he was now and not where heâd come from, but Purebloods could be so .. finnicky about these things. And what of the others? He walked a delicate tightrope with his social circles, heâd hate to think what such humble beginnings being exposed might bring about in the eyes of someone like Bellatrix Lestrange. Dolores either had no idea what she was playing with or (more likely) she simply didnât care.
âKeep your voice down,â Gilderoy snarled, the first sign of something resembling anxiety crawling into the curve of his lip and the dark and angry set of his eyes and if it coincided with the word Zabini well, that may have just been a coincidence. She could cause some damage for sure. âI worked for everything I have,â heâd grafted every story into reality, carved a new image of himself from the ground up, nothing so incidental as genetics or a family name had created Gilderoy Lockhart and that was his truth; his stories may have been amalgamations of other peopleâs spectacular adventures but they were his words, shaped in his narrative. If he was a fraud than he was a magnificent one. âFor those connections, for that influence,â and anger was not the route to take here, not with her googly eyes staring at him from across the table, âAnd if thatâs what you want from me then youâd best keep your voice down. I have a reputation to maintain.â
And what was it that she thought she could gain from him? He could hardly teach her how to be a palatable social presence, could he? If she wanted to piggy-back off of his fame sheâd hardly be the first to have failed at it. âLook,â his hand settled placatingly on the table between them like a metaphorical olive branch and he shifted in his seat, fixing her with a steady gaze as if it might distract from the pinch of crazy that lingered in her own, âIâm sure we can come to an amicable agreement on all of this, something mutually beneficial. Nobody needs to go down in flames if we both get what we want.â
What Gilderoy really wanted was to be far away from her and her tiresome reminders of his Hogwarts days but he got the impression that Dolores knew many things about him now. Like where he lived and what heâd drank with brunch that morning.
âMaybe thatâs your problem, Gerald.â Dolores answered, scoffing at his dismissive tone. âAfter all the past never really stays in the past does it? A cliche perhaps, but itâs always there. Creeping in the rear view. Just waiting.â Surely, Gerald realized that his bad behavior would catch up with him eventually? While Dolores spent most of her time weaving tapestries of lies and blackmailing her coworkers, at least she wasnât out flaunting her bad deeds. It was all behind closed doors - harsh whispers in the break rooms, knowing looks at staff meetings. She wasnât out there printing her photo on the sleeves of dust jackets and taking credit for other peopleâs accomplishments in print.
Dolores had to claw her own way to the top from birth. Stepping on the backs of her classmates, coworkers, even some she had deigned to call friends. Only she didnât have to hide behind a stupid made up persona to get what she wanted. It was certainly hypocritical of her to point out Geraldâs foibles but it wasnât something that would keep her up at night, after all, she fully believed he deserved every bad thing that might happen to him.
Dolores thought herself a lot smarter than old Gerald realized anyway ( he did look terribly old in this lighting, didnât he? ) and he needed to know that she wasnât the type to fold under pressure. Even if it killed her, she wanted to see him squirm and hear those precious two little words, you won. You beat me. Youâre better than me, Dolores. She had been waiting for what felt like a century so the dark look in Geraldâs eyes, the snarling, his âhandsomeâ jaw set in irritation, it all elated her immensely .Â
âDonât order me to keep my voice down.â Dolores responded firmly, raising an eyebrow. It was just like a man to think that he could order Dolores Umbridge around. She wouldnât be where she was today if she had just sat still and looked pretty like Orford often insisted his daughter do when she was a girl. Her father, much like Gerald, was a man who only knew how to take.Â
âIâm tempted to just shout it from the rooftops. I know you might say, Dolores, no one will believe you. Iâm sure there would be a few people who would stand by you....At least in the beginning but once a seed of doubt is planted, itâs almost impossible to get rid of.â Blood supremacy was a very serious issue in todayâs world and even the smallest whisper of someone having muggle blood could have catastrophic results. If Gerald didnât suddenly become a social pariah, the death eaters might even come knocking at his door.
When he seemingly took a deep breath, placing his hand in the center of the table as if he were waving his white flag, Dolores knew she had broken him. He would give her what she wanted or face the consequences of his own actions. âAn agreement works well for me.â Dolores answered, her eyes still wide with a wild type of excitement like she had somehow bested Gerald at his own game. âIâve told you what I want. Connections. You will let me into your dumb little social circle or I might be tempted to take this to Skeeter at the Prophet.â Dolores paused, a wicked smile on her face, âSheâs a gossip hound but you should know, people will believe anything. Iâm sure sheâd be more than willing to hear what I have to say.â