stolen century

When: August 1993 Where: Zabini Manor Who: Sofia & @kirkstanbulstrode​

The unthinkable had happened, and he wasn’t getting any better.

29th May 1993 was a date that would surely be etched in Sofia’s mind forevermore. It was perhaps the most significant date since Blaise had entered the world kicking and screaming, making his presence known as only a Zabini could. Even the dates of her marriages, her weddings, they had all begun to blur away - none of them were important. After all, Sofia had really only felt real love for three men in her life. The first, and the most important, was her son. The moment she had felt him kick, Sofia knew she would do anything for her son. The second was Kingsley Shacklebolt, her elusive lover - and certainly the love of her life. But the third man was her only real friend, the man who had stood by her through all the mess she had chosen to create.

And now Gilderoy didn’t even know her name.

It was fortunate, Sofia supposed, that the house elves had been with her long enough that they knew what she liked and were running almost without orders. Cara had even started doing Sofia’s hair for her in the morning, because Sofia’s grief was such that she could hardly lift a finger to care. Blaise had been a rock through all this, ensuring his mother got out of bed each morning to at least continue on with some pretence of normality. Strangely, the only solace in all this had been Stanley fucking Bulstrode of all people. He was the only other person who really understood her grief, understood what they had lost. 

It had started with a few nights getting blind drunk in the parlour, though it ached Sofia to remember of drunken evenings with Gilderoy lounging across the chaise lounge - truly part of the furniture. Those drunken nights with Stanley had stretched into him spending the evening in one of the guest rooms, and then it was a few more evenings. Now Stanley was an almost constant presence when he wasn’t at work, and Millicent was spending a significant amount of time with Blaise - muttering to one another quietly when they thought their parents weren’t listening. 

It was a Sunday, Sofia reckoned as she dragged herself out of bed. Perhaps today was the day that she would make a traditional british Sunday roast for Blaise, and for Stanley and Millicent who had yet again taken residence in a guest room each last night. Sofia dressed, leaving her hair falling in curls around her face as she headed downstairs to the dining room, where Stanley was already sat nursing a brown liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey. “Buongiourno, Stanley…I see you have been raiding my liquor cabinet once more?” 

Stan wasn’t sure how the world could keep spinning when something so devastating happened made his own world stop cold on its feet.

He never trusted Dumbledore, not fully. The man was always a tad too cunning and sly for his own good, and though friends in school rolled their eyes at him Stan stood by his gut feeling. He played obvious favorites and, in contrast, wasn’t afraid to show distaste for some in his own subtle way. Gilderoy fell into the latter category, and now he paid the price for the headmaster’s poor choices.

Things had been great, really. Stan never fully let go of the fact that Gilderoy had obliviated him to hell and back four different times over the span of a few months, but once they worked past that Stan still found himself head over heels for Gilderoy Lockhart. Some of it probably stemmed from the various different ‘cycles’, as he called them, and how he’d gotten to know Gilderoy despite the man’s best efforts, but he couldn’t deny how his heart beat quicker when he walked into the room, or when he looked at Stan and gave him not his public, picture-perfect smile, but a softer one, a fonder one, accompanied with light touches when they were in public or full-on draping over top of him when they were at home. 

Stan probably seemed paranoid when he suggested Gilderoy not take the teaching job Dumbledore offered, but a pat to the head and a I’ll be fine Stanley, you worry too much soothed his unease before Gilderoy took off, following Millicent to school for her second year. He wrote the both of them frequently, of course, whenever he wasn’t at the Century, and when he could spare it he even caught a few Hogsmeade weekends with Gilderoy to grab lunch with one another. Stan was happy to admit he had been overreacting at the beginning of the year when it happened, erasing him from Gilderoy’s mind and the life they had together in an instant.

He could hardly remember his own name.

Stan never made the conscious decision to go to Sofia Zabini’s manor, at least not the first few times. Though he visited Gilderoy at St. Mungo’s every day, he still grieved the man he loved like he died (which was wrong and he knew that, but how could he not compare the two to one another?), and that grief frequently ended with him staring at the bottom of a bottle wondering how they got into that situation. Millicent stayed with her mother and his flat was too big without someone to share it with, especially when he looked around and saw Gilderoy in every nook and cranny of the place. 

(You really need to decorate, Stanley. What would you do without me?

Probably lose myself. I’m hopeless without you.

Well, I could’ve told you that.) 

Despite their differences, Sofia Zabini was the only one who could truly understand what they both lost, so after her obvious surprise at seeing him on her porch with a bottle of champagne as a peace offering, they both drank themselves and their grief away in her living room.

And again.

And again.

Soon Stan was there more often than not, so much so that a guest room had effectively become his own, with another becoming Millicent’s when he started bringing her along to be with Blaise. It was still painful to be there, but not as much as it was when he was home; he wondered if she’d eventually just give him a key for posterity’s sake. It was this pattern that found him yet again in Sofia’s kitchen on a Sunday morning, forgoing food entirely in favor for a glass or two of whiskey as his breakfast. He glanced up only when Sofia spoke, the woman not nearly as put together as she was when they first met, and gave her a tight smile, lips pressed together and lifting his glass a few inches off the table.

“If it bothers you so much, I can easily replace it,” Stan offered, staring at the liquid in the glass before tilting it back and shutting his eyes while he drank. He set the glass aside and opened them again, staring at a speck on the table as he continued, “Are you coming to visit him later today when Millie and I go?” He’d have to sober up first, but that wasn’t for a while yet. He’d be fine.

“That would be copyright infringement,” Gilderoy replied, vanity thoroughly appeased by the idea that Stanley would brave Sofia’s wrath in order to ensure the success of their next date when, if Halloween was any indication, the pair got on like oil and water. If Gilderoy’s exacting standards and Sofia’s overprotective nature hadn’t driven Stanley away quite yet, maybe there was hope after all.

Gilderoy smiled, in spite of himself, as the elevator doors opened and Stanley pressed a hand to the small of his back to guide him through the lobby ignoring the smirks and waves from his staff as if it wasn’t precisely what he’d intended. Look at me, it broadcasted to the entire floor with a beaming sort of pride that Gilderoy could certainly relate to and perhaps apparition was a more stylish form of travel but Gilderoy was trying, today, to be just a little less demanding of perfection from an imperfect world.

Cars reminded him inherently of Gerald’s home; narrow, winding country roads boxed in by towering hedges. It reminded him of the thick, pungent smell of freshly turned soil and heavy rain and the steady, monosyllabic mooing of cows carrying through the country quiet. He swallowed that memory with the blaring sound of traffic and people and breathed in the sounds of the city, what felt like a million miles away from the person he’d once been, and got into the car. 

“The aquarium,” he replied determinedly aloud as his legs folded up like accordions (cars were not built for people of his stature), “Sounds wonderful.”

And whether Stanley had enhanced his thoroughly muggle car to avoid London’s gridlocked traffic or the tedious affair of finding parking at the aquarium, the ride went smoothly and the world didn’t end before they made it into the middling queue shuffling slowly through the ticket line. And Gilderoy had told himself he was going to give this a proper chance so he reached out and took Stanley’s hand as they waited in line, thoroughly ignoring the nosy looks of the people in line around them and tilting his chin up to an imperious angle.

It was .. nice. He held onto Stanley’s hand as they got their tickets and wandered out of the lobby into the darkened rooms, lit up by the soft wash of blue light from the tanks that lined the walls from ceiling to floor and there was no ceremony or etiquette to adhere to, just the echoey chamber and murmurings as tropical fish darted past in a rainbow of vivid colour, the heat of the tanks and the hum of the filters. His chin craned to watch as twin eels slunk past them, cruising in figure eight’s around them, and released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Look at the eels!” he declared, not entirely caring that it wasn’t refined or cool to be excited over sea creatures and tugging on Stanley’s hand to get him to follow after him. They were graceful, for inherently ugly creatures, slinking through the water together. His smile was reflected back at him in the glass. “Do you think they have names?”

Despite his confidence in today being a good day, Stan was still nervous. The aquarium wasn’t going to be serving them food on fine china, nor was it going to be decorated at the height of fashion. It was simply an aquarium, a place where they could see some exotic and local aquatic animals at their own pace. There was no worrying about a reservation being stolen or the waitstaff spilling wine onto the table; they were in control here, free to walk about at their leisure, and with luck any mishaps that did happen along the way could be easily rectified by simply leaving (or, if need be, the flick of a wand). 

There was still the chance that Gilderoy would hear the suggestion and laugh at it, so to hear that he at least seemed content with the choice of location helped relax Stan’s nerves quite a bit.

Navigating through London traffic was never fun, but they got to the aquarium parking lots sooner rather than later and into the queue a few minutes later. It was moving slowly, an older woman up front arguing with the person manning the ticket booth, but before he could open his mouth to comment about it he felt a hand take his and his brain froze up. Stan looked down and saw Gilderoy’s hand wrapped around his own, and a grin made its way onto his face without him even thinking to do so (not that he would’ve done anything else). Gilderoy was holding his hand. It was already much better than their first date. Stan stepped closer to him when he saw the nosy onlookers, rolling his eyes as he remembered how much muggles frowned on that sort of thing. 

Frankly, they could sod off.

Gilderoy didn’t let go once they got into the aquarium, and Stan took in the gentle blue hue and open area with an appreciative hum. The aquarium, he decided, was certainly the right choice of location, especially when Gilderoy was grinning like a child at Christmas and dragging him along to see the eels. Stan chuckled fondly and glanced around for signs that might have their names, nodding toward it and leaning into Gilderoy to say, “Looks like Kieran and Sarah. Supposedly Kieran has a twin swimming around somewhere in there too, so we’ll have to look for him.” The two eels in front of them swam around one another like they might in a children’s film, and he pointed toward the longer one. “I believe that one is Sarah.”

Dress casual.

Those words had haunted him since the day the note had been slipped under his door, taking on a life of their own and consuming him as he tried to determine what, exactly, he was supposed to grasp from them. Casual. As if anything in Gilderoy’s wardrobe had been crafted with the words casual in mind.

Stanley had to be testing him.

In the passing days he’d found himself intermittently flicking through his wardrobe, forehead furrowed with indecision. By the time that Stanley knocked on his door he had reached his fifteenth iteration of casual wear for the morning and had been studying it critically in the mirror. Crisp white and fawn-brown and carefully sculpted curls stared back at him, equally suspicious. (Wearing lighter colours and rolling the sleeves of his button down back to his elbows did so too count as casual, no matter what the traitorous voice laughing in the back of his head said. If he was still wearing a tie it was only because he had a reputation to uphold.) 

It occurred to him, halfway through opening the door, that he had been so preoccupied with his outfit that he had entirely forgotten to doubt anything else about the day ahead, about second chances or obliviation or the truly regrettable circumstances of their first date, all of which stuck to the tip of his tongue as he opened the door and stared, blinking, at the sight that greeted him.

A picnic basket. Stanley was holding a picnic basket. 

Which was actually, sort of — well, it was respectable, and the smile on Stanley’s face was a stern reminder of why he’d granted him a second chance because it was kind of adorable and Gilderoy was clearly, clearly, not prepared for this at all. “I don’t do casual,” he blurted out in a fashion he would generally be quite ashamed of, because he was a cultivator of conversation, not the kind of person who just said whatever popped into their head. “Clothing, that is,” he added, head tilting curiously like he might be able to figure out what the contents of the picnic basket was if he just stared at it hard enough, “You do realise who you’re dating, don’t you?”

The faintly suspicious furrow of his brow as he pulled the door shut behind him gave way, faintly, to a twitch of a smile. “You’ve been groomed.” It was only faintly accusatory. He’d read a Scamander novel front to back if those weren’t touches of Sofia’s influence he could see everywhere about him.

The fact that Gilderoy saw the picnic basket and didn’t shut the door immediately in his face was something Stan considered a success. He’d been unsure as to whether he would react positively to the idea, and considering that Stan placed all his marbles there it was a good thing it worked out well. He smiled immediately when Gilderoy was in full view, and chuckled quietly at the man’s unusual outburst. “I guess you really don’t know what casual is,” he teased, stepping back to make room for Gilderoy as he closed the door behind him. You do realize who you’re dating, don’t you? sent his heart fluttering, and he felt his neck heat up as he nodded. “I’m well aware of who I’m dating, thanks. Unless there’s another Gilderoy Lockhart I should be looking for?”

You should not trust him, Stanley. 

He shook the echo of Dolores from his mind and nodded toward the elevator. Should he offer his elbow to him? His hand? Hell, was any of that too soon or too cliche? Stan opted for walking close to Gilderoy’s side instead, deciding he’d figure that out later once he saw how the date went. Of course he noticed the grooming that Sofia did, and Stan sputtered a bit with a half-hearted laugh. “Maybe a little. She offered back at Halloween, so I took her up on it. I meant it when I said you deserve the best, Gil.”

Stan shut his mouth before he could gush anymore, not wanting to sound like he was trying to butter Gilderoy up because of last time, and decided fuck it as he placed his hand at the small of Gilderoy’s back to guide him toward his car outside. “It’s a bit too open to just apparate there,” he said, ignoring the smirk Mags sent their way and the unsubtle thumbs up from dear old Randy. He was free from any other possible embarrassments from his nosy employees (Merlin knew he loved them anyway) once they left the building, and he dropped his hand to unlock the car for them both. Stan tucked the basket into the backseat before heading to the driver’s seat, shutting the door firmly behind him and looking toward Gilderoy.

“Ready? The aquarium opens in twenty minutes--plenty of time to park and get tickets. It’s no ocean cruise or Africa, but a taste of elsewhere is better than staring at London all day, right?” Maybe he sounded slightly defensive of his choice in destination, not wanting Gilderoy to be disappointed again, but he’d woken up with a good feeling about the day ahead of him and refused to let that feeling go. Everything would be fine.

The halls of Zabini Manor had seen many a tragedy. The loss of two husbands while they lived within these four walls. The annual anniversaries of the deaths of her parents, the death of her sister. Never mind the foul mood that Sofia was often in after an encounter with Kingsley when she knew it would be the last for what might be years, depending on whether she found a way to entice him out or not. Surely, however, today was the manor’s darkest day. Not only was there a half-blood the likes of Bulstrode besmirching her walls. Sofia nodded slowly, her eyes still scanning the paper he held before she glanced away once more. “They are good places, with wonderful food and service. You really cannot go wrong if you use one of them.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me. I am like a tornado, darling. You cannot stop my will once I have my mind set on something,” Sofia reached for her pack of cigarettes, placing one delicately between her lips. “If Gilderoy indeed does move in here to be my badly behaved pool boy, entertaining myself and my future husbands, then I shall surely have no need to step inside your den of sin.”

Sofia stepped closer, looking him over once more. “Not that bad doesn’t necessarily mean good. You could use a trim, at the very least. My hairdresser is one of the best, they will have you looking your utmost. If there is ever a time to put your effort into your appearance, now is it. Your suit does a great deal for your appearance, but with a tidy up of your hair and whatever is going on with your face then…..you will be fine.”

He took another note of the list before nodding slowly, deciding to look more into the details of the places Sofia suggested when he got home. They certainly sounded delicious, and Stan was sure that Gilderoy would be pleased with one of them, but he wanted to see them for himself. The last thing he wanted was another mess up based on a suggestion, even if these were places the two of them went often.

Sin den. Stan huffed a laugh before he could stop himself and shook his head, sure that the tornado known as Sofia Zabini would tear his head off for daring to laugh at that. “I suppose some might see it that way,” he said, glancing at her. “Unfortunately for you, I’m rather proud of my business. I’m still not entirely sure why you insist on putting energy toward a place you clearly despise, despite Gilderoy living there.” With luck, Gilderoy wouldn’t find the need to become Sofia’s pool boy, so long as this date went well.

“Well then I trust them implicitly,” he said, not sure what else he could say. The tailor she’d brought in had done wonders with the expensive suit, so surely she wouldn’t fall short on the smaller scale of hair, right? It took some time and ground nerves, but eventually nightfall came around and Stan felt as ready as he could for the date ahead. He took the suit and glanced at his cleaned up face one last time in the mirror, looking back to Sofia. “Thank you again. I know you don’t like me much, if at all, so I appreciate you even bothering to help me.”

Dolores breathed a sigh of relief. It was apparent that whatever her father had told Stanley, he didn’t remember it or at the very least didn’t believe what he had been told. It wasn’t like father was an open book, much like his daughter Orford Umbridge preferred to recreate his history. Orford’s real life had been rather pitiful and disappointing, not amounting to much. Dolores supposed that found family might be a nice concept for someone who actually needed the company and reassurance of others. She wasn’t one of those people. “I appreciate your attempts to comfort me, Stanley.” Dolores answered quickly, “He might be a failure but I suppose all of these struggles have made me who I am today. I don’t particularly need anyone anyway, I have my ambition to keep me warm at night.”

Gilderoy. That stupid, pretentious name that seemed to be haunting Dolores wherever she went these days. She had been in the middle of another sip of peach cocktail when the name had spilled out of Stanley’s mouth. Leading her to choke on the combination of fruit juices and alcohol, unladylike spittle flying all over the top of the bar. Much to her horror and disgust. Dolores turned her face, coughing into the crook of her elbow until she could clear her throat, finally catching her breath. It felt like an eternity before she turned to face Stanley once more, her eyes now red and watery. “Gilderoy Lockhart?” she prodded, knowing full well what answer he would give her. Dolores couldn’t imagine there would be anyone else running around with such an idiotic name.

Was that how that bleeding idiot Gerald was doing it? Going around, haphazardly casting memory charms on people, wearing atrocious and gaudy vests that would make Liberace blush? That same bitter churning in her stomach returned as well as a peculiar protective feeling over Stanley. The man may be just a half blood but at least he was a vaguely decent man with morals. Gerald had no right to toy with his memory, if that is what he had been doing. It was infuriating, repulsive even, that he was still getting away with whatever he wanted after all these years.

Dolores pulled a few napkins from the dispenser next to her, wiping the spittle from the top of the bar before clearing her throat to speak again. “What do you know of Gilderoy Lockhart?” she asked, looking up to meet Stanley’s gaze once again, “He is not a man that should be trusted.”

He snorted as Dolores brushed off his attempts to connect with her easily, if not subtly. He knew when he was defeated (usually, at least), so Stan just nodded and gave her a half-shrug. “If that’s all you need at night, then who am I to tell you otherwise? Just know my door’s open if you ever need to talk, or want some company, or what-have-you.”

At the mention of Gilderoy’s name Dolores spat her drink out, the small sip she’d taken covering the counter Mags had just wiped down. He could practically feel the glower his bartender was throwing their way as Dolores recovered, and Stan raised an eyebrow at her before placing himself strategically between her and Dolores. He turned the expression to Dolores as she wiped up what she’d spat and said Gilderoy’s name with a toxicity that he hadn’t expected, immediately piquing his interest. A man with the personality Gilderoy exhibited was bound to have some enemies; people he mistreated once or blew off without a second thought. He wondered what, exactly, Gilderoy had done to earn Dolores’ ire.

“Unless you know any other Gilderoys,” he said slowly, grabbing a rag from behind the bar to wipe down the area she cleaned with sanitizer as well. He had other customers to think of once she left with her father, after all. The fact that she insisted Gilderoy shouldn’t be trusted, though, gave him pause, and he put the rag away slowly as he thought. “I know that he’s charming and a bragger,” Stan said slowly. “Dramatic and full of himself at times, but also sweet in his own way. I’m not sure he even knows I’ve noticed that.” He sighed. “I like him, Dolores, plain and simple. We’ve got a date coming up soon, actually. You’ll have to give me a good reason as to why I shouldn’t trust him, because I can be a pretty forgiving person. Think I’d cross the line at murder and treason though.” 

One of those things. Amelia choked out another sob, resting her head in her elbows. Stan’s words, while truthful, weren’t the sort of comfort Amelia had been looking for. What she had wanted was a pretty lie, someone to tell her there was still some sort of hope for her. “I’m sorry.” she mumbled, her head still buried between her arms. Unsure of whether the stranger had really heard her or not. Amelia could sense him sitting something in front of her. What she assumed would probably be water. It was when she felt some movement next to her that she finally lifted her head once again. Messily wiping her face on the sleeves of her costume.

Amelia listened, as closely as she could, as the man explained how he felt about his someone special. The look in his eyes, something sparkling, like from a movie. It was sweet, touching even, and made Amelia’s heart ache in the same way it did when she saw how happy her parents were with one another. It must be true love, only that could make someone look so goofy and smitten all at once. She had always tried to be independent of relationships despite having fallen once or twice for someone during her school years. There had always been some sort of healthy distance between. A line. With Amycus it felt like there wasn’t any barrier and, deep down, Amelia knew that she didn’t want there to be one.

“I think it might be love.” she said miserably. Or at least, it could’ve been. If Amelia had been sober, she knew she wouldn’t be so open or honest about the feelings she’d been having for weeks now. Assuming she would probably never see this stranger again, throwing caution to the wind seemed like a good idea. “That’s how I feel about him.” Amelia sighed, gazing sadly into the glass of water in front of her like it might hold some sort of answers, “Like your boyfriend…Maybe it’s crazy, to feel this intensely about something that never was but he’s different.”

I’m sorry, she said, and Stan’s eyes immediately went wide because no that wasn’t where he’d been going. The point of all of this was to try and comfort the girl, even if that comfort was accompanied by a little dose of reality check, but her apologizing for being upset was the exact opposite of what Stan wanted. “Hey, don’t be sorry,” he said gently, shaking his head despite knowing she wouldn’t see it. “You don’t have to be sorry over a few tears. Drink some of the water though, it’ll help.” It wasn’t like he’d never seen sad drunks before.

She listened while he rambled, which he was grateful for, because honestly he had no idea where he’d been going with that line of thought otherwise. It was far too early to call anything love in his life, but she seemed to relate to it, so something must have hit home. “In that case, why let the love go away?” he asked, feeling more fond for the drunken girl than he probably should have. Mags said he brought in strays regularly--maybe this was what she meant. Then he heard the word boyfriend and Stan immediately went red, shaking his head quickly. “I, uh, he’s not my boyfriend. Not yet, anyway, though I hope... well, it’ll depend on how our date goes. Really mucked up the first one, so this is going to be a make-it-or-break-it kind of situation.” 

Why, exactly, was he telling a stranger all of this? Probably for the same reason she was telling him her own woes, really. Sometimes people just needed to vent--no issue with that. “I don’t think it’s crazy,” he said softly. “Sometimes when you know, you know. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve known him, or the circumstances around it. The real question is whether or not you do something about it. Sitting at a bar getting drunk, for example, won’t help, but talking to him will.” He shrugged. “Just a thought.”

An amused smirk tugged at the corner of her lips at Stan’s clear frustration and the pause where he was clearly trying to settle himself. Sofia hadn’t spent nearly enough time arguing recently, she was dying to really get her teeth into an argument and go for the jugular. But she couldn’t - for Gilderoy’s sake. The amount of love that she had for that man would be the death of her, she was sure of it. “Tell yourself whatever you need to in order to justify a second date. Bene, stick by these restaurants and you’ll be golden.”

Sofia laughed coldly, a sound with no amusement in it. “I shall step into the casino if I want to. I’m within my right to seek out my dearest friend, and he just so happens to live under your roof….for whatever reason. I suspect if you manage to ruin this attempt, you might not be his landlord much longer. He’s already entertained the idea of moving in here to be my darling pool boy.”

“I’ll say whatever I want to say in my own home. Need I remind you that you are here, in my property, asking for my help and I will be spending a great deal of money on the tailor. I shall say what I like,” Sofia snapped, a scowl darkening her face for a moment. Her scowl passed and her face softened slightly as Stan thanked her. “I said I would do anything for my Gilderoy, and so here I am.” Sofia narrowed her eyes for a moment, before summoning Cara once more. “Cara my darling, please call the hairdresser. We must sort this out. Will you be shaving?”

The smirk only served to heighten his frustration with the woman before him, but it seemed they were both playing a game of feigned politeness toward the other. Sofia made her dislike for Stan obvious the moment they met, but he couldn’t help being grateful that she was at least trying for Gilderoy’s sake. They both were, as much as it pained him (and, Stan was sure, Sofia as well). “I’ll keep them in mind. Thank you.”

The laugh nearly sent a chill down Stan’s spine, and there was the temperament he’d been expecting to battle the entire time he was there. The thing was, Sofia was likely right that Gilderoy would be gone if this date went awry as well, and that was the last thing Stan wanted to happen. As much as he complained about Gilderoy’s... unique mannerisms, he knew he’d miss the man’s antics the moment he moved out. It would be a little lonely, even. “I never said you weren’t allowed into the casino,” he said, patience running thin. “Just that I didn’t think you’d willingly step into it if you could help it, especially if he becomes your pool boy.” The image was entertaining, to say in the least.

Stan tensed as Sofia snapped at him, and he frowned as she defended saying such disrespectful things about his employees. She was right, sure, but that didn’t mean Stan had to like it. “Fine, fine. Suit yourself.” No doubt he’d be paying this suit back anyhow. At least she was keeping to her word and helping him despite their differences. His hand flew to his head when she mentioned a hairdresser. “My hair isn’t that bad,” he said, glancing back into the mirror. Was it? “Nah, just cleaning up. I’ve got a baby face when I shave completely.”

Round two. Here we go. 

To say that Stan was nervous would be a hell of an understatement. This was his last chance to impress a man he really liked, one who evidently liked him back (though he couldn’t imagine why), and he refused to ruin it again. He had fretted for days after his visit with Sofia to figure out which of the restaurants he’d bring Gilderoy to and kept his bedroom door closed to protect the suit to the chagrin of Elijah, but something still didn’t feel right while he looked at it all. It certainly felt up to Gilderoy’s standards, sure, but shouldn’t it feel like him as well? They were both meant to be doing something fun, after all. An idea began to form in his head, and he slipped a note under Gilderoy’s door before beginning to plan it out.

Dress casual. See you Saturday. - Stan

He just hoped this didn’t fuck everything up. Gilderoy was a man of high taste, after all, but he had a good feeling about this time around. Taking some of the advice from Sofia, he carefully cultivated food the man was guaranteed to like and a wine that wouldn’t offend his taste buds before tucking them into a basket charmed to keep everything cool, fresh, and protected from damage. Though casual, he still dressed nicer than his normal go-to clothes and made sure he was tidy enough to make Sofia proud. The aquarium would open in half an hour--just enough time to get there, find parking, and get their ticket inside. Just as he was about to leave his flat and get Gilderoy, his conversation with Dolores came to the forefront of his head, and gave him pause.

What do you know of Gilderoy Lockhart? He is not a man that should be trusted.

No, he wouldn’t worry about that now. Now, he would go out for a nice afternoon and hopefully score a second (third?) date. Stan would worry about that later. With that decision in mind, Stan grabbed the basket, locked his flat, and headed over to Gilderoy’s door, swallowing thickly to keep his nerves at bay. Moment of truth. He delayed a second more before raising his hand and knocking on the door.

When life gets hard And you feel all alone, Remember that you mean  The world to me

In the end, We will remember Not the words of our enemies, But the silence of our Friends

Ashamed of his monstrous form, The beast concealed himself inside his castle, With a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.

The Rose she had offered, Was truly an enchanted rose, Which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another, And earn her love in return By the time the last petal fell, Then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast For all time.

As the years passed, He fell into despair, and lost all hope, For who could ever learn to love... a Beast?

“Father was not the greatest.” Dolores offered, surprised that the words were coming out of her mouth. Perhaps, she had wanted to be talk about her childhood ( or at least, some of it ) instead of sweeping it under the proverbial rug. Orford had always been more absentee than anything, crueler to his wife than any of his children. “Not abusive just not present, despite what factual inaccuracies he might have spouted to you under the influence. He’s always been bad with money too. It simply drove mother insane before her death.” Mother wasn’t dead, of course, but she might as well have been in Dolores’s mind. She hadn’t seen her since she was a teenager. 

“Lucky indeed,” she added, making sure to hold her breath as she took another few sips of her drink. The peach flavor was just a tad overwhelming but Dolores would at least pretend to like it. For Stanley’s sake. “Family is always touted as being one of the most important things..Unfortunately we don’t get to pick who our family are.” The statement was punctuated by a bitter glance in her father’s direction before looking turning her attention back to Stanley.

Memories were a peculiar thing, transient, flowing, something that could be easily manipulated or changed. Raising a curious eyebrow, Dolores straightened her spine, listening as Stanley explained to her how he had been feeling over the course of the past few weeks. It was a strange question to ask and though he was the closest thing Dolores would consider to an actual ally, it seemed such a personal question. “Not really.” Dolores answered, taking another sip of her cocktail and trying to cringe over it, “You’re not that old Stanley, perhaps you should see a healer?”

“Unless you’ve made someone angry and they’ve decided to obliviate you.” Dolores snorted, the suggestion not seeming feasible in the least. Stanley seemed an honest businessmen, despite owning a casino. He wasn’t like the shady types that seemed to populate the bars and shops of Knockturn Alley. “Does someone owe you money, maybe?” she asked, “Besides Orford, of course.”

“I’ve taken to half-believing in what my drunken patrons say to me while I’m on the clock unless it’s particularly concerning,” Stan assured her, raising an eyebrow. Frankly, he couldn’t recall off the top of his head any of what Orford might have told him about his family, if he’d said anything at all. The man was usually rambling on about his next big break at the betting tables while he wasted money on the most expensive drinks he could have Mags make, much to his bartender’s discontent. It wasn’t like Mags was a particularly cheerful person anyway, but something about Orford, much like Sofia Zabini, made her frown more than usual.

Considering what Dolores just told him with what he already knew, Stan could see why. 

“Family isn’t always the most important thing,” he agreed, though that wasn’t the case for him. Stan adored his children, knew he would adore his second daughter when she was born as well, and would do almost anything for them. He’d loved his parents just as much, and still did in a distant sort of way--it had been twenty-four years since they died, so the pain that came with that was no longer there, but he’d be lying if he said he thought about them every day. That wasn’t the case for everyone, though, he knew that much. Still... “Ever hear of this thing called found family? It’s exactly what it says on the tin: make a family for yourself when your bio one is shit. That counts as picking your family if you let yourself, doesn’t it?”

Not really. Stan frowned even more when she confirmed that whatever was going on was not, in fact, normal, and she was absolutely right: he wasn’t that old, no matter how much Mercy and Elijah acted otherwise. There was no reason for feeling like something was missing or that he’d lost any of his memory at all, but the word obliviate came out of her mouth and Stan tensed visibly. Why would anyone want to obliviate him? It made no sense. “I don’t think I’ve made anyone angry?” he said, ending as a question rather than the statement he’d aimed for. His eyes darted to Orford, and Stan exhaled slowly as he thought. 

“Only one I can immediately think of right now is Gilderoy and his bar tab, but honestly after the god awful date I took him on I think I can call us even for the moment,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “Maybe I’m just going crazy.”

“You certainly came to the right person. I know Gilderoy better than anyone else, my closest friend in the whole world.” Really, he was her only friend. Sofia had developed a fondness for the young Amelia Bones, but Sofia wouldn’t go so far to call her a friend yet. Certainly a fond acquaintance, but friend was reserved for someone Sofia loved and accepted with her whole heart. “You say that, and yet I have it on good authority that you managed to fuck it up by talking last time.”

Saving ideology for another time. The thought amused her and a small smirk played on her lips. Ideology was the defining point of their society at the minute - what with Lord Voldemort taking a stand against the poison within their society. Setting ideology aside was almost impossible, but she could keep her lips pressed together for now while Stanley stood before her. She inclined her head as Stanley said he was here seriously, and the tension in her shoulders relaxed slightly. “If you waste my time, you’ll never hear the end of it, Stanley. Don’t forget….I know where you live.”

Sofia took another long, desperate gulp of her wine as Stanley took the addresses from her. “The circled restaurant is possibly my favourite place in the whole United Kingdom. The service is exceptional, the food is always astounding and the drinks are sublime. Far better than anything your Magnolia can create,” Sofia hummed, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Any date there would certainly be acceptable to Gilderoy.”

Sofia hovered outside the parlour in the hallway until she was summoned back in, and she immediately exclaimed her approval. “Perfezionare!” She took a few steps towards Stanley, brushing a small thread of cotton away from one of the shoulders. “Far better. The colour suits you, and the material is obviously well made. It’s perfect.”

Stan sighed in exasperation, counting to ten before deciding to speak. “It wasn’t the conversation that fucked it up." Save for when he mentioned the farmers that had come through the Century a bit back, but not everyone was interested in that sort of thing. Other than the obvious disasters, he could have sworn Gilderoy wasn’t at least hating the conversation. He wouldn’t have agreed to another date if it was that bad, right? “But that’s neither here nor there, I suppose. Needless to say, I won’t be going there again.”

As if Sofia Zabini didn’t have a threatening aura already, she went on to make a verbal threat as well, and Stan clenched his jaw to keep himself from otherwise reacting. Honestly, other than the type of business he ran, Stan couldn’t figure out why she was so intent on hating him. He understood that people didn’t trust casinos, and that was of their own prerogative (and not without merit, frankly), but she seemed very dedicated toward not liking him in the least. It was like he personally offended Sofia by existing. “Thought you wouldn’t step foot in the Century again,” he said coolly, raising an eyebrow at her. “But alright. I swear this won’t be a waste of your time.”

“Mags is far better than you give her credit for,” he said defensively, frowning at Sofia. He kept telling himself to not start a fight with Sofia in her own home, but he wasn’t about to let her trash talk his employees--his friends, really--and expect him to let it slide. “She may not be up to your standard, but plenty of people like the drinks she makes, including Gil.” At least, Stan assumed Gilderoy did. Why else would he keep going back and adding to his ridiculously large, unpaid bar tab? “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak ill about my staff in front of me, thank you.”

Despite his frustration with her, Stan couldn’t help feeling proud when Sofia said he looked good for once, rather than criticize him yet again. He glanced back in the mirror and nodded in agreement. A moment passed, and he sighed. “I suppose I should thank you for doing this at all. The suit looks great.” It would look even better once it was properly tailored, but still. Stan looked back to her. “Anything other tips I should know about? I’ve got all day.”

Trust me I’m aware. It was a miracle that Gilderoy had granted Stanley even a second chance, which…perhaps was the only reason she was willing to help him at all. She had never seen Gilderoy grant a second chance, so there must be something there….even if it were something small. “Well when I am done with you you won’t have the chance to mess it up. Everything shall be planned and sorted, you just have to…..not fuck it up,” Sofia murmured as she took another long sip of her wine. She would need a whole bottle to cope with the hell that this day was going to be.

Why couldn’t he have chosen a rainy day full of thunder? Why did it have to be a day where the sun was shining, when she could’ve gone on a lovely long walk. Raising her eyebrow as Stanley talked down on pureblood ideology, Sofia bit back a retort aimed at reminding him where he was and whose house he was in. Perhaps one day she might find herself on the opposing end of a battlefield to Stanley Bulstrode, and she would not hesitate. “You are a half-blood? It is disappointing, the dilution of our blood these days,” Sofia sighed. “Italy is much the same, far too many half-bloods and not many pure-bloods around. Anyway, today is not about ideology. It is about sorting you out so you are suitable for a date with my dear friend. You best remember my lessons, or I shan’t be happy…wasting my time like this.”

“I have a list of the places we frequent. I will find the list, but all the places have excellent service and excellent food,” Sofia hummed, standing to rifle through some papers in a drawer as he spoke until she found her address book. The notion of wanting to be equal with Gilderoy was admirable, she supposed. Summoning some parchment and a quill, Sofia slowly scribbled down some of their favoured places, circling one in particular. Handing it over to Stanley, she pointed at that one. “This is one of his favourites….if you can afford it.”

The door to the parlour opened slowly and Cara stepped through the door, closely followed by the tailor. “Mr Bell,” Cara introduced before vanishing again as Sofia nodded her head. She walked over to greet him with a firm handshake and a gracious smile.. “I hope you have what Cara asked you to bring?” Sofia asked, and Bell smiled. “Of course. An Italian suit, blue. We can make the adjustments when I have measured him. Stand, Mr Bulstrode.”

Sofia glanced between the two before summoning the bottle of wine. “Call me back in when you’re done with the measuring. This is something I certainly do not need to see.”

“Somehow i think it’ll go better with you planning it anyway,” he said, willing to give her that at least. Stan was still a bit bummed that whatever game he’d had in Hogwarts seemed to vanish with age, but he wasn’t above asking for help. He was here, wasn’t he? “I think I can manage not to fuck up just being there and talking with him.” 

He bristled a little when she talked down on his halfblood status, but he supposed he was going to hear a lot of talking down on throughout the day. It was in Sofia’s nature to let no flaw go unmentioned when it came to Stan, and he’d submitted himself to her care anyway. Just go along with it, don’t insult her in her own home. “Yeah, we can save ideology for another time,” he said, though he highly doubted he’d have a conversation with Sofia that was that deep anytime in the near future, if ever. Having been on the end of Sofia’s anger, he could only imagine the telling off he’d get if he forgot a smidge of what she taught him. “I’ll remember it, don’t worry. I’m here seriously, Sofia, not to waste your time. Or Gilderoy’s, for that matter.”

He watched quietly as Sofia stood and rummaged through her belongings for an address book. When she handed him the written list of places, he looked over them all with a slightly raised eyebrow. Stan swore he recognized one or two of them from years back, an off-handed mention by his grandparents before they both bit the dust. The circled one sounded promising, though, and he folded the paper carefully to place in his breast pocket. “There’s no question of whether I can afford these,” he said, smirking. “I’m a Bulstrode, remember? I didn’t invest all of my money into the muggle world. Pretty sure my grandparents would roll in their graves if I did.”

Stan stood when Sofia did and eyed the tailor curiously, not having a chance to get a word in before Sofia was gone and Mr. Bell was at his side for measurements. He hadn’t bothered to get himself an overly expensive suit in years, too busy between his casino and his kids to care, but he had to admit they looked good. Blue may have even been his color, to his surprise. Stan glanced in the summoned mirror before calling Sofia back in. It would look better without the pins stuck into it and a few places folded, but it was a general idea. “Well. Better than my grey suits?”

A loaded question to ask a a stranger but the words had slipped out before Amelia could stop herself. She had lifted her head, sitting up as she used both sleeves to wipe away the remnants of tears on her cheeks. She had been drinking entirely too much. That much would be apparent to anyone with half a brain. Words and phrases from her conversation with Alecto bouncing back and forth in her head, anxiety blooming in her chest as she teetered on the edge of hysterics and sanity. It had been that way for the past hour or so, ever since the bartender, Mags, had handed Amelia her last mixed drink with a look of apprehension on her face. Amelia had tried to corner the woman into awkward conversation about relationships, the older woman had just been smart enough to seem busy.

She wasn’t exactly sure why she was crying anyway. Alecto had all but assured her that Amycus liked her. Making it clear that Amelia would know if the circumstances had been otherwise. Amelia just couldn’t shake the strange bereft feeling in her chest, as if she had lost something important to her. Fear of trusting someone else, someone who was admittedly a little behind in social cues, suddenly seemed terrifying and overwhelming. That coupled with the embarrassment and unsolicited advice at work. The fact that she had seen neither hide nor hair of Amycus over the past couple of days. It was all too much.

The man in front of her had been an easy target to latch onto. For one, he was there. Present and obviously caught off guard by her peculiar question. Unlike his employees who had been strategically trying to avoid the drunk crying cat girl like the plague.

“Not really a break-up.” Amelia sighed miserably, sniffing loudly in a very unladylike manner, “It’s very complicated but it’s like…It didn’t even begin and then went up in flames?” Amelia paused for a few moments before adding, “How do you know if you love, love someone?”

“Ah. One of those things.” He’d been on both ends of that sort of thing, once during Hogwarts and once with Mercy’s mother. It was a bummer, but sometimes it just couldn’t be avoided. Stan felt for the girl, though he figured giving her another drink was probably a bad idea. He instead got her a cup of water and placed it in front of her, then sat at her side and shrugged. “Look, if it went up in flames already then maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Either that, or whoever it is will realize they fucked up and try to get in touch with you eventually. You can’t let that get you down, though. Life goes on, trust me.”

How do you know if you love someone? Stan let out a low whistle at yet another loaded question, staring at a stain on the bar as he tried to figure out how to answer that. He thought he’d felt it with Amanda, but once Mercy came around she was gone in a flash. For years he thought Marie was the love of his life, but with how much they broke up and got back together it wasn’t a good long-term relationship. Having kids together didn’t equate to love, after all, at least not a romantic kind of love. His mind flashed to Gilderoy, how his heartbeat quickened whenever he was in the room and how, despite his teasing, he hung onto almost every word the man said. He was captivating, energetic, and it was far too easy for Stan to become ensnared.

“I’m not sure I’d use the word love,” he said slowly, glancing back at her. “It’s still way too new to call it that, but... whenever I see him a smile is automatically on my face. Hell, we could talk for hours, or he could really, and I would hardly notice the time flying by. Just spending time with him is an honor in itself, and I’m just glad he chooses to spend his time with me.” Stan laughed awkwardly and ran a hand through his hair. “And then he gave me a second chance for messing up, which he never does, so I know he cares too. I guess the point of that is...” Stan went quiet again, not sure if he wanted to admit something so cheesy out loud after only knowing Gilderoy for two months (but he swore it was longer). 

“If you can’t imagine your life without seeing them in it, then I think that’s love. Wouldn’t it be?”

Neither peach nor sangria were particular favorites of Dolores but she simply nodded in response as he placed the drink in front of her. Dolores was usually the type to make a fuss, speak with the manager when she was displeased. Demand her money back in the most obnoxious way possible, but since Stanley had technically been doing her a favor, Dolores opted to keep her mouth shut and at least attempt to be appreciative for once in her life. “It’s fine, thank you.” she replied, the words feeling strange and foreign on her tongue. What did it matter anyway? All she really wanted was something to curve that anger that was currently bubbling up inside her at the very thought of her father still living.

Stan’s unsolicited advice wasn’t something Dolores necessarily appreciated but, she supposed, sometimes it was nice to hear a different point of view. At the very least, have someone talk her off the edge before she was about to jump. She’d gleaned throughout her years at Hogwarts, her childhood, and even at work, that’s often what “friends” did for one another. Told each other harsh truths or pretty lies, gave advice even when a person didn’t request it. Stanley Bulstrode was probably as close as she would get to having an actual friend, not that she needed or wanted them anyway.

Dolores took a sip of her drink. It wasn’t that bad, despite the strong sickly saccharine flavor of the peach schnapps. Dolores tried not to make a face, instead steeling herself and taking a few longer sips. He made it for her without a fuss, the least she could do was pretend to like it.  “Oh, I’m not serious Stanley.” Dolores smiled, though there was something strange and unsettling in her eyes. Dolores was most definitely serious and if the risk of going to Azkaban wasn’t a possibility, she might even try to get rid of Orford. Even if it meant getting her own hands dirty. Her father had definitely never done her any favors in her thirty years of life. Her giving him money at all should be treated like a blessing.

“Father is just getting older and I’m not too certain how much longer I can keep an eye on him and work at the same time.” Dolores offered, “You can see he doesn’t remember my mother dying…I have no siblings so everything’s dependent on me taking care of him. I’m sure you can understand the conundrum I’m in.”

Try as she might, Stan still caught the hint of someone drinking something they didn’t like when Dolores took the first sip of her sangria, and then a few longer ones. He’d finished off plenty of drinks he didn’t like in his lifetime, and he’d had plenty of people complain to him when their drinks weren’t great, so he appreciated that she at least tried to act like she was enjoying it. His pride had already taken enough of a beating in the past few weeks, and to have another blow at it would’ve sucked massively. He could get over it no problem, but still. It was the principle of the matter. He made a note to not make something with peach for Dolores when he next made her a drink and sipped at his own quietly.

I’m not serious, Stanley, she said, but there was a manic spark behind her eyes that told Stan she was likely at least a little serious about committing her father. “I guess I couldn’t totally blame you,” he said slowly, raising an eyebrow. “My grandparents were real pieces of work while I grew up. Frustrating as hell.” Not that he’d encourage it, mind, but Stan could see her point of view. 

“I guess, but I got lucky. My grandparents died before I had to take care of them.” And maybe that sounded cruel, but Stan refused to take it back. His grandparents had been absolute shit toward his parents and toward him, so they deserved it. The thought of Dolores committing her father because of memory, though... he supposed it made sense, but he had a suspicion that he might be suffering the same thing. There were blanks in his mind that he couldn’t decipher, the biggest one so far being the night of the Puddletown attack. He remembered going there, but actually being there and getting back to the Century was a loss to him. He’d pre-gamed, but not hard enough to be blackout. “If it’s only minor memory loss, I don’t think that’s a huge problem,” he said slowly, furrowing his eyebrows. “Pretty sure I have some of that myself.”

Stan went quiet for a moment, an inkling in his head, and he slowly asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re missing something important? Information you knew just... gone, or time spent with people, or... something along those lines.”