HPFC: Convince Me Competition: Pairing: Gilderoy Lockhart/Poppy Pomfrey

Word Count: 2267

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or any characters in Harry Potter. All rights go to J. K. Rowling.

Warning: Canon memory loss

Gilderoy watched as Poppy closed the door leading to his office. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Harry Potter had just been discharged from the Hospital Wing, and the Hogwarts matron had promised Gilderoy that she'd be paying him a visit as soon as the boy was well again. He smirked to himself. She'd seemed impatient to see him; obviously she had been dying to get a free moment so that she could meet one of her favorite authors. He'd know that he'd be dying to meet himself, if he were in her place. But the poor matron was so busy fixing the scrapes and scratches that these schoolchildren always seemed to be getting to do anything about it, so she'd decided enough was enough and that she would just get it over with as soon as Potter finished regrowing his bones. Well, he'd reward her with his full attention.

"Hello, Madam. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, sending her what was sure to be a heart-stopping smile.

Poppy frowned disapprovingly. "Mr. Lockhart, I came to talk to you about the, shall we say, circumstances surrounding the disappearance of thirty-three of Mr. Potter's bones."

Gilderoy's smile faltered. Were they really discussing work? "My dear Poppy, I—"

"That would be Madam Pomfrey to you, Professor Lockhart."

"You can call me Gilderoy, Madam." He was fairly baffled, but that wasn't going to stop him from being his charming self. Witches loved having the opportunity to call him by his first name.

"I hope you understand, Professor Lockhart, why I feel obligated to decline your offer. You see, I take the safety of all the students here very seriously"—he tried to interrupt, but Poppy just raised her voice and continued—"and I simply cannot allow a matter that compromises that safety to be swept under the rug. I am appalled that it was a teacher who caused harm to Harry Potter. Broken bones I can fix in an instant, but regrowing bones is a long and painful process. Very unpleasant. You should be quite ashamed of yourself, Professor Lockhart. Magic should only be performed on students in a real emergency, and then only by a caster who knows what they are doing."

Embarrassment flooded through Gilderoy. He was at a loss for words, which wasn't something that happened to him very often. But more than that...he did feel ashamed. As he gazed into her piercing blue eyes and saw just how serious she was about this, he couldn't help feeling anything but remorse. To her, this wasn't about just one boneless arm or a teacher's blunder; this was about a possible threat to the students under her care. And she thought he was the threat. Gilderoy Lockhart had been called many things during his lifetime, but a threat was not one of them.

It made him feel...uncomfortable. And he didn't like that. At all.

"My sincerest apologies, Madam. I didn't mean to, ah, worry you. You are one-hundred percent right. Next time such an incident occurs, I will refrain from showcasing my skills and leave the students in your most capable hands." He smiled disarmingly at her.

Was it just him, or was there a faint pink dusting across Poppy's cheekbones? Gilderoy noted with a small amount of glee that she seemed to be struggling just slightly to keep her expression schooled into a disapproving one. Perhaps she wasn't as stern and prickly as he'd originally thought.

Poppy gave him a stiff nod and curtly said, "Thank you," before ducking out. Gilderoy watched her leave with interested eyes.

She had confronted him about his behavior, which, thanks to his celebrity status, people didn't do often. When they did, they were always trying to find some kind of fault with him, be it with his writing style, his personal style, or with reasons why he shouldn't have won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile. Poppy, however, hadn't done any of that, not really. She'd yelled at him, yes, but she hadn't been yelling at him for botching the spell; she'd been yelling at him because it had put a student in harm's way.

It was...nice, in a way. He'd been good at Charms in school, but had been only average in every other subject. It had been frustrating that no one else seemed to see him because of this. He'd never stood out to anyone, until very recent years. But Poppy—she'd seen him mess a spell up, yet she didn't seem to care about the messing up part, about the imperfect part. She'd only cared that it had hurt Harry Potter.

She made him wonder if she'd care if he, say, broke a flower pot and the charm he cast to fix it only repaired half of the pot. If she would not be interested in him if he proved unable to repel a boggart, if he couldn't make a mandrake grow, if he failed to take care of a flobberworm on his own. Based on the evidence he currently had, she wouldn't.

He decided that he wanted to be around her more. This was the closest he had ever come to feeling someone accept him, and it was intoxicating. He wanted to find out more about her, and a small part of Gilderoy wanted her to find out more about him.

"Knock, knock," Lockhart announced himself as he stepped through the doorway and into the Hospital Wing. In one hand he was holding a signed card wishing one of his students a quick recovery, and in the other hand he held a small bouquet of pink and blue poppies, hidden behind his back.

Poppy turned towards the door, surprise written all over her face. She looked like she had been straightening up some potions. "Professor Lockhart?" she asked, confusion coloring her tone. "Is there something you need?"

"Well, Madam, I was hoping that you could deliver this to Ms. Addington. I understand that she was hit with a nasty hex yesterday." Gilderoy walked over and handed the card to Poppy.

She eyed him thoughtfully as she took it, and then she glanced down at the card. A smile blossomed on her face. "This is very kind of you, Professor Lockhart," she said earnestly, glancing between him and the card, smile never faltering. "I'm sure Ms. Addington will be delighted to receive it."

"I hope she won't be the only one happy to receive something from me."

Poppy's smile fell away then, and a confused frown took its place. "Oh?"

Gilderoy revealed the poppies with a dramatic flourish. "These, Madam, are for you."

This time, there was definitely a blush on the matron's face. "I suppose you think you're being clever. You aren't the first to play this trick, Professor. Besides, poppies represent remembrance for those lost, or consolation for someone's death. They aren't good flowers to have in the Hospital Wing."

Lockhart smiled, just a little flirtatiously, and replied, "But that isn't all they represent! Poppies can also mean eternal life, success, and"—Lockhart's flirty grin grew—"beauty. Red poppies are associated more with the more negative meanings, anyway, and I made sure not to get any of those."

The red on Poppy's cheekbones was really making her eyes stand out. He watched as she tucked a small strand of rich brown hair that had fallen into her face behind her ear in embarrassment. She was at a loss for words, and he was loving every second of it. Absently, he wondered when the last time someone had flirted with her was. Apparently, it had been a while. But he could help with that.

"I-I suppose you're right, Professor Lockhart," she stammered. Hesitantly, as if afraid he would take them away at the last second, Poppy accepted the flowers. She held them to her nose and breathed in their fragrance, and Gilderoy would admit that he felt slightly spellbound watching her.

"I have a class to get to," he murmured reluctantly, "but I'll be sure to drop by later." He touched her wrist lightly and gave a nod of his head, and then he turned to the door, turquoise robes billowing behind him, smiling fondly all the while.

Gilderoy kept visiting Poppy in the Hospital Wing. He would bring her little gifts sometimes, and other times he would just bask in her presence and let her bask in his. They never were really able to spend more than a few minutes together, but he enjoyed every second.

One thing he discovered he adored about Poppy was her ability to listen and focus. He loved attention, craved it, and she never looked away from him when he spoke. She made him feel heard and appreciated, and he didn't even have to do anything to try to impress her, didn't have to try to be the best. No one had ever made him feel the way Poppy made him.

Most astonishing, however, was his eagerness to learn all about her. He was happy to give up the spotlight if it meant it would shine on her. It was something he'd never thought possible. But he loved hearing about her drive to help people, her passion for the healing arts, and the exasperation yet obvious love in her voice when she talked about her patients. There really was no better profession for her.

He remembered fondly that past Valentine's Day. Thankfully, there weren't any students that needed to be taken care of, and he was able to visit Poppy. He brought a few candles and a bouquet of red and white roses. She had been absolutely ecstatic, and he was beaming as he watched her fawn over her gift. Eventually, though, he had to set up the candles. He lit them one by one with his wand, and the Hospital Wing was cast in an ethereal glow.

"Thank you, Professor Lockhart," she said, smiling brightly, "they're beautiful."

"You are most welcome," he said warmly. "But please, call me Gilderoy."

Her smile turned a little shy. "Only if you'll call me Poppy."

"Nothing would please me more, Poppy."

"Nor I, Gilderoy."

They stared at each other for a moment, sending each other loving smiles. The bouquet was lying between them on the bed they were sitting on. Gilderoy cleared his throat suddenly and glanced down at the bedsheets before raising his eyes again and grinning cockily at Poppy.

"Have I mentioned that you look positively stunning tonight?"

The faint blush that he loved so much was just barely visible in the dim light, but a warm feeling welled up inside him at the sight of it anyway.

"I'm wearing what I wear every day, Gilderoy."

"Ah, I see my mistake. Have I mentioned that you are positively stunning, Poppy?"

She smacked his shoulder playfully, and he laughed quietly. Her gaze was pondering as she regarded him for a second, then she whispered, "You're much kinder than I originally thought you'd be."

He turned his gaze toward their hands—still intertwined—and answered, "You make a different side of me come out. A better side, I think. You...Poppy, I think you see the person I really am better than anyone I've ever met before, myself included. I don't know if you just make me better, or if I just want to change for you, but…" He trailed off.

There was a slight pressure on his hand as she squeezed it. "I think," Poppy mused, "that there are a few different traits within you that fight for dominance sometimes. It's not that I change you, or help you to change, but that your softer characteristics come to the surface when we're alone together. But it's not just that side of you that I love, Gilderoy," she reassured. "I love you for all of you—your confidence, your charm, your determination—but also for your arrogance, your mistakes, and your need to be perfect." He flinched a little when she reminded him that he wasn't perfect, but Poppy moved her other hand to hold his between both of hers. "Your imperfections only make me like you more," she promised, raising his hand to her lips and kissing the back of it. "They make you human."

He swallowed thickly. "And I," he said thickly, almost reverently as he locked his eyes onto hers, "I love you for your stern nature, your kind words, lovely smile, passion, your dedication to these students...and for your tendency to see the good in me."

They were starting to lean towards each other. "There's a lot of good to see," Poppy promised. Gilderoy didn't say anything in response, instead filling the space between them and pressing his lips softly against hers.

Poppy walked down the long hallway, heart heavy. In her hand she clenched a small bouquet of poppies, most of them blue and pink. Upon reaching the door at the end of the hallway and nodding to the Healer stationed outside of it, she entered the medical ward Gilderoy had been moved to.

He was sleeping. She stood at his bedside, gazing sadly down at her love. She remembered so much, but he didn't. She knew what had happened, what he had done. And yet…

Poppy Pomfrey placed a small bouquet of poppies in the vase on Gilderoy Lockhart's bedside table, most of them blue and pink, but one red. She reached out and brushed blond hair off of his forehead. "There's a lot of good to see," she promised him. Poppy sat down in a chair and waited for Gilderoy to wake up.