Chapter Text
"WHO ARE YOU AGAIN?"
My father's voice is light, absent-minded, as if he's asking about the weather rather than his own daughter.
I smile, as I always do. Not too wide—not so much that it feels forced—but just enough to make it seem like his words don't cut me open every single time. Like it doesn't matter that he doesn't remember me.
"I'm Viviana," I say, careful to keep my voice even. "Your daughter."
Gilderoy Lockhart blinks at me, quill poised in mid-air as if he's about to write something down. The small visitor's lounge at St Mungo's is bright, too bright, the enchanted windows casting golden light across the floor in an illusion of a world outside. The walls are lined with stacks of his old books, all covered in dust, untouched. His robes are pristine, his hair still unnaturally perfect, yet his eyes remain clouded, vacant in a way that never used to be.
It has been two years since my father lost his memory. Two years since he pointed a wand that wasn't his own in a botched attempt to erase Harry Potter and Ron Weasley's memories. Two years since he forgot me.
"My daughter," he echoes, tilting his head slightly, as if testing the word on his tongue. I nod, tightening my grip on my bag to stop my hands from trembling. "Yes."
He stares at me for a long moment. There's something about the way his blue eyes scan my face—like he's searching for a memory that refuses to surface. But then, just as quickly as the moment begins, it flickers out.
"Oh! Would you like an autograph?" His expression brightens, his smile widening into that signature, dazzling grin. He picks up the nearest book—a tattered copy of Magical Me—and flips to the title page, completely unaware of the way my heart shatters all over again. "I do love meeting fans, you know. Though, I must say, you seem rather young to be one of my admirers! But don't worry, dear, you're not the first to swoon in my presence."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm not a fan, Dad."
His hand, poised to sign, hesitates slightly before he waves off my words with a chuckle. "Nonsense! Everyone is a fan of Gilderoy Lockhart!"
I don't correct him. What's the point?
I have spent years visiting him in St Mungo's, desperately hoping that one day he might remember me. That there might be a flicker of recognition, a sign that he knows who I am beyond just another visitor in his never-ending cycle of confused faces.
But that day has never come. And deep down, I know it never will.
"I have to go," I say, standing abruptly. I should have left earlier—I always stay too long, hoping for something that never happens. My train leaves for Hogwarts soon, and the last thing I need is to be late and make an even bigger spectacle of myself.
His face falls slightly. "Oh. Well, it was lovely to meet you, Miss... Miss..."
"Viviana." My voice is barely above a whisper.
"Viviana," he repeats. Then, with a dazzling smile, "Do come back soon, won't you? I do love my fans." I nod once before turning on my heel and walking away, back straight, head high.
I don't let myself cry until I'm out of the building.
˓𓄹 ࣪˖ ⋆ ࣪. ˖ ࣪⭑
The moment I step onto Platform 9¾, I shove all thoughts of my father deep, deep down, burying them beneath layers of forced normalcy. It's second nature at this point. No one wants to hear about my father—not really. They either pity me or want to mock me, and I am tired of both.
The station is buzzing with energy. Students laugh, families embrace, trunks are being hauled onto the train, and the air is thick with steam and the scent of something warm and sweet from the trolley. I scan the crowd until I spot the one person I trust most in the world. Cedric Diggory.
He's standing a few feet away, helping a younger student with their trunk, ever the picture of kindness. His golden-brown hair catches the sunlight, his features open and easy, and for the first time today, I allow myself to breathe.
"Vivi!" His face lights up when he sees me, and before I can say a word, he pulls me into a tight hug. "You saw him before coming, didn't you?" Cedric murmurs against my hair. He doesn't have to say who. I nod into his shoulder, not trusting myself to speak.
He sighs but doesn't push further. He just holds on, steady and grounding, and for a brief moment, the ache in my chest lessens. "Come on," he says, pulling away but keeping a firm grip on my arm. "Let's get a compartment before they're all gone."
I let him lead me through the crowd, the familiar hum of Hogwarts students filling the air around us. I let myself get lost in the noise, in the energy, in the knowledge that soon, I will be home.
I do not let myself think about my father's blank stare.
I do not let myself hear his voice asking me who I am.
I do not let myself remember that, no matter how much I wish otherwise, I am utterly alone.