Mostly canon-divergent or canon-adjacent.
Usually funny until suddenly not.
Most stories can be entered independently. Tag: #quirrellhart
(incredible art by @j-intherain)
✦ START HERE
→ Softest
Night Owl
(Greece, a hotel room, and Gilderoy Lockhart asleep on Quirrell’s chest, complaining about alchemy.)
Attached
(Lockhart shines, Quirrell makes it possible, as they prefer.)
→ Funniest
Recall
(62-year-old Lockhart discovers AO3 and tells Quirrell about it)
Gallivanting With Gorgons
(Quirrell goes looking for the Gordons; Lockhart gets a book out of it anyway.)
Dragon Wrestling
(Quirrell calculates exactly how close Lockhart can stand to a sleeping dragon without dying.)
→ Romancecore
Drunk Confession
(Over wine on a hotel rooftop, Quirrell finally explains why being seen with Lockhart exhausts him.)
Cufflinks
(Twelve years after Hogwarts, Quirrell and Lockhart get ready for drinks with another couple in Greece.)
Brunch
(Brunch in Greece finds Quirrell uncharacteristically open.)
Prompt: burnt (2) | @taylorswiftmicrofic | WC: 638 | Quirrellhart
‘Drunk confession’ courtesy of the wonderful Clementine server drunk prompts
Summary: Over wine on a hotel rooftop, Quirrell finally explains why being seen with Lockhart exhausts him.
The hotel rooftop bar overlooked the harbour, all blue-black water and trembling gold reflections. Below them, music drifted faintly from the promenade.
Gilderoy sat sideways in his chair, one arm draped over the back. Two empty glasses sat between them. A third sat untouched near Quirrell’s elbow.
“You know,” Lockhart said, smiling into the Mediterranean dark, “I think today may have been some of my finest photographs.”
Quirrell made a sound that might’ve been agreement. Or not.
“You disagree?” Lockhart asked. “The lighting was exceptional. The white garb. The wind. The profile work alone—”
“The profile work,” Quirrell repeated faintly. “Ugh, red wine. I’m going to have such a headache tomorrow.”
“You'll be fine. And you might mock now, but when the Prophet prints it next week, people shall weep openly from the strain of beauty.”
That earned him a quiet laugh.
That warm little rush in his chest returned whenever he managed to pull a laugh or smile out of Quirinus.
Lockhart reached across the table without thinking and straightened Quirrell’s collar.
Quirrell caught his wrist, then he released Lockhart and reached for his drink instead. Wine sloshed against the rim.
Below them, someone shouted drunkenly in Greek. The sound of distant applause followed, and Quirrell stared over the balcony.
“You really don’t understand what you do to people,” he said quietly.
Lockhart smiled. “I should hope not. The mystery is part of the appeal.”
“No, I mean…” Quirrell stopped. The breeze stirred his hair across his forehead. He looked suddenly furious at himself, face pinched up as though he’d eaten something distasteful. “You touch me in public like it’s nothing.
Lockhart frowned. “It is nothing.”
“No,” Quirrell said immediately.
Below, the harbour music continued. Someone dropped a glass, and laughter followed. The sulfur smell of a burnt match drifted over from a neighbouring table, and Quirrell rubbed at his face.
“We’ve slept together for a year,” Lockhart said carefully. “That’s something, surely.”
Quirrell stared out at the water, jaw tight now as though he’d said far too much already.
“When people look at us,” he said, voice low and uneven, “you don’t understand what I hear in it.”
Lockhart watched quietly. The wine had loosened something in him.
After a long moment, Lockhart reached over again, slower. Quirrell didn’t stop him this time.
“I suppose I don’t understand,” he said, lacing their fingers together. “Do you want to tell me?”
Silence weighed down as Quirrell slid his wine glass back and forth by its stem.
“Have you ever looked at us, Gilderoy? Objectively, like strangers?”
“Of course I have. I’m stunning, how could I not?”
The flicker of a smile surprised Gilderoy, and he squeezed Quirrell’s fingers.
“No, I mean us. Both of us together.”
Gilderoy shrugged. “Yes. But there’s nothing wrong with—”
Quirinus held up a hand, and Lockhart subsided.
“They see us,” Quirrell said, “and I hear what they want to say. That they know which of us is the top, all that nonsense.”
Quirinus shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. They think they know me on sight. It’s been like this my entire life. And it’s exhausting. I’m not less a man than you, or anyone else.”
“I know.”
With a heavy sigh, Quirrell looked away. “I know you know, you’re not the problem. You’ve never treated me like…that.”
Another swell of crowd noise and laughter drifted up from the harbour before, and Quirinus’s fingers tensed.
Gilderoy murmured an assurance, and Quirrell drank more wine. The waiter moved towards them with another bottle, and Quirrell started to withdraw his hand.
He met Gilderoy’s eyes, searching, then sat back.
The waiter delivered the second bottle of wine, refilled their glasses, and ignored their tangled hands.
This is, of course, a fan-made canon created to establish Quirrellhart.
--
Let us assume that Quirinus Quirrell and Gilderoy Lockhart were Ravenclaw classmates during their Hogwarts years.
Based on Pottermore descriptions, Quirinus likely developed a deep complex about his nervous demeanor after being mocked for it as a student. As a result, he unconsciously distanced himself from anyone who might harm, ridicule, or trigger his inferiority complex.
The one who remained as a result was Gilderoy.
Gilderoy was arrogant and possessed a personality that compelled him to constantly prove his own superiority. However, such posturing was meaningless in the face of Quirinus’s sharp insight.
Gilderoy was raised with excessive doting from his mother, yet during his time at Hogwarts, he began to suffer from the growing gap between his actual abilities and those of his peers. To cope, he developed a habit of pretending to be more capable than he truly was.
A life sustained by constant lies, however, eventually reaches its limit.
Unconsciously, Gilderoy began to rely on Quirinus—the only person who knew the truth, who seriously challenged his fabrications, and who forced him to confront his own weaknesses.
For Quirinus, holding the weakness of a celebrity constantly in the spotlight, and being relied upon by him, brought temporary comfort and a quiet sense of superiority.
However, Quirinus came to believe that this state of affairs was merely a moratorium. He became convinced that he must become a truly great being—one whom no one could ever look down upon—and thus set off on a journey in search of Lord Voldemort.
Gilderoy could neither stop him nor understand what Quirinus was seeking.
Unaware that Quirinus would be reduced to ashes at Hogwarts two years later, Gilderoy accepted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with a daft smile, utterly unaware of what awaited him.
--
Quirinus and Gilderoy are not lovers in any ideal sense—only a rotten, mutually dependent bond, a twisted affection born from immaturity.
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