Back when Lockhart had taken the wizarding world by storm, it was not only because he knew how to write.
He could take an ordinary adventure and package it into a tale of breathtaking twists and heroic triumph. Add to that his fairly handsome face and, compared to the scruffy appearance of most wizards, his meticulously styled golden curls and carefully curated public image had dazzled countless witches.
But now, there was nothing left of that former elegance.
His once carefully groomed blond hair was tangled into filthy knots. His prison robes were smeared with grease and grime. It was hard to tell whether the stench came from him, the clothes, or both.
Lockhart stared at the newspaper in his hands, muttering Riddle's name over and over again. Rage burned so fiercely it felt as though it might char his brain.
Why.
Why!
Everything had been ruined by Tom Riddle.
From a celebrated bestselling author to a disgraced fraud. From fame and admiration to Azkaban. All the money he had earned was gone, paid back in compensation.
And Riddle?
Riddle had assaulted a professor and suffered no punishment. Instead, he received a First Class Order of Merlin, an honor Lockhart would never even dare to dream of.
The contrast made Lockhart want to jab his wand straight into the smiling boy's nose on the front page.
What crime had he committed?
He had only wanted to buy a pet. He was not stealing it. Did that really warrant destroying his entire life?
Suddenly, the noisy prison corridor fell silent.
Faint sobbing drifted in from afar. The temperature dropped sharply. The crying multiplied, grew louder, closer.
Lockhart immediately held his breath and emptied his mind.
The Dementors were coming.
For prisoners, it was an inspection.
For Dementors, it was feeding time.
Even prepared, when several Dementors floated past his cell, Lockhart felt his soul freeze solid. His limbs turned icy.
Memories flooded him.
Being suspended and humiliated by Riddle.
Being beaten in front of others.
The trial. The public disgrace. The collapse of his reputation.
The memories battered his mind so violently he nearly fainted.
Only after the Dementors drifted to another level did Lockhart collapse to the floor, gasping for air.
All joy had vanished.
Living felt meaningless.
It would be easier to become an empty shell.
"No… I will have my revenge… I will make Riddle taste the same pain…"
His trembling fingers rose to his temple.
Soon, threads of silvery mist were drawn out.
...
Arizona.
Thunderbird Sanctuary.
"Woo! Little ones, I'm back!"
As he ventured deep into the sanctuary and approached the canyon where the Thunderbirds nested, Tom cast aside all restraint. Lightning crackled around his body as he shot into the sky.
In response, a chorus of sharp cries filled the air.
Dark clouds gathered overhead. Bolts of thunder split the heavens, illuminating the magnificent shapes rising to meet him.
Thunderbirds.
Fleur tilted her head upward, watching the boy who danced among lightning itself.
Her eyes were filled with undisguised admiration.
In every era, in every land, beauty has loved heroes.
And Tom fit Fleur's image of one perfectly.
His appearance. His ability. His presence.
He existed on a level far beyond most wizards. And his personality, infuriating and irresistible at once, only deepened the allure.
Time with him was never dull.
He always brought surprises.
Sometimes she wanted to give herself to him completely.
Sometimes she was so annoyed she wanted to bite him.
Yet whenever she looked back on those moments, she could not stop herself from smiling.
Her heartstrings were utterly entwined with his.
High above, Tom flew with the Thunderbirds for a long while before descending with two smaller birds in tow, landing lightly before Fleur.
Grinning, he vigorously ruffled the feathers atop their heads.
"Fleur, let me introduce you. This is Sander, and this is Maggie. Newt brought me here to the sanctuary because these two foolish birds lost their way."
"Chirp!"
The two young Thunderbirds bumped him indignantly.
Foolish? They had merely been in poor condition at the time.
Now…
Well. Now they were still not quite his match.
Seeing Fleur's eager expression, Tom pulled her closer and guided her hand to the soft feathers at the base of Maggie's neck. Maggie cooperatively lowered her head, making it easier for Fleur to touch her.
As distant relatives of phoenixes, Thunderbirds were far prouder creatures. They simply did not bother with humans often enough to earn a 5X danger classification.
But if anyone else tried to touch their most vulnerable spot, they would be greeted with a storm of lightning from the heavens.
Previously, Tom had relied on Newt to build a bond.
Now, he was the bond.
Fleur adored beautiful magical creatures like these. Their white and gold plumage embodied nobility. Yet the Veela blood within her stirred uneasily.
It could not be helped.
Lower magical beings were instinctively suppressed before higher ones.
It was the same reason Fleur had struggled during the dragon task.
Tom knew this and was consciously helping her overcome that instinct.
Taking her hand, he leapt lightly onto Maggie's back.
"Come on. We'll camp in the mountains these next few days. Let's truly enjoy ourselves."
With a bright cry, the two young Thunderbirds soared toward the highest peak.
Near the nest of Frank, the Thunderbird King, Tom pitched a tent.
From the outside, it appeared modest.
Inside, it was as spacious as a luxurious apartment, complete with every comfort of home.
Beneath the starlit sky, the two shared a rather unconventional candlelight dinner.
During these days in Arizona, Tom set everything aside.
No trials. No magic research. No schemes or worries.
He spent his time roaming the mountains with Fleur, or visiting the small Thunderbird town to experience Arizona's local culture, purchasing magical trinkets as gifts for friends and family.