Secrets and Second Chances: Chapter Four Part Two
Part One
Their Professor had made the transfer look easy. By the end of class everyone was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. Neville was the only one in a chipper mood by the end - Harry had had to struggle to get two fat seedlings into pots and it had soured whatever good mood he’d still had.
A quick wash between lessons was all they had time for before Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work - for which Harry was grateful. He poured his focus into turning his beetle into a button. Again, his magic felt rough- but not as bad as the year before. It has to be from usage, Harry realized as he mastered the transformation. The more you practice, the tamer your magic gets. That’s why children’s wild magic results in such volatile ways.
Neville had Hermione’s help as he morphed his beetle into interesting shapes. McGonagall gave the boy an encouraging nod as she moved on: Ron and Dean were fooling around more than anything and their Professor was quick to pounce on them.
They shared the class with the Ravenclaw second years. Harry was again partnered with Terry Boot. They caught up on their summers as they worked on their beetles together.
Harry escaped with Hermione and Neville at the lunch bell, waving once to Terry as they left. Ron and Dean, he noted, had been kept back by McGonagall for a talking-to.
“I need ever so much help,” Neville said as they made their way to the Great Hall.
“You almost had it, Neville,” Hermione said. “We’ll go over it again, tonight, if you want.”
“Oh, could we? I can’t fail this year.”
“You won’t fail.”
“What’ve we got this afternoon?” Harry cut in as they sat.
“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione said at once.
“Why are there hearts all around Lockhart’s name on your schedule?” Neville asked.
Hermione folded the paper, a bright blush on her face. “It’s nothing.”
“But…”
Harry kicked Neville in the ankle and shook his head. “Anything we need to review before class?” He asked Hermione’s down turned face.
“Um - um - well,” she glanced up at them. “I’ve been reading through our books, but he hasn’t specified which text we’ll be covering first, so…”
Harry sat back and let Hermione ramble on about Lockhart’s books. It was far better than seeing her embarrassed and miserable. I swore I’d never hurt her again, he poked at his food. I meant it.
After lunch they went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat on a stone step with Harry and Neville on either side of her as she pulled out Voyages with Vampires for them to go over.
“There you are,” Draco’s voice called. Harry looked up to see the blond and Theo headed their way. “We were looking all over.”
“Hello, Draco,” Harry said. “Theo.”
“You’re not reading that rubbish are you?” Theo said to Hermione.
“It’s not rubbish,” she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
“Not again,” Draco sighed.
“Have you had Herbology yet?” Harry asked.
“No,” Draco sat next to Harry. “Why?”
“Get ready to get dirty. You’re repotting Mandrakes.”
Theo made a face. Draco frowned. “Mandrakes, you say. Mother bought me a load of magical creature books this summer - maybe Hagrid knows about them.”
“Probably, but Professor Sprout is on top of it, too.”
“They’re really more plant than creature,” Neville pointed out. “But we could ask Hagrid about them. He might know if they grow wild.”
The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. He straightened up, scanning the courtyard.
“Harry? What’s wrong?”
Harry caught sight of a much detested camera and stifled a sigh. “Nothing,” he muttered, slumping down.
“Harry,” Draco frowned at him. “What is wrong with you? You act so oddly sometimes.”
Harry glanced at Draco, then to the pillar where Colin Creevey stood. “That,” he tilted an eyebrow.
Draco peered over at the boy. Creevey came forward, a large camera clutched in his hands.
“H-Hello, ah, hi,” the boy stammered. “I- I’m Colin Creevey,” he inched closer. “I-I’m in Gryffindor, see, just got sorted, um. Could I - would it be all right if I - I mean,” he raised the camera.
“A picture?” Draco drawled.
“So I can prove I met him,” Colin told Draco. “I know all about him, everyone’s told me. About how he survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill him and how he disappeared and everything and how he’s still got a scar on his forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures will move.” Colin drew in a great shuddering breath. “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to my dad and it’d be really good if I had one of you,” he addressed Harry for the first time. “Maybe - maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, then, you could maybe sign it?”
Draco had started to chuckle. Harry rolled his eyes and elbowed the other boy. “Colin, look, I’m really nothing special. I -”
“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?” Loud and scathing, Ron stopped right behind Colin. “Trying to impress the first years with your fame, Potter, with signed photos? Everyone line up!” Ron roared to the gathering crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out sighed photos!”
“Ron,” Dean said, grabbing the boy’s arm. “Stop.”
“I’m not giving out photos, Ron,” Harry snarled. “Of course I’m not.” He saw Colin glancing between them, eyes huge.
“You’re just so full of yourself, aren’t you, ordering my family about -”
“Hey!” Hermione cut in.
Harry saw Draco’s eyes narrow. Harry elbowed the Slytherin before whatever damning words could slip from his mouth.
“Buzz off, Hermione, this doesn’t concern you!” Ron snapped.
“Doesn’t concern me? I was the one who asked your brothers to go rescue Harry!”
“Rescue?” Draco echoed.
Bugger all, Harry rolled his eyes. “Will you all just stop?” He tried to pitch his voice like they taught in Auror training. It didn’t quite work, but it got everyone’s attention. “Look, Ron. I’m not sure what crawled up your arse and died when it comes to me, but I’ve not done anything to you that warrants your constant attitude. So stuff it, please. No, I’m not giving out photographs; Colin just wanted a photo to send to his dad, with him and some schoolmates. That’s all. No autographs. No posing, no…”
“Oh, no,” Hermione whispered.
“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart strode into the courtyard, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”
“No one,” Harry started.
“Ah, shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!” Lockhart flung an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry tried to wiggle away. Why must he always touch me, the blathering idiot. He twisted a look at Draco, but the blond was staring, horrified, at Lockhart’s robes.
“Come on, then Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, who had Harry pinned to his side. “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”
“But, sir…let go…”
“Sir!” Theo said, as Colin fumbled with his camera. Harry saw Dean drag Ron off as the bell rang.
“There we are, off you go, move along here,” Lockhart said. He still had a hold of Harry, dragging him along as he headed down the halls.
“Sir,” Harry heard Theo say from behind them.
“A word to the wise, Harry,” Lockhart said, voice lowered as he marched Harry along. Harry could bet he would have bruises from the man’s hold. “I covered up for you back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won’t think you’re setting yourself up so much.”
“I’m not,” Harry squeaked as Lockhart’s hand slipped into the space between Harry’s neck and his robes.
“Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn’t sensible - looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time, when, like me, you’ll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but,” he chortled, hand moving, “I don’t think you’re quite there yet.”
“Let go,” Harry tore away from the man. Lockhart swept on, oblivious. Harry shuddered, shaking like a wet dog. Was he always that - that - touchy-feely? What the hell was Dumbledore thinking, hiring that man? Harry scrubbed at the spot on his shoulder where Lockhart’s hand had lingered.
“Harry?”
He jumped, spooked by Draco’s voice. “Yeah?” His friends were arrayed behind him.
“Are you all right?”
“I need a bloody shower,” he muttered.
“Harry! Language!”
Harry made a face at Hermione. “Sorry,” he rubbed at his shoulder, again. “I don’t like that man.” He rubbed harder.
“Harry,” Draco reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Harry looked at him blankly. “What?”
“Your shoulder. Did he hurt you?”
“No, he just got touchy,” Harry made another face. “Come on. We’ve got to get inside before class starts.” He turned away before they could protest.
Like last year, he took a seat in the back of the defense classroom. Unlike last year, they shared the lesson with the Slytherin second years. Draco took the seat next to Harry, Hermione and Neville the desk in front of them. Theo was at the desk on Harry’s other side, Blaise Zabini as his partner. Harry didn’t miss the way Hermione’s head turned as she looked from him to Lockhart and back again several times before settling into her seat.
When the whole class was settled, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly. I hope he chokes on his own spit, Harry scowled at the man.
Lockhart took Parvati’s copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.
“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile award - but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”
You didn’t get rid of her at all, Harry wanted to say. A few people tittered.
“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books - well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about,” he beamed at the chorus of groans. “Just something to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in.”
When he had handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said; “You have thirty minutes. Start - now!”
Harry turned over his paper with a sigh. He heard Draco choke back something next to him. Harry slid him a glance, caught his gaze and rolled his eyes. Draco snickered and turned back to his test.
Harry read; What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?
On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to 54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
Harry rolled his eyes and palmed his face. He glanced over at Theo, who was regarding his quiz with an expression of absolute horror.
Harry sighed and started to fill in the blanks with the silliest nonsense he could think up.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.
“Tut, tut, hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of your need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey!”
“I need a firewhiskey,” Harry muttered. Draco ducked his head.
“…but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care products. Good girl! In fact,” Lockhart flipped the paper over. “Full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”
Harry saw Hermione lean back in her seat, head cocked to one side. She raised her hand. Harry caught sight of her face - wasn’t she all agog over Lockhart the last time? Why is she frowning at him, now? She was cooing over his books just this morning. What changed? Harry reached up and rubbed at his shoulder, where Lockhart had grabbed him. Bloody man.
“Excellent job, Ms. Granger!” Lockhart beamed. “Ten points for Gryffindor. And now, to business!”
He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.
“Now, be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire, Harry slouched in his seat and folded his arms over his chest.
“I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice, glancing around the room. “It might provoke them.” Lockhart waited a moment. Harry could see the man scanning their faces. He’s such a con artist. Then Lockhart whipped off the cover to the cage.
“Yes,” he announced in a deep voice. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies!”
There were several snorts of laughter from Ron and Seamus. “Those aren’t dangerous!”
“Don’t be so sure!” Lockhart waggled a finger at Seamus, whose smile slid away. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”
The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.
Oh, not this again, Harry closed his eyes.
“Right then,” Lockhart bellowed. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage.
It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Goyle by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering Harry and the rest of the back row with broken glass. Harry swore as he felt a slice open up on the back of his neck.
The rest of the pixies proceeded to wreck the classroom. They sprayed ink, shredded books, tore pictures from the walls, upended the wastebasket, and tossed bags. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Goyle was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.
“Come on now, round them up, round them up. They’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”
It had absolutely no effect. One of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Goyle, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.
The bell rang and there was a mad rush for the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry hovering over Draco as the blond made a face at the blood on his hands and said, “Well, I’ll ask you lot to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He swept past them and shut the door in Theo’s face.
“Can you believe that man?” Theo spun around.
“Are you hurt badly?” Hermione hovered at Harry’s side.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re bleeding worse than I am,” Draco pointed out. He’d gotten nicked on the ear by a piece of glass.
“Your neck, Harry,” Neville said. Harry just shrugged it off, more intent on Draco than his own injuries.
“What should we do?” Blaise Zabini had lingered along with the other Slytherins. Harry glanced at him - but Zabini’s expression gave nothing away.
“We’ve got to catch them,” Harry flicked a stunning charm at a group of pixies. He was too angry to hide the ease to which the spell came. “Come on, let’s do this and then head to the Infirmary.” He ignored the way Hermione was hovering, taking out his irritation with Lockhart on the pixies. Stupid, useless wanker of a man.
Chapter Five
Their Professor had made the transfer look easy. By the end of class everyone was sweaty, aching and covered in earth. Neville was the only one in a chipper mood by the end - Harry had had to struggle to get two fat seedlings into pots and it had soured whatever good mood he’d still had.
A quick wash between lessons was all they had time for before Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work - for which Harry was grateful. He poured his focus into turning his beetle into a button. Again, his magic felt rough- but not as bad as the year before. It has to be from usage, Harry realized as he mastered the transformation. The more you practice, the tamer your magic gets. That’s why children’s wild magic results in such volatile ways.
Neville had Hermione’s help as he morphed his beetle into interesting shapes. McGonagall gave the boy an encouraging nod as she moved on: Ron and Dean were fooling around more than anything and their Professor was quick to pounce on them.
They shared the class with the Ravenclaw second years. Harry was again partnered with Terry Boot. They caught up on their summers as they worked on their beetles together.
Harry escaped with Hermione and Neville at the lunch bell, waving once to Terry as they left. Ron and Dean, he noted, had been kept back by McGonagall for a talking-to.
“I need ever so much help,” Neville said as they made their way to the Great Hall.
“You almost had it, Neville,” Hermione said. “We’ll go over it again, tonight, if you want.”
“Oh, could we? I can’t fail this year.”
“You won’t fail.”
“What’ve we got this afternoon?” Harry cut in as they sat.
“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Hermione said at once.
“Why are there hearts all around Lockhart’s name on your schedule?” Neville asked.
Hermione folded the paper, a bright blush on her face. “It’s nothing.”
“But…”
Harry kicked Neville in the ankle and shook his head. “Anything we need to review before class?” He asked Hermione’s down turned face.
“Um - um - well,” she glanced up at them. “I’ve been reading through our books, but he hasn’t specified which text we’ll be covering first, so…”
Harry sat back and let Hermione ramble on about Lockhart’s books. It was far better than seeing her embarrassed and miserable. I swore I’d never hurt her again, he poked at his food. I meant it.
After lunch they went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat on a stone step with Harry and Neville on either side of her as she pulled out Voyages with Vampires for them to go over.
“There you are,” Draco’s voice called. Harry looked up to see the blond and Theo headed their way. “We were looking all over.”
“Hello, Draco,” Harry said. “Theo.”
“You’re not reading that rubbish are you?” Theo said to Hermione.
“It’s not rubbish,” she narrowed her eyes at him.
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
“Not again,” Draco sighed.
“Have you had Herbology yet?” Harry asked.
“No,” Draco sat next to Harry. “Why?”
“Get ready to get dirty. You’re repotting Mandrakes.”
Theo made a face. Draco frowned. “Mandrakes, you say. Mother bought me a load of magical creature books this summer - maybe Hagrid knows about them.”
“Probably, but Professor Sprout is on top of it, too.”
“They’re really more plant than creature,” Neville pointed out. “But we could ask Hagrid about them. He might know if they grow wild.”
The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. He straightened up, scanning the courtyard.
“Harry? What’s wrong?”
Harry caught sight of a much detested camera and stifled a sigh. “Nothing,” he muttered, slumping down.
“Harry,” Draco frowned at him. “What is wrong with you? You act so oddly sometimes.”
Harry glanced at Draco, then to the pillar where Colin Creevey stood. “That,” he tilted an eyebrow.
Draco peered over at the boy. Creevey came forward, a large camera clutched in his hands.
“H-Hello, ah, hi,” the boy stammered. “I- I’m Colin Creevey,” he inched closer. “I-I’m in Gryffindor, see, just got sorted, um. Could I - would it be all right if I - I mean,” he raised the camera.
“A picture?” Draco drawled.
“So I can prove I met him,” Colin told Draco. “I know all about him, everyone’s told me. About how he survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill him and how he disappeared and everything and how he’s still got a scar on his forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures will move.” Colin drew in a great shuddering breath. “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to my dad and it’d be really good if I had one of you,” he addressed Harry for the first time. “Maybe - maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, then, you could maybe sign it?”
Draco had started to chuckle. Harry rolled his eyes and elbowed the other boy. “Colin, look, I’m really nothing special. I -”
“Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?” Loud and scathing, Ron stopped right behind Colin. “Trying to impress the first years with your fame, Potter, with signed photos? Everyone line up!” Ron roared to the gathering crowd. “Harry Potter’s giving out sighed photos!”
“Ron,” Dean said, grabbing the boy’s arm. “Stop.”
“I’m not giving out photos, Ron,” Harry snarled. “Of course I’m not.” He saw Colin glancing between them, eyes huge.
“You’re just so full of yourself, aren’t you, ordering my family about -”
“Hey!” Hermione cut in.
Harry saw Draco’s eyes narrow. Harry elbowed the Slytherin before whatever damning words could slip from his mouth.
“Buzz off, Hermione, this doesn’t concern you!” Ron snapped.
“Doesn’t concern me? I was the one who asked your brothers to go rescue Harry!”
“Rescue?” Draco echoed.
Bugger all, Harry rolled his eyes. “Will you all just stop?” He tried to pitch his voice like they taught in Auror training. It didn’t quite work, but it got everyone’s attention. “Look, Ron. I’m not sure what crawled up your arse and died when it comes to me, but I’ve not done anything to you that warrants your constant attitude. So stuff it, please. No, I’m not giving out photographs; Colin just wanted a photo to send to his dad, with him and some schoolmates. That’s all. No autographs. No posing, no…”
“Oh, no,” Hermione whispered.
“What’s all this, what’s all this?” Gilderoy Lockhart strode into the courtyard, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. “Who’s giving out signed photos?”
“No one,” Harry started.
“Ah, shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!” Lockhart flung an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry tried to wiggle away. Why must he always touch me, the blathering idiot. He twisted a look at Draco, but the blond was staring, horrified, at Lockhart’s robes.
“Come on, then Mr. Creevey,” said Lockhart, who had Harry pinned to his side. “A double portrait, can’t do better than that, and we’ll both sign it for you.”
“But, sir…let go…”
“Sir!” Theo said, as Colin fumbled with his camera. Harry saw Dean drag Ron off as the bell rang.
“There we are, off you go, move along here,” Lockhart said. He still had a hold of Harry, dragging him along as he headed down the halls.
“Sir,” Harry heard Theo say from behind them.
“A word to the wise, Harry,” Lockhart said, voice lowered as he marched Harry along. Harry could bet he would have bruises from the man’s hold. “I covered up for you back there with young Creevey - if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won’t think you’re setting yourself up so much.”
“I’m not,” Harry squeaked as Lockhart’s hand slipped into the space between Harry’s neck and his robes.
“Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn’t sensible - looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time, when, like me, you’ll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but,” he chortled, hand moving, “I don’t think you’re quite there yet.”
“Let go,” Harry tore away from the man. Lockhart swept on, oblivious. Harry shuddered, shaking like a wet dog. Was he always that - that - touchy-feely? What the hell was Dumbledore thinking, hiring that man? Harry scrubbed at the spot on his shoulder where Lockhart’s hand had lingered.
“Harry?”
He jumped, spooked by Draco’s voice. “Yeah?” His friends were arrayed behind him.
“Are you all right?”
“I need a bloody shower,” he muttered.
“Harry! Language!”
Harry made a face at Hermione. “Sorry,” he rubbed at his shoulder, again. “I don’t like that man.” He rubbed harder.
“Harry,” Draco reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Harry looked at him blankly. “What?”
“Your shoulder. Did he hurt you?”
“No, he just got touchy,” Harry made another face. “Come on. We’ve got to get inside before class starts.” He turned away before they could protest.
Like last year, he took a seat in the back of the defense classroom. Unlike last year, they shared the lesson with the Slytherin second years. Draco took the seat next to Harry, Hermione and Neville the desk in front of them. Theo was at the desk on Harry’s other side, Blaise Zabini as his partner. Harry didn’t miss the way Hermione’s head turned as she looked from him to Lockhart and back again several times before settling into her seat.
When the whole class was settled, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly. I hope he chokes on his own spit, Harry scowled at the man.
Lockhart took Parvati’s copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.
“Me,” he said, pointing at it and winking as well. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile award - but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”
You didn’t get rid of her at all, Harry wanted to say. A few people tittered.
“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books - well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about,” he beamed at the chorus of groans. “Just something to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in.”
When he had handed out the test papers, he returned to the front of the class and said; “You have thirty minutes. Start - now!”
Harry turned over his paper with a sigh. He heard Draco choke back something next to him. Harry slid him a glance, caught his gaze and rolled his eyes. Draco snickered and turned back to his test.
Harry read; What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?
On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to 54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
Harry rolled his eyes and palmed his face. He glanced over at Theo, who was regarding his quiz with an expression of absolute horror.
Harry sighed and started to fill in the blanks with the silliest nonsense he could think up.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.
“Tut, tut, hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of your need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully - I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples - though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey!”
“I need a firewhiskey,” Harry muttered. Draco ducked his head.
“…but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair care products. Good girl! In fact,” Lockhart flipped the paper over. “Full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”
Harry saw Hermione lean back in her seat, head cocked to one side. She raised her hand. Harry caught sight of her face - wasn’t she all agog over Lockhart the last time? Why is she frowning at him, now? She was cooing over his books just this morning. What changed? Harry reached up and rubbed at his shoulder, where Lockhart had grabbed him. Bloody man.
“Excellent job, Ms. Granger!” Lockhart beamed. “Ten points for Gryffindor. And now, to business!”
He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.
“Now, be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire, Harry slouched in his seat and folded his arms over his chest.
“I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice, glancing around the room. “It might provoke them.” Lockhart waited a moment. Harry could see the man scanning their faces. He’s such a con artist. Then Lockhart whipped off the cover to the cage.
“Yes,” he announced in a deep voice. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies!”
There were several snorts of laughter from Ron and Seamus. “Those aren’t dangerous!”
“Don’t be so sure!” Lockhart waggled a finger at Seamus, whose smile slid away. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”
The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.
Oh, not this again, Harry closed his eyes.
“Right then,” Lockhart bellowed. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the cage.
It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Goyle by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering Harry and the rest of the back row with broken glass. Harry swore as he felt a slice open up on the back of his neck.
The rest of the pixies proceeded to wreck the classroom. They sprayed ink, shredded books, tore pictures from the walls, upended the wastebasket, and tossed bags. Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Goyle was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.
“Come on now, round them up, round them up. They’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”
It had absolutely no effect. One of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Goyle, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.
The bell rang and there was a mad rush for the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry hovering over Draco as the blond made a face at the blood on his hands and said, “Well, I’ll ask you lot to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He swept past them and shut the door in Theo’s face.
“Can you believe that man?” Theo spun around.
“Are you hurt badly?” Hermione hovered at Harry’s side.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You’re bleeding worse than I am,” Draco pointed out. He’d gotten nicked on the ear by a piece of glass.
“Your neck, Harry,” Neville said. Harry just shrugged it off, more intent on Draco than his own injuries.
“What should we do?” Blaise Zabini had lingered along with the other Slytherins. Harry glanced at him - but Zabini’s expression gave nothing away.
“We’ve got to catch them,” Harry flicked a stunning charm at a group of pixies. He was too angry to hide the ease to which the spell came. “Come on, let’s do this and then head to the Infirmary.” He ignored the way Hermione was hovering, taking out his irritation with Lockhart on the pixies. Stupid, useless wanker of a man.
Chapter Five