Harry was in a very bad mood; he was walking down the corridor towards his next lesson closely followed by the Creevey brothers, both of which stared at his scar as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. To Harry, apart from those times it stung with pain, it was nothing more than a birthmark. Nonetheless, Colin and Dennis were goggling at it, as though hypnotised while jabbering away to him thereby reducing his patience to a minimum with every squeaky word.
"Isn't your scar amazing, Harry?" squealed Colin.
"Yes," Harry replied, flatly.
"Why do you think it's shaped like lightening?" cheeped Dennis. "Do you think You-Know-Who was scared of thunderstorms?"
"Voldemort?" asked Harry, half hoping the Creeveys would be frightened by the name and shut up. However, life isn't that kind thought Harry when their reaction was:
"Ooh, aren't you brave to say his name?" said Dennis. "I can't even say it - too many syllables. Do you remember him, Harry? Was he scary?"
"But you beat him, didn't you, Harry?" said Colin.
"Yes."
"How do you say his name, again?"
"Voldemort," Harry replied through gritted teeth.
"Hold-your-wart?" repeated Dennis, confused. "That's not very scary, is it, Harry?"
"No," Harry muttered, hoping they lose their voices at some point in the very near future. The questions were still pouring out as Harry glanced at his watch to find he was ten minutes late for Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"Did you really fly that car in your second year? Wasn't it amazing?" "What an amazing scar, Harry!" "Do you think you could beat Hold-your-wart at Squid-itch?"
"What brand of toothpaste do you use?" "Do your shoes have a scar, too?"
Harry rolled his eyes and muttered that he was late and had to be going, personally feeling that if he ever faced a Boggart again, it would show an interview between the Creeveys and Rita Skeeter about him.
Harry was feeling a bit better now that Colin and Dennis were behind. Ever since he had started his fifth year at Hogwarts, Lupin had come back to teach, meaning Defence Against the Dark Arts were Harry's favourite lesson again. Harry felt bad about being late, but at least he knew Lupin wouldn't give him a hard time about it.
As he ran, Harry glanced at the darkening sky and groaned. A full moon was materializing out of the purply-orange sky which meant that Wolfsbane Potion or not, Lupin, being a werewolf, would not be taking the class. This had only happened once before, when Snape had taken over and had a go at everyone - Hermione and Ron especially. Harry sincerely hoped history was not going to repeat itself.
Dreading what was on the other side, Harry slowly raised his hand to the doorknob and opened the classroom door. Harry was slightly relieved that Snape was not standing by the teacher's desk, however instead stood the last person Harry expected and wanted to see - an extremely handsome wizard with golden hair and a set of white, glistening teeth. The teacher was talking to the class, displaying his teeth with every smarmy word.
"...As I clearly state on page 144 of my new best-selling book 'Skateboarding with Skrewts'...." Lockhart was saying, oblivious, so far to Harry's presence.
Harry strongly considered slipping out of the door again, while Lockhart hadn't noticed him, however the toothy face turned in his direction and the lecture on Lockhart's sheer bravery in front of a Flobberworm, was immediately, much to the class's delight. Lockhart rushed towards Harry grabbed his hand and crushed his bones in a hearty handshake.
"Harry!" he exclaimed, grinning. " Just been talking about you. Where have you been? Why so late for the - " Lockhart broke off, apparent realization dawning on him, his grin widening to what seemed like the maximum extent. "As if I didn't know! Still got that thirst for fame I gave you three years ago, eh? In the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly last year every other issue, too! Tricked the Goblet of Fire for some publicity, I've heard. I hear you've taken to autographing shoes now. Well, if you want my advice you're going a bit too fast. Stick to signing books, schoolbags, pyjamas, socks, quills, pets, hats, glasses screws, but shoes are for more professional celebrities, like yours truly, here."
Harry clenched his fists and gritted his teeth fighting a constantly growing urge to lock Lockhart in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom for the rest of the year.
"And the other thing is, you simply can't go on coming late for lessons to get more attention," Lockhart said, ever smiling. "I know you want to live up to my achievements, but coming late simply won't DO, Harry. I know why you're doing it but other teachers may not be as understanding, not being charming, heroic, brave...."
"Modest," Harry muttered sarcastically.
"....Incredibly corageous, unbelievably witty, stunningly handsome, incomprehensibly..."
"Thick," Ron finished the sentence for him.
"....national champion, international hero, world-wide genius....(at this the whole class dissolved into snorts of laughter)....winner of the Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile countless times in a row, best-selling author...."
It seemed to go on forever. At last, when Lockhart had quite finished blabbering on about the "characteristic blemishes" he does not posses, he finally released Harry's hand and beckoned him to sit down in his seat. Harry, massaging his poor knuckles, made a mental note that this was the second time Lockhart had severely damaged his bones in his hand, and felt that he wouldn't be surprised if he had to spend the night drinking Skele-Gro again.
As he sat down, he glanced at the rest of the class, expecting them to look the way he felt - fed up, half asleep with boredom and disappointed. However, Harry was greatly surprised to see Seamus, Ron, Neville and Dean rapt with attention occasionally taking their eyes off Lockhart to grin mischievously at each other. Ron, catching Harry's confused look, whispered "Lockhart was too busy examining himself in the mirror to prepare for the lesson, so we did it for him."
"Does he know?"
"What do you think?" Ron grinned, winking.
Meanwhile, Lockhart was talking. "As well as "Dancing with Dementors" my new best-selling book, " Tiptoeing with Trolls" was an immediate hit at Flourish and Blotts, not to mention Hogs..."
"Oy, can we get on with the lesson, prof?" Dean yelled, in an irritating tone he had learnt from Peeves.
"Oh, right. Professor Lupin left instructions as to what we shall be covering in his absence. Incidentally, he ought to read my "Window-cleaning with Werewolves, eh?" Lockhart winked at the class. Hearty laughter from the class was undoubtedly supposed to arise from the enthusiastic class, however all the following ten seconds consisted of was a ringing silence, from a group of fed-up fifth years.
"Right, anyway," Lockhart said, smiling as usual. "Lupin said that we should all inspect this box...."
Harry glanced at the desk, where an old-looking wooden crate stood. Lockhart clapped his hands together and the lid of the crate flew open. What followed was astonishing. Courageous, heroic Gilderoy Lockhart was on his hands and knees staring at the desk in sheer panic shrieking "NO! NO THIS CAN'T BE! HELP! THIS IS DREADFUL! SOMEONE DO SOMETHING! OH, HEEEEEEEEELP!"
Harry raised his gaze from the pathetic-looking Lockhart to the tormentor, which stood outside the box on the desk. It was a mirror. A mirror reflecting a tired-looking, wrinkled, toothless, balding man, which Harry wouldn't have recognised as Lockhart had it not been for the colour of his robes - turquoise, as usual. Stuffing a fist in his mouth to stop himself rolling on the floor in helpless giggles, Harry looked back at the Lockhart on the floor who was still screaming.
Neville rolled his eyes and muttered "pitiful", before rising from his seat, pulling out his wand, and muttering "Riddikulus", while casually inspecting his fingernails. The Boggart mirror temporarily morphed into a Snape wearing an ugly grimace and an even uglier set of tartan dress robes, resembling McGonagall's at the Yule Ball. The Boggart then vanished and the box snapped shut.
Neville raised an eyebrow at his teacher, who was still on the floor, sweating buckets, though looking thoroughly relieved.
"Wh-wh-what w-w-was that th-th-thing?" Lockhart mumbled.
"A Boggart, Professor," Neville answered simply, still smiling.
"Ah, right," Lockhart said, straightening up, but still shaking all over. "And I just thought I'd show you the damage a Boggart can do, if you're not expecting it. Not bad acting on my part, wouldn't you say?"
No one seemed to have heard him, the class was still laughing.
"I happen to be an expert on Boggarts," Lockhart said, a little more loudly. "If you ever get round to reading my new book "Brick-laying with Boggarts"...."
still, no one listened, so Lockhart cleared his throat and announced rather sternly that they should proceed with Lupin's instructions.
"Now, if I could get you attention, please," Lockhart almost shouted (Harry thought he was asking for a near miracle, as the class still roared with giggles) "We can inspect this funny-looking creature in this tank."
Harry peered at the glass tank, containing a single Grindylow. Wondering what Lockhart could possibly do wrong with a Grindylow, he glanced at the others, who were still chortling, then at the tank again.
Lockhart bent down, so his head was level with the Grindylow, while lecturing the class. A couple of sentences told the class that, like most things he pretended he was an expert on, he didn't have a clue.
"Now, as you may note, this creature - the Grinding Blow - is green," said Lockhart, with the air of someone announcing the innermost secret of the universe. " Which differentiates him from other creatures who are of different colours. The colour of it is unique to green-skinned creatures such as certain breeds of dragons, like the one I so boldly banished from a Muggle Pizza place as it tore its way in asking for mushroom and onion toppings with its...."
Further speech was cut off and the only thing that was emitted from Lockhart's mouth were several frantic gurgles, and splutters. Harry couldn't blame him - after all, it was exceedingly tricky to say anything else when a Grindylow reaches out of its tank, grabs your head in a tight grip and pulls it into the water, which was exactly what had happened. Lockhart was waving his arms about frantically, sounding like Moaning Myrtle drowning herself in the U-bend of a toilet.
Neville, once again, raised his eyes to the heavens and muttered "hopeless", while raising his wand and, without bothering to rise from his seat, send a jet of sparks into the tank. The Grindylow released its grip on Lockhart's head, and Lockhart withdrew it hastily from the water, coughing and spluttering.
"Yes, thank you, Mister Longbottom," Lockhart wheezed. "As you see, the Grin - the Grin - this creature has a tight grip and a great passion for human heads...."
"Actually," Seamus corrected him, "Professor Lupin said that the Grindylow's long fingers and strong grip are due to...."
Lockhart interrupted. "As my recent bestseller "Gardening with Greening Glows"...."
"They're called Grindylows, Professor," said Ron loudly.
"AND, LUPIN'S NEXT TOPIC IS," Lockhart raised his voice over the sniggers, giggles, chortling, cackling, chuckling and all other forms of laughter. "HINKYPUNKS! NOW COME ON, OUTSIDE ONTO THE GROUNDS, SO WE CAN EXAMINE THEM!"
Five minutes later, Lockhart had led the Gryffindors to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where a large bog spread from the nearest side of the lake into the Forest. Lockhart released the one-legged, smoke-like creature from another tank of Lupin's into the bog. Lockhart cleared his throat.
"Now, the Hinkypunks are....they live in......they....," Lockhart began, trying, no doubt an improvisation to make up for his huge lack of knowledge. Eventually, when he could think of nothing to say he said, "So, who can tell me what a Hinkypunk is and does?"
"It hangs from the branches of a tree making faces and selling cheap pumpkin juice and Chocolate Frogs at ripped off prices," said Dean.
"Couldn't have put it better myself," smiled Lockhart.
The class erupted into gales of laughter. Lockhart looked confused.
Hermione, who apparently disapproved of making a mockery of teachers however stupid they were, said "Professor Lupin told us two years ago that Hinkypunks live in or near bogs and quicksand pits, trying to lure travelers into the mud, so they sink into the..."
"Hermione!" hissed Ron. "you're ruining the fun!"
"Correct, as usual, Miss Granger," beamed Lockhart, and Hermione flushed. "Not that anyone would be stupid enough to fall for -"
Lockhart was interrupted by a voice calling from the depths of the mud, "Gilderoy! Gilderoy Lockhart! The bravest, most amazingly heroic wizard of all time! I can't believe you're here! May I congratulate you on your superb hairdo! Oh, do you think I could possibly have your autograph? It would be my dream come true to have the name of my idol champion inscribed on my foot. Could you please spare me some ink from your quill and time to sign my foot?"
Lockhart, delighted by the voice's flattery, marched straight into the bog as if in a trance, peacock feather quill in his hand. It wasn't until he was up to his chin in icy mud that he seemed to snap to his senses, whereupon he started screaming like Dudley had when he wasn't paid enough for being polite to the mayor on a private visit to Privet Drive.
Once again, this time to nobody's surprise, Neville raised his wand, this time murmuring "pathetic", before muttering "Mobilicorpus", and Lockhart's body rose out of the bog.
Lockhart looked pretty much like he did in the Boggart mirror's reflection, mucky, hair all messed up and his face full of mud.
"Looks like he could use a bath with a Grindylow now," Ron muttered to Harry.
The bell rang in the castle and a chuckling class of Gryffindors made their way up to the castle.
END.