Chapter Nineteen – Gilderoy Lockhart

Harry had a very strange encounter at the breakfast table the next morning. Many of his fellow Slytherins had been curious to hear where he and Blaise had been during the start of term ceremonies. Several students approached him soon after he had made his appearance in the common room, greeting him as an old friend in spite of the fact that Harry remembered very few of their names. Although Harry never spoke more than two words to any of them, it wasn't unusual for him to receive this much unwanted attention. He was, after all, "The Boy Who Lived." Blaise told him not to worry, and seemed to enjoy being in the spotlight, particularly when his audience consisted of the older girls. Harry allowed him to make their excuses, knowing full well that Blaise would invent a story far more interesting than "we missed our train."

But he would not be able to escape the notice of one particular student so easily.

It happened while Harry was tending to Hedwig. She arrived with the morning mail though she had nothing to deliver, and Harry was gently patting her feathers as a thank you for checking in when a small, skinny boy approached him. Harry could tell from the boy's uniform that he was in Slytherin, though it was his size and the way he trembled from head to foot with excitement that gave him away as a first year.

"Er, hi?" Harry said after the boy had stared at him in rapt amazement without saying a word for half a minute.

"Oh wow!" he finally exclaimed, as if awaiting this most meager sign of acknowledgment to release his elation. "It's you! I mean it's really, really you!"

"Yup, I'm me all right," Harry said, preparing to turn away. He didn't have time for fanboys.

Unluckily, the boy was undaunted, and Harry was forced to submit to a still-longer exchange when the boy thrust his hand forward and eagerly introduced himself.

"My name is Colin Creevy! It's such an honor to meet you, Mr. Harry Potter!"

"You really don't have to call me mister," Harry said. He accepted the hand offered to him, though he felt he would come to regret it later. He was painfully conscious of Blaise and Millie seated across from him, both snickering into plates of egg and sausage.

"I can't believe I'm actually talking to the real Harry Potter!" Creevy continued, exactly as if he hadn't heard a word of what Harry said, "I've heard all about you. They say you were raised by muggles! Me too! My dad's a milkman. Imagine his surprise when he found out I was accepted to a school for wizards! And there's so much to learn... Like, I just heard about you on the train, and about how you defeated you-know-who... Do you know who? No one will tell me his name! Oh, but I know he was a bad wizard and all... And you just a baby! Can you imagine? Oh, of course you can! You were there! And then you killed that teacher last year, too. What was his name? Squirrel? Interesting name for a man, Squirrel... But then these magical folks all have interesting names, don't they? Like Dumbledore... Anyway, when I heard about the sorting, I really wanted to be in Gryffindor! But then someone said Harry Potter – that's you – had been sorted into Slytherin last year, and I thought I had to meet you and this might be the best way and so I asked the hat if I could be in Slytherin instead and it agreed! I must be the luckiest boy in the world! Anyway, can I take your picture?"

"W-What?" Harry stammered. Creevy talked so quickly and seemingly without the need to breathe, Harry couldn't quite understand what had just happened. About the only thing he understood for certain was that this boy actually asked to be in Slytherin. And because of Harry, evidently.

Harry directed his gaze to Blaise and Millie for support. "Why is this happening to me?"

"The hat hates you, I guess," Millie whispered back.

Creevy had not witnessed this brief exchange. He was busy fiddling with a large, cumbersome camera around his neck.

"Dad said I should take lots of pictures, and my friend... Oh!" Colin seemed to remember something, and he turned away, sprinting down the length of the table. Harry sat in stunned silence, thinking Creevy had abandoned the conversation he'd forced on Harry in the first place. But Creevy was not gone for long. He simply ran to the end of the table, pulled another first year boy from his seat, and forcibly dragged him back to Harry with the strength of his determination alone, for the other boy was trying very hard to make his escape.

"This is my friend, Herbivorus Pandey, but you can call him Herb! He's the one who was telling me that if you develop the photos in a special potion, they'll move!"

"Get off me," Pandey said with a cringing expression, "And I did not say you could call me Herb!"

"Oh, Herb! You're such a kidder!" Creevy said with a laugh, "Anyway, do you think you could take a picture of me and Harry Potter?"

Pandey's struggle to get away from Creevy came to a sudden halt. He stared at Harry, then his eyes traveled up to Harry's scar, and his mouth fell open.

Creevy took his stunned silence as agreement, and he began to hang his camera around Pandey's neck, all the while giving him instructions on how to take a photo. Harry was wondering how he could politely decline Creevy's request without crushing his spirit, when their bustle finally attracted the attention of Draco Malfoy and his group of goons.

"What's this?" he asked in a mocking tone. He'd been in a sour mood since early that morning when he found Blaise's snake in his bed. "Not content with the article in the Prophet, Potter? Have to take pictures with your many adoring fans now?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry warned. But Malfoy had only just begun.

"Next you'll be handing out autographed portraits, I suppose? How soon can we expect your autobiography?"

"Did somebody say autobiography?"

Gilderoy Lockhart sailed into view, wearing robes of palest lavender and smiling his bright, unnaturally white smile. Harry wanted to hide under the table, but he knew that would only draw more attention to himself. He settled for directing a glare at Malfoy, who seemed unable to contain his amusement as Lockhart rested his hand on Harry's shoulder in what Harry assumed was meant to be a fatherly gesture. He resented it immediately.

"Ah, Harry! I should have guessed!" Lockhart spied the camera in Creevy's hands and gave a jovial laugh. "Taking pictures, I see! Developed a taste for it after our meeting, I daresay." He shook his head from side to side sadly and continued, "Harry, Harry, Harry... I suppose you do have some fame, but you must try not to let this go to your head. After all, the first years may idolize you, but you have a long way to go before considering an autobiography. You're only ten years old, after all. Plenty more for you to experience!"

"Actually, Professor," Blaise said, quickly coming to Harry's rescue, "We were just discussing your memoirs. My mum has been writing me, and she says it's a magnificent book. When she's finished, she'll be sending it straight to me."

"Ah yes! I thought you seemed familiar. Young master Zabini isn't it?" Lockhart asked, disengaging his hand from Harry's shoulder to shake with Blaise. "And how is Mrs. Zabini? So glad to hear she's enjoying Magical Me."

"She's fine," Blaise said with a slight cringe. Harry knew he'd owe him for this interference later. Reminding Lockhart of his mother was clearly not something Blaise would do for just anyone.

Lockhart seemed to recall himself, and added as an afterthought, "And Mr. Zabini? He's doing well, I trust?"

"My father is dead," Blaise said flatly.

"Oh really? So sorry about that, my condolences," said Lockhart. His tone was contrite, but his smile told a different story. He was even bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, obviously elated to hear that the subject of their discussion was single.

"Terrible thing, a boy your age not to have a man around the house... no father figure," Lockhart said musingly.

"Oh, I've had plenty of those," said Blaise, "The last one disappeared without a trace. He's presumed dead."

He clearly meant to frighten Lockhart off his mother's scent, but the distraction didn't hold. Lockhart was still lost in his own musings, no doubt expecting that he would be as fabulous as a husband and father as he believed himself to be at everything else.

"Well, my boy, if you ever have anything you need to, you know, discuss with an older, wiser, more attractive male figure, feel free to come by my office any time! The same to you, Harry. I think the two of us can be very good friends!"

He sashayed away. Fortunately, he took young Creevy and Pandey with him, enticing Creevy with the promise of an autographed portrait of himself. Harry and Blaise were left to suffer the pangs of embarrassment he left in his wake.

"More attractive?" Blaise gasped in outrage, "He must be joking!"

"You are a twelve-year-old boy, Blaise," said Millie, "There's not much competition between you."

"Oh, and I suppose you're like every other girl here, going ga-ga for Gilderoy? Classes haven't even started yet, and everyone is already losing their minds over him!"

"I am not ga-ga for Gilderoy!" Millie said indignantly. Her threatening look was not to be argued with, and Blaise dropped that line of thought instantly. Instead, he sank back into the seat of his chair, and looked at Harry with a dismal expression.

"We have class with him today, don't we?" he asked.

"'Fraid so," Harry replied, checking over his schedule again, "But on the positive side, we won't have potions until later this week."

He hazarded a glance at the teacher's table, but Snape had not arrived for the morning meal. Harry was glad for it. He knew that eventually he'd have to pay for his attitude the night before. It was only a matter of time. If he was lucky, Lockhart wouldn't hear that Harry had signed an autograph for a teacher.

Breakfast having been spoiled by their encounter with the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, they decided to clean up and prepare for their first class of the day, double Herbology with the Ravenclaws. Harry trooped down to the greenhouses with his friends and the other second-year Slytherin students. He was painfully aware of Malfoy and his crew doggedly pursuing them, but he couldn't very well tell him to leave when they were headed to the same class, so he ignored them as best as he could, even when Malfoy began recounting the episode with Creevy that morning.

"He said he wanted to be in Gryffindor?" Harry heard the shrill voice of Pansy Parkinson exclaim, "Well why doesn't he just go join them, then? Why should we have to put up with him?"

"I suppose Perfect Harry Potter must have his fans," Mafloy drawled, "Do you know he's already writing his memoirs? If he's lucky, Lockhart will write the introduction..."

"Ignore them, ignore them..." Harry chanted to himself. He marched straight toward the back table in the farthest corner of the greenhouse. The raised wooden tables were arranged for sets of four to work together, and Harry directed his feet to a place where a lone Ravenclaw boy was already sitting.

"Hi. Care if we join you?" Harry said, not bothering to wait for a response before taking a seat. Millie and Blaise filled the other two spots. Malfoy predictably took the table right next to their group, but at least Harry avoided the possibility of him trying to join their party.

"Oh, um... Hello!" said the Ravenclaw boy with some embarrassment. Harry saw his gaze flicker toward his scar, as most people's inevitably did on meeting him, but at least he had the decency to look away again quickly. Harry saw his lips move as he mouthed something incoherent to himself. When he looked up again it was to look into Harry's eyes.

"I'm Ned Willowby!" he said brightly, stretching his hand across the table to shake with Harry, though the resulting position was a bit awkward for both, and they only manged to grip the tips of each of their fingers.

"Harry Potter," said Harry politely, though he knew that Willowby already knew who he was.

He introduced Blaise and Millie, as well. Blaise was prepared to be friendly, though Millie gave Willowby nothing more than a nod, and directed her attention to the front of the class, where Professor Sprout had just come in and was presiding over several rows of potted plants positioned at the front of the greenhouse.

"Alright, everyone! That's enough chatter!" Professor Sprout said. For such a small, round woman, she had a very loud voice.

"Welcome to another year of Herbology!" she said with a smile as wide as Gilderoy Lockhart's, but filled with more genuine feeling. "As part of your curriculum for second year, we'll be dealing with a few of the more dangerous varieties of magical plants, so I hope you've come with the required safety equipment!"

"Think we'll be seeing more of the Devil's Snare?" Blaise whispered to Harry.

"If so, we should have brought safety goggles. All those wand flares are going to be blinding," Harry whispered back.

But the Devil's Snare was apparently still considered above the second year's capabilities. Instead, Professor Sprout instructed someone from each group to collect a potted plant and set of earmuffs for each table.

"That's you, boo-boo," Blaise said, directing his wand at Willowby lazily.

Willowby colored slightly and obediently ran to the front of class to collect the supplies. He returned with two pots, one empty and one containing one of the dark, leafy plants, and four pairs of earmuffs.

Blaise looked disdainfully at a pair of pink, fluffy ones. "What is that?"

"Sorry," Willowby said, his eyes on the wand Blaise continued to toy with between his fingers, "All the others were taken."

"Then guess who will be wearing those?" Blaise asked as he took a dull brown pair from the pile for himself.

Willowby looked hopefully at Millie, but she had already grabbed a plain white pair.

"Me... I suppose..." he then said.

"Blaise, we're not in charms, put your wand away," Harry said. He then turned to Willowby and offered him an encouraging grin, "Don't mind him. That's just his way of playing around. I'll take the pink ones, if you don't want them."

But Ned insisted that no, no. He did want the pink ones. Pink was actually his favorite color, so he didn't mind at all. And he snatched up the pink pair before Harry could have a chance. Harry shrugged, and snatched up the final pair.

"Everyone have a pair of earmuffs? Good! Mr. Goyle... Mr. Goyle! Kindly remove yours so that you might hear my instruction before we begin? Thank you. Ms. Morningside, please refrain from tickling your plant. Alright, can I begin? Excellent. The plant you see before you is called Mandrake, or Mandragora. It may look harmless now, but I assure you they can be very dangerous. Can anyone tell me why?"

Harry gave his plant a suspicious look, and leaned away from it cautiously. He'd never heard of a mandrake before, but he had enough experience with dangerous plants last year to not be very keen on getting close to one again.

"Blaise?" Harry asked, but his friend shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he hadn't a clue.

Finally, a Ravenclaw girl near the front of the class raised her hand timidly.

"It's the root of the plant, isn't it?" she suggested, "They're said to grow at the base of a gallows, and their cry is lethal to those who hear it."

"Very good on two points, Miss Patil. But the bit about the gallows is just some muggle superstition. Now, the mandrake plants we have today are in their infancy, and thus their cry won't kill you. It might knock you out for a few hours, though, so make sure you have your earmuffs on tight!"

Harry wondered what she meant by a mandrake's "cry" as he copied the rest of the class and covered his ears. Professor Sprout waited until she had everyone's attention again, then she performed a short demonstration for the class. She gripped the base of the leafy plant firmly, and yanked it out of the dirt. Harry gasped as he saw the root of the plant. It appeared to be a dirty, squirming, wailing baby. Fortunately, the earmuffs appeared to be enchanted, as Harry couldn't hear a single sound. He knew the strange baby was crying, however, from the perfect O its mouth made as it screwed up its face in indignation. Professor Sprout gave them all a moment to appreciate this gruesome sight, then she plopped the mandrake root into an empty pot, dumping fresh soil over the top and patting it down firmly. She signaled to the class that it was safe to remove their earmuffs, and was soon giving them instructions on how they were to re-pot their own mandrakes.

"Did you see its feet?" Blaise asked with a touch of morbid glee, "The toes were all twisty and gnarled, like a root!"

"The mandrake is a root," said Willowby, "I know it looks like a little person, but that's just a defense mechanism the plant adapted to avoid being harvested."

Blaise and Millie stared at Willowby, who blushed at the attention he attracted and put his head down. Then Blaise said, "Oh right, Ravenclaw," which appeared to resolve the moment of awkwardness. He began quizzing Willowby on other things he knew about mandrakes.

"I don't know much, actually," Willowby admitted, "But I came across information on mandrakes when I was reading up on potions. Apparently, they're really good for curing people under enchantments."

Earmuffs in place, they dug into their assignment. Willowby had managed to pick a particularly fat mandrake, who was difficult not only to dislodge from its pot, but seemed to resent begin squashed into the new one. It cried in indignation at being removed from its dirt bed, but absolutely refused to be consoled by the new home, and struggled in Harry's hands, trying to escape back to the pot from whence it came. Blaise, Harry, and Ned combined forces to try to subdue the screaming creature, until Millie suggested they simply ask for a larger pot. One was supplied in due course, and they put the chubby plant baby comfortably inside and dumped the dirt over its head.

They were not the only ones to struggle with the assignment. Draco Malfoy had lost his grip on his mandrake entirely, and the little creature spent five whole minutes frolicking around the classroom, slipping around on its root legs and wailing the whole time. Professor Sprout had to corral the thing with a well-aimed spell, which sent it shooting into the pot. Goyle and Pansy Parkinson then frantically dumped the dirt over its head, trying to keep it from escaping.

Willowby joined Harry and his friends in laughing at the spectacle, though they had not fared much better. At the end of class, tired and covered in soil, they traipsed across the grounds back toward the castle. Their mutual experience and joint effort caused the awkwardness of initial meeting to fade away, and Willowby hung back from the other Ravenclaw students to talk with Harry, Blaise, and Millie some more. He eagerly joined Blaise and Harry in their abuse of Gilderoy Lockhart, but was unable to sympathize with them about the latest racing broom.

"My parents are muggles," he explained, "I tried to explain to them about Quidditch, but my mum nearly fainted from the thought. She didn't even want me playing rugby with the neighborhood kids."

"What's rugby?" Blaise asked curiously.

"I'll explain later," Harry assured him, though truthfully, he'd never been sure of the rules himself. All he knew was what he picked up listening in whenever Vernon and Dudley watched a game on the telly.

Instead of getting deep into the nuances of muggle sports, Harry offered Ned a chance to try his Nimbus 2000 sometime. He'd brought his broomstick to school for the first time, and would be using it to try out for the Quidditch team, but he didn't mind sharing with his new friend.

Willowby was excited by the prospect. He hadn't been on the back of a broom since flying lessons ended last year. He thanked Harry, and promised he would take him up on his offer at the earliest opportunity. They parted ways at the moving staircases. The Ravenclaw students were heading down to the dungeons for potions class, while the Slytherin students enjoyed a break before lunch.

"He seems nice," Blaise said as Willowby hurried down the stairs after his classmates. "Shame about the muggle parents, though."

"What's so bad about having muggle parents?" asked Harry.

"Come on, Harry. After the way your muggle relatives treated you? They just can't understand magic. That's all."

Harry didn't think all muggles were like the Dursleys, but then, he'd never had a chance to meet many people outside the Dursley's friends and Vernon's relatives. Even when they did have guests over, Harry had usually been sent to the cupboard under the stairs, or more recently, his locked room. Harry didn't want to argue over the matter with Blaise, however, so he merely agreed that Ned did seem like a nice kid.

His encounter with the Ravenclaw student made him wonder why he'd mixed so infrequently with students from the other houses, and he briefly entertained the notion of trying to befriend students outside Slytherin House. But he abandoned the idea after he tried giving a friendly smile to a couple Gryffindor girls who they passed in the hall. They both stuck their noses in the air and hurried away, pretending they hadn't noticed him, all the while muttering about "nasty Slytherins."