Gilderoy Lockhart

The next morning saw a slightly more cheerful, limp-free Castiel, who sat down next to Hermione at the breakfast table.

'That's a good one,' he said, gesturing at the copy of Voyages with Vampires that she had propped open against a milk jug. She nodded vaguely without taking her eyes off the page. Content to sit quietly beside Hermione, he munched on a heavily buttered piece of toast until the Gryffindor boys arrived and sat down on her other side.

'Good morning,' he said brightly, as did Neville Longbottom opposite them.

'Post's due any minute- I think Gran's sending on a few things I forgot,' Neville said, just as Sherlock walked in and sat opposite John. No sooner had John grabbed a bowl of porridge did hundreds of owls stream in and circle the hall, dropping parcels on tables. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head and something large and grey fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.

'Errol!' Ron exclaimed, pulling him out of the jug by his feet. Errol slumped unconscious, with a damp, red envelope clamped in his beak.

'Oh, no-' Ron gasped.

'It's all right, he's still alive,' said Hermione, prodding Errol with the tip of her finger.

'It's not that- it's that.'

He pointed at the red envelope. It looked ordinary enough, but Neville, Ron and Sherlock were all looking at it as if it were about to explode, and Castiel jumped back and fell out of his seat when he saw it.

'What's the matter?' said Harry.

'She- she sent me a Howler,' said Ron faintly.

'You'd better open it, Ron,' said Neville in a timid whisper. 'It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and- it was horrible.'

John frowned in confusion at the slight flicker of fear that crossed even Sherlock's face.

'What's a Howler?' he asked.

'You'll see,' Sherlock grimaced as the envelope began to smoke at the corners. Ron slit it open with shaking hands and Neville stuffed his fingers in his ears.

'What-' John began, but he never got to finish his sentence as a booming roar filled the Hall.

'… STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT HAD GONE…'

John clamped his hands over his ears in an attempt to block out the sound of Mrs Weasley's yells that were making the plates and spoons on the table rattle. People throughout the Hall were swivelling round in their seats to see who had received the Howler and Ron sank so low in his chair that only the top of his red head was showing.

'… LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME. WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED…'

John's eardrums were starting to throb and Sherlock's eyes were squeezed shut. He wished it would be over soon.

'… ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S NOW FACING AN ENQUIREY AT WORK AND IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT. IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.'

A ringing silence fell and the red envelope burst into flames and curled into ashes. John lowered his hands cautiously and Castiel pulled himself out from under the table, trembling slightly. A few people laughed and gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.

Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron's head.

'Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you-'

'Don't tell me I deserve it,' snapped Ron.

John shook his head, his ears still ringing and a dull ache began to fill his skull. But there was no time to dwell on this, as Professor McGonagall was walking along the Gryffindor table, handing out timetables. She reached them, narrowed her eyes at Sherlock and Castiel before handing them theirs as well. The Gryffindors had double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, while the Ravenclaws had Transfiguration first.

John, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patches and made for the greenhouses. As they neared them, they saw the rest of the class waiting for Professor Sprout. They joined them just as the professor came striding across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Bandages filled her arms and John spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches were now in slings.

'Oh, hello there!' Lockhart called to them. His vibrant, turquoise robes made John's eyes water.

'Just showing Professor Sprout here the proper way to doctor a Whomping Willow. Now, I don't want you all running around with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is, I just happen to have come across several of these exotic plants in my travels,' he said cheerily.

'Greenhouse Three today, chaps,' said Professor Sprout, looking distinctly disgruntled. A murmur of interest rippled through the waiting students. They had only ever been in Greenhouse One- Greenhouse Three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. As they entered, John looked up and saw some giant, umbrella-sized flowers clinging to the ceiling. Lockhart's hand shot out behind him, stopping Harry from following him in.

'Harry! I've been wanting a word- you don't mind, do you, Professor Sprout?'

Judging by the scowl on her face, she did mind, but Lockhart said, 'That's the ticket' and closed the door in her face. John stopped for a moment to rub his forehead and found himself stuck between Neville Longbottom and a Hufflepuff girl with a ponytail. Everyone settled behind the benches and looked expectantly at Professor Sprout. Harry crept quietly into the room and when he took his place with Ron and Hermione Professor Sprout said, 'We'll be re-potting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrakes?'

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.

'Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative,' she said sounding, as usual, as though she had swallowed a textbook.

'It is used to return those who have been transfigured or cursed, to their original state,' John piped up, as much to his surprise as everyone else's. He blinked in confusion, then shrugged it off.

'Excellent, ten points to Gryffindor,' said Professor Sprout. 'The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?'

'The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,' Hermione said immediately.

'Precisely. Take another ten points. Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young,' said Professor Sprout, pointing at a row of deep trays and John caught a glimpse of a hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in colour, before everyone shuffled forward to get a better view. John felt a rushing sense of déjà vu everything was strangely fluid as he grabbed a pair of earmuffs.

'When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered,' said Professor Sprout. 'When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right- earmuffs on.'

John and everyone snapped their earmuffs over their ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put a pink fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

'Whoa!' John gasped, unheard, in surprise. Instead of roots, a small, muddy and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head and he was bawling at the top of his lungs, though no one could hear him past their earmuffs.

Professor Sprout took a large pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in compost until only his leaves were showing. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands and signalled for them to remove their earmuffs.

'As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill you yet,' she said calmly, as though she'd done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. 'However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it's time to pack up.

'Four to a tray- there is a large supply of pots here- compost in sacks over there- and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething.'

John joined Neville at his tray, with the Hufflepuff girl and another boy. Neville's voice washed over him with a slightly muffled quality. John looked at him, not quite focusing on him until everything was suddenly clear again.

'Are you all right?' Neville asked nervously.

'Yeah, fine,' he smiled. He turned to the Hufflepuffs next to him.

'Hey, I'm John Watson.'

The boy grinned and stuck out his hand.

'Ernie Macmillan,' he said, shaking John's hand vigorously.

'Molly Hooper,' the girl said warmly. She began dumping some compost into some of the pots in front of them.

'Hey, look, Molly. Justin's really talking their ears off,' said Ernie. Molly and John looked to where Ernie was pointing, and saw the boy called Justin chatting animatedly to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Molly stifled a giggle.

'Well, at least it's not us,' she laughed. 'It's nice to meet you, John,' she said before they had to put their earmuffs back on and concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look so easy, but easy it was not. The Mandrakes didn't want to come out of the earth, but they didn't want to go back in either. John and Molly worked together to wrest a particularly difficult one from the tray and dump it quickly into its new pot before it wriggled from their grasp. After they'd managed to completely submerge it in soil, the bell rang for the end of the lesson and all of them were dirty and aching. Most of them wished to never come into contact with the horrible little plants ever again, but John had to admit that, even though they were a pain, he actually quite liked them. They hurried off up to the castle to have a quick was before their next lesson.

The Gryffindors had Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. John had forgotten most of what he had learnt last year and, for a while; he stared nonchalantly at the beetle he was supposed to be turning into a button. Ron, however, was having worse problems. The wand that had snapped when they crashed into the Whomping Willow kept crackling and sparking at odd moments. Ron had attempted to put it back together with Spellotape, but it seemed to be beyond repair. Every time he tried to transfigure his beetle, thick, grey smoke issued from it and a smell of rotten eggs filled the room. Unable to see his beetle through the smoke, he accidentally squashed it with his elbow and earning himself a disapproving look from Professor McGonagall. For the last few minutes of the lesson, John fidgeted restlessly until the bell rang for lunch. Ron spent the walk to the Great Hall hitting his wand against various objects and people.

'Stupid-useless-thing,' he said, his words punctuated by sharp whacks against the stone wall.

'Well, that's hardly going to help, is it?' Hermione scolded. Sherlock and Castiel were already waiting for them in the hall.

'We just had Defence Against the Dark Arts,' Castiel said happily as they sat down.

'Oh, how was it?' Hermione asked.

'It was absolutely atrocious,' said Sherlock hotly.

'He's exaggerating,' said Castiel, chewing on a sandwich. Just then, Ron's wand made a loud, repetitive, hooting sound.

'Why don't you just write home and ask for a new one?' Harry suggested.

'Oh yeah, and get another Howler back,' said Ron, stuffing his now hissing wand into his bag. 'It's your own fault your wand got snapped-'

After some sandwiches they went out into the slightly overcast courtyard and sat on the steps. Hermione opened her copy of Voyages with Vampires, which Castiel read over her shoulder. After a while, Harry became aware of someone watching him and looked up and saw a very small, mousey-haired little boy, clutching what looked like a Muggle camera. He turned bright red when Harry looked at him.

'All right, Harry? I'm- I'm Colin Creevey,' he said breathlessly. 'I'm in Gryffindor too. D'you think-would it be all right if- can I have a picture?' he said, raising the camera hopefully. Sherlock choked down his disbelieving laughter.

'Shut up, Sherlock. What- what do you want a picture for?'

'So I can prove I've met you,' said Colin eagerly. 'I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You Know Who tried to ill you, and how he disappeared and everything, and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead, and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion the pictures'll move.'

Colin carried on talking at breakneck speed.

'Well, he's certainly enthusiastic,' John muttered to Sherlock. '-It'd be really good if I had one of you, maybe one of your friends could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?'

'Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?'

Malfoy's loud, scathing voice cut across the courtyard, silencing the murmur of conversation.

'Everyone queue up!' Malfoy roared. 'Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!'

'No, I'm not!' said Harry angrily. 'Shut up, Malfoy.'

All the mirth had dropped from what was visible of Sherlock's face and had been replaced by an icy scowl.

'Do us a favour and sod off, Malfoy,' John sighed, rubbing his sore head.

'This doesn't concern you, Watson,' Malfoy snarled.

'Don't talk to him like that,' spat Sherlock.

'Or what, you'll throw some of Potter's signed photos at me? Maybe you should keep them for Weasley- just one would be worth more than his entire house.'

Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand but Hermione snapped her book shut and whispered, 'Look out!'

'What's all this, what's all this?' Gilderoy Lockhart was striding towards them, his turquoise robes stabbing John in the eyeballs with their unnatural bright colour. 'Who's giving out signed photos?'

Harry started to speak, but was cut short by Lockhart flinging an arm around his shoulders.

'Shouldn't have asked! We meet again!'

Sherlock had switched his cold glare from Malfoy to Lockhart, but he didn't notice, busy as he was flashing his bright smile at Colin's camera.

'Doesn't really work when no one can see your face,' John muttered to him. 'Are his lessons really that bad?'

'Oh, you'll find out, you have him next.'

'Have you already memorised my timetable? Don't answer that, of course you have.'

The bell rang and Lockhart dragged Harry off down the corridor.

'Well, we have Transfiguration now,' said Sherlock. 'Have fun with Lockhart.'

John rolled his eyes and walked off with Ron and Hermione, Sherlock and Castiel heading in the opposite direction.

They got to Lockhart's classroom and Ron and Hermione sat down either side of Harry, who had constructed a barrier between himself and Lockhart by stacking books on his desk. John sat in a nice, shadowy corner on his own. The rest of the class clattered in and when they were all seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly. Silence fell and he reached forward to pick up Neville's copy of Travels with Trolls, to hold it up and show his own, winking portrait on the front.

'Me,' he said, pointing at it and winking as well. John could already feel irritation creeping up on him and the robes shining across the room weren't helping.

'Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence 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!'

John groaned softly at the poor attempt at a joke.

'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- just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in…'

When he had handed out test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, 'You have thirty minutes. Start-now!'

John looked down at his paper and read:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?

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?

'This is ridiculous,' John said loudly. The whole class turned to look at him.

'Excuse me?' Lockhart said, clearly struggling to maintain his bright smile.

'What has any of this got to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts. Knowing what hair care products you use isn't going to help us if we're facing a werewolf or something.'

'Hmm, you don't happen to know Sherlock Holmes, do you?'

A stab of pain spiked through John's head at the mention of Sherlock, and Lockhart's robes were starting to look as if they might glow in the dark.

'Actually, yes, I do, and this 'quiz' is irrelevant and redundant and I'm not doing it. And you know something else? Those robes, I'm sorry to say, are an absolute atrocity, so please, never wear them in public ever again.'

A few people in the room gasped, including Hermione.

'If you're not going to take the quiz, then you can leave my lesson,' Lockhart said in a shaky attempt at discipline.

'Fine by me,' said John, already gathering up his books. He walked calmly from the room and shut the door.

'That was weird,' Ron muttered.

John wandered up to Gryffindor tower to dump his books and took his sweet time about it. His headache didn't get any worse, but it didn't get better and continued to pound painfully. After a while, he began to regret what he had said to Lockhart, purely because he wasn't in a lesson and was now terribly bored. He let his feet take him where they would and found himself watching the gems flying up and down in the hourglasses representing the four houses. He soon left them and roamed the corridors for what felt like an age, stopping briefly outside the Transfiguration classroom that he knew Sherlock to be in. Eventually, he felt it time to return to the lesson and wait outside. He got there just as the bell rang and was almost bowled over by almost the entire class shoving themselves frantically through the door, including Lockhart himself.

'What the-'

John slipped into the room and was immediately accosted by several flying; electric blue blurs that pulled on his hair, ears and robes. As he tried to bat them away with his hands, he saw that Harry, Ron and Hermione were battling against them too, amidst the wreckage that used to be the classroom, and a moaning Neville lying on the ground beside the candelabra that had broken free.

'What the hell is going on?' came Sherlock's voice from the doorway. John's headache suddenly seemed to loosen its grip on him, and then it melted away completely.

'Looks like pixies,' he heard Castiel say. They dashed in and started grabbing at the little blue things.

'Can you believe him?' Ron shouted. 'Lockhart released a bunch of Cornish pixies and just ran away.'

'He just wanted to give us some hands-on experience,' said Hermione, hitting two pixies at once with an Immobilising Charm and stuffing them back in their cage.

'I'm sure he meant no harm,' Castiel said, imitating Hermione's Charm.

'You weren't there, Castiel, he didn't have a clue what he was doing,' Harry complained.

'Rubbish,' Hermione snapped. 'You've read his books- look at all those amazing things he's done…'

'He says he's done,' Ron muttered.

'You know, Ron, you might just be on to something, there,' said Sherlock.

It took a while, but at last, all the pixies had been shut back in their cage and covered back over. They spent the walk to dinner explaining to Sherlock and Castiel what had happened in the lesson. Hermione was particularly proud of the full marks she had gotten in the quiz.

'…and Professor Lockhart said that there was only one other person that had gotten full marks,' she grinned.

'I know,' Castiel smiled shyly. 'I was the other one.'

They giggled quietly together. Sherlock rolled his eyes from behind his hair and turned to John.

'I can't believe you said those things to Lockhart.'

'No, neither can I,' John frowned. 'I don't know what came over me.'

Sherlock shook his head and they sat down at the long table, where Ron instantly helped himself to whatever happened to be closest.

'There's just something that isn't quite right about out new Professor,' said Sherlock.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Hermione asked sharply.

'It means that he isn't what he says he is, and if that's the case, then I plan to find out exactly what he's up to. I for one don't plan on being taught by a fraud.'

'He is not a fraud!'

'Believe what you will, Hermione, but I will prove that he's a huge fake,' Sherlock stated, rising from his seat. He stalked from the hall without eating to begin his pursuit of Lockhart's true identity.

Hello there! Well today is a special day. It has been exactly one year since I posted the first chapter of Philosopher's Stone. Since then this series has gotten over 10,000 views and nearly 90 reviews! It has been a fantastic year and it's been a privilege to share this experience with you all. Thank you all so much.

Thanks to The403yearold, mightyBookworm, TS17isme, Ms Moonshoes Potter, DorkyDaydreamer and CoolNinjaOfDoom for the reviews :)

Thanks to ScazzaGrace my amazing beta