The Babbling Curse

It didn't take long for word of Lockhart's catastrophic lesson with the Gryffindors to spread.

Apparently, the Professor had opened a cage containing a fair number of Cornish Pixies, who thoroughly wrecked the classroom and sent two students – with minor injuries – to Madam Pomfrey. And Lockhart? Well, he'd dived under his desk until Hermione had taken control with a clever freezing charm.

So, it wasn't a surprise when the Slytherins reluctantly trudged up to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class the following day, Merlin dragging his heels far behind the rest. Draco hung back with him, seemingly torn between pity and amusement as Merlin grumbled obscenities under his breath.

"You're enjoying this," Merlin finally said, glancing at him and narrowing his eyes.

"Consider it my reward," Draco sneered. "For tolerating whatever shenanigans you get up to."

Merlin chewed his tongue. He'd slipped back into the castle last night a good two hours after curfew, chilled but relieved to have finally checked in on his dragons. Draco had been lounging in one of the squashy black armchairs, staring at the low burning coals with a cloud over his eyes, and it hadn't been until Merlin sat down next to him that he'd looked away.

"Well, did you find the Dark Lord prowling the forbidden forest?" Draco had asked, not all together facetious.

"Not this time."

"Right." Draco turned his gaze back to the fireplace. "Are you ever going to bring me along?"

Merlin paused. "Do you actually want to come?" he asked, "What with Voldemort prowling and all?"

Draco flinched at the name. "I suppose not," he said quietly. "Though I think I should."

"Nah, that's Gryffindor you're thinking of."

Draco glared at him. "The Gryffindor," he said testily, "would have already followed you instead of respecting your privacy. So eager to be the hero and jump into danger, whereas I'm more concerned with looking out for my friend."

Merlin blinked, staring at him for a moment. "So am I," he said and he looked at the fireplace too. "So am I."

They sat like that in silence for several minutes, watching the embers dim.

"Oh, I ran into Hermione after dinner," Draco said suddenly. "And wait until you hear what she said about Lockhart's class…"

The class that Merlin now dreaded.

He saw the classroom just up ahead, the front of the Slytherin pack—Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls—already filing inside. What would Lockhart do? Re-create his first lesson or try something new? Merlin swallowed.

"Maybe I should just skip," he said.

"No—you're not leaving me alone in there," and Draco grabbed him by his tie, pulling him into the classroom.

Although the real Lockhart hadn't arrived yet, his smiling visage decorated the walls. Some of them, Merlin noticed with glee, seemed to be hiding half their face behind the frame or else scrubbing at ink splotches on their boisterously coloured robes.

As Merlin took the seat closest to the door, Draco wrinkled his nose and stared around the classroom. He took a seat next to Merlin, now staring at one of the pictures—an enormous one at the far back dressed in sunshine yellow, who was winking at Pansy Parkinson.

"That's just—that's a whole new level of narcissism," Draco muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

"Yeah, it's totally unexpected." Merlin ran his fingers along an ink stain on his desk.

Draco rolled his eyes. On Merlin's other side, Blaise snorted with laughter. He had already pulled out his books, laying them in a towering stack in front of his face as though attempting block Lockhart's giant picture from his line of sight.

Merlin probably would have done the same if he'd actually brought his books with him.

Exactly on time, Lockhart's office door flew open and he stepped out. He looked like he'd just stepped out of his picture, wearing the same golden robes, trimmed in cream and baby blue. He looked around at them all, eyes lingering a second too long on Merlin—who refused to look up from the ink splatter on his desk.

"Let me introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," he announced, slowly descending the staircase as he spoke. "Me. 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."

As though needing to prove this, he gave a wide smile.

"Now, I'm sure that by now, you've all heard about yesterday's little—ah—mishap."

Nearly everyone sniggered. Merlin looked up from his desk. Lockhart seemed somewhat unnerved at the way they all enjoyed his embarrassment. And then he flashed another one of his toothy grins.

"Yes—I know," he looked at Blaise who was positively shaking with laughter, now. "A slight miscalculation on my part. I'd thought the Gryffindors would be able to handle it," and he gave a huge sigh. "But I'm afraid I overestimated their abilities."

He laughed, and Merlin exchanged a look with Draco.

"Now, I presume you've all bought a complete collection of my books." His eyes hovered over Merlin's empty desk. "I've decided to start you all off with a little quiz—nothing to worry about, just to see how well you've read them."

As he walked around the room, passing out papers, Draco leaned over to Merlin. "Have you even cracked open the spine on your books?"

Merlin gave him a look.

"Good. Neither have I."

Merlin swallowed a smile—Lockhart was walking past their desks. He put the quiz on Merlin's desk with a flourish, before heading back to the front of the classroom and clearing his throat.

"You have thirty minutes, starting now!"

Merlin looked down at this paper and read:

One: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's Favorite Color?
Two: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
Three: What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

Merlin stared, and stared some more. What kind of questions were these? He looked up, wondering whether Lockhart was actually serious. The man had taken a seat behind his desk and had pulled out his complete collection of books, which he organized so that no matter which angle you looked you saw the same cheeky grin with perfect clarity.

Merlin looked back down at his test, and flipped through it—three whole pages, fifty-four questions, and every single of one of them concerned the histrionic now flipping through his copy of Magical Me and humming.

When the thirty-minutes were up, Merlin hadn't answered a single question.

After Lockhart had collected all the quizzes, he flipped through them in front of everyone. "Again, no one remembers my favorite color is lilac," he said shaking his head. "I say so, in Year with the Yeti."

He paused in his riffling, and raised his eyebrow. "Come on now—" he looked up, and met Merlin's eyes. He sighed. "You didn't answer a single question, Merlin. And I know you have a copy of all my books."

Merlin leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, well, I didn't open them—did I?"

His classmates snickered. Lockhart paused, before wagging a disapproving finger. "Slipping back into old habits, are we?" he said. "Well, I've been told to keep a close eye on you, and I intend to do just that. Can't let a brilliant mind like yours go to waste, now can we?"

Merlin chewed his tongue. He made the firm decision to ignore all homework Lockhart assigned. He didn't care if Snape made him clean the dungeons for a month.

Lockhart set the quizzes back on his desk, grabbed a copy of Voyages of Vampires and started flipping through the pages. "As you all need to get better acquainted with my books, I'm going to read you a piece – just to give you a taste."

Lockhart cleared his throat. "Spurred as I was by the rumours of a fearsome vampire wreaking havoc in the countryside, I had decided I would only stay one night in a small village in Transylvania—until I had regained just enough strength to continue on my quest to rid the people of the blood-sucking fiend. I arrived at nightfall and made my way through the dark streets to a quaint little pub, the name translated from Romanian meaning The Impaled Drinker. The owner – a man named Vlad – was standoffish at first, but after I had introduced myself to him and told him about my mission he gave me his best room and all the mead I could drink.

"I tried to ask him what he'd heard about this vampire, but my Romanian was poor and his English worse, and so he pointed me out to another one of his customers who might be able to help me. But just after I had told this new person who I was, they asked if I knew how to cure a babbling curse. It seemed that her father—a local farmer—had been cursed years ago and had been able to do little other than splutter and stammer gibberish since the incident. And I told her, Of course I do! I didn't want to deviate too far from my mission, but how could I leave, now that this woman had asked me for help? And so, I promised that I would arrive at her farm the next day and cure her father from his terrible affliction."

Lockhart paused, and then grinned. "This is where it gets good, but I'll need a volunteer to show you the full effect." He pretended to look around for a second before zeroing in on Merlin. "Come up here, Merlin."

"Oh no, I couldn't do it justice," Merlin responded at once. Listening to Lockhart read his book was one thing, but helping him do it would be torture.

"Of course you could," Lockhart laughed. "I'm sure of it, all you need to do is babble a bit. Dramatize the event so that you all," and he gestured to everyone else, "can really appreciate what I accomplished here."

"Babble a bit?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes. Was Lockhart serious? He actually wanted Merlin to embarrass himself in front of all his classmates? But Lockhart had already dived toward him, seizing the sleeve of his robes, and was pulling him to the front of the classroom.

"There we go," Lockhart said, nodding. "A little shy, isn't he?" and he laughed again.

Merlin was somewhat relieved that none of his classmates joined in. Even Pansy and Daphne—who had been watching Lockhart in rapt attention—frowned. Theodore looked downright scandalized, and Draco and Blaise seemed to be trying to kill Lockhart with looks alone.

"When I arrived at the farm," Lockhart began again, completely unaware of the growing hostility of his students. "The villager seemed to be engaged in a heated argument with his daughter, which of course was made rather difficult by the curse addling his speech—go on Merlin, babble."

But Merlin didn't say a word. He stood there; lips clamped tightly shut, his hands balled into fists.

Lockhart gestured to Merlin again, as though under the impression that Merlin had missed his cue. "Come on, it's not that hard," Lockhart said laughing. "It's not like I'm asking you to break the curse!"

Merlin glared at him.

"I think Merlin needs a little encouragement," Lockhart said glancing toward the class. "How does five points, sound?"

The class fidgeted, whispers breaking out. Pansy shot Merlin a nod, as though trying to say that it was worth it. Merlin scowled at her—maybe she should get up here and do it then.

Lockhart seemed to sense his refusal, because he suddenly said, "All right, ten. Ten points if you participate, and," he said sweeping his arms, "no homework!"

At this the class broke into hoots of glee, and Merlin deflated. That wasn't even fair! He glanced at Draco, who shrugged helplessly, before turning back to Lockhart. His lip curled, and with a curt nod Lockhart clapped his hands together.

"Ten points to Slytherin!"

He waited a couple seconds for the cheers to subside, cleared his throat, and began again, "Like I said, he was having a heated argument with his daughter, made difficult by the curse addling his speech—"

Merlin gritted his teeth. "Blah. Blah. Blah," he hissed. His head had started aching again.

Lockhart flashed a huge smile. "Just like that—and so, I went up to him, and I said that I knew exactly how to cure a babbling curse. Done it before, in fact. His daughter was so pleased, she begged her father to at least let me try. After all, he couldn't speak already, so what was the harm? He still seemed a little hesitant, and he babbled something—"

Merlin made a vomiting sound. He knew he should have skipped class.

"But I knew exactly what he wanted to say," Lockhart went on. "He wanted to tell me he couldn't afford to pay me in return for curing him. But I said that the knowledge that I'd helped out a fellow human being was reward enough for me."

Lockhart paused, beaming around at them all as though expecting some sort of awed reaction to his apparent generosity. A few girls smiled weakly. Merlin wanted to really vomit all over the man's golden shoes.

"I told the villager that the only way to break the curse was for me to cast the counter-curse while he babbled—catch it in the act, as it were." Lockhart turned back to Merlin. "Now, I want you to ramble nonsensically for a minute."

"You must be joking," Merlin said, shaking his head. But Lockhart wasn't listening anymore. He had pulled out his wand, and was rolling up his sleeves.

"The babbling counter-curse is tricky to get right, and requires some complicated wand movement," he whipped his wand high over his head, a large flurry of motion that, in Merlin's opinion, looked pointlessly overdramatic. "At my signal, the villager started to ramble—"

"Not in this universe," Merlin hissed.

"—and I spun my wand," Lockhart continued as if he hadn't heard him. He made some more ridiculous twirling wand gestures.

"Right," Merlin spat, growing steadily more irritated. "Because most counter-curses want you to write your name in the wind."

Merlin thought he heard Daphne nervously whisper his name, but he no longer cared. There wasn't a counter-curse on the planet that used such stupid motions, making this entire lesson pointless.

"Merlin," Lockhart said wagging his finger, as though he were about to reprimand a dog. "I said babbling, come on—it's unintelligible, lad." If he was angry that Merlin had insulted him, he didn't show it. "Let's try again."

"Oh, I must be unintelligible if you can't understand what I'm saying," Merlin sneered. "What's the matter? Can't quell the angry ferocity of my babbling curse?"

Lockhart ignored him, turning toward the rest of the class. "And as I performed the counter-curse, his tongue loosened and he was finally able to speak coherently once again," he finished in a rush.

There was silence, then—

"What a relief," Merlin snarled.

"Merlin—" he heard Draco caution from across the room, but he couldn't stop.

He didn't want to.

"For a minute there," he continued savagely, "I thought you were actually going to teach us something."

"Merlin—"

"You know, other than how to stoke your own ego."

Lockhart had finally turned his attention back to him, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. Merlin was willing to bet he'd never had anyone talk to him quite like that. Lockhart didn't move for a moment, regarding Merlin with the same shock as everyone else, then he frowned.

"My dear Merlin," he said walking toward him, and gently gripping his shoulder. "If you haven't learned anything, it's because you weren't paying attention!" he said shaking his head. "But then, what else is new?" he said turning back to class and chuckling. "I think Merlin needs some extra homework, for his benefit, you see?"

"Yeah, because I care so much about homework," Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes. "If you weren't such a clotpole—"

"Merlin!" Draco shouted, cutting him off.

Merlin turned to see that Draco had gotten to his feet. He didn't look surprised—like Lockhart— instead he seemed ready to jump forward as though he half expected Merlin to attack the so-called professor. Which, Merlin grudgingly admitted to himself, he wanted to.

"Five points from Slytherin!" Lockhart said. His voice sounded far less jovial than before. "I know," he said at the resounding groans, "I know. But there has got to be a line." He heaved a huge shrug. "And I want a foot-long essay detailing the history and effects of the babbling curse, to turn in next Monday."

The bell to signal the end of class was the sweetest sound Merlin had heard in a long time. Without a backwards glance at anyone, he strode from the room, seizing his bag from his desk on the way out. In the corridor he paused, took a ragged breath, and stalked off toward the dungeons, staring at his feet the entire way.

Merlin felt exhausted, as though he'd just run several miles and had yet to catch his breath. He knew he shouldn't have lost his temper like that—it was a miracle Lockhart hadn't given him detention. Maybe next time he'd just walk out of the classroom. Say nothing, just leave, and let Lockhart figure out what happened. Or better yet, never show up.

That sounded even better.

The door to the Potions classroom jumped open as Merlin strode toward it, and he forced himself to stop and breathe. He couldn't let Lockhart get to him. He had more control than this! Merlin shook himself, took another deep breath, and entered the classroom.

It was empty. Lucky him. Merlin threw himself into his usual seat in the middle back of the classroom, and two minutes later the rest of his classmates started filing inside.

"You all right?" Draco asked, sitting down next to him.

"Who cares?" Pansy shot angrily, from her seat one table over. "Couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Merlin?" she said leaning toward him.

Merlin gritted his teeth and whipped around to face her. "Easy for you to say," he sneered. "How about this? Next time you act out his bloody story."

Pansy's lip curled, but she didn't reply. With a huff, she turned around her seat and started unpacking her potions equipment.

"Frankly I'm surprised it wasn't worse," Blaise said softly. He'd taken a seat at Merlin's table as well. "You didn't notice all his paintings, did you?"

Merlin blinked. "No?" he said glancing from Blaise to Draco.

Draco grimaced. "They'd—well; they'd starting shaking by the end of class." At the look of panic on Merlin's face he added, "Lockhart didn't notice, though."

Merlin swallowed. He hadn't noticed either. Blaise was right—it could've been a lot worse. He ran his hands through his hair, muttering obscenities under his breath. Performing wandless magic in front of his classmates must've relaxed his control over it. Now, psychologically, he wasn't as worried about them seeing it—and maybe a part of him had wanted to scare Lockhart…

Get him to back off.

The door swung open again and Snape entered, ending all conversation. His eyes swept over them once, lingering on Merlin, before he turned and started writing the day's instructions on the board.

"Today," he announced, "we will be concocting a Hair-Raising Potion." He paused, and sneered, "Even though there are no Gryffindors here to show up, I fully expect your best work. I want a vial from each of you by the end of class. The instructions are on page 15 of your textbooks."

The Slytherins liked it when they had Snape to themselves. He took far more interest in their work, and although one couldn't entirely escape his criticism, he combined it with instruction. But Merlin didn't think any amount of instruction could save his potion.

He just couldn't think. Blaise and Draco had started talking about when Quidditch tryouts might take place, trying to push the Lockhart class out of mind. But Merlin's mind was still there, standing in front of everybody, getting pressured to babble like an idiot for the entertainment of an absolute prat.

"Merlin, do you know what's wrong with your potion?"

Snape had wandered over. Merlin glowered at him, before fixing his gaze on the bubbling mess of sludge in front of him.

"Can you sense failure, or something?" he asked, jerkily mixing his potion.

"Indeed, it has a rather putrid scent, like too many rat-tails in a Hair-Raising Potion," Snape replied, rolling his eyes. "You need to water it down. Add more honey water."

"Right." Merlin said without looking up. He grabbed the vial as Snape started walking away.

"You all right?" Draco asked, while Merlin emptied the bottle. "You've been very quiet."

For a second, Merlin didn't reply. He chewed his tongue for a moment, then, "How can he tell us about the babbling curse and then not even tell us the incantation for the counter-curse?" he said, now grabbing mouse bile and dumping that inside his potion too.

"Merlin—"

"No." He stared at his now smoking potion. "No—this is a disaster." And without another word, he whipped out his wand and vanished the mess.

Draco gaped at him. "Why did you do that?"

"I know a lost cause when I see one," Merlin replied, kicking back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes with his hands.

"You can't let Lockhart—"

"I know!" and Merlin slammed his hand on the table. An odd hush rippled through the classroom. "I know," he repeated, more quietly. As conversation resumed, Merlin saw Snape make a beeline for him.

Great.

"What happened to your potion?" Snape asked, peering at his empty cauldron.

Merlin shrugged. "Evaporated."

"Evaporated," Snape repeated, staring at him. "I'm afraid that's the first time I've heard of something solid evaporating."

Merlin ran his hands through his hair again. "I vanished it, okay? I didn't feel like beating a dead horse."

Snape gave him a long surveying look. "Stay after class, Merlin." And he walked away.

Merlin began shoving his things back into his bag. After a few minutes, he sighed and looked up at Draco—he'd fallen silent, along with Blaise. They didn't deserve his ire. He wasn't mad at them. Maybe Pansy—but definitely not Draco.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just—" he made a grunt in frustration and Blaise started laughing. Merlin frowned. "What?"

"If you weren't angry," Blaise said, "I would be more concerned."

Merlin tried to smile. It came out more like a grimace. "Yeah."

"Maybe we should all boycott his class," Draco said. "It's absolutely disgusting that an idiot like that became our teacher. I could send a letter to my father—as a Hogwarts Governor he might be able to do something."

"Yeah, because it was so easy to get Quirrell removed and he only had Voldemort on the back of his head," Merlin said rolling his eyes. Everyone around him flinched.

"Merlin, I'm begging you," Blaise said. "Call him the Dark Lord. I'd even accept V."

"You should have completed your potions," came Snape's voice from the front of the classroom and they looked over at him. "Bottle it and bring the vial to my desk. After that you may leave." He met Merlin's eyes, clearly adding except Merlin.

"See you guys later then," Merlin said. "Maybe I'll convince Snape to slip a failed Hair-Raising Potion into Lockhart's evening pumpkin juice."

Draco laughed. "I'd pay handsomely to see that man's hair stand on end for once." He smiled, though his eyes were still crinkled in worry. "You sure you're okay?"

Merlin shrugged. "Yeah."

"Right. See you later," and he followed Blaise to drop off his potion.

Within five minutes, the classroom emptied and Merlin trudged up to Snape's desk. For a few moments, the professor didn't speak. He had his grade book open and was taking each vial in turn, opening them, taking a sniff, before recapping them and recording the grade. Merlin shifted from foot to foot.

"Well," Snape finally said.

"Well, what?"

Snape put down his quill and looked up. "You want to explain to me why you failed to create a simple Hair-Raising Potion? Even Crabbe managed to turn something in."

Merlin frowned. "I was a bit preoccupied," he said, folding his arms.

"I noticed. Care to explain why I now have to fail you for the day?" Snape leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands together as though he didn't think there was any excuse for Merlin's preoccupation.

Merlin gritted his teeth, dropped his bag unceremoniously to the floor, and turned around for a moment. Anger had flared up at his words—though not at him. He took a deep breath and turned back to Snape.

"Lockhart," he hissed, "is an utter prat unfit to train a dog, let alone teach a classroom of children." It was like the floodgates had been opened. Now that he'd started, he had to get it all out before it suffocated him. He started pacing back and forth in front of Snape's desk, his voice growing louder and more scathing as he continued.

"I don't even know what Dumbledore was thinking—hiring that. From the way that man teaches a class we'd be better off taking the year off. Hell, reading a single book in the library on counter-curses would probably give us a better education than Lockhart could in seven years!"

"Ah. I take it you just had Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Not by regular academic standards," Merlin countered. "I don't even care anymore, bring back Quirrell. At least he was marginally competent. Enough for Voldemort to want to possess him anyway, which is more than what I can say for Lockhart."

Snape flinched. "Don't say the name!" he snapped. He heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Might I ask what Lockhart has done to deserve such remarks?"

"He decided to read us a passage from his books."

Snape raised his eyebrow. "Yes, I always mess up simple potions after I read a terrible book."

Merlin gave a derisive laugh. "Clearly you've never been to one of his book readings." He gave his bag a kick as he passed by it. "He likes to act it out. But of course he couldn't do that alone—he wouldn't miss an opportunity to share the spotlight with a budding celebrity. Just in case he can humiliate them a bit." He kicked his bag again.

"Merlin," Snape said dropping his hands and leaning forward. "Would you stop pacing and explain what happened? I don't have time for passive aggressive musings."

Merlin stopped, and looked at him. "He forced me to play a Transylvanian villager he cured of a babbling curse," he said. "And he used the promise of house points and homework in order to blackmail me into agreement."

Snape's lip curled. "I see."

Merlin glanced at the bottles of Hair-Raising Potion on his desk. "Any chance you could slip one of those into his evening pumpkin juice? Doesn't matter which one. Either his hair will stand on end or he'll die, though my fingers are crossed for the latter."

Snape stared at him for a second, and then he laughed, a dark chuckle that sounded rusted from lack of use. It knocked Merlin right out of his spell of fury—he didn't think he'd ever heard the potions master laugh.

"You're laughing," he said, staring at Snape. Then he frowned. "Why?"

Snape didn't respond immediately. His chuckle tapered off quickly, though he still looked amused. "I imagined Lockhart experiencing the effects of a poorly executed Hair-Raising Potion," he said. "I do believe you vanished your concoction prematurely."

"Damn," Merlin said, snapping his fingers. "I'll remember that next time."

"Unfortunately, he is your professor regardless of his qualifications, and you will need to tolerate his—" Snape seemed to have trouble searching for an adequate word for a moment, "his idiocies."

For the first time that day, Merlin smiled. "You know he's a phony, don't you." It wasn't a question.

"Innocent until proven guilty." Although Snape didn't seem to believe a word of what he'd just said.

"Yeah, well. That shouldn't be too hard."

Snape shook his head. "No—you focus on your schoolwork. I do believe Lockhart is fully capable of landing himself in trouble."

Merlin paused, surveying Snape. "You made a bet with McGonagall, didn't you!" His eyes widened, "and you didn't bet on me?" He did his best to look offended.

"She beat me to it." He sounded frustrated.

"For shame!" Merlin bent down and picked up his schoolbag. "For shame, Snape."

"Where do you think you're going?" Snape asked, watching him. "I have not dismissed you. There's still the issue of your pathetic potion's grade."

Merlin heaved a sigh. "Can't you just let it slide?"

"No. What's your next class?"

"History of Magic."

"I'll inform Professor Binns you won't make it. Set up your cauldron, and this time don't vanish it."