Chapter 4: Gilderoy Lockhart
The next day, however, John barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long House tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). John sat down at the Ravenclaw table next to Anne Marie, who had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug.
"Morning," Anne said without looking away from her book. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said it. John had no clue as to why she was acting this way, but before he could ask her about it someone bumped into them causing them to spill gravy all over their robes by knocking the bowl of gravy over(they'll never figure out how they were the ones that got coated in gravy). Both John and Anne turned to glare at the klutz and saw Neville Longbottom. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone John had ever met.
"Watch where you're going mate," John grunted as he used a fairly harmless muggle-magic spell to clean up the mess, "Next time, you might ruin my Draco's clothes and you know how much he likes to take things to the extreme."
"Sorry John," Neville mumbled.
"Why are you over here anyway Neville?" Anne asked narrowing her eyes at him, "You should be at the Gryffindor table."
"I needed to talk to John," Neville said nervously under her penetrating gaze.
John regarded Neville quietly for a bit, but then once he came to a decision he sighed.
"We'll talk before our houses' shared class starts later," John said.
"Okay," Neville said brightening up a bit, "thank you John."
At that, he clumsily returned to the Gryffindor table near to Harry, Hermione, and Ron. He also saw Prue Halliwell sitting there talking to Fred and George Weasley. At the Hufflepuff table, he saw Piper Halliwell who was busy talking to Gary Lester who John had only seen once during the sorting ceremony the previous year.
"Hiya John," said a voice right next to him. He slightly jumped when he saw Phoebe sitting right next to him putting food onto an empty plate.
John just grunted in response before he grabbed his toast and chowed down on it. Anne however, was interested in the new girl.
"Hi," Anne said holding her arm out to shake Phoebe's, "I'm Anne Marie and you are?"
"I'm Phoebe Halliwell," Phoebe replied shaking Anne's hand, "Nice to meet you."
"How do you know John?" anne asked as she brought her cup to her mouth.
"My sisters and I missed the train," Phoebe admitted, "so, we hitched a ride with John."
"That year at the Weasleys has made you nicer," Anne teased John. John just ignored her, because he felt like hexing her mouth shut right there. However, hexing friends is never a good idea.
"Mail's due any minute…" Anne said looking up for a second, "I think Mum's sending a few things I forgot."
"What could you have possibly forgotten?" John asked dryly.
"Oh," Anne said cryptically, "You know, girl stuff."
John had only just started turned his attention to his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Anne's head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Phoebe's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.
"Errol!" snorted John, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp envelope in his beak. With a sigh, he removed the envelope before tossing the retarded bird onto the table. He glanced at the name, and much to his shock it had his name on it.
"So," Anne asked curious, "You going to open it?"
"Since I'm not going to get any peace from you until I do…" John sighed, "yes."
He then opened the letter and looked at what was written on it. Phoebe and Anne looked over John's shoulder and read:
Dear Mr. Constantine,
I regret to inform you that your request for a pass into the French Embassy has been rejected. However, due to the nature and time sensitivity of your business we'll be sending over an Auror to Hogwarts as soon as possible. Expect him to arrive later in the day. He will take you to Monsieur Delacour's room. Good luck in your task, and have a good day.
M
P.S. Arthur Weasley requested that you give this moronic owl Ronald Weasley so he can take care of this.
John sighed in relief, because he assumed the Auror was going to arrive in time for him to can skip Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, Phoebe was confused by the letter so she opened her mouth to ask a question.
"He's an exorcist," Anne explained, "and he gets jobs from random people. He's actually fairly successful based on how much he's sending to me."
"He sends you money?!" Phoebe exclaimed in shock.
"Yes," Anne smiled, "it's rather sweet as well, because my dad is in St. Mundo's for a curse that put him into a coma. Every donation John makes, the more likely my father can be cured."
John rolled his eyes as he out the letter away before turning his attention back to his food.
Later, with Harry…
Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart.
Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.
"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled students, "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to determine a Whomping Willow's health! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels . . ."
"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" interrupted Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.
There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.
"Harry!" Gilderoy grinned, "I've been wanting a word…"
"You don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?" Gilderoy asked turning to look at the short teacher.
Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart didn't care.
"That's the ticket," Lockhart said as he closed the greenhouse door in her face.
"Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "I thought I'd come by and ask if you'd be willing to by my assistant for our classes. So, will you?"
"Sorry Professor," Harry said revolted at the idea, "but I'm just a second year. I have little to no useful knowledge on the Dark Arts."
"I understand," Lockhart sighed disappointed, "well, maybe when you're older."
At that, Lockhart turned around and headed towards the castle.
"Egotistical git," Harry muttered to himself before he turned towards the greenhouse door and opened it. He quickly slid inside as to not interrupt the class.
Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between Ron and Hermione, she began the lesson.
"We'll be repotting Mandrakes today." Professor Sprout said, "Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"
To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was first into the air.
"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," said Hermione, sounding as usual as though she had swallowed the textbook, "It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."
"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?"
Hermione's hand narrowly missed Harry's glasses as it shot up again.
"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.
"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout, "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."
She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who didn't have the slightest idea what Hermione meant by the "cry" of the Mandrake.
"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.
There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.
"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…" Professor Sprout added when she was satisfied that they were paying attention, "earmuffs on."
Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.
Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.
Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.
Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.
"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just 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 is time to pack up."
"Four to a tray…" Professor Sprout continued, "there is a large supply of pots here… compost in the sacks over there… and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."
She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a straight-haired Hufflepuff girl Harry had met the day prior.
"Hello Harry," Piper said with a smile.
"Hello Piper," Harry returned.
"So," Hermione asked, "how has your first day at Hogwarts been so far?"
"It's been good," Piper replied, "Nothing like my first year at Ilvermorny, but I don't mind. Change of scenery is always good." Shame we can't cook our own foods though."
"You like to cook?" Hermione asked.
"Yes," Piper nodded, "My mom and I used to spend loads of time in the kitchen together before…"
Piper's eyes began tearing up at the recent memory of her mother's death. However, she quickly choked back the sob that threatened to escape her mouth and decided to change the topic.
"I'm sorry," Piper said, "I didn't catch your name. What was it?"
"How silly of me," Hermione smiled, "I forgot my manners. I'm Hermione Granger."
"Piper Halliwell," Piper returned.
"Halliwell?!" Hermione gasped, "Not the same Halliwell's under the Triquetra emblem!"
"The very same," Piper said impressed, "How'd you know about us?"
"I read about your family in History of Magic," Hermione replied, "Before your family lived in America under the name of Halliwell, they came to this school not long after it was founded. They also survived some of the earliest witch trials."
"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Piper happily changing the subject as they began filling their plant pots with dragon dung compost, "Awfully brave chap. Have you read his books? I'd have died of fear if I'd been cornered in a telephone booth by a werewolf, but he stayed cool and… zap… just fantastic."
Harry and Ron rolled their eyes internally while Hermione nodded in agreement.
"I was supposed to return to Ilvermorny, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Gran was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart's books I think she's begun to see how useful it'll be to have three fully trained witches alongside her in the family…"
After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot. By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration. They were going to be sharing that class with the Ravenclaws today.
Professor McGonagall's classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed to do was give his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand.
Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn't pleased.
Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge. Almost everyone had filed out of the classroom already except him, John, and Ron who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk.
"Stupid…" Ron said angrily, "useless… thing…"
"How the bloody hell did you snap your wand?" John exclaimed as he paused by Harry and Ron's desk.
"Ask Harry," Ron grunted.
At that John raised an eyebrow.
"This morning before breakfast, I accidentally dropped my potions bowl while I was making sure I didn't forget anything back at the Burrow," Harry explained, "Ron had his wand under his own bowl on a table, but part of it was poking over the edge."
"Ah," John said understanding, "bad luck old son."
"Maybe Vernon confiscating your lucky lighter gave me the bad luck?" Harry frowned thoughtfully.
"Doesn't work like that mate," John said shaking his head, "though, it would make sense."
Suddenly, Ron stopped banging his broken wand against the table and looked at John with a hopeful expression.
"Would you use your unique skills to fix my wand?" Ron asked.
"Flying brooms are one thing…" John frowned as he looked at Ron's wand, "but wands… those are made with extreme care. I'd have to be a wandmaker to understand how it was made so I can fix your wand. Sorry mate."
"It's okay," Ron said bitterly as he went back to banging it against the desk.
"Write home for another one," Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a firecracker.
"Oh, yeah, and get a Howler back," said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag, "'It's your own fault your wand got snapped…'"
They went down to lunch, where Ron's mood was not improved by Hermione and John showing each other the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration.
"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.
"That reminds me," John said getting up from the Gryffindor table, "Neville wanted to talk to me, and I completely forgot. Where is he?"
"Sitting over by Dean and Seamus," Harry nodded over towards Neville while keeping an eye on Ron who looked like he was about to blurt something out.
"Right," John nodded, "See you later."
"Yeh," Harry replied.
"Why," demanded Ron suddenly, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"
John glanced back over his shoulder once to see Hermione snatch the schedule back, blushing furiously.
"Hi John," said a familiar female voice from nearby. He looked towards where it came from and saw Prue there slowly putting a grape into his mouth.
"What do you want?" John asked ruder than he intended.
Prue glared at him cause of his rudeness and turned to look away without saying a word. John rolled his eyes about women and their confusing actions before resuming his path towards Neville. When he reached Neville, he could see that the boy wasn't eating. He was just absentmindedly stirring his food.
"Longbottom," John said startling Neville, "you wanted to talk?"
"Oh yeah," Neville said turning to look at him, "but in private."
"In that case," John said, "wait for me in the Gryffindor common room later tonight. Probably the only time we'll have to chat."
At that, John headed over to the Ravenclaw table in order to eat lunch.
Later, with Harry…
They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.
"Alright, Harry? I'm… I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward.
"I'm in Gryffindor, too. D'you think… would it be all right if… can I have a picture?" he asked, raising the camera hopefully.
"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.
"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward, "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead…"
He raked his eyes across Harry's hairline.
"and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll move," Colin continued. as he and said,
"It's amazing here, isn't it?" Colin continued after he drew a great shuddering breath of excitement, "I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you."
He looked imploringly at Harry.
"Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?" Colin asked hopeful.
"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?" said a familiar cold voice.
Draco Malfoy had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.
"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"
"No, I'm not," said Harry angrily, his fists clenching, "Shut up, Malfoy."
"You're just jealous," piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.
"Jealous?" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore: Half the courtyard was listening in, "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."
"You should be kinder to your peers," said Prue from behind Malfoy startling him. Harry, and Ron sniggered at his reaction while Hermione allowed a small smile.
"Shut your mouth you american harlot," Draco sneered looking at Prue's more form fitting Hogwarts attire.
Prue narrowed her eyes at that before scrunching her brows. Suddenly, Malfoy went flying backwards through the courtyard before falling to the ground and rolling to a stop.
"Don't ever call me a harlot again," Prue said sternly, "or I'll do more than send you flying across the courtyard. Do you understand me you foul-mouthed jerk?"
Malfoy stood back up indignantly and pulled out his wand with a snarl, but before he could cast a spell Ron aimed his broken wand at Draco.
"Eat slugs malfoy!" Ron said angrily, but to his shock he want flying back through the air himself as the curse he unintentionally did backfired.
Crabbe and Goyle sniggered stupidly while Draco burst out with an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
"What's all this, what's all this?" asked Gilderoy Lockhart as he strode towards them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"
Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"
Pinned to Lockhart's side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.
"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin, "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you."
Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.
"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry, who was wishing he knew a good Vanishing Spell, still clasped to his side.
"A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door, "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…"
Deaf to Harry's stammers, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.
"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible…" Lockhart said, "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…"
"I don't think you're quite there yet," Gilderoy chortled.
They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at last. Harry yanked his robes straight and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real thing.
The rest of the class came clattering in, and John and Hermione sat down on either side of Harry. John was looking sour because the Auror hadn't come to take him to Monsieur Delacour's room in the French Embassy.
"Where's Ron?" Harry asked.
"Professor McGonagall took him to Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said with a sigh, "I swear. One day, he'll end up getting himself killed with those antics of his."
When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front. However, before he could begin talking, which he likes doing, someone appeared at the door.
"Excuse my Gilderoy," Dumbledore said with hidden loathing in his voice, "but might I borrow John for the duration of your class today?"
"Of course Headmaster," Lockhart said grinning, secretly unhappy that Dumbledore stopped him from boasting about himself, "Whenever you need him, he's yours."
John let out an audible sigh of relief and smirked as he got up from his seat.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked jealous.
"Tell you later," John said as he headed to Dumbledore.
As soon as both Dumbledore and John left the room Gilderoy looked back at the class to begin his egotistical speech.
"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!"
He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.
"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books…" Gilderoy said, "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 the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes… start… now!"
Harry looked down at his paper and read:
1. 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?
If this was an anime, a teardrop would be visible on his face or back of his head.
With John…
Dumbledore and John slowly but surely made their way through the castle in silence till Dumbledore decided to break it.
"I'm rather quite proud of you John," Dumbledore said smiling.
"What for?" John asked not really caring.
"You've been saving people's lives with everything you know during the summer," Dumbledore replied, "and you've taken a request from a French family as well. You're moving up in the world as the saying goes."
John just grunted in response as he had nothing to say in response, and they both stayed silent throughout the rest of the trip through the castle. Eventually, they reached Dumbledore's office. Or rather, the magical stairway that led to his office.
"Sherbert Lemon," Dumbledore said to the gargoyle standing guard. It proceeded to jump out of the way to allow Dumbledore and John onto the stairway which immediately began growing till it stopped at the landing which had Dumbledore's door on it. Dumbledore's office had bookshelves, a wine cupboard, and a desk in the center. On one of the shelves was the sorting hat, and hanging on the wall was a sword. For some reason, John couldn't take his eye off it. It was as if the sword was calling to him.
"That is the sword of Gryffindor," Albus said looking at what John was looking at, "It was forged by the goblins for Godric Gryffindor himself. It's said that the sword will appear to whoever is the most loyal and the most brave. Especially, in times of need."
However, John wasn't even listening as he walked towards the sword. Once he reached it, he slowly raised his hand to grab it. However, before he could a crack could be heard behind him. Suddenly, the fog covering everything except the sword lifted and he turned to see who had arrived. The new person had a fake eye held in by a strap, scars on his face, and a fake leg. He also held a staff in his wand and wore a trench coat over some brown apparel. This was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody.
"Sorry I'm late Albus," Mad-eye grunted while looking at Dumbledore, "I was in the middle of dealing with an Acromantula the size of the Pentagon in America. Not very friendly creatures, and very hard to take down… especially when they're that size."
"It's alright Alastor," Albus said waving the apology aside, "Given your line of work, I'm surprised you even had the time."
"Now who am I supposed to apparate to the French embassy?" Moody asked gruffly.
"This is John Constantine," Albus said gesturing to John,"and he's been hired to perform an exorcism."
"Constantine,.." Alastor muttered, "Why does that name sound familiar?"
"He is the son of Laura and Russell Constantine," Albus said.
Alastor regarded Constantine and eventually held out his hand which John slowly grasped.
"I knew your mother," Alastor said, "Good witch and good woman. Shame she died the way she did, but at least it was a bit more natural than turning into a ball of goop."
John raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything in response as he had no idea what to think of the grizzled Auror. Alastor wasn't one to waste time, so he immediately apparated them away from Hogwarts to Monsieur Delacour's room.
"Good luck John," Albus said quietly.
Back with Harry…
Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.
"Tut, tut…" Gilderoy said disappointed, "hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you 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 Firewhisky!"
He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.
"But Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions… good girl! In fact…"
"Full marks!" Gilderoy said as he flipped her paper over, "Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"
Hermione raised a trembling hand.
"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart, "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so… to business…"
He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.
"Now… be warned!" Gilderoy said, "It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! 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."
In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.
"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."
As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.
"Cornish pixies?!' Seamus laughed in disbelief.
"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."
Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.
"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.
"Well, they're not… they're not very… dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.
"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus, "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.
"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly as he opened the cage, "Let's see what you make of them!"
It was pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville 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 Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.
The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry and Hermione, who were almost at the door, and spoke up.
"Well, I'll ask you two to just nip the rest of them back into their cage," He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.
"Can you believe him?" roared Harry as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear.
"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," defended Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.
"Hands on?" said Harry, who was trying to grab another pixie dancing
out of reach with its tongue out, "Hermione, he didn't have a clue what he was doing…"
"Rubbish," said Hermione. "You've read his books… look at all those amazing things he's done…"
"He says he's done," Harry muttered.
Yes I'm back. Expect the next chapter around soon-ish. not sure how soon, but sooner than this one was written/uploaded.
Next chapter I'll start with the exorcism. After that, there'll be a time skip. I know Ron getting his cures backfired on him is a bit early, but I want John to be the one defending Hermione after Draco insults Hermione with the word "mudblood" in the next chapter. I know Chas hasn't been in the story yet, but i want this story to have the Halliwells having more appearances. In the 3rd one, i'll try to have them have an equal amount of appearances as each other. as always, if you like the story then favorite it, want to keep up to date on the story follow it, and review what your opinion is of it as long as it is kindly put. if you think the story is good, but isn't for you put something like that down. if you have any questions, don't hesitate... unless they're unkind questions. in which case, keep the unkind ones to yourself please.