Harry's first day was interesting, to say the least. It started out normally enough. He walked down to breakfast with Ron and Neville, humming a forgotten tune to himself and wondering when the first Quidditch practise would be. By the time they reached the Great Hall the tables were piled high with bacon and eggs and porridge and hash browns, and they soon set to work on remedying this issue. All that weight was surely bad for the table after all.
Unfortunately but rather predictably, the ceiling did not bring them quite so much joy. It was a dull grey, the exact colour and consistency of misery and disappointment. Looking across at Malfoy, Harry wondered that his eyes seemed so similar to the sky. Perhaps the misery was his mother's, and he got the disappointment from his father.
These thoughts trailed off as the girls dumped themselves onto the bench, sitting across the table from them.
"Alright?" Ginny grinned, grabbing two hands full of hash browns.
"Fine," Neville shrugged. "You?"
Hermione took some cereal and propped Voyages with Vampires open against the milk jug.
"Mail should be here in a minute," said Ron.
Harry chuckled lightly. "It's like we're settling back into it already."
"If this year is anything like last year, I somehow doubt it'll be settled," said Hermione, not looking up from her book.
"Good point," Ginny smirked.
"Mail," said Neville.
A small package dropped neatly into Neville's lap. The Longbottom family owl, Tyocles, headed straight back out.
"Is that a new spell or something?" said Parvati.
"It's called timing," Harry grinned.
Neville opened the note affixed to the package and gasped. It was with a tentative hand that he unwrapped the package, which gave few clues to the nature of what it contained. The item itself, a cuff-like thing of dark leather, was a mystery to Harry too.
"A wand holster," said Ginny, surprised. "Where'd you get one of those?"
Neville said nothing. Instead, he stared at the note in his hand. After a shaky, heavy breath, Neville relaxed into a melancholy smile. "From my dad."
"Pretty cool," said Ron. "You've never mentioned your dad before. Ow!"
Hermione was giving Ron a meaningful glare, but Neville politely ignored them. "He was an Auror."
"One of the best," Ginny said softly. "Was that his?"
"Gran's present to me on my birthday was a mail order for the thing to be keyed to me," said Neville. Methodically stretching out his right hand, he loosened up the holster and slipped it onto his wrist. Though it had clearly been too big to begin with, it seamlessly morphed to make a snug fit. "Guess I never really believed her."
Sliding his wand home, he let his sleeve fall over it.
"I think you sort of just..." Neville reached out, pointing at nothing, and the wand shot out of the holster. Ginny caught it just before it disappeared over the edge of the table. "Err..."
"Practise?" Ginny suggested.
"Yeah," said Neville, retrieving his wand and putting it in his pocket.
"Professor McGonagall has our timetables, look," said Hermione.
"A Knut says we're with the Slytherins first thing," said Ginny.
"I'll take that bet," Harry grinned.
"You two are a terrible influence," Hermione called to the twins. They only laughed between themselves.
"Miss Weasley," said Professor McGonagall.
Ginny didn't even look up when she thanked the professor, her eyes flitting straight to the top of Wednesday. "Oh poo."
"Don't worry, I'll get you a chocolate frog as consolation," said Harry. "Thanks professor."
Ginny gave him a shy little grin. "I think it's consolation enough to not have my first class with the Slytherins."
"Well, if you don't want the chocolate..." said Harry.
"Wait, wait!" Ginny blurted. "I didn't say that!"
The walk down to the greenhouses was pleasant and peaceful enough. Double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs was a pretty good draw for first class — the Hufflepuffs were generally an agreeable lot and Professor Sprout was a warmer figure than Professor McGonagall. As they arrived, they noticed the Herbology professor walking down from one of the restricted greenhouses.
Walking next to Professor Sprout in her muddy robes was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, immaculate in robes of gold trimmed turquoise that might have been brand new. Where Professor Sprout was quite literally a down to earth sort of person, Professor Lockhart might have just walked off a magazine cover. And Professor Sprout looked none too happy to be walking with the new professor of Defence.
"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a fallen star! 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!" said 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! I've been wanting a word – you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"
Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.
"Harry," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harry, Harry, Harry."
Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing.
"When I heard – well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."
Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on, "All that sorry business at King's Cross Station yesterday. I'm really surprised that you would allow your friends to carry on like that. Envy is one of the first problems one encounters on this path, Harry, and it would not do for you to let friends burn out or get into trouble trying to keep up with you. After all, a front page feature with the likes of me would turn anyone green!"
It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking. Harry gaped at the man.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. "I've been through it all before! I find that there is a great kind of responsibility that comes with fame. Someday, perhaps, you might be able to use your name for the good of society as I do, but for now you should use it to keep your friends on the straight and narrow, you catch my meaning?"
Harry couldn't think of a single syllable to respond with. Instead he pinched himself, sure that he was dreaming. 'Surely nobody can be that full of it?'
"Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"
He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "I know, I know – it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award five times in a row, as I have – but it's a start, Harry, it's a start."
He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off.
"I stand corrected," Harry muttered. Then, remembering he was supposed to be in the greenhouse, he opened the door and slid inside.
Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle bench in the centre of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-coloured earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between Ron and Ginny, she said, "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"
There were a few startled murmurs when Neville's hand shot up with Hermione's.
A small smile crept onto Professor Sprout's face. "Mr. Longbottom."
"Mandrakes are great for restorative potions," said Neville. "They'll undo curses and transfiguration. There's fourteen kinds under the Mandragora group. Twelve are mundane. You've got the common magical mandrake which is used as a restorative, but I... can't remember what the other one is."
He looked to Hermione for assistance, but she was just sitting and staring at him.
"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. Neville nodded to her slightly, as if passing the buck.
"The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said promptly.
"Precisely. Another five points to Gryffindor," 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 colour, were growing there in rows. Harry, who'd been given prior warning about the danger of the mandrake's cry from three directions in the summer, chose the earmuffs he wanted and shuffled over towards it.
"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 – earmuffs on."
Harry snapped the earmuffs over his 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.
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 – 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 Ginny were joined at their tray by a curly-haired Hufflepuff boy Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley," he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. "Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter... And you're Ginny Weasley, the special talent."
Ginny turned slightly pink, but didn't manage to string her thoughts together into sentences. She managed to shake his hand though.
"And Ron Weasley. Chess master extraordinaire, am I right?"
Ron shrugged off the praise verbally, but Harry could see the joy in his eyes.
"That Lockhart's something, isn't he?" said Justin happily 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."
"I've, err, heard a lot about him, yeah," said Harry.
"Say, what did he want to talk to you about?" said Justin curiously.
"Himself," Harry smirked. "He seems a bit full of himself, to be honest."
"I suppose after all he's done, he's earned a bit of an ego," Justin chuckled. "My name was down for Eton, you know. I can't tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of course, Mother 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 a fully trained wizard 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 nearly five minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot before Ginny took pity on him and telekinetically forced the stubborn thing home.
By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everybody bar Ginny, that was. She just had a fine coating of dirt to contend with. Everyone else traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash. Everyone that is, except for Neville, who was walking with a pronounced spring to his step. And in spite of his fatigue, Harry couldn't have felt happier for him.
This did not ease his discontent at having to rush his shower before Transfiguration. He shared mutinous looks with his roommates as they forced themselves out of the bathroom to change back into school robes. Still, he felt a smile tug at his lips as he sat down for his first second year class with his Head of House.
Today's task was turning beetles into buttons. It wasn't the easiest of tasks, and Harry hadn't used a transfiguration spell in months, but when Ginny cast the spell and started weaving patterns into her perfectly formed button, Harry was galvanised into action.
"I can see that my help won't be needed at this table," said Professor McGonagall. "Five points to Gryffindor."
Harry shared a smirk with Ginny, but soon found himself captivated with watching her work. Ginny oozed power. Harry was quite convinced that if she didn't play around with her magic so much she'd overload and blow up. But to watch her now, with her dual core wand... It was perfect for her. Even before she began to cast, energy spilled from it in golden light, channelled neatly and safely through the rune-engraved grooves. As the spell reached her lips, the light would shine more brightly, leaking the excess that might cause a lesser wand to burn out. But no matter what she needed to do, her wish was magic's command.
Harry felt a wonderful kind of satisfaction as he sat to eat his lunch. As first days went, it hadn't been so bad. There hadn't been even a hint of Snape or his Slytherins to ruin it for him.
"What's next?" he asked, piling up his plate with pork chops, potatoes, gravy and carrots.
"Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione immediately. "It's with the Slytherins."
Harry pushed his plate away. "Funny, my appetite just disappeared."
"Lies," said Ginny.
"Lies," Harry admitted, pulling his plate back.
"Why," demanded Ron, seizing Hermione's schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"
Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.
"You what?" said Harry, barely keeping from choking on a bit of pork.
Hermione hid behind Voyages with Vampires all the way through lunch. After they'd finished eating, they decided to head out to the courtyard to enjoy the clouds. Somehow Harry couldn't summon the energy for any adventures, so while Hermione sat on a stone step with her nose buried in Lockhart's book, the rest of them sat with their backs to the wall, idly chatting about school and what new messes might be waiting for them.
It wasn't long before the first one arrived.
Harry had been sitting around chatting for maybe five minutes when he had the discomforting feeling that he was being 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.
"All right, Harry? I'm – I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward.
Harry blinked, wrong-footed by just how nervous the boy was.
"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.
"A picture?" Harry repeated blankly.
'It's either give him what he wants quickly and quietly and hope you don't get a mob asking for photos later, or try to fob him off before someone notices,' said Ginny.
"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."
Harry rose to his feet slowly, finding that the first year barely came to his shoulder. "Look, Colin, I'm sure you're a nice guy and all but I don't really go in for that sort of stuff."
"Please, Harry?" he said, his eyes going quite wide. "My family aren't magic, so I'm sending lots of photos home and it would be really good if I could get one of you! And... And maybe you could sign it?"
"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"
Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. Harry kicked himself for not shutting Colin down faster. The kid had looked so hopeful that it felt like kicking a puppy.
"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Harry Potter's giving out signed photos!"
"No, I'm not," Harry said derisively. "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."
Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.
"Eat a dick, Malfoy," said Ron angrily.
Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.
"Be careful, Weasley," sneered Malfoy. "You don't want to get into trouble with Lockhart now, do you?"
Ron frowned at the Slytherin. "What are you on about now?"
Ginny put a hand on her brother's arm.
"You think I didn't see your mother?" said Malfoy, overjoyed that he'd been given his opening. "That was your mother, wasn't it? The little fat one?"
Hermione and Neville were now physically restraining a livid Ron, while Harry did his level best to soothe Ginny's mind with a hand on her back. The other students' jeering oohs did not help.
"She was in the crowd with all the others, wasn't she, at Flourish and Blotts?" Malfoy went on. "Preening for Lockhart. I suppose your father would rather struggle to keep a woman loyal. How many of you are even his?"
By this point the crowd, and there was one to be certain, were beside themselves. Problematically, so were the Weasleys.
Ron wrenched one arm free, but Neville held firm to the other. To Harry's dismay, and slight satisfaction, there was nothing he could do to stop the magical retort Ginny produced.
And yet, Harry's satisfaction was short lived, for the spell fizzled out against a transparent shield. To her credit, the shield rippled violently before evaporating, but Malfoy's victorious smirk was clearly driving Harry's siblings potty.
"Weaslette, you really need some new tricks," Malfoy taunted. Turning to Harry, his smirk became still more pronounced as Ginny rippled with bright orange flame. "Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter. It'd be worth more than his family's whole house –"
Hermione had been unable to recapture Ron's right arm, and finally seizing upon a rational thought, he went for his wand. Hermione did the related rational thinking, analysed their environment and froze. "Look out!"
"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward 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. Ginny, burning brighter than ever, was glaring hatefully after the Slytherin. And Harry decided then that they'd lost enough battles for the day. He relaxed next to Lockhart, whose grasp relaxed in kind.
'Nobody underestimates the reflexes of the youngest Seeker in a century,' Harry thought with satisfaction as he jolted forwards towards Colin, taking the boy by the shoulder and leading him away.
"So sorry, Professor Lockhart," said Harry, as the bell rang. "But we have to get ready for your class!"
Reaching out, Harry tenderly took Ginny's hand in his. Her blazing eyes met his, and she softened in a way that made him feel rather strange and gooey inside.
"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle.
"I'll see you later, alright, Colin?" said Harry, in a tone that brooked no argument. He made sure he wore a warm enough smile, though, so as not to hurt the boy's feelings. The little first year nodded and scurried off to his own class.
"We could have avoided all this if you'd listened," Ginny huffed.
"Hey," Harry grinned. "Since when am I any good at doing as I'm told?"
Ginny was literally still burning with anger, but it was a (mostly) playful prod in the chest that she gave him in reply. "Don't you take that attitude with me, mister, or you'll be in big trouble."
They had reached Lockhart's classroom and Harry quickly 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 Harry's friends sat down on either side of him. Ginny's flames were finally beginning to subside, but she was still boring a hole through the back of Malfoy's skull as he passed them.
"We're going to get him," Harry promised.
As if he'd heard, Malfoy turned from three rows in front and gave Harry an evil smile.
"Yes, we are," said Ginny furiously. "Nobody talks about Mum like that and gets away with it."
"I'm going to break his smarmy face," Ron growled.
"No, no, no," Hermione protested. "You'll get in so much trouble, it isn't worth it."
"He needs to be taught a lesson," said Ron.
"Something he won't forget," said Ginny.
"This is exactly what he wants," Hermione moaned. "He's already won."
"He'll never stop, no matter what you do," said Neville.
Ginny's rage rapidly broke as Neville spoke, but Ron was clearly still seething.
When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Lavender Brown's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.
"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 – 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 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 parchment, right down to:
54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.
"There is literally no word for this guy," said Ginny in disgust.
"Egomaniac?" Neville suggested.
"Not strong enough," said Ginny.
"Shh!" Hermione hissed.
"Tut, tut," said Professor Lockhart. "Hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour 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..." He flipped her paper over. "Full marks! 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! 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. Malfoy was looking vaguely curious, but mostly bored, while Pansy Parkinson trembled slightly behind him.
"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.
"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. "Let's see what you make of them!"
And he opened the cage. It was pandemonium. The 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 bin, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window.
Harry and Ginny stared around at the chaos. It felt like being underwater in a rushing current. Above them, Neville yelled as he grabbed the two offending pixies and, as he fell, smashed them on the ground. There was no visible damage, but the creatures did not get up. Blood dripped from Neville's ears and hands where they'd fought him, but he seemed little more than angry.
"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.
"ENOUGH!" Ginny shouted. Her voice rang with power, her wand pulsing in its excitement. The pixies heard her. Every single one froze where they were, staring at her. "Well, throw them back in the cage. I can't be doing everything."
Perhaps there was magic lingering in her command, for even the Slytherins complied. Lockhart crawled out from under his desk, adopting a proud smile.
"Well done," said Lockhart. "Bravo. Truly an impressive display for one so young. Might I presume that you are Miss Ginny Weasley?"
"You might," said Ginny tersely.
"I was warned about you," Lockhart grinned, apparently unfazed by the fact that Ginny had yet to even look at him. "Class, you've just seen an impressive bit of charm work. Perhaps you'd like to read up on what exactly it is that she did?"
"Please professor," said Hermione. "It was a type of Compulsion Charm — the Vox Terrerentra."
"Indeed," said Lockhart. "Far beyond your level. Take ten points to Gryffindor."
"Can you believe him?" Ron muttered angrily as they left.
"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," said Hermione.
Neville quietly thanked Ginny as she finished healing his cuts and cleaned off the dried blood.
"Hands on?" said Harry. "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," said Neville.