Chapter 11: It's not blackmail. It's just strenuous motivation

We second years looked forward with much anticipation to our first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term. The girls wanted to get a closer look at Lockhart, most of the guys wanted to hear tales of his adventures and I wanted to size up the competition. As far as I was concerned there was only room for one famous wizard at Hogwarts. Dumbledore did not count, as he was unlikely to steal any totty from me.

Ron and I held back as the Gryffindors filed into the classroom. We slipped onto the very back row, while the girls scrambled to get as close to the front as they could. The class settled. All eyes were fixed on the office door beside the blackboard. Conversation dwindled into an almost reverent hush. Only then, displaying enviable timing, did Lockhart appear at the door. He was dressed in robes of magenta silk and was carrying a large cage, covered in a black cloth.

"Let me introduce you to your new teacher: me," he said, raising his free hand in a sweeping, theatrical gesture, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honourary Member of the Dark Arts Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award." He flashed his set of blindingly white teeth at us. There were audible sighs from some of the girls.

"But I don't like to talk about that," he said, "I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her." This was probably meant to be a joke. There were some sycophantic sniggers from the front of the class and a stony silence from the rest.

"Well… ahem," Lockhart coughed, "Let's have a little start of term test." A groan from the class. "Now, now. This just a little exercise to see how much preliminary reading you have done. Books away, quills out!"

Lockhart placed the covered cage on his desk and picked up a pile of test papers, which he distributed to us. If you who have read my children's books you will already know what sort of test it was. Here is a sample of the questions:

- What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?

- How many dragons has Gilderoy Lockhart singlehandedly defeated?

- What is Gilderoy Lockhart's ideal birthday present?

- What fatal disease did Gilderoy Lockhart discover a cure for while on a weekend break in Paraguay?

And so and so on. There were fifty of the bloody things! I have libelled, demonised and ridiculed many people in my published works but there is not a word of exaggeration in my portrayal of Gilderoy Lockhart, a man so narcissistic that he did not use pornography but a mirror. At least, that was the rumour. I should know. I started it.

I treated the test with the contempt it deserved, as did most of the other students. Hero or not, Lockhart had shown himself to be a self-absorbed fool and the Gryffindors were quite prepared to treat him as such. Some of the girls took it seriously though, with Hermione coming top of the class as per usual. Neville did quite well too I recall but I think that was down to his asinine notions of hard work and 'trying your best'.

"Not bad, not bad," said Lockhart as he placed the test papers back on his desk, "On with the lesson! My philosophy has always been that people should get out there and experience things for themselves. After all, if I had stayed in my study all day reading books I would never have been able tackle the zombie infestation of Milton Keynes. The full account can be found in which volume of my memoirs?"

"Sir! Four, sir!" said Hermione, her hand shooting up like a rocket.

"Very good, Granger. I can see that we're going to get on very well," Lockhart flashed her his most winning smile. Hermione blushed and dropped her gaze.

"As I said," Lockhart continued, "The best way to learn something is to do it. Today will be a practical lesson." The class perked up considerably at this. First years were not permitted to do much practical work. Second years, who were considered to have reasonable control over their magic, got to study more dangerous and demanding topics.

"Behold," said Lockhart, sweeping the black cloth away from the cage like the worst kind of hack magician, "the notorious Dunter!"

The cage contained a goblin-like creature, only smaller and much uglier. Its skin was a pale, watery brown. It was mostly naked, except for a few scraps of what might have been rabbit fur across its loins. It leered at us through the bars and made offensive gestures with its long, thin fingers.

"It doesn't look very Dark," said Seamus.

"Oh you think so?" said Lockhart, looking down his nose at Seamus, "Well let's see how you cope with it!" He slid back the bolt on the door. The Dunter leapt out of the cage and straight into the middle of the class

There was instant uproar. Students were rushing in every direction, some trying to get out of the Dunter's way, some trying to get closer to it. People drew their wands but nobody could get a clear look at it to jinx it.

"Where is it?"

"I don't know."

"There it is!"

"I'll get it!"

"Ouch! That was my foot, you idiot!"

"Where has it gone?"

I sat back in my chair and put my feet up on the desk, while Lockhart shouted to make himself heard over the babble:

"Catch it! Somebody catch it! Merlin's beard, it's only a Dunter!"

"But sir, it's a shape changer," replied Hermione, "It could be anywhere, it could be any – Aaagh!" What had appeared to be a chair had suddenly sprouted a skinny brown hand, which gave Hermione's arse a firm pinch. She spun round and sent a Body Bind jinx at it but the Dunter was already off, scampering under the desks. The jinx hit Parvati, who toppled backwards like a felled tree.

"It's gone under the desks," said Dean.

"Smash 'em!" yelled Seamus.

"No!" Lockhart shouted but it was too late.

"Incendio!" cried numerous voices and four desks burst into flames. I do not know who was laughing harder at this point, me or the Dunter.

Seamus led the second years on a hunt round the classroom, cheerfully smashing every piece of furniture they could, while Lockhart made an ineffectual attempt to stop them. Hermione and Neville did their best to put out the fires and repair the damaged fittings but this only made the hunt for the Dunter harder, as they kept giving it more cover.

"Stand back everybody!" Lockhart bellowed, throwing himself between the students and what remained of his classroom, "I shall deal with this fiend!" He drew his wand with a flourish, pointed it at nothing in particular and said: "Duntus Revealus!"

I am not certain whether the spell actually worked but the Dunter reappeared, sitting on a high shelf that had appeared to contain a row of dusty textbooks. It jumped down, shot across the floor like a bullet, and butted Lockhart square in the crotch. He let out a groan and toppled over with all the grace of a sack of coal.

The Dunter might have kept up the game all evening but it was laughing so hard at Lockhart that it forgot to transform. Neville stepped forward and trussed it up with a Binding Spell.

"Th-thank you… Longbottom," Lockhart wheezed, as two people helped him to his feet.

"Splendid, old fellow," I said, sauntering at last to the front of the classroom, "Just superb."

"Oh it was nothing," said Neville modestly.

"I was talking to him," I said, pointing to the Dunter. It was still giggling, despite being returned to its cage.

"I-I think that'll be all for today," Lockhart said, "Homework… read chapters eight through twelve of Gadding with Ghouls..."

And that was when I realised why I had recognised Lockhart at the start of term feast. I had seen that red face before, with the long blonde hair plastered across the sweaty forehead: in the Poly Amour. I had walked in on him while he was riding that poor tart. And like her, I now had him by the short and curlys.

I tried to hang back after class to discuss our mutual hobby but instead I was roped into Neville's cleanup of the classroom. We spent ten minutes repairing desks and clearing up burns, by which time Lockhart had hobbled away to his office. I left the classroom with Neville and the others as they headed down to dinner in the Great Hall. Halfway down the main staircase I slapped my forehead:

"Ah! I've left my quill behind! I'll catch up with you lot in a moment, okay?" The others shrugged and I was free to return to the classroom alone.

Lockhart was still in his office, sitting in an armchair with a bag of ice in his lap. The walls were covered in magazine cuttings, photographs and posters of, inevitably, Gilderoy Lockhart. It was like stepping into a giant, egotistical kaleidoscope.

"Hello Professor. How are you?" I asked, doing my best to play the concerned student.

"Better, thank you," he said. His voice still a little strained but he brightened up considerably when he recognised me. "Ah! Harry Potter! Marvellous! I had been hoping that we could have a little chat…"

"So was I, Professor."

"We have so much in common, you and me: a troubled past; victories over the dark powers; fame. Although of course, my career has been considerably longer than yours."

"Of course."

"That's not to say that you could not rise to similar heights, one day," Lockhart said, his voice dripping with patronising sincerity, "Diligence, Harry, diligence and hard work are what you need. I noticed that your scores on today's test were not among the highest. You really must learn to apply yourself."

"I'm afraid that I was rather busy over the summer. I spent quite a lot of time in London."

"Oh really?" said Lockhart, uninterested now we were drifting off his favourite topic.

"Yes," I continued brightly, "I saw a lot of magical London. There were whole districts that I never knew existed. I visited the John Dee memorial, the Museum of Magical History, Diagon Alley, of course, Moor Alley…"

"Oh… really?" Lockhart dropped his gaze and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Ah ha! Got you, you bastard, I thought.

"Have you heard of Moor Alley, Professor?" I said, still giving him my 'butter wouldn't melt' look.

"Well, yes, of course. Who hasn't?"

"Have you ever been there?"

"What? No, certainly not!"

"Really, Professor? Not even once?"

"What are you implying?

"I just wanted to know if you had ever been to the… Poly Amour?"

Realisation dawned on Lockhart's face like moonlight, draining all the colour.

"It-it was you," he stammered, "I thought… Impossible…" He rallied himself and fixed me with a look of stony defiance. "You can't prove anything."

"Oh really?" I said, dropping my milksop act and putting on my finest sneer, "Not even with the photographs I had the house elf take?" The lie was smooth and easy, as they always are for me.

"You're lying."

"Are you willing to take that chance? 'Cause photos or no photos, the Prophet is going to love this. A chance to destroy the clean-cut, upstanding idol of housewives everywhere. Rita Skeeter would bite her quill in two."

"You wouldn't. You'd be ruining yourself."

I shrugged. "I'm young. My reputation can take it. I'll just say that you took me there; that it was all your idea. I can see the headlines now: 'Lewd Lockhart debauches impressionable young hero'. Debauch! Isn't that a tremendous word?"

Lockhart considered me with a look of ill-concealed loathing, oblivious to the puddle of cold water forming in his lap.

"What do you want?" he asked, spitting every word, "Money?"

"Oh please," I said, perching myself on the edge of his desk, "don't be so vulgar. I don't need money, especially from the likes of you. No, I had some more specific favours in mind.

"One, I pass every Defence essay, test and exam for as long as you teach here."

"Agreed," Lockhart said through gritted teeth, "I take it there is more?"

"Two," I said, grinning at him, "you will volunteer to referee every Quidditch match Gryffindor plays this year. You will do your best to ensure that we win: awarding penalties, booking the opposition, turning a blind eye to minor fouls, that sort of thing."

"Anything else?"

"That's all. For now," I said, meaningfully, "I will let you know if I think of anything else."

"I'm so grateful."

"I bet you are."

I practically skipped out of the office and into the corridor, whistling 'The Unicorn Has An Enormous Horn'. It was not the favours that I had squeezed out of Lockhart that pleased me so much as the act of humiliating him. I had recognised Lockhart for the fraud he was as soon as I clapped eyes on him (we cheats and liars have a nose for one another) and, being a tremendous bully, I rejoiced at the prospect of demeaning him for years to come.

Oh yes, I was flying high on my way down to dinner. I considered pulling some skirt to celebrate. There was a smashing little blonde first year in Ravenclaw who had been giving me the eye every time we passed in the corridor. It seemed high time that she got a proper Hogwarts induction.

My good mood lasted me all the way down to the entrance hall, where it fled faster than totty from Severus Snape. Before me was a scene both curious and unnerving. Three of the hourglasses that recorded the house points had been smashed open. Only Slytherin's glass, filled with emeralds, remained unscathed. The rubies, sapphires and topazes from the other glasses had been levitated high into the air to form the words:

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE

Beneath the words – dead or unconscious, I could not tell – floated the body of Argus Filch.

"Harry?"

I turned. Ginny Weasley was standing at the top of the stairs.

"Oh bugger."

That seemed to sum up the situation pretty well.