Classes began with Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, a familiar class with a familiar teacher that helped Hermione ease back into her classes. Professor McGonagall collected their summer homework and promptly launched into a detailed lecture of the new types of Transfigurations they would be covering for the year, and the additional wand movements and symbols they would need to know and master to cast each one. Hermione's fingers were stained with ink by the end of class from her rapid note-taking, and by the time they were finally allowed to start trying to turn a beetle into a button, everyone's minds were swimming with complicated details. Hermione and Terry Boot were the only ones to manage it before class ended.
When they were dismissed for lunch, Hermione tagged along with her Ravenclaw friends to their table, talking good-natured trash with them all.
"I'll catch you this year, Granger," Terry vowed. "The top spot is mine."
"You'll have to catch me and two others, if I remember correctly," Hermione returned, eyes dancing. "Or was I wrong in recalling that you were fourth in the class?"
Terry's eyed glowered at her, while Anthony and Mandy laughed.
"She's got you there, Boot," Anthony teased. "You'll have a ways to go to catch up with Hermione."
Anthony shot her a grin, and Hermione smiled back, though she could feel her cheeks blush. Anthony had grown taller over the summer, and he seemed more confident because of it.
Hermione slid into a seat between Anthony and Luna, turning to speak to the Luna at once.
"Greg and Vince didn't make it to breakfast," Hermione said, her voice low. "They didn't make it to Transfiguration, either. All the Slytherins in my year are convinced you're a Seer, now."
"Are they?" Luna tilted her head.
"They are," Hermione confirmed. "Draco Malfoy is having word spread that you're 'under our protection', whatever that entails. I don't know how you pulled that sort of nonsense prediction out of thin air, but it worked."
"Sharing a train compartment with Ginny Weasley and her twin brothers might have had something to do with it," Luna said, her eyes sparkling. "They were discussing their brilliant pranking plans to start the year off right."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
After lunch was History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs, which was just as dull as Professor Binns' lectures had been the previous year. After attempting to follow the ghost's echoing monotone for ten minutes, Hermione gave up and pulled out her Legilimency book to read in class; she'd taken a seat near the back in the event of just such a need.
She went up and got a course syllabus from Professor Binns afterwards, to better study on her own. He called her "Mary" and thought she was in Hufflepuff, but it hardly mattered – he directed her to the aged document she'd been looking for, and with a quick Gemino, Hermione had a copy of her own.
Hermione met back up with most of her classmates outside in the courtyard as they lounged around, waiting for the late lunch period to end before their next class would start. Theo had his nose in a book, and Blaise was idly flirting with Tracey, who was giggling. Greg and Vince had finally shown up – both looking suspiciously well-groomed and clean, though a noxious odor of ooze hung heavily around them both.
"If anyone else wants to make sure they actually learn something in History this year, and not just have naptime twice a week," Hermione said, duplicating the syllabus she'd gotten several times, "this might help."
Tracey, Millie, and Blaise all took one from her absently. Theo took one too, though he gave her a suspicious look while he did so, and Draco took one as well with a grateful nod.
"He's such a useless teacher," Draco declared. "I spoke to my father about it over the summer. Apparently, he hasn't updated his syllabus since he died."
"Ghosts can't really form new memories," Blaise pointed out. "Did you somehow think he would have updated it anyway?"
Draco scowled. "That's not the point."
"He died in the 60s," Hermione said, horrified. "We're going to learn nothing of modern Wizarding History in his class?"
"Apparently not," Draco said grimly.
They all sat and scowled at that, contemplating the misery they were doomed to for the next six years, learning about nothing but witch burnings and goblin rebellions from a relic.
It was not a nice future to contemplate.
A commotion drifted across the courtyard, and Hermione glanced up and over to see Harry, Neville, and Ron sitting on the stairs. A first year seemed to be asking Harry about something, brandishing a large camera.
"…is that firstie asking Potter for a picture?" Theo asked.
"I… It looks like it?" Hermione guessed.
Draco snickered. "Looks like Potter doesn't like it."
Indeed, Harry's face was steadily turning an embarrassed red.
"Harry's never been comfortable with his fame," Hermione said neutrally. "I'm not surprised that he'd dislike such attention."
"True," Blaise said thoughtfully. "He certainly didn't seem to enjoy it at the bookstore."
Draco considered, but spite won out, and he heaved himself to his feet and gestured to Greg and Vince to follow. Hermione could hear him calling out loudly a moment later, "Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?"
Hermione groaned.
"Why does Draco make such a fuss over Potter, anyway?" Tracey said, sniffing.
"Jealousy?" Millie suggested. "Spite?
"Potter did somehow vanquish the Dark Lord," Theo reminded them.
"And I'm sure the Malfoy family was none too happy about that," Blaise commented, looking at his nails. He glanced up. "Should we interfere?"
"Might as well," Tracey said cheerily. "If nothing else, we can watch and laugh when Weasley's face goes purple."
The five of them sauntered across the courtyard, looking very disaffected and unbothered by anything, as if the only thing they were interested in was going back inside the school to get to class. As they got closer, Hermione could hear Greg and Vince sniggering, and she could see the anger flashing in Harry's eyes.
"Eat slugs, Malfoy," Ron snarled, and Vince stopped laughing and cracked his knuckles ominously.
Hermione glanced around. They were drawing a bit of a crowd.
"Be careful, Weasley," Draco sneered. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mommy'll have to come and take you away from school." He put on a shrill, piercing voice. "'If you put another toe out of line'—"
A group of older Slytherins laughed loudly at this, and Draco looked pleased.
"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter," Draco smirked. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house—"
Ron whipped out his wand with fury in his eyes, but Neville grabbed his robes, holding him back. Hermione's eyes caught on a shiny bit near the middle that caught the light oddly. Had Ron actually taped his wand…?
"Look out," Neville warned Ron.
"What's all this, what's all this?"
Hermione turned to see Gilderoy Lockhart striding towards them, turquoise robes swirling behind him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed down bile.
Hermione hadn't seen Gilderoy Lockhart up close in Flourish and Blotts. This close, she finally got the full effect of his appearance. He looked much as he had on the jacket of his book Magical Me – dashing, blond, with a wide grin and perfect, sparkling teeth. His robes were resplendent, though obviously over the top, and he looked very fit.
And he's a fraud, Hermione reminded herself, angrily. An attractive fraud, but a fraud nonetheless.
He was a charlatan, Hermione was certain, who was set about painting himself as a hero in people's minds. If she was to learn anything from this strutting peacock, she suspected it would be how to deceive others into believing gross untruths.
"Who's giving out signed photos?" he asked, grinning down at them all. His eyes caught Harry, and the grin widened as he flung his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"
Harry's face burned in humiliation, and Hermione watched as Draco smirked and melted back into the crowd.
"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at the first year. "A double portrait! Can't do better than that, can you? And we'll both sign it for you."
Harry looked like he wanted to sink into the ground and die, and Hermione felt her heart go out to him.
"I'm not watching this," she told her friends lowly. She stalked around Lockhart and the knot he'd created in the courtyard, Blaise, Tracey, and Millie walking quickly to keep up with her.
"Are you sure?" Tracey said, giving a hesitant glance back. "I mean, he's a twit, sure, but he's quite fit…"
Hermione shot her a dark look, but Tracey only giggled.
"Surprised you didn't want to rescue Potter back there," Blaise commented, sidling up next to her. "He would have tried to rescue you."
"Against a teacher?" Hermione scoffed. "Not even Harry's that foolish."
Blaise raised an eyebrow at her.
"…okay, maybe he is," Hermione admitted. "But he surely knows that I'm not about to."
"I don't think he'd have appreciated it if you had," Millie added. "Boys tend to not like to have girls come to their rescue."
Blaise and Tracey both nodded, but Hermione scowled.
"That's sexist," she snapped, and Millie shrugged.
"It's true," she said, unrepentant.
Hermione's mood was not much improved by her first proper Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Lockhart. The Slytherins shared the class with Gryffindor, which seemed a bit ill-thought out. The Slytherins took the left side of the classroom, with the Gryffindors on the right, and Lockhart cleared his throat loudly to get their attention. He picked up one of Neville's books 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 looked about them all expectantly; a few of the Gryffindors laughed weakly.
"Is he for real?" Hermione hissed. "This is what the wizarding world views as a hero?"
"Yes," Tracey sighed dreamily next to her. "He may be a prat, but he's a pretty prat."
Hermione turned away, disgusted. Blaise edged his seat closer to Hermione.
"Order of Merlin, hmm?" he said quietly. "If he's a fraud, how do you think he pulled that one off?"
"Third Class order of Merlin is for individuals who 'have made a contribution to our store of knowledge or entertainment'," Hermione said quietly. "Which fits, given all he's really done is entertain with his trashy books; it's the Second and First class awards that matter – they're for actual deeds done. Third Class is more like an honorary knighthood, from what I can tell."
Blaise gave her a puzzled look at that, but Hermione ignored him. Lockhart was handing out parchment, and she'd missed the instructions. She glanced over her paper, and her jaw dropped.
1.What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
2.What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
3.What, in your opinion, in Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
"You've got to be kidding me," she breathed.
Blaise's face warred between disgust and amusement.
"First time I think I'll ever fail a test," he said with a wink, and he inked his quill. With a sigh, Hermione followed suit.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class, tut-tutting at their lack of knowledge of his heroics and exploits. Seamus and Dean, the two Gryffindor boys who'd gotten punished with Ron at the end of last year, were shaking silently with laughter, and Hermione watched with satisfaction as Neville's expression grew more and more disbelieving as the man prattled on and on.
Benefit of the doubt, indeed, she thought.
Lockhart seemed disappointed with his lack of devout fans in the class – no one had scored above a 75% on his little quiz. He regaled them about his secret ambition and desire to market his own hair-care products for a bit, before finally getting down to business, withdrawing a large covered cage from behind his desk.
"Now – be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind!"
Hermione tuned him out. Unless he had lethifolds in that cage, she was largely unconcerned. She highly doubted he'd managed to catch anything actually Dark. She entertained herself by wondering what she'd have to do to beat Lockhart's Order of Merlin Third Class. A Second Class was awarded for 'achievement or endeavor beyond the ordinary,' she knew – Dumbledore had earned one for his work on the uses Dragon's Blood, before it'd gotten replaced with the First Class he'd been awarded for defeating Grindelwald. If she worked hard enough and came up with something good for final projects in her final years of school, she might stand a chance of earning a Second Class before ever graduating – which would look great when she went looking for jobs.
"Freshly caught Cornish pixies," Lockhart announced dramatically, whipping off the sheet, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Five galleons on this all going terribly, horribly wrong," Draco muttered from behind her.
Hermione could hear Theo scoff from next to him. "Like there's a way this could possibly go right?"
The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and shrill voices. 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.
Hermione and most of the rest of Slytherin had the good instinct to immediately duck.
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 through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom, upending desks, smashing ink bottles, and throwing books and bags about. Within minutes, the Gryffindors were hiding under their desks as well, Neville swinging from the iron chandelier on 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 Persternomi!"
Absolutely nothing happened, save a pixie seizing his wand and throwing it out the window. Lockhart gulped audibly and dived under his own desk.
Hermione scowled, withdrew her own wand, and stood.
"Ventus," she snapped, swinging her wand about the room in a grand gesture.
Immediately a strong gale of wind blew into the classroom, and the pixies all shrieked as they were swept into it. Hermione was pleased to find that her air elemental wasn't giving her any strife with the spell, and she was smug as she poured her power into a tightly-controlled vortex, spiraling the pixies tighter and tighter and tighter. With a gesture from her left hand, the forgotten cage levitated off the floor and onto the desk once again, and a tight swirl with her wand had the winds forcing them all back down into their cage, screaming.
Abruptly, she cut off the wind. It took only a fraction of a second before one of the Gryffindor boys slammed the cage shut, glaring at Lockhart, who was shakily emerging from beneath his desk.
"Um… well-handled," Lockhart said, giving them a shaky smile. "Ten points to Slytherin then, is it? Well done, Miss-"
"Granger, sir," Hermione said, twirling her wand idly in her fingers. "About Neville, sir?"
The chandelier holding Neville creaked precariously, and several students below him screamed. The bell rang a moment later, and there was a mad dash toward the exit. Lockhart looked up at his swinging student, lost.
"Ah – another ten points to you if you get him down?" he offered. "Sorry, sorry – I must run along."
He swept past the students and into the hallway with the rest of them, leaving a handful of Slytherins behind along with Harry and Ron. Hermione sighed and stepped towards Neville.
"You're hanging from your robes, Neville," she told him, brandishing her wand. "I'm going to cast another wind spell to help support you, and I need you to slip out of your robes when I do that, alright?"
Neville whimpered, but Hermione didn't give him time to object; a moment later another Ventus was cast, this time with Hermione focusing on having the air elemental channel all the wind energy up.
"Trust her, Neville!" Harry called out to him.
"Better risk it than have that chandelier give way and crush you as it falls," Ron called out. "Just lose the robes, Nev."
Neville closed his eyes and swallowed hard, but he let himself fall out of his outer robes a moment later – only to gasp a moment later as he realized he wasn't falling; he was gliding down toward the ground in a smooth gesture at the guidance of Hermione's wand. Hermione grit her teeth – it was much harder to guide someone else down in flight than it was to do for herself, and Neville's body weight was making it considerably more difficult than she'd anticipated.
She fought against the urge to collapse as Neville finally landed on the ground. Neville was staring at her, pale.
"Ah, thanks, Hermione," he said, faltering. He blushed.
"No problem, Neville," Hermione said tiredly. She flicked her wand, and his robes fluttered down off the chandelier a moment later.
Harry and Ron helped Neville stagger from the room a moment later, while Blaise, Tracey, and Millie waited patiently for Hermione to recover. She appreciated their quiet discretion; it was embarrassing to be so drained of power in front of others.
Once she had finally caught her breath, she stood to lead them off down the hall.
"So," Blaise said conversationally. "When were you going to tell us that you could do that?"
Hermione glanced over at him. "Do what?"
"Oh, I don't know, levitate people?" Tracey said.
Hermione frowned. "I didn't. You can't levitate people; I had to use a wind to push him up."
Tracey sniffed. "Regardless. That's very advanced magic, Hermione!"
"It's not," Hermione insisted. "Ventus is a 3rd-year spell-"
"-and it's not used like that," Blaise cut in. "Ventus is used to conjure winds, Hermione. I've heard of very powerful wizards being able to use it to blow people away, but never being able to use it to make people fly."
Hermione shifted uneasily. "He wasn't flying. He was gliding. There's a difference."
The glances from both Blaise and Tracey told her they didn't believe her one bit.