Chapter 95: Popular Defense Against the Dark Arts Class

Professor McGonagall kept her word. As soon as Harold finished lunch in the Great Hall and stepped into the Gryffindor common room, Ginny approached him holding a piece of parchment. "Professor McGonagall asked me to give this to you," she said. "Thanks," Harold replied, unfolding the parchment. The list was packed with over fifty book titles, crammed together like lines in a thesis. Just reading it made Harold's scalp tingle. He'd known there would be a lot of reading involved, but this... this was a mountain. For a moment, he even wondered if McGonagall was trying to discourage him from studying Animagus magic. Then he shook his head. Snape, maybe, but not Professor McGonagall—she would never joke about Transfiguration. Still, this was a lot. Harold scratched his head. Even if he borrowed them all from the library, it would take ages. Better to think about it later—he had class. The afternoon held the first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson of the term. And for most students, this was the class they looked forward to the most. Class began with a bang—or rather, a pop quiz. "Question one: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?" "Question two: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?" ... Half the class looked completely lost. Ron kept flipping his paper over, convinced this had to be an end-of-year exam. Harold, though, had been expecting this. He hadn't had time to read all of Lockhart's books, so he'd planned ahead and chosen a seat beside Hermione. With a bit of discreet copying, he managed to score decently—just enough to keep up his cover as a Lockhart admirer. "Such a shame," Lockhart declared with a brilliant smile, "If Mr. Ollivander had paid just a little more attention to Voyages With Vampires, he'd have remembered that my secret ambition is to market my own range of hair care potions!" Harold put on his best embarrassed face. Anyone who's ever copied homework knows—you never copy everything word for word. Leave out a few answers here and there; it's basic etiquette. Thanks to that, Hermione was the only student with a perfect score. Lockhart showered her with praise and awarded Gryffindor ten points. Hermione was glowing, completely forgetting Harold's minor academic dishonesty. Harold sighed inwardly. Such a good girl. Too bad her illusion of Lockhart was about to shatter—probably by the end of this class. Except... "That was amazing! I've never had such a fun Defense class before!" Hermione gushed on their way back to the common room, cheeks slightly flushed. "I'll admit he's better than Quirrell," Ron said, unusually agreeable. "But only slightly. He just stood there and watched." Harold trailed behind, utterly confused. This... wasn't how it was supposed to go. Lockhart's class was a hit? Not because of any brilliant spellwork—he hadn't even drawn his wand. All he did was speak. Harold recalled what had happened earlier, when Lockhart had released the cage full of Cornish pixies. "Let them have it! They're only pixies!" "Careful! Don't provoke them!" "Well done, Miss Granger! Though, in my case, I'd have used a more efficient spell." "Potter, help Mr. Longbottom down, will you? I'm sure you can manage that." "Relax, everyone! Cast spells freely—just leave everything to me!" Lockhart simply stood there, spewing advice like he had during the feast, directing the chaos without ever lifting his wand. But somehow, his words seemed to work. After the initial panic, the students began to calm down. They realized the pixies were more mischievous than dangerous. Their tiny teeth couldn't even tear a school robe. Someone (Hermione, obviously) recalled from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that Cornish pixies were classified XX—harmless or tameable. Same as Nifflers and Bowtruckles. That changed everything. Confidence bloomed. And once Lockhart gave them permission to cast spells freely, chaos erupted. Spells flew in every direction. Laughter and shouts echoed through the corridor. It was hard to believe this was still a class. And yet, Lockhart's debut lesson was a massive success. Students praised his calm, his confidence, and his seeming control over the situation. In reality, he hadn't moved an inch. Even when Neville was dangled from a chandelier, Lockhart left it to Harry to rescue him. The shattered furniture and half-fallen chandelier afterward? Students repaired it themselves. All Lockhart left behind were his sparkling teeth and golden curls. And yet... he was suddenly the most popular professor at Hogwarts. Huh. Apparently it worked. Even Harold had to admit—letting students cast magic freely in class was pretty appealing. Maybe he'd misjudged Lockhart. Yes, the man was a fraud. All his so-called adventures were stolen from others, stories he'd wiped from their minds. But that didn't mean he was stupid. Quite the opposite. He was cunning. He'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, after all—Harold hadn't even made it into that house himself. And what Lockhart had done... If Harold tried to track down famous witches and wizards, trick them into spilling their life stories, then wipe their memories—it'd be nearly impossible. People powerful enough to tame trolls or banish werewolves weren't easy targets. They'd be paranoid, guarded. Yet Lockhart had pulled it off—seven times. Some of his victims were even Dumbledore's friends. If he could fool them, how could he not fool a classroom of students? Still... Harold couldn't figure out why the Cornish pixies had left Lockhart alone. Did standing still make them ignore you? Maybe. In hindsight, Harold regretted selling that signed copy of Magical Me. If Lockhart's class stayed this popular, he could've offloaded it to some rich Slytherin girl for a hundred Galleons instead. Feeling slightly bitter, Harold left the group at the stairs. "I need to stop by the library," he said. "You guys go ahead." Time to start tracking down those books on the parchment. "Library?" Ron gaped. "You're not turning into Hermione, are you?—Oh, sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean—" Hermione glared. "I just mean, Harold never liked reading before! He only liked messing with bits of wood!" "This is a good thing," Hermione said primly, sounding exactly like Professor McGonagall. "If you two read more often, maybe you wouldn't need to borrow my homework every week!" "We don't borrow it every week!" Ron protested. "No, you skip Saturdays altogether." Hermione smirked. "Because you don't even do homework on Saturdays." Watching the argument unfold, Harold raised his hands and slipped away. He dared not get involved—he'd probably need to borrow Hermione's homework soon too. If he wanted to master Animagus transformation before third year, he'd need to pour even more time into Transfiguration. That meant every shortcut helped—including Hermione's perfect answers. Meanwhile, Ron quickly changed the subject. "Today's class really was fun. Did you see that? I caught five pixies!" "I got three," Harry said with a grin. "I guess we were wrong about Lockhart. His class was kind of awesome." "I told you he was brilliant," Hermione beamed. "You didn't believe me." "But I still think you shouldn't have used the Levitation Charm so much," she added. "One pixie hit the ceiling and broke a wing. And Harry, you nearly stepped on one." "They stole my glasses," Harry muttered. "I couldn't see." "And it was chaos in there," Ron added. "We didn't mean to hurt them." "Don't worry—Professor Lockhart will take care of them," Ron added confidently. "Mum always reads that book—Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests. He must be an expert on pixies." Funny how his tone had shifted. Just this morning, Ron had been calling him "Lockhart." Now it was "Professor Lockhart." Hermione, naturally, was delighted. Peace was restored. (End of Chapter)