The moment Louis barked his order, the golden trio fled past him like they'd just been pardoned, scrambling into the classroom.
Right after, a kid popped out of the crowd, eyes shining at Louis.
"Wow, cool! Are you Louis Wilson? I've heard of you! They say you're a descendant of Merlin! You mean the Merlin? The legendary archwizard?"
Before Louis could answer, another chatterbox appeared, yammering so loudly Louis's head throbbed.
Who is this kid again? Louis eyed the camera in his hand and recalled vaguely—yes, a Muggle-born wizard, the first one attacked by the Basilisk.
"Nice to meet you! I'm Colin Creevey," the boy said eagerly. "Can I take your picture? And maybe you could sign it?"
Now Louis understood the source of the earlier commotion.
"He asked you for a signed photo, and Malfoy overheard?" Louis tilted his head at Harry.
"Exactly. He even said he'd brew a potion to make it move—like this one." Harry handed Louis a photo, taken at Flourish and Blotts. It showed Lockhart tugging at a very unwilling Harry.
"Excellent shot," Louis nodded in approval. A photo that captured the subject's state of mind—brilliant.
"Right? Right? Want me to take one of you?" Colin chirped.
"As much as I'd love to, you'd better check the time," Louis pulled out his pocket watch, showing the eager boy. "Five minutes until class. First-year Gryffindor should be in Potions, which is in the dungeons. And right now you're on the fourth floor. Think you can make it?"
"Oh no—it's Snape's class! Colin, you're doomed. He'll dock loads of points from Gryffindor," Ron gasped.
"So, run, boy. If luck's on your side, maybe a shifting staircase will show mercy and dump you straight in the dungeons." Louis patted Colin's shoulder, watching him squeak and bolt.
As Colin dashed away, Harry let out a breath of relief.
"Thanks so much. You saved me twice—got rid of Malfoy, and Colin," he said gratefully.
"I didn't save you," Louis shot back flatly. "You lot were too noisy, interrupting my thoughts. Now get inside—unless you'd prefer a cozy chat with Lockhart?"
Harry shuddered. "You're right—I'm going in…"
He didn't get to finish. A hearty laugh rang out.
"Hahahaha! I hear there was some trouble here," Lockhart strutted up with his fixed smile. "Harry Potter handing out autographs? Well now, how could I miss out?"
"Sorry, Professor, no one's handing out autographs. Please, everyone's waiting for you to start class," Louis said smoothly.
"Oh, of course, of course! I know plenty of you can't wait to learn from a great wizard such as myself. Come along now, let's begin!"
Grinning, Lockhart herded them all into the classroom.
Louis returned to his seat, Ron and Harry naturally settling nearby.
This class was shared between Gryffindor and Slytherin—twenty students total, split evenly by gender.
The moment Lockhart entered, more than half the eyes in the room locked onto him like magnets. Nearly every girl, and a few boys besides.
Ron muttered bitterly, unable to decide whether he was disgusted or jealous, grumbling under his breath without pause.
"Good afternoon! I am Gilderoy Lockhart, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." Lockhart stood beneath a massive portrait—of himself painting himself.
The classroom, Louis realized with a twitch, had been transformed into a gallery of Lockhart portraits, moving and still alike, plastered across every wall.
Lockhart stopped by Neville's desk, lifted a copy of Travels with Trolls, and jabbed at his moving picture. "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, winner of the Order of Merlin, Third Class—"
"Merlin Medal? But we've got Merlin's descendant here—Louis!" Neville blurted.
Every gaze snapped to Louis, even the lovestruck girls.
Louis: ???
Why me? Look at the teacher, not me!
Neville's remark left Lockhart awkwardly stuck—go on, and it sounded like boasting; stop, and he'd lose face.
"Well, yes, of course. But a Merlin Medal and Merlin's bloodline are different things—one is honor by heritage, the other honor by achievement. Not that young Wilson lacks ability, of course! He is still growing. With time and polish, he might reach my level."
Shameless, Lockhart continued his self-praise.
"I am also an Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and a five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award! Not that I boast of such things—I didn't drive away the Wagga Wagga Werewolf with a smile, after all."
"If this isn't boasting, what is?" Ron muttered under his breath.
Harry nodded grimly. Louis, meanwhile, had zoned out, still brooding about how to obtain that book on Horcruxes.
"Now then, I see you've all bought my complete works. Splendid. To test your knowledge, let's have a little quiz to see who's been doing their reading."
He turned and began handing out stacks of parchment. Every girl he locked eyes with beamed with delight.
Louis scowled. Not because of Lockhart's constant winks and grins—but because he knew Lockhart would be just as insufferable in Ravenclaw's class later. Maybe it was time to knock him down a peg.
He glanced meaningfully at the cage on the desk, covered with a red cloth.
Soon, all the parchments were distributed.
"You have thirty minutes. Begin now!" Lockhart declared.
The room filled with the frantic scratching of quills—especially the girls, scribbling so fiercely their pens nearly sparked fire.
Louis answered half-heartedly. The questions were enough to make him want to gouge out his own eyes. Still, with his perfect memory, he filled the parchment with ease.
Favorite color? Biggest dream? Birthday wish?
What proper professor would set a test like this?!
---
RedX43's Note:
➤ Want More? Read Extra Chapters on Patreon!
➤ [email protected]/RedX43
➤ Thanks for the support! 🙌