Our second year at Hogwarts began with our first joint class with Gryffindor: Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Once all the students were seated, Professor Lockhart gave a loud cough. When the room fell silent, he snatched up Neville's copy of Travels with Trolls and held it high, displaying the cover that featured a photograph of himself winking.
"Me."
When Professor Lockhart struck a pose and winked, every Slytherin except me burst out with a loud snort of laughter.
"Me.""It's me.""It was me."
"…We'll have a little talk later, everyone."
As I wondered what to do about these shameless troublemakers who were mocking someone else's catchphrase, Professor Lockhart apparently mistook the reaction for success and continued his introduction in high spirits.
"Yes, Gilderoy Lockhart. Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's 'Most Charming Smile' Award! Though that's not what I intend to talk about today. I didn't drive away the Bandon Banshee with a smile alone, after all!"
In the classroom, where suppressed giggles still lingered, Professor Lockhart beamed broadly.
"It seems everyone has acquired the complete set of my books. Very good. Today, I think we'll begin with a little quiz. Don't worry, it's just to see how thoroughly you've read them."
After finishing the distribution of the test papers, he returned to the front desk and gave the signal.
"Thirty minutes. Ready, begin!"
I looked down at the paper and began reading the questions.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
Which of Gilderoy Lockhart's achievements do you think is his greatest?
(Questions omitted)
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would be an ideal present?
Questions like these went on endlessly for about three pages.
…Seriously?
I had read the books, at least superficially, but this was beyond what I had expected. Some questions even felt like reader surveys, so I answered those portions properly.
Thirty minutes later, Professor Lockhart collected the papers and flipped through them in front of everyone.
"Tsk, tsk. It seems hardly anyone remembers that my favorite color is lilac, even though it's written clearly in Year with the Yeti. A few of you may need to reread Wandering with Werewolves a bit more carefully."
When Professor Lockhart winked mischievously at the class, Draco wore a look of utter disbelief, while Pansy and Millicent stifled their giggles. Only Daphne listened with a vacant, dreamy expression.
"Still, Professor Lockhart really does have a handsome face."
"That's important, you know. Looks matter."
While Professor Lockhart praised Hermione, the only student to earn a perfect score, we whispered among ourselves until Pansy spoke up in a mocking tone.
"Come to think of it, you lot are kind of Lockhart fans, aren't you? He's nothing but a pretty face."
"A pretty face is enough."
"Daphne's just a bandwagon fan."
"Pansy, industries that reject casual fans eventually wither away. And his writing talent isn't half bad either."
When Daphne and I immediately rushed to his defense, Draco, sitting behind us, shrugged with a weary expression.
"If even one of his heroic exploits were true, I'd drink pumpkin juice while standing on my head."
"As long as the story is entertaining, I don't really mind…"
Of course, I'm well aware that Professor Lockhart's heroic tales are mostly exaggerated.
So no, I don't think of him as a hero. But when it comes to evaluating him as a writer or a celebrity, that's a different matter altogether. His prose skill, sense of structure, talent for selling himself through storytelling and marketing, and his carefully crafted image built on good looks are all undeniable. As a writer or entertainer, his promotional strategy and commercial instincts are beyond reproach.
Naturally, he doesn't quite measure up to my beloved The Adventures of Nike, but his books are easy to read, his battle scenes are vivid and immersive, and his sharp sensibilities combined with a humorous writing style are truly outstanding.
"There's no reason to condemn a writer simply because they aren't also a hero."
To begin with, the reason consumers buy books usually comes down to cover art or photos, the impact of the title, or simply the fact that it's popular. Half of it is decided not by the content, but by production and presentation.
An inverse form of ghostwriting isn't a bad marketing strategy, either.
"For example, if this book had been written by some ugly Armenian magical warrior, then even if that person had actually saved a village from a werewolf, the book wouldn't have sold even half as well."
"Well, that might be true, but…"
"So as long as these stories reach readers, that's more than enough for me."
As I said that, a dull thud echoed through the room. When I turned around, I saw Professor Lockhart frozen in place, staring blankly after dropping a book.
"Professor?"
Had our excessive chatter during class offended him?
As I looked at him with concern, Professor Lockhart suddenly snapped back to himself, put on his usual smile, and replied a bit awkwardly, "Ah, pardon me. How careless of me."
**
After a short while, having regained his composure, Professor Lockhart placed a large covered cage on the desk and began to speak with theatrical flair.
"Now then, be on your guard! It is my duty to teach you how to fight the most foul creatures in the wizarding world! You will soon face horrors unlike anything you've experienced before. But as long as I am here, no harm shall come to you!"
At the sight of the unidentified cage rattling violently, the entire class held its breath. Draco and Pansy were no longer laughing.
"These are freshly captured Cornish pixies!"
When Professor Lockhart whisked away the cover, dozens of deep-blue pixies, each about twenty centimeters tall, were revealed inside the cage.
With sharp faces and shrill screeches, the pixies flitted around inside, chattering incessantly and sticking out their tongues at nearby students.
"Now then, let's see how you handle pixies!"
With that shout, Professor Lockhart threw open the cage door.
And then, chaos began.
The pixies' destructive power was far more vicious than anyone could have imagined.
They scattered in every direction, snatching ink bottles and splashing ink all over the classroom, ripping apart books and notebooks, overturning rubbish bins, and hurling stolen books and bags out the windows. As for Neville Longbottom, he ended up dangling from the chandelier on the ceiling.
Professor Lockhart was shouting something, but it had no effect whatsoever. Worse still, his wand was snatched away, he gasped in shock, and promptly fled the classroom.
"This is bad, hide!"
At the Slytherin table, Zabini grabbed Nott by the collar and shoved him under the desk, while the wandless, combat-oriented Millicent flew into a rage.
"Come at me all at once, you little punks!"
She proceeded to knock out pixie after pixie with her fists, and together with Crabbe and Goyle, the three powerfully built warriors charged bravely into the swarm of pixies.
"Aaah!"
Drawn by the scream, I saw that Pansy, who had failed to escape in time, was having her hair yanked by a single pixie.
"Ow! Stop pulling!"
Already sheltering under a desk with Daphne, I hesitated for just a moment over how to help Pansy. Using a poorly aimed spell could end up hitting her or another student.
But before I could decide, Draco, his face tense with panic, burst out from the desk where he had been hiding.
"Pansy!"
He shouted and knocked out the pixie attacking her with a textbook. That kind of loyalty to one's friends really is one of Slytherin's good points.
However, seeing one of their own taken down, the pixies that had been focused on Millicent and the others turned their attention to Draco instead. Pansy sucked in a breath in terror.
"Eek."
"Over here!"
Though pale-faced, Draco shielded Pansy and retreated toward the door.
"P-Petrificus Totalus! Turn to stone!"
Even while frightened, Draco tried to take them down one by one with the Full Body-Bind Curse. Unfortunately, there were simply too many enemies. Left alone, they would surely be overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
"Pansy, leave this to me and run! The door's right there!"
"No, Draco! If you do that, you'll…"
"Don't worry about me! Hurry!"
Draco's face looked grim with resolve, and I thought I saw Pansy's eyes well up with tears. From a distance, Zabini and Daphne shouted things like "Don't be reckless!" and "That's dangerous!" desperately trying to stop Draco's self-sacrificial stand.
When I glanced toward the Gryffindor table, even Harry and Ron were staring slack-jawed, looking at Draco in disbelief as he tried to save his friend.
And yet, Draco Malfoy, having steeled himself like a true man, never once looked back. He raised his wand toward the onrushing swarm of pixies.
Before he could act, Hermione's voice rang out.
"Immobulus! Don't move!"
In the next instant, light spread from her wand, and the pixies it touched froze in place. All that remained were pixies floating helplessly, as if drifting through outer space.
Neville, who had been about to fall from the chandelier, slowed as well, and every pixie fell completely silent.
"..."
"..."
"..."
What do you think you're doing, Hermione?
"That was really uncalled for."
"It was just getting to the good part…"
"Read the room, Gryffindor."
Despite having stopped the pixie rampage, a storm of boos erupted from Slytherin.
"Why!?"
Hermione snapped back, half-indignant, but this time I couldn't defend her either. Just when things were getting exciting, the whole scene ended anticlimactically. As a spectator, I was thoroughly dissatisfied.
"Please apologize to Draco."
"Even you too, Elaina?!"
As Hermione stood there, Harry and Ron approached her.
"…Let's think about timing next time."
"Hermione, do you know what TPO is?"
Betrayed by her own side, Hermione nearly burst into tears, retreated into the girls' bathroom once again, and refused to come out for quite some time.
(End of chapter)
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