Pictures, pixies, and the worst Defence teacher ever
The next day, Harry barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four long House tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy grey). Harry sat down at the Ravenclaw table next to Lisa and Padma, but Hermione had been sitting there too, her copy of 'Voyages with Vampires' propped open against a milk jug. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said "Good morning," which told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived, even if she was included. Beside her was Luna with a great frown on her face, staring down at her plate.
Ron came over to the table, Neville Longbottom following, and both greeted cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever met.
"Hi, Harry. Heard about how you got here-- you're alright?" Harry nodded, and Neville smiled at him. "Mail's due any minute-- I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot."
"You do forget a lot."
Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head, sending him face-first into the table, and a second later, something large and grey fell into Hermione's jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers.
"Ew!" Lisa screamed, jumping up.
"Errol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.
"Oh, no--" Ron gasped.
"It's all right, he's still... alive," said Padma, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her nail.
"It's not that- it's... that."
Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry, but Ron, Padma, and Neville were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode. Luna had taken a look up for just a moment and her frown worsened.
"What's the matter?" asked Lisa.
"Mum-- I- she- she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.
"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and--" he gulped, horrified, "-- it was horrible."
Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope.
"What's a Howler?" he asked.
But Ron's whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.
"You shouldn't stay in here," said Luna, and he nodded, making his way to the doors of the hall with the letter in hand.
"You'd better open it before it pops," Padma called after him. "It'll all be over real soon if you're lucky--"
He hadn't made it out of the Great Hall before the Howler apparently got too hot to carry, and the moment he dropped it, it popped open. Neville saw the same thing Harry did and stuffed his fingers in his ears at once. A split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it had exploded-- a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.
"--STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE--"
Mrs Weasley's yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swivelling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron's ears had actually pressed themselves flat to his head now. His face had gone almost as red as his hair.
"-- LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS! YOU, HARRY, AND HERMIONE COULD ALL HAVE DIED--"
Harry went red, but he had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He saw Hermione go red too. He pretended to look as though he couldn't hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb, putting his hands over his ears.
"-- ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED! YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE- WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!"
A ringing silence fell. The red envelope burst into flames and curled into ashes. A lot of them sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again.
Hermione closed 'Voyages with Vampires' and looked at Ron as he walked back towards them.
"Well, I don't know what you expected, Ron, but--"
"Don't tell me I deserved it," snapped Ron.
"I was going to tell you it was your idea to fly the car! Goodness!" She said, as Harry pushed away his porridge. He felt horrible-- Mr and Mrs Weasley were so nice to him over the summer, and now it was because of him that Mr Weasley was facing an inquiry at his job. But he didn't have any time to worry about it, for Professor Flitwick handed out course schedules. They'd have Charms with Hufflepuffs first. And then they'd have Herbology with the Slytherins.
Charms was easy, taking notes like they did when a term started, but Herbology proved to be much more interesting.
As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for Professor Sprout. Harry, Lisa, Luna, and Padma had only just joined when she came striding into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout's arms were full of bandages, and with a twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow in the distance, several of its branches now in slings.
Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; There was usually a large amount of dirt and mud on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming.
"Oh, hello there!" he called, beaming around at the assembled students. "Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels..."
"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, not at all her usual cheerful self.
There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before-- greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp dirt and fertilizer mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the ceiling. He was about to follow Lisa and Padma inside when Lockhart's hand shot out.
"Harley! I've been wanting a word-- you don't mind if he's a couple of minutes late, do you, Professor Sprout?"
Judging by Professor Sprout's scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, "That's the ticket," and closed the greenhouse door in her face.
"Harley," said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. "Harley, Harley, Harley."
Confused, Harry said nothing. He ought to have corrected him-- his name wasn't Harley. His name was Harry, and as the voices said, he'd better let Lockhart know, but before he could--
"When I heard-- well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself."
"I don't get what--" Harry started, but Lockhart continued. "Don't know when I've been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at once why you'd done it, Stood out a mile. Harley, Harley, Harley--"
"Harry-- my name is Harry. But I- I didn't--"
It was annoying how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking. Harry stopped talking, and his face must've looked such a mix of confusion and annoyance that Lockhart thought he was even more correct. He put a hand around Harry's shoulder, which the latter shrugged off without a second thought.
"Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I? Gave you the bug. You got onto the front page with me and you couldn't wait to do it again."
"Oh," Harry started, again. He sounded apprehensive enough for Lockhart to recoil, but something told him it wasn't in what it was supposed to be. "No. No, no, no. Professor, see, it--"
"Harry, Harry, Harry," said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder again. "I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've had the first taste-- and I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your head-- but see here, young man, you can't start flying cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older. Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now. In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "I know, I know- it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have-- but it's a start, Harry, it's a start."
He gave Harry a hearty wink and strode off. Harry stood confusedly for a few seconds.
"I don't even like being Harry Potter, why would I want to be famous?" He called, but it appeared Lockhart didn't hear him. He would've been angrier-- but something gave him the feeling it wasn't even worth it. Remembering he was here for class, he opened the door to the greenhouse and slipped inside.
Professor Sprout was standing behind a trestle branch in the center of the greenhouse. About twenty pairs of different-colored earmuffs were lying on the bench. When Harry had taken his place between Lisa and Padma, she began to speak. "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"
To nobody's surprise, Lisa's hand flew into the air at once. "Mandrakes are a, um, powerful reste- rest- restorative, and are used to turn people who are transfigured or cursed to their normal- er- state," She said proudly.
"Excellent, Ms Turpin. Ten points to Ravenclaw. The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
Lisa's hand narrowly missed Harry's head as it shot up again.
"The cry of a mandrake is deadly to anyone who hears it," she said cheerily.
Leave it to Lisa to know anything about Herbology.
"Precisely. Take another ten points," said Professor Sprout. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."
She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred or so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite unremarkable to Harry, who felt slightly on edge. Of course he knew about Mandrakes-- he knew One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi cover to cover. He felt incredibly grateful that they were young Mandrakes.
"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout. There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy; Daphne Greengrass took the pair despairingly, for all the others had been taken.
"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," said Professor Sprout. "When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right -- earmuffs on."
Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put on her own pair of earmuffs, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.
Harry nearly retched as he saw an extremely ugly baby covered in mud popped out of the dirt. The leaves were growing right out of its head. It had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling and screaming at the top of its lungs.
Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her earmuffs. "As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she said calmly as though she'd just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia.
"However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your first day back, so make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.
"Five to a tray-- there is a large supply of pots here-- the compost is in the sacks over there, and be careful of the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething." She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.
Harry, Lisa, Padma, and Luna were joined at their tray by a girl in their House Harry knew by sight but had never spoken to. She had long, pointed ears and red hair that nearly covered her eyes. For a minute, Harry thought she was Ginny.
"Hi. I'm Amanda-- er, Amanda Snuffleft." She said, putting her hand out politely for Lisa to shake.
"Lisa. She's Padma, and she's Luna, and that's--"
"Harry Potter, right? Top in just about every class! Or, was it Harley? I'm so sorry, I've forgotten which it was... oh, right, I'll just... um, well, my friends have already filled up their own tray, is it alright if I join you four?" Amanda asked.
"Of course, join us," Luna smiled.
"Lockhart's certainly something, isn't he?" Amanda said, red-faced, as they began to fill their plant pots with compost.
"You're alright, and really, I agree. He's quite the brave bloke, that's for sure." Padma agreed.
Amanda tried her best to make small talk, looking very nervous, but soon they didn't have the chance to talk as they potted Mandrakes.
Harry found it harder than he'd like to admit, for his arms were undeniably flimsier than he would've thought. But he had just zoned out after a short while, and before he knew it, the lesson had ended.
Then after a very bland potions lesson, the four of them met with Ron and Hermione. They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard-- Hermione and Luna both sat on the stone and buried their nose in literature-- Hermione, in Voyages with Vampires again, and Luna, reading some sort of newspaper-- only, upside down. Lisa and Padma were waving their wands at eachother, pretending to duel. Ron had decided to show Harry just how his wand turned out-- it was held together with spellotape, but it didn't do much other than hold it. It was sparking and crackling whenever he tried to do anything and he had to whack if that didn't work.
"Why not write home for another?" Harry asked, and Ron's ears fell.
"I'd probably get another howler instead," he said. "You broke your own wand, and you'll suffer for it, or something, I bet. Hey, Mione, what class 've we got next?"
"Defence Against the Dark Arts," she said, without looking up.
Harry didn't even have time to be annoyed because he realised that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw the mousy-haired boy he'd seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at him as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked close to an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.
"Alright, Harley? I'm-- I'm Colin Creevey," he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward.
"Harry. Er, nice to meet you."
The boy smiled brightly and nodded, holding out the pin on his cloak. "I'm in Ravenclaw, too. D'you think-- would it be all right if-- can I have a picture?" Colin Creevey said, raising the camera hopefully.
"A picture?" Harry repeated, confused. The last thing he wanted was to be in a picture when his bruises were healing. The black eye he had, though faint, was still notably visible.
"So I can prove I've met you," continued Colin eagerly, edging further forward. "I know all about you. Everyone's told me. 'Bout how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead, and a-a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures 'll move." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's amazing here, innit? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do with magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you--" he looked imploringly at Harry, "--maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"
"Signed photos? You're giving out signed photos, Potter?" said a high voice. Pansy Parkinson, who, apparently could hold a grudge, for she was targeting Hermione over something that happened last year, was standing with Tracey Davis and Millicent Bulstrode. Another girl stood beside them, but Harry didn't recognise her.
"Everyone come on and make a line, Potter's giving out signed photos!" Parkinson yelled, making Davis, Bulstrode, and the mystery girl laugh.
"He's not handing out signed photos, Parkinson, you're just jealous nobody would ask for your photo, let alone an autograph," Hermione snapped, just barely looking up from her book.
"What?" Pansy said quietly, but the entire Courtyard heard it, for they had all been listening in. "W- well, people don't have to ask for my photo! They'd pay for them, what else would you think, Granger? Like anybody would ask for yours either. You'd have to pay people to even want to see them!"
"Eat slugs, Parkinson! Hermione didn't do anything to you!" Ron said angrily.
"Oh no, I'm so afraid! I think you'd aught to be careful, Weasley-- remember, if you put another toe out of line, your mummy's going to be angry and bring you right home!" Pansy put on a shrill voice that made a crowd of fifth years laugh. She seemed to relish in the attention.
"What've you got to say for yourself, Parkinson? I thought Purebloods prided themselves on being above the rest? What would your 'mummy' say if she found out you were here being stupid?" Harry snapped, turning to look at Parkinson, whose ears were very low. She went to insult him, but Ron pulled out his wand, that had been duct taped together, and almost put it in Parkinson's face, but Padma stopped him.
"What's all this, what's all this?" Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. "Who's giving out signed photos?"
Harry flushed, though more in rage than in embarrassment. Or, possibly, in both. He started to speak, but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, "Shouldn't have asked! We meet again, Harry!"
Harry sighed despairingly. "Sir, please, I'm not--" He tried to say, but didn't get the chance.
Pinned to Lockhart's side and face burning red with humiliation, Harry saw Parkinson's arrogant smile slip back into the crowd.
"Come on then, Mr Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you."
Harry shook his head quickly, but it went unnoticed as Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture. The bell rang behind them, signalling the start of afternoon classes.
"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry-- who was wishing he knew a good way to jinx a teacher without getting in trouble-- still clasped to his side. If only Hydrus hadn't disappeared during the night-- he would've loved getting to bite Lockhart, Harry was sure.
"A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey-- if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much..."
Deaf to Harry's words of 'I didn't say I was giving out photos', Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.
"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible-- looks a tad big-headed, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but," Lockhart gave a chuckle-- "I don't think you're quite there yet."
They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at last. Harry straightened his robes, frustrated, and headed for a seat at the very back of the class, where he busied himself with piling all seven of Lockhart's books and some extra in front of him, so that he could avoid looking at the real thing.
The rest of the class came clattering in, and Padma sat next to him; Just beside them, Hermione had sat with Amanda; Luna and Lisa had sat together, and Ron had sat by himself-- it didn't seem he minded.
"You could've fried an egg on your face, I'd have thought you were sick," said Padma.
Beside them, Ron smiled, "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."
"Shut up," Harry said sharply. The last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase "Harry Potter fan club." He nearly shivered just thinking about the chaos that'd ensue.
When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, 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 Defence 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 waited for them to laugh; A few people smiled weakly or forced chuckles.
"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books-- well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about-- just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in,"
When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes-- start, now!"
Harry looked down at his paper and read:
1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:
54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
He might not have liked Lockhart, but he wouldn't settle for any grade that wasn't brilliant. He had been muttering with Hermione the entire half hour. She knew all the answers easily, but it wouldn't have been much of a surprise if she'd already read his books front to back. When the thirty minutes were finally over, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.
"Tut tut-- hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I say so in Year of the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves a bit more carefully-- I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be true harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples-- though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"
Lockhart gave them another roguish wink.
Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Lisa and Luna were both on the edge of falling asleep, but Padma, not wanting to look away from Lockhart for whatever reason, was wide awake; Anthony had been sitting up front with some Gryffindor and either one of them were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione and Amanda had both been staring at Lockhart with a questionable acuteness, and from what Harry could tell, the way they were giggling back and forth couldn't have been good.
"Miss Amanda Snuffleft..." Amanda gave a silent squeak at hearing her name before looking up at Lockhart. She'd gone red to the tips of her ears. "For my greatest achievement, you seem to have written down getting a position at Hogwarts. Surely, my greatest achievement must have been in one of my books such as Travels with Trolls or Gadding with Ghouls. But I think I understand. You believe this is my greatest achievement because not only do you get to meet me, but you also have the privilege of me serving as your professor."
"Y-- yes, I wrote what. Um, I- I wrote that because it is impressive to me that a person like yourself would be able to be such a... good, no, no-- I, um-- great teacher," Amanda stuttered out.
Ron snorted with laughter along with several other boys, but nearly all of the other girls gave her a sour look.
"Yes, yes, of course I am, moving along--" Lockhart said, continuing to examine the papers. Hermione jumped in her chair when he mentioned her name.
"... but Miss Hermione Granger and Mister Harry Potter knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions-- well done, children! In fact--" he flipped either paper at the same time-- "Full marks each! Where are they?"
Hermione raised a trembling hand, Harry slowly doing the same. He felt good, for he had gotten full marks, but he nearly wanted to curse Hermione for being so observative. He didn't like Lockhart, and neither did she-- well, she shouldn't have. He settled for glaring at her, and she didn't miss a beat, turning around and giving him a nearly identical look.
"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor and ten for Ravenclaw! And so, to business--"
He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.
"Now, be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."
In spite of his worries, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Thomas and Finnigan had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his seat. Anthony had gone full on quiet. Amanda had covered her eyes, but was clearly peeking out between her fingers.
"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."
As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.
"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."
Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.
"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.
"Well, they're not-- they're not very-- well, dangerous, are they?" Finnigan choked.
"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish, tricky little blighters they can be!"
The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. 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!" He shouted, and he opened the cage.
It was total pandemonium within a minute. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through a window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; Within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling by his robes. Amanda was being dragged in circles by two or three pixies, squealing.
"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 Pesternomi!"
It had absolutely no effect; One of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the broken window. Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way.
The bell rang and there was a mad rush for the exit. In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Padma, Hermione, Lisa, Luna, and Ron, and who were almost at the door, and said, "Well, I'll ask you six to just nip the rest of them back into their cage." He swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him.
"You can't seriously tell me that man is a professional," Ron said, staring after Lockhart.
"He's famous," Hermione said, stopping two pixies at once with a freezing spell at throwing it into the cage. "And he's a teacher, so he can't be anything less that a professional. And he just wants to give us hands on experience, I'm sure.
"He's completely mental," said Lisa as she ripped the pixie off of Ron's ear and threw it into the cage.
Harry got barely got two with 'Immobulus', for the pixies were zipping in and out of everything.
"Rubbish! He's a professor!" Hermione said, reaching for three pixies that took her wand. "A bit of help, please!" She called out, as a collection of pixies pulled Ron up by his ankles.
"We could just, Iunno! Maybe, skip his class? Forever?" Lisa suggested, and Padma scoffed, tossing the pixie in her hands into the cage. "Of course you'd suggest that."
"Don't be like that! He didn't have a clue what he was doing!" Lisa repeated, rolling her eyes. "I bet he didn't even do half the stuff in his books. If he did anything at all!"
"Rubbish," Hermione repeated. "They're real books-- things he's done! And those are real things, too--"
"Things he says he's done," Ron muttered, rubbing his side. The pixies had dropped him on a desk.
"Right," Luna nodded. She'd been casting at the pixies, but her spells had yet to hit one of them. "People do lie."
"And people would step forward and tell the truth if he was lying about things they'd done," Hermione finished, and refused to listen to any of them about it after that.