After finishing lunch, they took a short nap before heading to Transfiguration class. In every sense, Professor McGonagall's lessons were among the most difficult at Hogwarts. Today, she wanted the students to turn a beetle into a button.
Crabbe and Goyle performed about as well as two Muggles might have done. Faced with the nimble beetles, they were so clumsy they could barely hold their wands steady.
Pansy's attempt wasn't much better. The button she conjured still had a few twitching legs attached, scurrying across her desk as if protesting its fate. Most of the students fared no better; it seemed as though they'd spent the entire holiday playing instead of studying, and all the knowledge they had learned had leaked out of their heads.
Professor McGonagall's expression grew graver with every failed attempt. Only when she reached Malfoy's desk did her tightly furrowed brows ease slightly. The button he produced was perfectly shaped, gleaming, and showed no trace of the beetle it once was.
"Slytherin gains ten points," Professor McGonagall said approvingly.
"Honestly," Pansy complained as they walked down the corridor after class, "I really don't see the point of learning things like this. I mean, even if I can't stand Muggles, sometimes their things aren't that bad. Who would actually pin a beetle on their robe? It's easier to buy a proper button when you need one."
Malfoy frowned, unsure how to correct her thinking. No one could tell what the future might hold. He himself had already changed so much of history that the events he once knew might never happen again. Anyone could be drawn into the coming conflicts, and for ordinary students, every bit of basic knowledge might one day prove vital.
"Pansy," he began seriously, preparing to set her straight, but she interrupted him.
"Today's Defence Against the Dark Arts class is with Gryffindor," she said, glancing at the timetable. "We'd better hurry. I don't want to sit near that lot. Maybe we can find good seats before they arrive." She tugged him along before he could say another word.
Malfoy could only let himself be pulled helplessly down the corridor.
When they reached the classroom, it was already almost full, mostly with excited girls. The rest of the class trickled in just before the bell. As expected, the seating was clearly divided — Gryffindor on one side, Slytherin on the other.
When everyone had finally sat down, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly for attention. He lifted Neville Longbottom's copy of Voyages with Vampires, holding it up so that the moving picture of himself on the cover could wink at the students.
"I," he declared, pointing at his own smiling face, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award — though I don't talk about that, of course. I didn't defeat the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
He paused expectantly. A few students forced polite smiles. Malfoy smirked faintly, more in mockery than amusement.
Lockhart then began distributing a questionnaire filled entirely with questions about himself:
1.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?
2.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
3.
What does Gilderoy Lockhart consider his greatest achievement to date?
The list went on for three full pages.
"What a waste of time," Malfoy muttered, scribbling only one short sentence before leaning back in thought. He had far more pressing matters to consider — how to make Pansy care about studying, or who might have taken the mysterious black diary.
Across the room, Ron and Harry stared blankly at the parchment. They knew little about this new teacher except that he was insufferably vain. Watching Hermione write eagerly, they reluctantly picked up their quills, which suddenly felt impossibly heavy. Most of the boys seemed the same — scratching their heads, completely lost. Harry found himself wishing for a Potions essay instead; at least those answers could be found in a book.
Half an hour later, Lockhart began collecting the papers, flipping through them in front of everyone.
"Tsk, tsk — almost no one remembered my favourite colour is lilac," he said in mock disappointment. "I mentioned it in Year with the Yeti, you know."
The boys groaned inwardly, but the girls listened as if every word were precious. Suddenly, Lockhart brightened.
"Ah! Miss Hermione Granger!" he exclaimed, startling her. "Splendid! You alone remembered that my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care products. Excellent memory! Ten points to Gryffindor!"
Hermione blushed scarlet as Lockhart beamed at her, holding up her paper for everyone to see.
Then, as he continued leafing through the pile, his brows briefly knitted — clearly spotting a nearly blank sheet — but his expression quickly changed to one of exaggerated delight.
"Twenty points to Slytherin!" he announced. "Mr Draco Malfoy's answer is too perfect. But I shan't tell you what he wrote — that'll remain our little secret." He winked in Malfoy's direction.
Hermione, still flushed with pride a moment before, suddenly froze. She glanced across the classroom towards Malfoy, who appeared lost in thought, not even noticing her gaze.
"Why can't I ever find a chance to ask him properly?" she thought. It wasn't that she'd never had the opportunity — she simply didn't dare. The joy of earning ten points for Gryffindor faded somewhat at that realisation.
"Now, back to business!" Lockhart announced dramatically. Bending down, he dragged a large cage from behind the desk, covered by a thick cloth.
"Before we begin," he said solemnly, "a word of warning. My aim is to prepare you to defend yourselves against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind. What you are about to see may well be terrifying. But as long as I'm here, you are quite safe. All I ask is that you remain calm."
Harry craned his neck to get a better view. Neville shrank back in his seat. Pansy edged closer to Malfoy.
"I must ask you not to scream," Lockhart whispered theatrically. "It will only provoke them!"
The class held its breath — everyone except Malfoy, who looked unimpressed.
Lockhart whipped off the cloth.
"Behold!" he proclaimed. "Newly caught Cornish pixies!"
A boy snickered. Even Lockhart couldn't pretend that had been a scream of terror.
"Be serious!" he scolded, wagging his finger. "They may look harmless, but they're devilishly mischievous!"
Malfoy peered into the cage. The pixies were bright blue and about eight inches tall, with sharp little faces and shrill, chattering voices like quarrelling parakeets. The moment the cover was lifted, they began shrieking and shaking the bars, making grotesque faces at the nearest students.
"All right," said Lockhart grandly, "let's see how you handle them!" And with that, he flung open the cage door.
Chaos erupted. The pixies shot out like rockets. Two seized Neville by the ears and hoisted him into the air. Others smashed through the windows, scattering shards of glass. The rest stormed around the classroom, overturning desks and tearing down charts. Ink splattered everywhere; books and parchment fluttered like confetti. A few pixies even landed on the girls' heads, gleefully yanking at their hair.
"Petrificus Totalus!" Malfoy incanted coolly, freezing several pixies mid-flight. He helped Pansy out of the fray, then leaned against the wall to watch the spectacle unfold.
"Come on! Round them up, round them up — they're only pixies!" Lockhart shouted, rolling up his sleeves. He waved his wand and cried, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"
Nothing happened. One pixie snatched his wand and hurled it out the window. Lockhart yelped and ducked beneath his desk — narrowly avoiding Neville, who at that moment crashed to the floor as the chandelier gave way above him.
"This is the man teaching us to defend ourselves?" Pansy said sceptically, echoing the expressions of nearly every student in the room. Their supposed expert was utterly helpless against a handful of mischief-makers.
"Maybe his wand's broken," Hermione said weakly in his defence. "Like Ron's." After a moment, she added, "You've all read his books — think of the amazing things he's done!"
A few students nodded, comforted by her reasoning, but Ron muttered darkly, "Only he said he did them."
Eventually, after much chasing, shouting, and the use of several jinxes, the students managed to stuff the last of the pixies back into the cage.
"Splendid work!" Lockhart declared suddenly, emerging from beneath his desk as though nothing had happened. His robes were askew, but his dazzling smile was firmly back in place.
Malfoy gave him a look of open contempt.
"Well then," Lockhart said brightly, "five points to whichever House caught each pixie! Come up and record your names."
The tension in the room eased instantly. Students rushed forward eagerly, forgetting his humiliation a moment ago.
"This actually works?" Malfoy muttered, dumbfounded. He'd never seen such shamelessness.
At last, the bell rang, bringing the farce to a merciful end.
"What did you write on that paper earlier?" Pansy asked as soon as they stepped into the corridor. "You barely wrote anything."
"Flattery won't get you anywhere," Malfoy said with a shrug. "I just wrote: My mother accidentally packed a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in my trunk. As minors aren't allowed to drink, I'd like to ask for your help in disposing of it."
Pansy's eyes widened. "That's blatant bribery!"
"No," Malfoy replied coolly, glancing back at the classroom where Lockhart was preening before a mirror. "Merely a small token of appreciation from a student to his teacher."
Lockhart's so-called professionalism, he thought, left much to be desired.
And with that, the ridiculous lesson — and the even more ridiculous man leading it — were finally behind them.
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