Although Ted already knew Lockhart was all show and no substance, he hadn't expected him to be this incompetent.
Most adult wizards had at least some dueling experience or could cast a few useful spells under pressure.
But Lockhart?
He had the magical capability of a particularly useless teapot.
Cornish Pixies were rated only X in the Ministry of Magic's classification of magical creatures—barely a step above household nuisances like garden gnomes.
Even upper-year students could handle them with ease.
And yet, their esteemed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had abandoned a room full of students to escape a swarm of tiny blue menaces.
Ted wasn't even surprised.
He knew the canon and expected this to happen, and add to that, he had already analyzed Lockhart's magical abilities early on and uncovered something… fascinating.
Lockhart had a unique talent: a blue-quality ability called [Specialized Obliviate (Blue)].
Every other spell in his repertoire?
Negatively leveled.
The man had somehow over-specialized in memory charms, sacrificing all competence in other magical fields.
Ted suspected he had used some obscure method to boost his Obliviate spell to unnatural levels—likely at the cost of every other useful talent a wizard should have.
It explained why Lockhart was so utterly, painfully useless in a fight.
And right now, thanks to him, the classroom was absolute chaos.
Second-year students weren't exactly battle-hardened.
Most of them froze in shock as the pixies tore through the room, overturning desks, shredding books, and pulling on hair.
A few unfortunate girls yelped as their skirts were yanked upward by particularly mischievous pixies.
Screaming, flailing, and sheer panic filled the air.
Ding!
Triggering quest: [Classroom Order (Green)]
Professor Lockhart admires you so much—are you really going to let him lose face like this? No, of course not! Take charge!
Objective: Subdue the classroom's Cornish Pixie infestation.
Reward: 250 experience, random card draw.
Professor, you don't want to be humiliated in front of your students, do you~?
Ted exhaled through his nose.
'Finally.'
He had been waiting for this.
He flicked his wand with practiced ease.
"Frostbolt."
A sharp frost-blue glow shot from the tip of his wand, instantly encasing one of the skirt-pulling pixies in solid ice.
The little menace froze mid-air, eyes wide with comical shock before dropping like a rock onto a desk.
Ted stepped onto a chair and projected his voice, steady and commanding:
"Everyone, don't panic! This is a perfect opportunity to practice our spells! Pick up your wands—we're wizards, aren't we?!"
His voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
Panic turned into focus.
The students, inspired by the sheer confidence in his tone, started reacting instead of cowering.
Lockhart, wherever he was, would be so touched if he knew Ted was still pretending to support him.
The thought almost made Ted grin.
Lockhart: He's too good. I'm crying. Truly.
With the students rallying, the real fight began.
Hermione stunned one of the pixies mid-flight, sending it spiraling into the cage.
Harley followed up with a Flipendo, knocking another into a bookshelf.
Jerry missed his first few shots, so he switched tactics—grabbing his thick second-hand textbook and slamming a pixie against the wall with a loud THWACK!
Neville had a similar idea.
Forget the wand—I am the weapon.
He balled up his fist and decked a pixie right in the face. The little creature tumbled through the air before landing in a crumpled heap.
Only Ron ran into issues.
In a desperate attempt to cast the Leg-Locker Curse, his malfunctioning wand backfired spectacularly.
With a loud BOOM, Ron was flung backward, somersaulting through the air—right into Seamus's waiting arms.
Seamus, catching him, blinked in surprise. "Ron… mate… I didn't know you felt the same way."
Ron, still dazed: "What? Wait—why are you holding me?"
Seamus, grinning: "We're kindred spirits now, yeah? Fellow wizards of misfortune!"
Despite Ron's misfire, the rest of the students, now emboldened, joined in.
After three or four minutes of teamwork and spell-casting, most of the pixies were subdued.
A few particularly clever ones managed to slip out the window, but that was someone else's problem now.
Ted gathered up the remaining pixies, swinging them through the air in rapid circles until they were too dizzy to fight back, then unceremoniously dumped them into the iron cage.
The last one at the bottom—the very same one that had tried to lift skirts—got a few extra spins before being thrown in.
After finally calming down, the students gasped and looked at each other, their faces filled with uncertainty.
"What are we supposed to do now? The professor's gone!" someone whispered.
Ted surveyed the classroom and sighed.
They couldn't just sit around in silence.
"Ahem," he cleared his throat, drawing their attention.
"Alright, let's try self-study. Open your textbooks to the first chapter. Looks like it's about trolls.
So, who can tell me something about them? Hermione, why don't you start us off?"
That was all it took.
Soon, the classroom was alive with discussion.
Some students shared what they knew from books, others recalled rumors or family stories, and a few made wild guesses.
With Ted moderating, correcting misconceptions, and adding relevant details, the impromptu lesson actually turned out to be… fun.
When the class ended, several students lingered, still eager to chat.
"Can we do this again next lesson?" one asked.
"We don't really need the professor, do we?"
"Exactly! I mean, Lockhart couldn't even handle a few pixies."
No one openly agreed, but their amused expressions said enough.
Lockhart had lost all credibility.
He still had another class that day with Slytherin and Hufflepuff, but apparently, his bruised ego—or maybe just his bruised face—kept him from showing up.
He declared it a "self-study period" and conveniently vanished.
By the next morning, the entire school knew how he had been chased out of the classroom by a swarm of Cornish Pixies.
Ted, meanwhile, claimed his reward—a card draw.
Three green-quality items.
And all of them were ridiculous.
[Explosive Gobstone (Green)] – A gobstone that, when lost, sprays the loser with sticky, stinky green goo. A true masterpiece of humiliation.
[Portable Ten-Pin Bowling Set (Green)] – A tiny enchanted bowling set that unfolds into a full game instantly. Great for parties. Not so great for battling Dark wizards.
[Itinerant Spike Frisbee (Green)] – A spiked disc that automatically hunts down enemies, attacking them or patrolling an area. Lasts for 30 minutes. Six-hour cooldown.
Ted picked the only useful one: the Frisbee. It might come in handy.
The chaos in Lockhart's class became the first great spectacle of the school year, providing endless amusement for the students.
Everywhere Ted went, people were whispering Lockhart jokes.
But the man himself? Completely unfazed.
If he had even a shred of shame, he might have resigned on the spot, setting a new record for the shortest tenure of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
But Lockhart's shamelessness was truly legendary.
By the time a few days had passed, some students were actually questioning their own memories.
"Maybe it wasn't that bad?"
"Didn't Lockhart subdue at least some of the pixies?"
No.
He absolutely did not.
But that didn't stop him from rewriting history—especially in his own head.
From that point forward, he abandoned all practical lessons.
Instead, his classes became… theater productions.
Each session, he selected students to act out scenes from his books, having them reenact his "heroic adventures."
It was supposed to be educational.
It was not.
For the poor students chosen to perform, though, the lessons became far more memorable.
It was impossible to forget material when you had to act it out in front of your classmates.
Lockhart, of course, was only interested in the dramatic retellings of his own "glorious victories."
The students, however, were completely over it.
"We're supposed to be learning spells, not putting on a play!"
"If he loves acting so much, why isn't he in a theater troupe?!"
Neville, in particular, suffered. Somehow, he and Ted became Lockhart's favorite "lead actors," dragged up to the front of the class every single lesson.
For someone with stage fright who wanted nothing more than to be an unremarkable, background character in life, this was pure agony.
One day, between classes, he cornered Ted in desperation.
"How do you do it? How do you just—go up there and act like it doesn't bother you?"
Ted just grinned.
"Easy. I don't think of it as performing. I just pick a character from the book, imagine I'm them, and then I pretend Lockhart and the rest of the class are just… wooden dummies."
Neville blinked. "Like… training dummies?"
"Exactly. If you're just talking to inanimate objects, there's nothing to be nervous about, right?"
Surprisingly, the trick worked.
Over time, Neville's stage fright eased, and his acting actually improved.
Later that week, Gryffindor and Slytherin had flying lessons together.
Predictably, tensions ran high.
Every mixed-class lesson between these two Houses turned into a rivalry-fueled battle.
By the end of the session, neither group was in any hurry to leave.
Instead, they lingered, forming small groups and throwing insults back and forth.
The atmosphere was growing tenser by the second.
And then, Hermione arrived.
She had rushed to the lesson ahead of Ted, who was back in the dorm changing into more comfortable clothes.
But as soon as the Slytherins noticed her, their jeers took on a sharper edge.
Hermione's intelligence and high grades had always made her a target.
Some purebloods, jealous of her success despite her Muggle-born status, whispered among themselves, sneering at her presence.
And then Malfoy opened his mouth.
"Mudblood."
The insult cut through the air like a knife.
For a single, charged second, everything was still.
Then Gryffindor erupted.
No one even thought about it.
They weren't just defending Hermione—they just really hated Slytherin.
It started with shoving.
Then someone swung a fist.
And just like that, the entire field descended into chaos.
"Bastard! Hit him! Hit him!" Harley yelled, already throwing a punch.
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Word count: 1661
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