Defense Against the Dark Arts class started off with that exact vibe.
The second Ron stepped into the room, he completely lost it and started cracking up. What even was this?
Hanging on the walls were massive self-portraits of a blond wizard with his hair dramatically flicked up, wearing flashy teal robes, holding a paintbrush and painting… himself.
And get this: there wasn't just one. The entire classroom was absolutely plastered with Gilderoy Lockhart.
"One, two, three… seven? Seven tiny Lockharts?"
Ron was wheezing. He was totally referencing the Seven Dwarfs from that storybook Justin had lent him the other day. (In return, Ron had given Justin a copy of The Tale of the Three Brothers, even though Ron barely owned any storybooks himself.)
"Quit it!" Hermione hissed, shooting him a death glare.
By then the rest of the second-years were trickling in, chattering away, and the second they crossed the threshold they froze, mouths open, staring at the Lockhart shrine that used to be a classroom.
Once everyone was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat dramatically until the room went quiet. He picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, held it up so everyone could see the winking photo of himself on the cover, and beamed.
"Me," he said, pointing at the cover and giving the exact same wink, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award. I don't like to brag about that last one, though; smiling didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee, now did it?"
He waited for laughs. A couple of people managed weak smiles.
"I see you've all got my complete set of books; excellent! I thought we'd start the year with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about, just to see how carefully you've read them… how much you've taken in…"
What we got handed next was a quiz straight out of someone's nightmare.
"What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?!"
Ron's eyes practically bulged out of his head. "Are you kidding me?"
Hermione was already scribbling away at warp speed, shielding her paper with her left hand and scooting a little closer to Sean.
"Somebody actually knows this stuff…" Ron muttered to Harry. Then he instinctively leaned over Hermione to peek at Sean's paper.
"No way. Sean's perfect-score streak is finally over… Lilac?! Sean, how do you even—?"
Ron craned his neck, totally floored. There was no way Sean was a Lockhart fan. Harry secretly worshipping Snape was more likely than that.
"Page sixty-nine of Year with the Yeti, bottom right corner, third line," Sean answered without looking up.
Ron opened his mouth, closed it, then the light bulb went off; Sean never did anything without a reason.
So Ron shut up and flipped through the quiz again. His eyes stopped dead on the very last question on the first page:
[What do you believe Mr. Hermes's true identity at Hogwarts to be?]
There were a few follow-up lines about whether "Professor Lockhart's guidance will prove an indispensable part of Mr. Hermes's journey," etc.
Ron's stare at Lockhart instantly turned suspicious.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the quizzes and started flipping through them right in front of everybody.
"Tsk, tsk; hardly anyone remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I mention it in Year with the Yeti…"
He shot the class another wink. Ron was now glaring daggers. Up front, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas were shaking with silent laughter, but Hermione was hanging on every word.
Every time Lockhart reached that last question on page one, his eyes lingered a second longer, then flicked with obvious amusement toward a certain pair of calm green eyes.
"Two perfect scores! Mr. Sean Green and Miss Hermione Granger; well done! Ten points each to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw! Now, back to business…"
He bent down, dragged a large cage covered with a cloth out from behind the desk, and plunked it on top.
"Right; be careful now! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You're about to face things in this room that would make your blood run cold. But remember: as long as I'm here, nothing can harm you. All I ask is that you remain calm."
He rambled on forever. Sean tuned him out completely.
He was thinking about the really dangerous books in the Restricted Section: Moste Potente Potions, Secrets of the Darkest Art, Confronting the Faceless… those were the ones he actually remembered. The ones he didn't remember? Way too many to count.
Hogwarts had been around for over a thousand years. The library held more knowledge than any curious wizard could dream of.
The problem: you needed a signed note from a professor to check out anything from the Restricted Section.
Over the summer, Sean had already asked Madam Pince. She'd handed him a whole stack of permission slips without hesitation; she knew he'd get the signatures somehow.
And right now, the easiest professor on the planet to get a signature from was standing at the front of the room.
Lockhart would probably sign a hundred notes without even reading them.
When Sean finally tuned back in, the classroom looked like a war zone.
Dozens of furious, electric-blue pixies were rocketing around like missiles. Two of them had Neville by the ears and were hoisting him into the air. A few had already smashed out the windows and were raining glass down on the back rows.
The rest were wrecking everything in sight; worse than a charging rhinoceros. They splattered ink across the room, shredded parchment and books, ripped posters off the walls, upended the trash bin, and started hurling bags and textbooks out the broken windows.
Half the class was hiding under desks. Neville was dangling from the chandelier, swinging like a terrified piñata.
The bell rang. Everyone bolted for the door like their lives depended on it.
In the chaos, Lockhart straightened up, looked at Harry, Ron, Hermione, Sean, and Neville (who was still in the air), and said cheerfully, "Well, I'll just ask you five to get the rest of these little blighters back in their cage."
Then he slipped out the door ahead of them and shut it behind him.
Hermione was blasting pixies with Immobulus left and right. Harry was standing on a desk on tiptoe trying to reach Neville. Ron, meanwhile, looked like Christmas had come early.
"Sean! You totally missed it! We didn't even get a chance to yell for you!"
Sean stood up, frowned slightly, and raised his wand.
A massive wave of flame roared across the room, shaping itself faintly into a dragon as it went.
The inferno herded the shrieking pixies into a corner against the wall. Sean's eyes narrowed; the castle walls themselves seemed to come alive, opening like hungry mouths and swallowing the pixies whole.
Another sharp flick of his wand, and stacks of books flew into the air, forming a spiraling staircase of hardbacks.
Sean climbed the steps calmly. One gentle tap of his wand and Neville, sobbing his eyes out, dropped safely onto a cushion of hovering pages that circled gently downward.
"You okay?" Sean asked.
The room went dead silent.
"That," Ron said in awe, "that's what a real wizard looks like."
Harry nodded, thoroughly convinced.
Hermione stared first at the spot where Lockhart had vanished, then at Sean and Neville slowly descending on a whirl of pages.
"That absolute fraud…" she whispered.
Even the densest kid in the room could see the difference now.
"Honestly," Ron muttered, "they should just let Sean teach the class…
'Discuss the indispensable role Sean Green's guidance played in the formative years of Gilderoy Lockhart…'"
Harry had to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.