Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom
Dressed in a pale-gold robe with a chest full of clinking medals, Gilderoy Lockhart stood at the front, holding up a copy of one of his books. The photo on the cover flashed the exact same dazzling smile he was giving the class.
"First time teaching you all, but I'm sure you know who I am. Out of respect for the art of teaching, allow me a proper introduction: Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award…"
He chuckled. "Of course, a charming smile won't fend off a werewolf."
Lockhart was about to launch into more of "his" epic tales when his eyes landed on Lucien Grafton in the front row. For some reason, his stomach did a little flip.
"Ahem! Let's start with a quick pop quiz—just to see if you've done any pre-reading."
Unlike other professors who'd flick their wands and send papers flying, Lockhart handed them out one by one. A few fangirls squealed softly at the personal touch.
Lucien took his sheet and got to work. If you looked really close, you'd notice the quill was doing the writing while his hand just… went along for the ride.
It was his custom auto-answer quill—feed it knowledge, and it fills in blanks or multiple-choice on its own. Overkill for Lockhart's quiz, which asked gems like:
"What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite flower?"
"Which adventure earned Gilderoy Lockhart his Order of Merlin?"
Stuff straight out of his so-called autobiographies.
Gotta admit, the actual adventures in those books were thrilling, and the dark-creature tips were halfway decent. Too bad they'd been lived by the real heroes—then stolen from their memories by Lockhart.
But did anyone care what he wanted for Christmas? Hard pass.
The quill finished the nonsense sheet in no time.
Lockhart collected the quizzes and graded them on the spot.
To his shock, the only perfect score belonged to Lucien Grafton.
Lockhart hesitated. Is he secretly a fan? Just shy, so he acts all aloof?
He announced the results and awarded Ravenclaw ten points.
After the Cornish Pixies disaster with Harry's class last period, Lockhart wasn't risking live creatures again—not even the "safe" ones. He couldn't handle them anyway.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts is a profound subject. Theory matters, but practice is essential…"
Some less-informed second-years perked up, eyes shining. Last year, Quirrell had just droned from the textbook. They hadn't learned a single real spell!
Maybe Lockhart, with all his "experience," would finally deliver.
"So I'll personally walk you through my encounters with dark creatures. Words on a page can't compare to the real thing. That time in Tibet—the yeti's brutality and stupidity…"
The hopeful kids nearly face-palmed. This is it?
His die-hard fans, though, hung on every word.
Lockhart's stories were way more entertaining than Quirrell's monotone or the dusty textbook.
He got more into it, voice rising.
"Any volunteers to act out the scene with me? It'll be an unforgettable experience!"
His gaze drifted to Lucien, who was looking down. Perfect—get the "shy" kid up close with his idol.
"Mr. Grafton, care to play the yeti? From Snowy Peaks Showdown?"
Lucien lifted his head, smiled sweetly, and said, "No need to trouble yourself, Professor. If you need a yeti, I can conjure one."
He drew his wand; a soft glow gathered at the tip.
Lockhart's heart skipped. He threw up a hand. "Whoa, no wands in my classroom! It's… not elegant."
Truth? He was terrified a second-year might accidentally zap his perfect face and ruin the brand.
He quickly swapped in another student and staged a painfully awkward skit.
When the bell rang, Lockhart gave the kid some over-the-top praise and assigned homework:
"Write an essay on my triumph over the yeti. Best one gets a signed copy of Magical Me."
Class dismissed, he strutted back to his office next door.
He spent a solid few minutes in front of the mirror—fluffing curls, straightening collar, adjusting sleeves, practicing that million-Galleon grin.
"Another flawless lesson."
He didn't notice the plain little robin perched atop the wardrobe, black eyes rolling so hard they nearly fell out.
Even more narcissistic in private, thought Lucien-in-robin-form. Finally.
After Lockhart brewed a cup of tea, he sat down, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a faded diary.
The robin's eyes flashed.
Lockhart grabbed a massive peacock quill and scribbled, pausing to mutter:
"There's a Chamber of Secrets right here in the school… with a monster inside…"
"Oh! The monster can be controlled…"
"Exactly! Stage a few incidents, cause panic, then Gilderoy Lockhart swoops in, banishes the beast, saves the day!"
"It'll be witnessed by everyone—a real, heroic adventure! I'll save the students, the future of wizardkind… maybe even snag another Order of Merlin. Third Class is honestly beneath me…"
Up on the wardrobe, the robin listened silently to every word of Lockhart's master plan.