Pixies, Pride, and the Fall of a Fraud
After lunch, Defense Against the Dark Arts awaited.
Keith entered the classroom with Rias, Susan, and Helena.
Hufflepuff and Gryffindor filled the benches.
In the far corner, Ron Weasley sat hunched, desperately trying to become invisible.
Keith noticed.
Keith didn't care.
They took seats at the Hufflepuff table.
Moments later—
The door burst open.
"Good afternoon, my adoring students!"
Gilderoy Lockhart swept in with a dramatic flourish, cloak billowing, smile blinding.
He launched into his usual monologue—accomplishments, books, smiles, heroics.
Keith stared at the desk.
Why did I come to this class?
Rias leaned closer and whispered, "For entertainment?"
Keith sighed.
Lockhart clapped his hands.
"Pop quiz!"
Papers were passed out.
Keith glanced at the questions.
Which of my adventures was the most dangerous?
Which charm did I invent?
What color are my eyes?
Keith closed the paper.
Slowly.
He didn't even write his name.
Rias, Susan, and Helena at least scribbled something.
The quiz ended.
Lockhart began grading.
His smile froze.
"One paper… without a name?"
He checked the list.
"…Keith Argus Runcandel."
The room turned silent.
Lockhart looked up dramatically.
"Mr. Runcandel," he said loudly,
"care to explain?"
Keith stood.
He sighed.
Then smiled politely.
"Professor Lockhart," he began, voice calm and respectful,
"I did not write my name because I did not wish to tarnish the reputation of a great wizard."
Lockhart beamed.
Around the room, students exchanged looks.
Keith continued.
"Your achievements are… legendary.
So legendary that answering incorrectly might offend history itself."
Every adult in the room could hear the insult.
Lockhart couldn't.
Ron nodded enthusiastically, thinking, See? Even Runcandel admires him.
Lockhart laughed proudly.
"Well said!"
Keith sat down and dropped his forehead onto the desk.
"I regret everything," he muttered.
Rias patted his back.
Helena nodded sympathetically.
Susan whispered, "Same."
Pixie Apocalypse
Lockhart clapped again.
"Now! A practical demonstration!"
He pulled out a cage.
Cornish Pixies.
The moment it opened—
Chaos exploded.
Desks lifted.
Hair pulled.
Books flew.
Pixies avoided one area entirely.
Keith's table.
They hovered, looked at him, squeaked nervously—and fled.
Lockhart raised his wand.
"Peskipiksi Pestern—!"
Nothing happened.
A pixie yanked his wand.
Another tugged his hair.
"Now, class," Lockhart said nervously, backing away,
"why don't you try handling them?"
He slipped out the door.
Keith's eye twitched.
Raphael.
Yes, Master.
Invisible force yanked Lockhart mid-escape.
He tumbled down the steps and went unconscious.
The pixies dragged him back and shoved him into the cage.
Keith stood calmly.
With controlled telekinesis, every remaining pixie was pulled back inside.
The door snapped shut.
Silence.
Students fled.
Before leaving, Keith glanced at the cage.
The pixies were angry.
Very angry.
Lockhart… was not having a good time.
Aftermath
Minutes later, Professor McGonagall stormed in, alerted by a panicked student.
She stopped dead.
Lockhart lay unconscious.
Roughly ten percent of his skin showed bite marks and scratches.
Madam Pomfrey arrived shortly after.
Lockhart was rushed to the hospital wing.
By evening—
Rumors spread.
Witnesses talked.
Stories clashed with reality.
And Gilderoy Lockhart's carefully polished fame collapsed overnight.
Keith returned to his dormitory, exhausted.
"I just wanted a normal class," he muttered.
Rias smiled.
"There is no such thing."