(Lockhart POV)
He had not been having a very good day at all so far, because aside from the little chat he had with Harry, nearly everything else had gone wrong. None of the other professors seemed to appreciate his obvious magnificence and even appeared to go out of their way to ignore him. It was appalling. Then there was the boy Julian Ravenclaw, a minor celebrity in his own right. Yet instead of looking up to him as he ought to, the boy had actually made a fool of him in front of his adoring students not once, not twice, but three times in rapid succession.
The first offense came when he had so graciously offered to take that immortal bird off the boy's hands as the clearly most skilled beast handler in the school, only to be attacked by the stupid creature. Then the boy had the nerve to loudly lecture him, Gilderoy Lockhart, about the mistakes he had made, as though a second year student could somehow surpass him in knowledge. The idea was utterly absurd, but he had been magnanimous enough to let them all know that he had merely been testing the boy.
Then came the second insult, when he had his obviously admiring students take a test to see how many of them truly appreciated the brilliance of his work, only to discover that the boy had dismissed it as pointless. How could it possibly be pointless when it had been written by him, Gilderoy Lockhart? He was famous, an authority on Defense Against the Dark Arts, and ought to have been revered for his expertise, and yet the boy had treated him as unimportant and even had the audacity to tell him what his own job was supposed to be.
Taking points from Gryffindor had not even seemed to bother the child, who had mockingly said it would not happen again, and yet less than five minutes later the boy had humiliated him a third time. This last offense had been by far the worst, because not only had the boy ruined his lesson by using a pathetically weak shield charm, one that he, Gilderoy Lockhart, could have dismantled with ease, to keep the pixies from reaching his classmates, but the boy had even sent his poor adoring fans into the dreadful clutches of those creatures after they had tried to help him, despite the fact that he clearly had not needed their assistance.
If only the true alpha of that pixie band had not snatched his wand away just as he had been about to subdue them all again. He would have put the boy in his place in no time at all. And yet here he was, forced to visit the infirmary after his precious hair had been savaged by the pixies the boy had set upon him. Worse still, his perfect complexion had been marred when the creatures used a candle on him, leaving a scar on his face of all imaginable horrors. He shuddered to think what even greater injustices might have befallen him had Professor Flitwick not happened to pass by the classroom and notice the disturbance.
He had nearly had those pixies subdued, he was sure of it, but alas, his efforts had been ruined by the charms of his fellow professor. 'I will be sure to correct that ungrateful child's attitude when next I have class with him,' Lockhart thought smugly, only to nearly burst a blood vessel the following day when he learned that the boy had somehow ended up with detention during the exact hours of his class for the foreseeable future. He had tried to persuade the professor assigning the detention, Flitwick in this case, to move the boy's punishment to another time, but he, Gilderoy Lockhart, had failed.
'Missing my class should be punishment enough, I suppose,' he thought before turning his attention to far more pressing matters, such as how to rid himself of the dreadful scar on his divine features. He had begged Madam Pomfrey for a cure, but the wretched woman had merely informed him that her duty was to preserve the health and survival of those brought to her, and since the scar threatened neither, it fell outside her concern. The sheer audacity of claiming that a scar on his face was not a threat to his survival.
Left with no alternative, he had gone to that sinister figure, Professor Snape, in hopes of obtaining an elixir for scar removal, something any competent potioneer surely kept on hand at all times. He would have brewed such a potion himself, of course, but alas, he had not had the time to devote his substantial potioneering talents to the task lately, seeing as he was so important and terribly busy. And yet that dreadful man had the nerve to scoff at his request and even smirk at his misfortune.