Slytherin and Gryffindor second-years settled into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, their desks creaking as they took their seats. Sean and Blaise chose spots in the middle, surrounded by the faint hum of enchanted quills and the rustle of parchment. The room felt like a stage, with Lockhart's podium draped in gaudy velvet, as if awaiting a performance rather than a lesson. Sean leaned back, exchanging a quiet glance with Blaise as they waited for the class to start.
When the bell rang, Gilderoy Lockhart swept out from behind the podium, his robes shimmering like a peacock's tail. He flashed his signature smile, teeth gleaming under the torchlight, and announced, "Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts! I am your professor, Gilderoy Lockhart—third-level Order of Merlin badge holder, honorary member of the Dark Arts Defense League, and five-time winner of Wizard Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award. But I don't dwell on such things. After all, I didn't banish the Wanlun banshee with a smile alone."
Lockhart paused, his grin fixed, eyes scanning the room for laughter. A few students—mostly Gryffindor girls, including Hermione, who beamed like she'd just aced a Potions exam—giggled at his jest. But most, including Sean and Blaise, stared back, unimpressed. The joke landed like a damp firecracker. Hermione's enthusiasm was unmistakable, her quill already poised as if Lockhart's words were gospel.
Undeterred, Lockhart's smile widened, unfazed by the lackluster response. "I see you've all purchased my complete works—excellent choice!" he said, his voice brimming with self-assurance. "Today, we'll have a little quiz. No need to worry! I simply want to gauge how well you've read my books, how deeply you've studied them, and if you've grasped their essence."
He grabbed a stack of papers from the podium, handing them to the front row with a flourish. "Pass these back, please," he instructed, and soon every student held a quiz. "You have thirty minutes. Begin!"
Blaise flipped through the pages, his expression souring. The questions were absurd: What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?What are Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest ambitions? He groaned, turning to Sean. "Are you serious?"
Sean didn't look up, his quill scratching swiftly across the paper. "Completely," he said, his tone calm but focused. "I'm not guessing. My answers are thoughtful and precise."
Blaise raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "You're not a fan of Lockhart, are you?"
Sean snorted, still writing. "Hardly. In the short time we've been here, any respect I had for him has vanished. I'm starting to question if the adventures in his books are even his. I don't doubt the stories themselves—vampires, werewolves, banshees, they're real enough. But Lockhart? He doesn't strike me as the hero he claims to be. He's not sharp, not cautious. Honestly, I've got better instincts than he does. I suspect he's claiming someone else's deeds as his own."
Blaise leaned closer, intrigued. "So why bother with the quiz?"
Sean's quill paused briefly, his eyes glinting with Slytherin cunning. "Doesn't matter if he's a fraud. His books are useful. The stories, the details—they're inspiring. I've read them cover to cover, multiple times, because they give me ideas. If I face a troll or a dark creature someday, I'll know what to do. This quiz? It's easy for me. I know his books better than he probably does."
Blaise watched, wide-eyed, as Sean breezed through the quiz, his quill dancing across the enchanted parchment while he spoke. Thinking fast, Blaise leaned over and copied a few answers from Sean's paper. He didn't need top marks, but a zero would be embarrassing, wouldn't it?
After thirty minutes, the papers were collected, rustling as they were passed forward. Lockhart stood at the podium, flipping through them with dramatic flair, tutting as he reviewed them before the class. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said, shaking his head. "Hardly anyone recalled that my favorite color is lilac. It's in Year with the Yeti, you know! And some of you need to revisit Wandering with Werewolves. Chapter twelve clearly states my ideal birthday gift is for all magical and non-magical folk to get along peacefully. Though, I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky…"
Lockhart paused, winking at the students with a mischievous grin. Blaise gagged, muttering under his breath, while Sean sighed, rubbing his temple. The man was insufferable. Lockhart's voice grated like an off-key Fwooper, and his theatrics made the classroom feel like a circus.
Then, Lockhart's voice rang out. "Where are Mr. Sean and Miss Hermione Granger?"
Hermione's hand shot up like a charmed flagpole, her face glowing with pride, as if Lockhart's approval was a Hogwarts badge. Sean raised his hand just enough for Lockhart to notice, his expression neutral but alert.
Lockhart beamed, clapping his hands. "Splendid! You two are exceptional. You answered every question correctly—you even knew my secret ambition to rid the world of evil and my dream to launch my own hair conditioner line. Truly remarkable! Your papers earn a perfect 100 points for such pointless questions!" He chuckled, then added, "And ten points each for Slytherin and Gryffindor!"
The class murmured, some students exchanging glances. Hermione practically glowed, while Sean's lips twitched in a faint, calculating smile. Blaise nudged him, whispering, "This is the dullest class I've ever sat through. Worse than Binns' History of Magic. At least I can nap through his droning, but Lockhart's voice keeps me awake."
Sean's eyes glinted with Slytherin mischief. "Don't worry. I'll liven things up soon, I promise."
Blaise leaned closer, intrigued. "I knew you didn't study Lockhart's books for nothing. What's your plan?"
Sean's voice was low, his tone sly. "Nothing big. This is Defense Against the Dark Arts, right? As the professor, Lockhart's supposed to teach us actual defense. If he's slacking, it's my duty as a student to nudge him into doing his job properly—make him a real professor."
Blaise's grin widened, his eyes darting to Lockhart with a mischievous spark. He could already imagine the chaos Sean might stir, and he was all for it.
Lockhart clapped his hands, his robes shimmering like a peacock's tail. "Now, everyone, pay attention! As your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, my duty is to teach you how to face dangerous, wicked creatures! Next, I'll reveal one of the wizarding world's most fearsome threats. But fear not—you're safe with me. Stay calm and watch how I handle these menaces!"
With a dramatic flourish, he placed a large, cloth-covered cage on the podium. Standing beside it, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I must ask you not to scream—it might rile them up. Please, stay quiet, and let me introduce… Cornish pixies!"
As Lockhart announced "Cornish pixie!" snickers erupted across the room. The mocking laughter was so loud even Lockhart couldn't pretend it was fear. His smile faltered, but he pressed on, adopting a theatrical tone. "Don't underestimate Cornish pixies! These tiny terrors are as cunning and dreadful as any dark creature!"
He yanked the cloth off the cage, revealing a swarm of iron-blue Cornish pixies. Their pointed faces, bat-like ears, and glowing yellow eyes gave them a devilish look, their sharp screeches echoing off the stone walls. Sean leaned forward, intrigued. Could these creatures be related to actual demons? More importantly, what rewards might his system grant for tackling them in a magical battle?
Lockhart, oblivious to the class's skepticism, opened the cage door. The pixies burst out like a flock of frenzied Fwoopers, grabbing books, quills, and ink bottles, hurling them across the room or at students' heads. A trio of pixies seized Neville Longbottom by his ears, hoisting him onto the enchanted chandelier, where he dangled, yelping helplessly.
Lockhart raised his wand, about to make a mistake as usual, but Sean wasn't about to let him fumble. Each pixie was a potential practice target, a chance to earn new skills or talents through his system. "Avis Oppugno!" Sean shouted, whipping out his wand and slashing it through the air.
Instantly, the scattered books, quills, and ink pots lifted off desks and the floor, transforming into palm-sized falcons. The charmed birds swooped through the classroom, their sharp claws snatching pixies mid-flight. With precise dives, they slammed the creatures to the ground, knocking them out cold. A few unlucky pixies, caught by multiple falcons, were torn apart, their tiny limbs and blue ichor splattering the stone floor.
In moments, the chaos subsided. Sean stood, waving his wand to herd the surviving pixies back into the cage. With another flick, he cast a cleaning spell, vanishing the remains of the fallen pixies. He shut the cage with a decisive click, ignoring the system notifications buzzing in his mind—over a dozen updates, each promising rewards. Turning to Lockhart, who stood frozen, mouth agape, Sean flashed a polite smile. "Professor Lockhart, sorry for jumping in with magic to handle those pixies. I'm sure you had a better way to deal with them!"
Lockhart blinked, then plastered on his signature grin, nodding vigorously. "Mr. Sean, the only student with a perfect quiz score, your understanding of me goes beyond mere test papers. You're quite right—I have far better methods for handling Cornish pixies, ones more refined than the spell you used. Your approach was a tad harsh, mind you. Not that I'm criticizing! I'm merely suggesting we could use gentler tactics, wouldn't you agree?"
Sean's spell had indeed been forceful, and Lockhart's cautious tone reflected that.