Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was dreadful. He tested students on his favorite color and birthday, and reenacted textbook scenes theatrically. Harry, annoyed, deliberately got a few answers wrong. The quiz might've suited a literature class, but as Defense, Lockhart was incompetent, Harry thought. Zabini was openly disappointed.
"I always say ninety percent of a person is their face…" Zabini's handsome features twisted with anger. "Never seen someone waste a good face like that."
"Girls like him, though…" Harry noted, calming Zabini to prevent sabotage or teacher-bullying.
Lockhart's class was a spectacle. Had Harry not been forced to act, he might've enjoyed it. Playing along, he flattered Lockhart as a Slytherin would, but this only spurred Lockhart to exploit him more.
"Dumbledore's a failure for hiring that incompetent," Draco sneered. "Father says he'd find better teachers."
Draco's popularity grew, even beyond Slytherin girls. In fairness, Lockhart was enthusiastic—consulting with girls after class, kind to supporters, and a theatrical genius, scripting and performing everything from clown to lead. But he fumbled basic spells, his wandwork sloppy. As a Defense teacher, he was mediocre.
(Sirius would've been better…)
Harry didn't fully agree with Draco but found Lockhart's classes lacking. Upperclassmen took it more seriously.
"This is bad, Mackie," Ricardo Marthanas told prefect McGillis Carrow in the Slytherin common room. "We'll fail Defense tests."
Carrow, reading an intermediate Defense theory book, sighed. "We slacked off too much last year. Duelling Club's our only shot. Plus, mentoring first-years… Eli got into it with Gryffindors. I'll teach him a hex to fend them off."
Female prefect Isabella Selwyn advised younger students: "Listen, cute juniors, Defense isn't taught by teachers. Some years, like this one, you get duds. Study on your own to avoid trouble in exams. When you get a good teacher, flatter them and learn."
"What if we never get a good one?" a first-year asked.
"Befriend smart kids, borrow their notes, and thank them properly," Selwyn replied.
Lockhart dominated student talk. Zabini muttered, "Quirrell was decent in hindsight. I was too harsh."
Harry's chest stung. He'd forgotten Quirrell and felt guilty. "Yeah…"
"Let's treat Defense as a throwaway subject," Azrael suggested. "Many do."
Not everyone was as rational as Selwyn or Azrael. Seeing fifth-years curse Lockhart, Harry tried asking Snape for Defense lessons, hoping to mend their rift by using Lockhart as a pretext. It was a long shot.
"Ask your Defense teacher for theory," Snape snapped coldly, brewing a potion in his dungeon lab.
Harry, strong in Potions, recognized it. Snape noticed his stare. "Lockhart's request. He claims it's for teaching against dark magic. I doubt he'll teach anything worthwhile. I'll report his failures to the Board. Don't interfere, Potter."
"Yes, sir. Please do."
Harry smiled slightly, leaving. Snape confirmed the potion's purpose.
＊＊＊
Ron's bullying was minimal, overshadowed by Lockhart's antics. Harry attended a tea party in the girls' dorm to thank Daphne. A green tablecloth with silver embroidery adorned the table, and fragrant tea was served.
The group—Pansy, Tracey, Millicent, and Daphne—was tight-knit, always together, with Pansy as the queen bee. Harry sat opposite her, enduring her chatter about gossip, rivalries, and brand-name bags. Bored, he used basic Occlumency to feign interest, laughing or acting surprised.
After thirty minutes, Harry sipped the tea—delicious, unlike any he'd tasted. "Great tea leaves. Where's it from?"
Pansy beamed, "I prepared it." Harry genuinely praised her taste, delighted by her smile. Post-tea, a euphoric haze enveloped him. He fixated on Pansy.
(How did I miss her charm?)
Her pug-like face and cunning Slytherin ways seemed enchanting. Tracey grew quiet, Millicent eyed Pansy with fear, and Daphne paled.
(What's wrong? Pansy's so cute…)
"I didn't know you were so easy to talk to," Pansy said.
"Me neither," Harry replied. "How did I overlook you? Your pug face, your nastiness—everything's so charming…"
His scar throbbed as he spoke. Pansy looked shocked, Daphne and the others laughed, but Harry saw only Pansy.
"Thirsty, Potter? More tea," Pansy offered, smiling coldly.
"Don't, Potter…" Daphne warned.
"If you say so, Pansy." Harry drank, his scar throbbing again.
"You're a Slytherin, right?" Pansy asked.
"Absolutely. You know that."
"Then you shouldn't associate with filthy Muggle-borns. It saddens me you're not acting like a Slytherin…"
(Filthy Muggle-born?)
Conflicting urges clashed—obeying Pansy versus rejecting her words.
"Promise me now," Pansy pressed. "Cut ties with Granger. Then I'll forgive you."
Harry wanted to please her. (She's right. I'm Slytherin. I shouldn't be with filthy Muggle-borns…)
As he opened his mouth, his scar burned. Anger surged. (This is wrong. I love Pansy, I should obey… No, how can she call my friends filthy? How can she think that of Mum?)
"You shouldn't say that. You're so charming otherwise."
Harry stared at Pansy. Her face shifted from shock to anger. She no longer seemed charming—just a pug.
(Serves her right.)
Yet guilt gnawed. (Why make her sad? Am I mad?)
His head throbbing, Harry eyed the tea. It smelled like broomsticks. He understood.
"Thanks for the fun time, Pansy, Tracey, Millicent, Daphne. I remembered something, so I'll go."
(Get out. Don't hurt Pansy more.)
His heart urged him to stay, but another voice rationalized escape. Harry headed for the hospital wing.
＊＊＊
"Wait, Potter! Hospital wing's this way!" Daphne shouted, as Harry sluggishly aimed for the Magical Inquiry Club.
"I… have to obey Pansy… tell Hermione…" he mumbled.
(The potion's kicking in!) Daphne thought.
"Petrificus Totalus!" she cast, freezing Harry.
"What are you doing?!"
"You're going to the hospital wing! Wingardium Leviosa!"
Daphne levitated Harry, dragging him to Madam Pomfrey, who grudgingly unpetrified him and administered an antidote.
"Ugh… what was I doing?!" Harry clutched his head.
"You're the fourth to fall for a love potion," Pomfrey sighed. "Why's it so popular?"
Harry wasn't listening, berating himself. (I knew love potions smell like what you love! Why didn't I notice? Worse, why did I think those things?)
He nearly lost what mattered most—his friends and his mother's love.
(Losing to a potion…)
Daphne explained to Pomfrey, "My friend gave him a love potion. She visited Lockhart's room yesterday."
"That man! Distributing love potions to students—what's he thinking?!" Pomfrey fumed, promising to report Lockhart and Snape.
"Rest here, Potter. Don't move."
Harry stayed in the hospital wing, enveloped in awkward silence with Daphne.
"Thanks for helping," he said, suppressing resentment. Lockhart and Pansy were to blame, but his voice was sharp without Occlumency.
"I didn't think Pansy would do that," Daphne said weakly, her black hair drooping.
"I'm not blaming you."
"I invited you, thinking it'd give Pansy bragging rights."
"So it backfired. She never wanted to be friends. No one uses potions on people they like."
Harry trashed Pansy, too raw to care about Daphne's feelings. Pansy was her friend, but he couldn't muster tact.
"It's what you get for manipulating hearts."
"Don't badmouth Pansy," Daphne pleaded.
Harry glared, annoyed.
"She probably wanted you to act Slytherin for Draco's sake. Staying close to Granger keeps you two at odds."
"So she tried to ruin my friendships? What a cunning witch. That's disgusting."
Harry's revulsion for Pansy was uncontainable. Like him, she acted for a friend, using any means for Draco. But being on the receiving end gave Harry the right to loathe her.
He wanted to curse her but stopped, seeing tears in Daphne's eyes. He wiped them with a handkerchief. Staring at her, he couldn't vent about Pansy.
"Thanks for inviting me. I can't join tea parties with Pansy, but… if it's just you, or people who won't disrespect me, I'd love another invite."
Harry forced Occlumency to comfort the dejected Daphne, escorting her to the girls' dorm. Back in his, he grabbed his Nimbus. Flying was the only way to stop himself from hexing everything.
(Tracey: Wait… is Pansy kind of awful?)
(Millicent: Totally freaked out.)
(Daphne: You… what the hell did you do?!)
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