The anticipation for their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Gilderoy Lockhart was, for most of the female population of Hogwarts, at a fever pitch. Girls chattered excitedly in the corridors, comparing their favorite chapters from his books and debating whether his eyes were more periwinkle or cornflower blue.
Hermione, much to Ariana's quiet bewilderment, was not immune.
"Isn't he just amazing?" she sighed as they made their way to the classroom, clutching her full set of Lockhart's works to her chest. "To have fought all those creatures… a Banshee, a werewolf, the Ghoul with the Gripe… He must be an incredibly powerful wizard."
"His prose suggests a greater talent for narrative embellishment than for factual reporting," Ariana commented dryly, having skimmed one of the books out of academic curiosity. She'd found it to be a masterwork of self-aggrandizement, riddled with magical inconsistencies and vague, unprovable claims.
The classroom itself had been transformed. The usual scent of dust and old spell-craft was gone, replaced by a cloying, floral perfume. The walls were draped in large tapestries depicting scenes from Lockhart's books, and a massive, life-sized portrait of the man himself, winking and flashing his dazzling smile, hung behind the teacher's desk.
When Lockhart made his grand entrance, a wave of delighted sighs swept through the room. He was dressed in turquoise robes that were even more vibrant than the ones he'd worn in Diagon Alley. He beamed at the class, his teeth gleaming unnaturally.
"Me!" he announced, gesturing to himself. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award—but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"
He waited for the laugh, which came dutifully from most of the class. Ariana simply watched, her expression one of polite, clinical neutrality. She was observing a specimen, a curious case of projected confidence utterly detached from actual substance.
The lesson began with a quiz. A quiz not about defensive spells or dark creatures, but about Gilderoy Lockhart himself. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour? What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
Hermione set to work with a fervor, scribbling down answers she had clearly memorized. Ariana stared at the parchment for a moment, then calmly wrote her name at the top and left the rest of the fifty-four questions blank. It was a useless exercise, a waste of ink and time.
Lockhart collected the papers, chuckling as he looked them over. "Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered my favourite colour is lilac… But Miss Hermione Granger knew that my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions! Good girl!" He beamed at a blushing Hermione. Then his eyes fell on Ariana's blank paper. His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features before being plastered over with more charm. "And Miss Dumbledore… clearly too modest to show off her knowledge! Admirable!"
He then launched into a dramatic, and largely nonsensical, lecture about his supposed adventures. The entire class, save for a few skeptical boys and a completely disengaged Ariana, hung on his every word.
"Now—be warned!" Lockhart said, gesturing dramatically to a large, covered cage on his desk. "It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here!"
With a flourish, he whipped the cover off the cage. It revealed a swarm of small, electric-blue creatures, chattering and vibrating with manic energy. Cornish Pixies.
"Freshly caught Cornish pixies!" Lockhart announced grandly.
Seamus Finnigan snorted with laughter. "What's so dangerous about them?"
"Don't be so sure, Mr. Finnigan!" Lockhart wagged a finger. "They can be devilishly tricky little blighters!" And with a stunningly ill-advised gesture, he unlatched the cage door.
The result was instantaneous pandemonium. The pixies shot out of the cage like a swarm of tiny blue rockets, shrieking and cackling. Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air, dangling him from a chandelier. Others began to wreck the classroom, throwing ink bottles, tearing up books, and pulling hair. The students shrieked and ducked under their desks.
Lockhart, looking panicked, tried to intervene. "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!" he yelled, waving his wand wildly. The spell did absolutely nothing. A particularly large pixie snatched his wand from his hand and threw it out the window.
Lockart gave a terrified yelp and dived under his own desk, leaving the class to fend for
themselves. The chaos swirled around Ariana's desk, but it never touched her. The moment the cage door opened, she had acted. Not with a grand spell or a shout, but with a simple, decisive snap of her fingers. A dome of shimmering, perfectly transparent energy had instantly formed around her, encompassing her desk, her chair, and a neat three-foot radius of personal space. It was a silent, flawless, and utterly impenetrable shield.
Pixies slammed into the invisible barrier with tiny, frustrated pings, bouncing off harmlessly. They shrieked at her, pulling faces and sticking out their tongues, but they could not get through. Inside her dome of perfect tranquility, Ariana simply sat, watching the chaos unfold with the detached curiosity of someone observing a badly managed science experiment. She didn't even bother to take out her wand. This was not a threat; it was a farce.
Eventually, as the bell rang, signalling the end of the lesson, the pandemonium began to die down. Lockhart, emerging from under his desk, called out, "Right! I'll just ask you three to nip the rest of them back in their cage!" He pointed at Harry, Ron, and Hermione before fleeing the classroom.
"Can you believe him?" Ron fumed, trying to swat a pixie away with a textbook.
Harry was trying to coax Neville down from the chandelier. Hermione, however, her initial heroworship shattered by the pathetic reality of the man, took charge.
"Immobulus!" she commanded, her voice sharp and clear. A wave of freezing energy washed through the room. The remaining pixies froze in mid-air, their manic expressions locked on their tiny blue faces.
With the room finally still, Ariana lowered her shield. The dome of energy dissolved back into nothingness with another, silent snap of her fingers. She stood up, gathered her pristine books, and placed them neatly in her bag.
Hermione stared at her, a look of profound awe on her face. "How did you do that? That shield… it wasn't a standard Protego."
"It was a simple kinetic and spatial ward similar to my magical shield from last year, now improved thanks to summer training," Ariana replied calmly, as if discussing the weather. "A bubble of redirected momentum. It is more efficient than constantly swatting at minor annoyances."
She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked towards the door, her movements graceful and unhurried. She paused at the threshold, looking back at the wrecked classroom, the frozen pixies, and her friends who were now trying to poke the tiny creatures back into their cage.
A quiet, firm decision settled in her mind. This was not education. It was a dangerous, time-wasting circus. Her presence here was illogical.
"Ariana, where are you going?" Harry asked, finally getting Neville down.
"To the library," she answered. "To learn something useful."
She walked out of the classroom without a backward glance. Mentally, she composed a letter to Professor McGonagall, informing her that she would be respectfully withdrawing from all Defence Against the Dark Arts practical lessons until such time as a competent instructor was appointed.
She would continue with the theoretical coursework independently. She had faced down a servant of Lord Voldemort. She would not be wasting her time with Cornish pixies and a charming fraud.
Her first Defence lesson of the year would also be her last.