Defence Against the Dark Arts began under that strange mood.
The moment Ron walked into the classroom he couldn't hold back his laughter. What was this?
Every inch of wall space was covered with a gigantic self-portrait of Gilderoy Lockhart. In each painting he had his blond hair perfectly curled, wore an extravagant teal robe, and was—of course—painting… himself.
The shocking part was that there wasn't just one. The entire classroom was filled with Lockharts.
"One, two, three… seven—seven dwarf-harts?"
Ron wheezed with laughter. He was riffing on "seven dwarfs," something from the storybook Justin had given him. In return, Ron had given Justin The Tale of the Three Brothers—even though Ron himself barely owned any storybooks.
"Don't call him that!"
Hermione glared at him.
Meanwhile other students streamed in, chattering as they went, only to stop dead and stare when they saw the walls of Lockhart.
Once everyone was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly to get their attention.
He picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up so everyone could see his own winking face on the cover.
"I,"
he said, pointing at his picture and winking as well,
"Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class; Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League; 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 Banshee in Bandon with my smile!"
He paused, waiting for laughter. A few people managed polite smiles.
"I see you've all bought my complete works—excellent. I think today we'll start with a little quiz. No need to be afraid—just to see how well you've read, and how much you've absorbed…"
What followed made Sean and the others despair.
"What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour?!"
Ron stared at his parchment.
"What kind of question is that?"
Hermione's quill was flying, her left hand shielding her answers as she subconsciously shifted closer to Sean.
"There are people who actually know this…"
Ron muttered to Harry, then instinctively leaned past Hermione to peek at Sean's quiz.
"Guess what: Sean's perfect score streak is over… Lilac—Sean, how do you know that?"
Ron craned his neck, incredulous.
Was Sean admiring Lockhart? That was about as likely as Harry secretly idolising Snape.
"In Year with the Yeti, page sixty-nine, bottom right corner, third line…"
Sean replied.
"Ah—Sean, you know you don't have to read every book seriously. Especially—"
Ron trailed off in mid-sentence, suddenly realising something.
Sean never did anything meaningless.
He shut his mouth and went back to reading. Before long his eyes snagged on the last question on the first page:
[Who do you think Hermes really is at Hogwarts?]
Below that were several follow-ups like:
[Do you think Gilderoy Lockhart's guidance will be an indispensable part of 'Hermes's' growth as a wizard?]
Ron's gaze toward Lockhart turned wary.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the quizzes and leafed through them in front of the class.
"Tsk tsk—almost no one remembered my favourite colour is lilac. I mentioned it in Year with the Yeti…"
He threw them another playful wink.
Ron now glared at him with open hostility. In front, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas shook with silent laughter, while Hermione sat bolt upright, hanging on every word.
Lockhart kept flipping pages. Every time, his gaze lingered a little on the final question, then he'd glance with interest at that pair of calm green eyes.
"We do have two perfect scores! Mr. Sean Green, and Miss Hermione Granger!
Very good! Ten points to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw! Now—down to business…"
He bent down behind the podium and hauled up a large covered cage, dropping it onto the desk.
"Right then—be careful now! My job is to teach you how to defend yourselves against the foulest creatures known to the wizarding world! In this room you'll be facing the most terrifying things imaginable.
But remember, as long as I'm here, nothing bad can happen to you. I only ask that you remain calm."
While he rambled on and on, Sean didn't take in a single word.
He was thinking about the books in the Restricted Section—Moste Potente Potions, Secrets of the Darkest Art, Most Dangerous Magical Creatures… the titles he remembered.
Everything he didn't remember was an even larger category.
Hogwarts had existed for over a thousand years; the library's collection was vast beyond counting.
The knowledge there would tempt any wizard who sought the true depths of magic.
The hitch was that you needed a signed note from a professor to consult any Restricted book.
Sean had asked Madam Pince over the summer; she'd handed him a stack of request slips without hesitation. She clearly didn't doubt he'd get them signed.
And now, the man in front of him would sign a hundred forms without even looking.
Lockhart would put his name on anything.
When Sean looked up again, the chaos he'd been ignoring had exploded around him.
Dozens of iron-blue, ugly little creatures were hurtling around the room like rockets. Two of them had Neville by the ears, dangling him from the chandelier. Others had smashed through a window; glass shards glittered across the back rows.
The remaining cornish pixies were wreaking havoc: flinging ink bottles, splattering everyone; ripping books and parchment; tearing down posters; emptying the bin; and tossing schoolbags and textbooks out through the broken window.
Half the class had dived under their desks. Neville swung helplessly from the chandelier.
When the bell finally rang, everyone bolted for the door.
In the confusion, Lockhart straightened his robes and, looking at Sean, Harry, Ron and Hermione clustered together, said:
"Ah, I'll just ask you five to pop those last few pixies back in the cage, shall I?"
He slipped out ahead of them and shut the door.
Hermione was freezing pixies with Immobulus, Harry was teetering on a stack of books trying to reach Neville—
And Ron was delighted.
"Sean! You have no idea what just happened! We didn't even have time to shout for you!"
Sean stood, frowning slightly as he raised his wand. A roaring tide of fire burst across the room, taking on the vague shape of a fire dragon.
The rolling flames drove the shrieking blue pixies back against the walls. Sean's eyes flashed; the stone walls rippled, came alive, and swallowed the pixies whole.
He slashed his wand again; stacks of books flew up and arranged themselves into a tall, spiralling staircase.
Sean walked up step by step. At the top, he tapped his wand; the sobbing Neville dropped onto a swirling cushion of pages.
"You all right?"
Sean asked.
The classroom went silent for a heartbeat.
"Th–this is what a real wizard looks like…"
Ron said weakly, awestruck.
Harry nodded, utterly convinced.
Hermione stared, stunned, from the fleeing Lockhart to Sean, who was descending with Neville cradled in a ladder of books.
"That damned fraud…"
Even the dullest student could now see the difference between the two.
"Honestly, they ought to sack Lockhart and let Sean teach instead…
We could write a new quiz: 'How essential was Sean's guidance in Lockhart's development as a wizard?'…"
Ron muttered.
Harry shook with suppressed laughter.