As airborne dark creatures, the Cornish pixies' capacity for chaos was beyond question—they'd given the students quite a run for their money. So when order was finally restored, a warm sense of accomplishment swept through the class.
The bell rang, and the students filed out of the classroom, still buzzing with excitement, their conversations echoing down the corridor.
"I caught a pixie with a Softening Charm!"
"I just trapped two in cages!"
"I knocked out a couple! Those books actually make decent weapons!"
"Hey, who used the Softening Charm earlier? Something hit my knee—was that you?"
…
Just as Wyzett was about to step out the door, Lockhart's voice rang out behind him. "Mr. Lovegood, if you'd be so kind, I'd like a quick word."
Chris muttered under his breath, "That can't be good…"
Suppressing a sigh, Wyzett turned back. "Yes, Professor Lockhart? What can I do for you?"
Lockhart swept his gaze over Wyzett's companions and cleared his throat. "If you don't mind, I'd like a private chat with Mr. Lovegood."
"But we've got questions too!" Michael piped up. "You were a Ravenclaw yourself, right? Surely you understand how we feel."
"Aha! Of course I do…" Caught out, Lockhart couldn't refuse. "After all, I am a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class! Go ahead—ask away!"
He flashed his signature smile again, as if it had been drilled into him by some rigorous training—or torture—always revealing exactly eight dazzling teeth.
Terry was first to pounce. "You're the famous wizard who traveled with werewolves—how come you couldn't handle a few pixies?"
"You're only seeing the surface, not the deeper lesson…" Lockhart put on a look of wounded pride, sighing and shaking his head.
"I must point out—the chaos today wasn't a failure of my magic, but the result of your actions."
Terry pointed at himself, astonished. "Our actions?"
"You know pixies come from Cornwall, but do you know their true abilities?" Lockhart pressed a hand to his heart, as if deeply aggrieved. "I call them monsters for a reason! Did you really think pixies were just harmless magical creatures?"
"They feed on mockery… Surely you've heard of Dymphna Furmage? Poor woman…"
"Dymphna Furmage?" Michael and the others turned to Wyzett for help.
Catching their looks, Wyzett confirmed, "Dymphna Furmage? She was a witch, right?"
"Exactly! A seventeenth-century witch…" Lockhart nodded eagerly. "Do you know her story?"
Wyzett recited, "She was kidnapped by five local pixies while vacationing in Cornwall. After the Aurors rescued her, she petitioned the Ministry every year to exterminate all pixies."
"What a learned young man…" Lockhart beamed with satisfaction. "No wonder Professor Flitwick and the others are so fond of you!"
That, in fact, was why he'd sought out Wyzett.
As a celebrated wizard at the height of his fame, Lockhart had plenty of channels for information—and he intended to use his celebrity to climb even higher. Accepting Dumbledore's invitation to teach at Hogwarts had been a strategic move. After all, being Harry Potter's professor would be a tremendous addition to any résumé.
But Lockhart's next goal was even more ambitious: to build a strong relationship with Wyzett Lovegood.
He'd learned from Clotaire Bassat, the owner of Flourish and Blotts, that Wyzett and Bassat were close. Bassat had even mentioned a gift from Wyzett—a magical sculpture that simply changed color with time. Yet it had made Bassat genuinely smile, something Lockhart found utterly baffling.
During the preparations for his book signing, Lockhart had rented a room at the Leaky Cauldron and noticed something else: Wyzett was a regular at Ollivanders. Clearly, he had ties to the Ollivander family as well.
So Lockhart began to scheme: if he could use Wyzett as a bridge to both families, his own network would expand dramatically. After all, even The Quibbler's prime placement at Flourish and Blotts was surely thanks to Wyzett.
To build this friendship, Lockhart had done his research. Professors like Flitwick had let slip a crucial insight: Wyzett Lovegood was a true Ravenclaw, brimming with curiosity. That was a trait Lockhart could exploit—his head was full of "adventures," after all, and he was confident he could capture Wyzett's interest.
He still remembered his old dream: to become the youngest Minister for Magic in Britain. If he could make a name for himself at Hogwarts, perhaps that dream wasn't so far-fetched!
If Cornelius Fudge could become Minister, why not him? He was certainly the better-looking candidate!
Unconsciously, his mind drifted back to his own Sorting. The Sorting Hat had nearly put him in Slytherin. Back then, he'd felt destined for greatness—a magical prodigy who belonged in Ravenclaw. But once inside, he'd realized he was… surprisingly ordinary. He'd left little impression on his peers.
Maybe, if he'd been sorted into Slytherin, he could have used the House's ambition to achieve his dreams sooner. But there were no "what-ifs"—he'd graduated from Ravenclaw in the end. If not for the twists and turns of his later life, he'd never have reached his current heights…
"Oh, listen to him…" Wyzett's friends teased, their voices full of playful mockery.
"Back to the point!" Lockhart snapped back to the present, clapping his hands. "Just five pixies were enough to kidnap poor Dymphna Furmage! Do you know why?"
"Because pixies feed on mockery! When Dymphna Furmage laughed at them, they grew stronger—strong enough to overpower an adult witch!"
Terry finally understood. "So what you're saying is… it was us mocking the pixies that made them so tough to handle?"
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