The afternoon finds me preparing for a class with the first-years. Unlike most other subjects, where lessons are divided between two houses at a time, Defence Against the Dark Arts insists on throwing all four houses together. It makes for a classroom that feels a touch overcrowded for my refined tastes, but on the bright side, with so many little witches and wizards gathered in one place, the lesson practically teaches itself while I, their gallant professor, enjoy the luxury of directing events from my desk.
And it also gives me quite a lot of free time to relax and improve myself, which is quite convenient.
I sit back in my chair, perfectly at ease, as the first trickle of students file in. Familiar faces jump out immediately: Colin Creevey with his ever-present eagerness, little Ginny Weasley with her flaming hair and wide eyes, and, ah, yes, the whimsical Ravenclaw whose name always brings smiles to the readers: Luna Lovegood.
Once I'm certain everyone has arrived, I flick my wand toward the door and it slams shut with a sharp crack, sending several students leaping in their seats. Effective, though, as they all fall silent at once.
"Good afternoon, everyone," I begin with the easy charm of a man who has opened hundreds of book signings. "You already know me, of course, but since this is our first proper lesson, formalities are required."
I rise to my full height and let my teeth gleam as if a spotlight were angled just so.
"I am 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, and most importantly, your guide in one of the most vital subjects taught in this school."
I pause just long enough to bask in their awe, then continue with a flourish of my robes.
"My duty is to teach you how to recognise danger and how to react to it, whether that danger takes the form of dark wizards, malicious creatures, or, indeed, the sort of humiliating pranks that plague this castle thanks to a certain pair of redheaded miscreants."
I notice Ginny Weasley blanch in her seat. Splendid.
"Before we begin the lesson proper, do any of you have questions?" Then I add with a playful wink, "Subject-related only, mind you, though I won't scold anyone who wishes to inquire about grooming charms. Looking flawless is, after all, my specialty."
A handful of girls sit up straighter, curiosity glittering in their eyes. But the first hand raised is not theirs, it is Luna Lovegood's.
"Yes, Miss Lovegood?" I call, intrigued.
"You mentioned creatures, Professor," she says, her wide eyes bright with wonder. "Does that mean you are well-versed in magical creatures as well?"
"Well," I say, puffing my chest with easy bravado, "I wouldn't claim the title of 'expert,' but I dare say I could give Newt Scamander himself a run for his money."
"I don't know what money has to do with it," Luna replies serenely, "but have you heard of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack?"
Her innocence is so unguarded I nearly laugh aloud. When a cluster of Ravenclaws begin to snicker, I silence them with a polite cough.
"As it happens," I say smoothly, "I have heard a few things of note."
The truth is, I have wandered far and wide in search of material for my bestsellers. One doesn't produce gripping tales of daring-do by sitting quietly in Britain all one's life, you know?.
"So you do believe in it?" Luna leans forward, her eyes glowing with something very close to reverence.
"Yes indeed. Allow me to share what I know," I say, leaning against my desk as if about to spin gold from thin air. "Years ago, while in Australia investigating the mysterious disappearance of a small village, I encountered a rather inventive wizard. His area of research was… let us say, unorthodox: he attempted to breed new magical creatures by combining the traits of beasts both mundane and magical. A risky endeavor, I assure you, but he wanted to create a cheaper source of materials for potions and such."
Several students whisper in excitement, caught up in the strangeness of it all.
"The creature you know as the Crumple-Horned Snorkack was said to be one such creation, the improbable offspring of a female Erumpent and a male camel."
Gasps ripple through the classroom.
"Of course, the miracle of its survival was never replicated, as Erumpents are famously ill-suited to breeding with anything other than their own kind, not even with Rhinos which are quite similar in looks. But this single Snorkack, remarkable in its camouflage akin to a chameleon and explosive horn, escaped into the wild. Some claim sightings to this day, though, admittedly, most of the witnesses were intoxicated at the time to be taken seriously. But that's also a clue, which means it might be fond of alcohol."
A few chuckles break out, but Luna scribbles furiously, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in intense concentration.
When she finishes, she peers up again. "Thank you, Professor. Would you mind if I send this to my father? He runs The Quibbler. He'll want to publish it."
My heart swells. At last, recognition from a devoted fan.
"By all means," I say magnanimously. "Just remind him to include my name, and a flattering photograph. A center spread, perhaps."
Even the Quibbler, with its eccentric reputation, is still publicity, you should know the saying: there's no thing such as bad publicity. And I have never once turned away from the gleam of print.
I move to continue the lesson, but Luna raises her hand once more, gazing at me as though I hold all the answers to life itself. It is, frankly, intoxicating.
"Yes, Miss Lovegood?"
"Please, just call me Luna," she says earnestly and then asks with clear hope in her voice, "Since you know about the Snorkack, do you also know about… Nargles?"
"Ah, yes. Mischievous little beings, very much like pixies. Invisible, cunning, and by most accounts extinct for centuries, or simply too skilled at hiding to be seen. A nuisance, to be sure."
Believe it or not, all of this is real, after all, I'm still a Ravenclaw who loves to read everything I can find, even if I used to be an incompetent braggart, which I am not proud to admit.
I watch as her quill dances again.
"And Wrackspurts?" she asks, eyes gleaming.
"Wrackspurts," I say, lowering my voice conspiratorially, "are less creatures and more magical particles, I dare say. Discovered, as it happens, by your late mother, Pandora Lovegood. But unfortunately, few accept her findings, as one must be finely attuned to magic to notice them. I, of course, have noticed them often. They feed on logic itself, draining it from a wizard's mind and leaving only foolishness behind. Which explains much of wizarding society, if you think about it."
The class stares at me, astonished. For the first time, perhaps, they are seeing me as something more than dazzling smiles and polished hair.
But everything I've said so far is true, and also explains why wizards are so stupid most of the time, and even the smart ones are seen doing dumb things once in a while.
But time ticks on, I cast a quick tempus and see we have less than an hour left, so I clap my hands. "Well! That is quite enough about invisible creatures. We must get on to the practical."
A flick of my wand summons training dummies.
"As you are only first-years and know very little magic, perhaps not even a single spell, which is understandable since this is your first day of classes."
"Today, you will learn the Sparks Charm. Red sparks to signal danger, green sparks to show all is well. Useful in emergencies, and passable as a minor dueling spell. Do mind the pronunciation."
"We will start with the most basic variation and the one that will be most useful to you at this stage, red sparks. The incantation is Vermillious (vur-MILL-ee-us), and the wand movement is just a swing in the direction you wish to send them."
The next half hour is filled with concentration, laughter, and the occasional puff of smoke. To my delight, more than half the class manages to conjure sparks by the lesson's end. Colin Creevey practically vibrates with joy at his success.
As the class comes to an end, Luna skips out of the classroom with a cheerful wave, parchment full of notes clutched to her chest. Ginny, meanwhile, hugs a small black diary close. Ah, yes. Tom Riddle's diary which I had completely forgotten about, but that's a matter for another day.
For now, I stretch luxuriously and call, "Pipi, be a darling and bring tea and pastries into my office. I think I've earned it."
And indeed, I have.
…
(Support with power stones or comments. You can subscribe to my Patreon /mysterion901 to read 10 advanced chapters 🐢🎶)