Heri had walked in, accompanied by the usual swarm surrounding her. She had managed to get a seat comfortably in the middle, where she would become one of the faces in the crowd, thus unlikely to be called on during the lesson. When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his winking portrait on the front. "Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "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 them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly. Honestly, he 'doesn't talk about that'? That was the second time he had mentioned the useless award just this morning. "I see you've all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in —" When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start — now!" The test was a joke, it had nothing to do with defending themselves and everything to do with Lockhart. It wasn't even mostly about the monsters he had fought either, there were questions about his personality and personal habits. Heri was offended even entertaining the thought of knowing the answers to such questions; she felt molested just by reading the words. "Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac." (Since when was knowing the teacher's favourite colour a part of the curriculum? Heri tried to imagine what a Potions class would be like if Snape asked for his favourite colour during a lecture.) "I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples — though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!" He gave them another wink. Heri was embarrassed just listening to him talk. She resisted the urge to hid her face in her hands. That he could say such things so shamelessly! A good lot of the others were eating it up though; Heri thought she saw Hermione Granger of all people sighing like she was trying to expel her heart through her mouth. Lockhart completed his failure of an attempt at teaching by releasing a cage of Cornish Pixies on the unsuspecting class. And then he tried to 'save' them. "Peskipiksi pesternomi!" Bugger. Him. Heri didn't need her Latin classes to know that such an incantation was as effective as shouting 'hocus pocus!' It was regular English trying to pass off as Latin! Pesky pixie, pester no me? Mangling one's native tongue didn't make it a spell. Lesser known fact: Cornish Pixies were a part of a subcategory of Magical Creatures called the Fae, technically demons but not malevolent enough to be called Dark Creatures. The ones that called themselves Unseelie were outright amoral, 'paying a tithe to Hell' every seven years, but they generally left wizards alone enough that the Ministry didn't put restrictions on them. Another reason for the lack of censure against the Fae was the fact that their biggest weakness — iron — was the easiest material for a wizard to manipulate; even the shoddiest of wand-waver could conjure iron and do a bit of Transfiguring on it. It was with all this knowledge that Heri transfigured a splintered chair leg — one that was broken off while students were fleeing the room — into a pile iron needles and charmed them to fling themselves at the flying menaces. The Cornish Pixies might have had the intelligence levels of squirrels but they made up for it with great survival instincts. Once the iron came hurling, they scattered faster than an overturned ant-pile; the ones that had been hoisting Neville up by his ears dropped him faster than a hot potato. Their high-pitched shrieks of pain when she landed a hit on one of them was music to Heri's ears. Heri had had quite enough of Lockhart's nonsense. He had tried to run off the moment the pixies threw his wand outside so if the prancing prat got an impromptu ear piercing while Heri was herding the pesky blighters out of the windows . . . well, there was no one that could hold it against her. Colin Creevey was an endearing boy that would have been far easier to put up with if it wasn't for his blasted picture-taking habit. Heri and her posse had been hanging out by their favourite fountain in the Charms Courtyard, relaxing between classes. They had been talking about what they had gotten up to over the summer when Heri became aware that she was being watched. Looking up while laughing at a joke Ernie had told, she saw a very small, mousy-haired boy staring at her as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like a muggle camera, and the moment Heri looked at him, he went bright red. "All right, Heri?" he said breathlessly, taking tentative steps forward. Heri's crowd observed the boy closely, eyeing him as if he were a threat. "I'm — I'm Colin Creevey; I'm in Gryffindor. D'you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully. "A picture?" Heri repeated. She glanced at Hannah from the corner of her eye. Hannah had been the one that had buckled down against the people that crowded her for pictures the year before when she saw how overwhelmed Heri was by them. As expected, Hannah had crossed her arms and was looking at Creevey with a flinty stare.
Want to continue the story?
The next 20+ chapters are already available on Patreon!
By joining, you'll get:
📖 Early access to upcoming chapters
🗳️ Exclusive bonus content just for members
✨ Extra scenes and special material not available elsewhere
Don't miss out—read ahead and stay ahead of the story! 👀
👉 Visit: Patreon.com/c/Playerfanfic (search it on Google Chrome)