My little Malfoy Girl

This is a long first day of Hogwarts...

"Come on then, Mr. Creevey," said Lockhart, beaming at Colin. "A double portrait, can't do better than that, and we'll both sign it for you."

Colin fumbled for his camera and took the picture as the bell rang behind them, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

"Off you go, move along there," Lockhart called to the crowd, and he set off back to the castle with Harry, still clasped to his side. Me, Ron, and Hermione followed behind, listening to every word being said.

"A word to the wise, Harry," said Lockhart paternally as they entered the building through a side door. "I covered up for you back there with young Creevey — if he was photographing me, too, your schoolmates won't think you're setting yourself up so much. ..."

Deaf to Harry's stammers, and not noticing any of us behind him, Lockhart swept him down a corridor lined with staring students and up a staircase.

"Let me just say that handing out signed pictures at this stage of your career isn't sensible — looks a tad bigheaded, Harry, to be frank. There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but" — he gave a little chortle — "I don't think you're quite there yet." 

I resisted the urge to say, Talk about bigheaded.

They had reached Lockhart's classroom and he let Harry go at last. Harry yanked his robes straight and we headed for seats at the very back of the class, where Harry and I busied ourselves with piling all seven of Lockhart's books in front of us, so that we could avoid looking at the real thing.  I couldn't resist anymore, so I leaned over to Harry and whispered, " He's one to talk about being bigheaded." He chuckled, just a little, still being embarrassed.

The rest of the class came clattering in, and Ron sat next to Harry and Hermione sat down next to me. 

"You could've fried an egg on your face," said Ron. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

I punched Ron in the arm. 

"Oi! What was that for?"

"Shut up," snapped Harry. Personally, the last thing he needed was for Lockhart to hear the phrase 'Harry Potter fan club'. 

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls, and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. 

Eew.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense 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!" 

But he just talked about it! Well, I mean, at least he's right about the first part. He didn't get rid of her. I mentally rolled my eyes. What a load of dung this class was gonna turn out to be.

"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!"

I looked down at my paper and read:

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?

I snorted in disbelief. This wasn't a quiz! Quizzes are about useful subjects! This was just a load of dung! He really expected me to have a quiz over him?? Well, I refuse. 

Suddenly I was so overcome with anger at this arrogant fool, that for every question, I wrote down, "I know your secret. You didn't accomplish anything! You stole these achievements from someone else!"

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. 

When he got to mine, his eyes widened, and he looked straight at me, but it wasn't hatred. No, this was pure fear. I just smirked, knowing I finally figured it out. But, he sadly was able to compose himself, and just carried on like nothing happened. 

"Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. 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 roguish wink. I resisted another urge, this one being gagging. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; ( I know, right?) Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name. 

I stared at her in horror. Not Hermione, too!

"... but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact" — he flipped her paper over — "full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so — to business —"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. I could've sworn I saw his hand shaking. I took a little satisfaction at the fact that I was able to rattle him a little. What a bloke.

"Now — be warned! 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. All I ask is that you remain calm."

I think that you bring the harm, git! Although, I have to admit, I couldn't help feeling a little nervous.

Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering in his front row seat. I tensed, with a hand on my wand inside my robes, expecting the worst.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. "Freshly caught Cornish pixies."

I felt disgusted that I had gotten scared. It has been bred into my blood that Malfoys don't get scared. Ever.

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror. 

"Yes?" Blokehart smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not — they're not very — dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them. 

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

And, despite everyone's doubt, all hell broke loose.