The Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom had undergone a transformation over the summer, and not for the better. Chris paused in the doorway, taking in the overwhelming display of teeth and golden curls that beamed down at the entering students from every wall. Portraits of Gilderoy Lockhart smiled, winked, and posed in various heroic stances, each one more theatrically staged than the last. One particularly large painting dominated the wall behind the teacher's desk, depicting Lockhart in forget-me-not blue robes that matched his eyes, his wand held aloft against an artfully painted sunset.
"This can't be real," Susan muttered beside him, her eyes wide with disbelief. "It's like walking into someone's bizarre personal shrine."
Hannah stifled a giggle. "Look at that one," she whispered, pointing to a portrait where Lockhart lounged against a tree, his robes artfully arranged to display a hint of chest hair, a stack of his books serving as an impromptu pillow. "He's actually winking at us."
They found seats near the middle of the classroom, not close enough to suggest enthusiasm but not so far back as to attract attention. Other Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws filtered in, reactions split between the girls who sighed dreamily at the portraits and the boys who exchanged looks of mounting horror. One Ravenclaw boy actually looked physically ill as he slumped into his seat.
"Did you do the reading?" Hannah asked, pulling out her copy of "Wanderings with Werewolves" with obvious reluctance.
Chris shook his head. "I skimmed enough to know it's nonsense. He claims to have used a Homorphus Charm on the Wagga Wagga Werewolf, but that charm doesn't cure lycanthropy, it only forces a temporary reversion to human form."
"And it's incredibly complex," Susan added. "Aunt Amelia says most fully qualified Aurors couldn't cast it successfully."
Their conversation died as the office door flew open with a theatrical bang. Gilderoy Lockhart strode into the classroom, his robes swirling around him in a way that suggested he'd practiced the entrance in front of a mirror. His golden hair gleamed under the classroom lights, every curl positioned with mathematical precision.
"Allow me to introduce you to your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced, as though they might have somehow missed the dozens of his faces decorating the walls. "Me! 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."
He paused, clearly expecting applause. When none came, save for an enthusiastic clap from a Ravenclaw girl in the front row, he cleared his throat and continued.
"But I don't talk about those achievements. I didn't defeat the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!" He waited for laughter, received a few polite titters, and ploughed forward with undiminished enthusiasm. "Now, I see you've all bought a complete set of my books, well done! We'll begin with a little quiz, nothing to worry about, just to check how well you've read them."
Lockhart moved among the desks, distributing papers face-down with the air of a gameshow host presenting fabulous prizes. When he reached their table, he paused, eyes settling on Chris with sudden interest.
"Ah, I notice you have unusually white hair for one so young. A family trait, or perhaps an unfortunate potions accident?"
"Family trait," Chris replied neutrally, accepting his quiz paper.
"Fascinating!" Lockhart exclaimed, though his eyes had already moved on to Susan. "Ah, and who might this lovely young lady be?"
"Susan Bones," she replied with a strained smile.
"Any relation to Amelia Bones at the Ministry?"
"She's my aunt."
Lockhart's smile faltered momentarily. "Ah! Wonderful woman. Very... thorough in her work." He moved on quickly, completing his distribution before returning to the front of the class. "You have thirty minutes. Start now!"
Chris flipped over his paper and found himself staring at questions that had absolutely nothing to do with defensive magic:
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favourite colour? What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?
The questions continued for three pages, each more self-absorbed than the last. Chris set down his quill without writing a single answer, watching with mild amusement as Susan scribbled deliberately incorrect responses while Hannah diligently tried to remember details from the books she'd skimmed.
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers, rifling through them with occasional tsks and chuckles.
"Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac. I state it clearly in Year with the Yeti." He continued through the answers, expressing theatrical disappointment at their failures of memory regarding his birthday and his ideal birthday gift.
When he reached Chris's blank paper, he paused, frowning. "Mr. Emrys, you seem to have forgotten to fill in your quiz."
"I didn't forget, Professor. I chose not to participate in an assessment that has nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts."
A hush fell over the classroom. Lockhart's perfect smile faltered for a moment before reasserting itself. "Well, enthusiasm comes in many forms! Perhaps you'll be more engaged in our practical demonstration. In fact, let's move on to that right now!"
He strode to his desk, where a large covered cage sat rattling ominously. "Now, be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind!" He rested a hand on the cage cover. "You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. But know that no harm can befall you whilst I am here."
The cage shook more violently. A Ravenclaw in the front row edged his chair backward.
"I must ask you not to scream," Lockhart said in a low, dramatic voice. "It might provoke them!" With a flourish, he whipped off the cover. "Yes! Freshly caught Cornish pixies!"
The cage contained about twenty electric-blue pixies, eight inches tall with pointed faces and shrill voices, darting around like miniature destructive whirlwinds. Several students laughed nervously.
"Professor," a Ravenclaw girl said cautiously, "Cornish pixies are classified as XXX creatures by the Ministry. They're extremely dangerous in groups."
"Nonsense!" Lockhart declared. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.
Pandemonium erupted instantly. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two seized a Ravenclaw boy by the ears, lifting him into the air. Several went straight for the windows, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom with joyful abandon. Inkwells were upended over students' heads, books and parchment were torn to confetti, and the portraits of Lockhart were being systematically defaced with stolen quills.
"Come now, round them up, round them up, they're only pixies!" Lockhart shouted. He pulled out his wand, waved it with an elaborate flourish, and bellowed, "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"
The spell had absolutely no effect. One pixie seized Lockhart's wand and threw it out the shattered window. Lockhart's confident expression collapsed into naked panic.
"I'll just let you all get some hands-on experience!" he called, diving for the door. "Excellent practice!" The door slammed behind him, leaving the class to fend for themselves.
Chris, who had discreetly cast a Shield Charm over himself, Susan, and Hannah the moment the cage opened, watched the chaos with amusement. The three of them sat in their protected bubble while their classmates dove under desks and batted ineffectually at the marauding pixies.
"Should we help?" Hannah asked, though she couldn't quite keep the laughter from her voice as she watched a pixie trying on Lockhart's spare wizarding hat, which was much too large for it.
"Eventually," Chris replied, observing a pixie systematically ripping pages from Lockhart's collected works with an expression of grim satisfaction. "But I think they're doing the world a service with those books."
Susan snorted as a pixie upended an inkwell directly onto the portrait-Lockhart's gleaming teeth. "He's the worst teacher I've ever seen. And that includes my great-uncle who tried to teach me to swim by tossing me in the deep end."
After a few more minutes of controlled chaos, with half the class huddled under tables and the other half ineffectually trying to stun the pixies, Chris sighed and stood up. He raised his wand in one fluid motion and, without uttering a word, cast a powerful Immobulus charm. The effect was immediate and impressive: every pixie froze in mid-air, suspended like bizarre blue ornaments throughout the classroom.
With another silent wave of his wand, he directed the immobilized creatures back into their cage, the pixies floating in neat rows through the air before settling inside. A final flick secured the lock with a spell far more effective than the one Lockhart had used.
The classroom fell silent as students emerged from their hiding places, staring at Chris with expressions ranging from relief to outright awe.
"How did you do that?" a Ravenclaw boy asked, wiping ink from his forehead. "That was at least fourth-year magic, and you didn't even speak!"
Chris shrugged, deliberately casual. "I read ahead over the summer. Seemed like the practical thing to do after last year's experience with Professor Quirrell."
As the class gathered their scattered belongings and repaired what damage they could, Chris noticed Susan watching him with a thoughtful expression.
"What?" he asked quietly as they packed up their barely-used books.
"Nothing," she replied, though her eyes suggested otherwise. "Just thinking it's lucky for everyone that some of us actually know how to defend against the dark arts."
The bell rang, and the second-years fled Lockhart's classroom, leaving behind a scene of remarkably contained devastation and the distinct impression that their Defence education would need to take place elsewhere for the second year running.
"I can't believe we're expected to learn defence from that pompous fraud," Susan fumed as they crossed the castle grounds toward the greenhouses. The September sun warmed their faces, a pleasant contrast to the chaotic classroom they'd left behind. Students streamed across the lawns in small groups, some still picking bits of paper and ink from their hair after the pixie disaster. Ahead, the glass structures of the Hogwarts greenhouses glinted in the midday light, the central one exhaling plumes of fragrant steam from its partially opened roof panels.
"At least we know where we stand," Chris replied, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "Self-study and practice, just like last year."
Hannah nodded, quickening her pace as they approached the greenhouses. "I'd rather have no teacher than one who actively puts us in danger. Those pixies could have seriously hurt someone."
"They almost took Fawcett's eye out with that quill," Susan agreed. "And Lockhart just ran away! Can you imagine what he'd do if we faced something actually dangerous?"
They arrived at the greenhouses to find a cluster of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws already gathered outside. Professor Sprout emerged from the furthest structure, her patched hat sitting askew on her flyaway hair and her robes covered in earth as usual. Despite her dishevelled appearance, her eyes were sharp and alert as she surveyed the assembled students.
"Greenhouse Three today, chaps!" she called, leading them toward a glass building they'd never entered before. Unlike the greenhouse where they'd spent their first year learning about benign magical plants, this one had windows clouded with condensation and strange, distorted shadows moving behind the glass.
"Now, everyone gather 'round," Professor Sprout said once they were all inside. The air was warm and humid, thick with the scent of damp earth and green things. "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Can anyone tell me the properties of the Mandrake?"
To no one's surprise, a Ravenclaw girl's hand shot into the air first. "Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative," she recited, sounding as though she'd swallowed the textbook. "It's used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."
"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw," Professor Sprout nodded approvingly. "The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. However, it is also dangerous. Who can tell me why?"
Hannah raised her hand this time, her knowledge of plants evident in her confident posture. "The cry of the Mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it," she said when called upon.
"Precisely. Another ten points," Professor Sprout beamed at her. "Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young, so their cries won't kill you yet." She spoke as casually as if discussing the weather rather than potentially lethal plants. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, which is why I've provided each of you with a pair of earmuffs."
In front of them stood a row of about twenty deep trays, each filled with purplish-green plants. They looked quite ordinary to Chris, though his experience with magical plants was limited compared to Hannah's expertise.
"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are completely covered," Professor Sprout continued. "When it's safe to remove them, I'll give you the thumbs-up. Now, earmuffs on!"
The students scrambled to grab a pair from a nearby bench. Chris, Susan, and Hannah each secured fluffy pink earmuffs over their ears, effectively cutting off all sound. Chris watched as Professor Sprout pulled her own earmuffs on, rolled up her sleeves, grasped one of the plants firmly, and pulled.
What emerged from the soil wasn't a root at all, but a small, muddy, extremely ugly baby. The leaves were growing right out of its head, the skin a mottled green-grey. It had spindly little arms and legs that flailed in obvious displeasure as it was lifted from its earthy bed. Its mouth opened in what was clearly a powerful scream, though the earmuffs prevented them from hearing it.
Professor Sprout took a large pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying it in fresh compost until only the leaves were visible again. She dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.
"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill yet," she repeated as the class removed their ear protection. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, which none of us want during our first week back. Four to a tray, there's a large supply of pots here, and the compost in the sacks over there. Mind the Venomous Tentacula, it's teething."
She slapped a dark red, spiky plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching over her shoulder.
Chris, Susan, and Hannah were joined at their tray by a round-faced Hufflepuff boy whose name Chris recalled was Wayne Hopkins. They divided the work efficiently: Hannah, with her steady hands and confidence around plants, would extract the Mandrakes; Chris would hold the pots steady; Susan would pour in the compost; and Wayne would pat it down firmly once the Mandrake was settled.
"They look so... human," Susan thought as Hannah pulled the first one out, her face wrinkling in distaste as the ugly little creature thrashed and silently wailed.
By the end of the class, everyone had managed to repot their Mandrakes, though not without incident. Wayne had nearly dropped one in surprise when it tried to bite him, and a Ravenclaw boy had to be supported by his friends after his earmuffs slipped and he caught the edge of a Mandrake's cry. But compared to the chaos of the Defence class, the Herbology lesson felt refreshingly competent and well-managed.
"Well done, everyone!" Professor Sprout called as they removed their earmuffs for the final time. "These Mandrakes will be ready for cutting up long before they're fully grown, and then they'll be ready for all sorts of magical remedies. Can anyone tell me a specific use?"
Hannah's hand went up again. "They're particularly effective against petrification, Professor."
"Exactly right! Five more points to Hufflepuff. They're essential in the Mandrake Restorative Draught. Now, wash up and head off to lunch, can't continue on an empty stomach!"
As they filed out of the greenhouse, brushing compost from their robes, Chris found himself appreciating the practical, no-nonsense approach of Professor Sprout. After Lockhart's theatrical incompetence, her straightforward expertise was a welcome change.
"That," Susan declared as they headed back toward the castle, "is what a proper teacher looks like."
"Agreed," Chris said, watching Hannah as she paused to examine an interesting fungus growing at the edge of the path. "Someone who actually knows what they're talking about."
The Hufflepuff common room hummed with the quiet industry of students tackling the day's assignments, quills scratching against parchment and textbook pages turning in a soothing rhythm. Chris closed his Transfiguration textbook with a soft thud, having completed McGonagall's essay an hour ahead of his study schedule. Across the table, Susan and Hannah remained absorbed in their work, Hannah's blonde plait falling over her shoulder as she leaned forward to consult her Herbology reference, while Susan's brow furrowed in concentration over her star chart for Astronomy.
"Finished already?" Hannah asked, glancing up from her detailed sketch of a Mandrake's root system.
Chris nodded, tucking his completed essay into his bag. "I'm going to head to the library for some additional reading. There's a text on advanced shield charms I want to look up after today's pixie fiasco."
"Smart," Susan agreed without looking up from her chart. "Though after your performance today, I'm not sure what more you could learn about shields."
Chris shrugged, offering a modest smile. "There's always more to learn. Don't wait up if I'm late, you know how I get when I'm researching."
His friends nodded, familiar with his studious habits, and returned to their work without further questions. The ease with which they accepted his explanation sent a twinge of guilt through his chest, but he pushed it aside. This secrecy served a purpose beyond his own aims, if Cassie's account was accurate, Dumbledore's binding of the castle's sentience represented a violation that affected everyone's safety.
The corridors were still populated with students moving between the library and their common rooms, so Chris waited until he reached a deserted hallway before slipping into an unused classroom and retrieving his Invisibility Cloak from his bag. The fabric felt cool between his fingers as he swung it over his shoulders, its magic enveloping him in perfect concealment.
Under the cloak's protection, he navigated Hogwarts' evening pathways with practiced stealth. The castle felt different now that he knew of Cassie's existence, each stone, each corridor, each shifting staircase part of a conscious entity rather than merely enchanted architecture. He wondered if her awareness extended to feeling his footsteps as he moved through her halls, if she could sense his presence despite Dumbledore's binding.
The seventh floor corridor was deserted when he arrived, the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's ill-fated ballet lesson hanging silent and still in the dim torchlight. Chris paced before the blank wall, focusing his thoughts, I need a place to study the ancient magic of Hogwarts' wards. I need to help Cassie. I need a space where this knowledge will be protected.
On his third pass, magic rippled through the stone, golden light tracing complex patterns before resolving into a door that hadn't existed moments before. Unlike his previous visit, this door appeared less ornate, practical rather than ceremonial, though still crafted from ancient wood that seemed to absorb the light around it.
Chris glanced in both directions before removing his cloak and opening the door, slipping inside quickly and closing it behind him. The room that materialized to meet his needs took his breath away.
Gone was the enchanted forest glade of his meeting with Cassie. Instead, the Room of Requirement had transformed into the perfect study: a circular chamber with walls lined in dark wood shelving, filled with books whose spines glinted with gold and silver lettering in languages both familiar and forgotten. A large desk of polished oak dominated the center, its surface clean save for the ancient tomes Cassie had first shown him, which waited like a silent sentinel for his attention.
A fire crackled in a stone hearth, casting warm light that complemented the soft golden glow emanating from floating orbs suspended near the ceiling. Comfortable chairs upholstered in Hufflepuff yellow flanked the fireplace, while the desk chair looked designed for long hours of study, with cushioning charms that promised comfort without the drowsiness that might interrupt serious work.
Near the fire, a small table held a steaming pot of tea, the room anticipating his needs with an attentiveness that reminded him this was no ordinary magic, but the care of a sentient castle trying her best to help despite her situation.
"Thank you, Cassie," Chris said softly to the empty air, feeling slightly foolish but compelled to acknowledge her efforts nonetheless.
The floating lights brightened briefly in response, and Chris smiled, she was trying so hard to help him help her.
He approached the desk and settled into the chair, which adjusted perfectly to his height and posture. The book before him bore no title on its leather cover, only a complex runic symbol. Chris opened it carefully, mindful of its age and the knowledge it contained.
The first page bore a dedication in ancient Celtic script that he translated slowly: "To those who guard the hallowed halls, may this knowledge serve as both shield and sword." The following pages plunged immediately into complex magical theory that went far beyond anything taught at Hogwarts, even at NEWT level.
Diagrams of runic arrays filled entire pages, their lines pulsing faintly with residual magic even after centuries. The text described concepts of spatial anchoring and intention-based wards that made modern protective spells seem crude by comparison. Chris found himself having to read passages multiple times, his considerable intellect stretched by theories that predated modern magical understanding by millennia.
One section detailed how the Founders had woven their very essences into Hogwarts' foundation stones, creating a magical synergy that allowed the castle to develop awareness. Ravenclaw's brilliance, Hufflepuff's nurturing spirit, Gryffindor's protective instinct, and Slytherin's cunning, all bound together and enhanced by Merlin's arcane knowledge to create something unique in the wizarding world: a building with a soul.
Hours passed as Chris absorbed as much as he could, filling a notepad with questions and observations. The magical principles underlying Hogwarts' wards were vastly more complex than he'd imagined. Modern ward-crafting, as practiced by Gringotts and the Ministry, represented a pale shadow of what the Founders had achieved with Merlin's guidance.
The section describing how ward-stones stored and channelled magical energy was particularly fascinating. According to the text, Hogwarts' central ward-stone lay deep beneath the castle, at the exact convergence point of powerful ley lines and only accessible through the Room of Requirement. This stone, larger than a man and carved with thousands of intricate runes, served as both the heart and brain of the castle's defences. If Dumbledore had indeed bound Cassie's connection to this stone, he had essentially severed her from her own magical core.
As the clock approached midnight, Chris finally closed the book, his mind swimming with ancient knowledge and newfound determination. This task would require months of study before he could even attempt to counter Dumbledore's binding. The magic involved was intricate beyond anything he'd encountered, operating on principles that would require careful unravelling.
And yet, despite the enormity of the challenge, Chris felt a surge of purpose. The image of Cassie's pain when she described being cut off from her purpose stayed with him, resonating with something deep in his own experience, the knowledge of what it meant to be prevented from protecting those in your care.
"I will free you," he promised the empty air, his voice soft but resolute. "No matter how long it takes."
As if in response, the flames in the hearth burned a fraction brighter, and Chris felt a gentle warmth that had nothing to do with physical heat. Somewhere beneath the layers of binding spells, Cassie had heard him, and that would have to be enough for now.
He gathered his notes, left the ancient tome on the desk for future study, and donned his Invisibility Cloak once more. Tomorrow would bring classes and the need to maintain his careful balance of exceptional-but-not-suspicious academic performance. But tonight had marked the beginning of something significant, a commitment to right a wrong that had persisted far too long within Hogwarts' ancient walls.