Hogwarts: Harry Returns from Azeroth

Chapter 171, Section 170: Lockhart's Class
Rather than testing specific magical knowledge, this test was more like a test of how well a fan knows their idol. This kind of thing is normal everywhere; no one would say anything if it appeared at a book signing at Flourish and Blotts or Lockhart's fan meeting.

But it should never appear in a Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Professors are supposed to teach students magic, not how to understand themselves.

"Copy in pairs."

Harry tapped the exam paper in his hand with his wand and received another blank one, which could be submitted to Professor McGonagall as evidence.

Harry was ready to hand in a blank paper. Although he had indeed read Lockhart's books carefully, his attention was entirely focused on the useful magical knowledge within, completely ignoring Lockhart's long, self-aggrandizing passages.

As for Ron and his friends, it goes without saying that expecting most young wizards to preview lessons before class is impossible, let alone previewing Lockhart's lessons, a teacher that few male students would like.

Even many female students wouldn't notice much of Lockhart's preferences revealed in the book—except for one person.

“Yes, yes, Miss Hermione Granger knows my secret ambition is to eradicate evil from the world and sell my own line of hair care products—good girl! This paper deserves a perfect score!” Lockhart, finally seeing a satisfactory paper, looked up and peered around. “Where is Miss Hermione Granger?”

Hermione took a deep breath and raised her hand.

“Oh, oh…” Lockhart’s gaze swept back and forth between Hermione and Harry sitting next to her, and he suddenly laughed: “Very good, ten points for Gryffindor. Now, let’s get back to the lesson.”

Lockhart began to ramble on about some of the questions on his test paper, which were still unrelated to magical knowledge, but that was no longer important to the few people sitting in the back row of the classroom.

"This is betrayal!!" Ron growled, head bowed. "Hermione! This is betrayal!!"

"Don't talk nonsense!" Hermione's voice was already a little distorted. "I just read the book carefully. You can't blame me for reading carefully when you yourselves didn't read the book carefully!"

"If you were reading a book on defense of magic or a basic self-defense guide, no one would say anything, but—good heavens! You're reading Lockhart's book! That guy who knows nothing but the Order of Merlin, some kind of honorary membership, and that inexplicable Smile Award!"

Lockhart's glory faded rather quickly. Only a week had passed since the start of the semester, but after a week of classes and after pestering Lockhart to teach them some spells without success, many unfriendly words about Lockhart were circulating in the castle.

For example, being selfish and keeping secrets, or being incompetent and boasting about other things—these accusations were not only circulating among older students, but even younger students knew about them.

No wonder Ron was so angry; in his eyes, Hermione was like someone who had stepped into a stinky ditch as soon as she went out.

"Keep your voice down! Ron! Lockhart's looking over here!" Hermione had to grit her teeth and warn him.

Despite still bearing the title of professor, the word "professor" still held considerable weight for a well-behaved student like Ron, who quickly adopted a serious demeanor while listening to the lecture.

"...Anyway, it's still a bit too much that you can remember so much of Lockhart's stuff." After Lockhart looked away, Ron continued to mutter under his breath, "Listen to what he's saying right now, ha!"

“His favorite color, his ideal birthday present, and his favorite wine,” Ron said indignantly. “What’s the point?”

“Uh, I think Professor Lockhart… Lockhart might mean… we can give him a birthday present?” Neville said tentatively.

"Pah!!" Ron was even angrier. "He's already forced each of us to buy seven books, and now he wants us to give him birthday presents?!"

“You’ve lost all sense of shame!” Ron’s voice was a bit loud, and Dean Thomas, who was listening nearby, whispered in agreement.

“I’ve never been so eager for Fred and George to make a move, really,” Ron said with a distrustful look at the man at the front of the classroom who hadn’t stopped talking. He suddenly turned to Hermione and said, “I think instead of memorizing what Lockhart likes, you should memorize what Harry likes—at least we all know that Harry is truly talented, he’s the real genius!”

“Who says I don’t know!” Hermione exclaimed, her eyes wide. “Harry likes pine nut bread, corn, mead, and the color cyan. He also likes to eat homemade candy while reading, and he enjoys sunbathing alone by the Black Lake in the afternoons. Occasionally, he even fishes for food. Harry’s dream is to revitalize the element, he—”

Harry suddenly reached out and covered Hermione's mouth.

"Okay, calm down, Hermione," Harry took a deep breath.

The little girl's mouth was like a goblin's machine gun, spewing out every word at an extremely fast speed, and she had already said too much before Harry could stop her.

Harry released her grip, and Hermione didn't continue speaking. She seemed to have been struck by lightning, staring blankly at her friends on the other side—or rather, at Ron and Neville, who were staring at her in disbelief, and Harry, whose expression was complicated.

"...Ah!" Several seconds later, Hermione suddenly let out a short, low cry, her face turning bright red. She then slumped onto the table in front of her, her arms tightly protecting herself.

"...Don't bother me, I'm thinking!"

The sound coming from within the arms sounded muffled. Ron and Neville exchanged a glance, not daring to say anything strange at this moment.

But Lockhart dared.

Anyone who has been a teacher knows that when you stand on the podium, you can actually see clearly what little things your students are doing; the only difference is whether you want to intervene or not.

Even though she tried to control herself, Hermione's excited emotions and actions still drew Lockhart's attention.

Then he called out Harry's name.

“Harry?” Lockhart beckoned. “I should call you Professor Potter, since you’re my colleague now—but according to Professor McGonagall, you should still be a student in class.”

The girls in the front row burst into laughter, without any malice; they genuinely found the situation amusing.

“Oh, I must say, it is indeed a very novel experience,” Lockhart said, turning his head and blinking. “To teach another professor as a professor is certainly not something that ordinary people can do… Fortunately, it is me, Harry. I am happy to share my knowledge with you selflessly, which is just the smallest of Gilderoy Lockhart’s many noble qualities.”

"So, what's the matter, Professor Lockhart?" Harry interrupted Lockhart's roundabout self-praise with a blank expression.

“Don’t rush, Harry, be patient,” Lockhart said with a smile. “Come on, come to the front of the classroom—I’ve suddenly had a great idea, why don’t you give a demonstration for your classmates?”

Upon hearing Lockhart's words, Hermione, who had been burying her face in her arms, suddenly looked up at Harry with a worried expression.

"Demonstration?" He gestured to his friends to relax, and since Lockhart had already spoken frankly, he stood up and walked over.

“That’s right, a demonstration.” Lockhart deliberately put on a mysterious expression, bent down and lifted a large cage covered with a cloth from behind the podium, placing it on the table. He said, “Be very careful. My task is to teach you how to resist the most evil things known in the magical world. You will face the most terrifying things in this classroom!” A student gasped.

“Don’t worry, miss, don’t worry—remember, as long as I, as long as Gilderoy Lockhart is here, you will be in no harm. I only ask that you remain calm.”

"So what's in here?" Harry was unusually interested. He could sense that there were many small things in the cage, and they were very restless.

Is Lockhart finally going to prove himself?

Introducing various dark magic creatures and teaching methods to defend against them is also one of the responsibilities of the professor in this course.

“Oh, that’s absolutely the most terrifying nightmare in the magical world,” Lockhart said mysteriously, placing a hand on the dome. “I must ask you not to scream, it will agitate them—yes, the Cornish elves we just caught!”

As Lockhart finished speaking, he abruptly pulled the cover off the cage, and the classroom was filled with a noise that sounded like many budgies arguing.

These Cornish elves have dark blue skin, are about eight inches tall, and have small, pointed faces. Even without wings, they can fly freely in their cages. Lockhart's action of removing the cover seemed to irritate them, as these sharp-voiced little creatures began to chatter, jump around, shake the cage bars frantically, and then make all sorts of strange faces at people within sight.

One of the elves, the closest to Harry, even spat at him. Harry simply snapped his fingers, and the spit flew back like a bullet, knocking the elf over and sending it tumbling to the other side of the cage.

"Cool!" Seamus, Harry's roommate for a year, exclaimed, then burst into laughter at the comical things in the cage.

“Aha! You’ve shown off a little, Harry,” Lockhart exclaimed. “But I must remind you, it’s not time yet.”

"You need me to cooperate with you?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, no, of course not cooperation. They’re just some little devils. Even though they’re terrifying, the great Gilderoy Lockhart doesn’t need any help dealing with them—unless, of course, you ask me for help. Well, don’t forget this is just a demonstration, Harry.”

“We all know you’re not just a student, right? You’re also a professor,” Lockhart said lightly. “And what you have to do is very simple: demonstrate to your classmates how to subdue these dangerous little things.”

“I have no doubt that your weird spells, which you call, well, elemental magic, could easily burn these little devils to ashes, but I’m asking you not to, Harry,” Lockhart shrugged. “You have to use our own wizarding magic—I mean, magic that most people can use—to subdue these little devils—with your wand, understand?”

"Only in this way can you give your classmates a demonstration, letting them know what to do if they encounter such a small creature in the wild."

Lockhart also read newspapers. Although he didn't understand how powerful elemental magic really was, he trusted the judgment of those old guys in Wizengamori.

Since Harry Potter is so powerful because he discovered the existence of elements and elemental magic, why not just prevent him from using them?
Putting aside elemental magic, Harry Potter is just a newcomer who entered the wizarding world last year. What powerful spells could he have learned in such a short time?

Lockhart couldn't wait to see Harry make a fool of himself for not being able to deal with the house-elf with a spell; that would at least ease some of his resentment... and, incidentally, reduce the number of Harry Potter worshippers all over the castle.

“Why not just drive them away?” Unaware of Lockhart’s scheming, Seamus laughed, almost breathless. “They’re not dangerous, are they?”

“Ah! You look down on these little devils? Little destroyers?” Lockhart said, somewhat annoyed. “Then let’s see how you deal with them.”

As Lockhart said this, he opened the cage door, and the ugly elves swarmed out, flying around the classroom like rockets. The elf that Harry had just spat back at clearly held a grudge and flew towards Harry as soon as it came out.

Bang! !

In less than a second, Harry casually swung the chair next to the lectern and sent the little thing flying. It crashed into the wall and landed on the ground, already unconscious.

This time, there were no cheers from the students, because when these little blue creatures darted out of their cages, they had already begun their own revelry—clearing everything off the tables, tearing the classroom curtains to shreds, and using the students' ink as their best toys, laughing wildly as they splashed the ink at anyone who looked clean.

Not to mention the seven books placed in front of each person, along with Lockhart's brightly smiling face on the cover, all of which were torn to shreds. The oil paintings on the wall, which were used as decorations, were also folded in half. The trash in the bins rained down from the front of the classroom to the back.

Especially the last point: when the stinking garbage poured down like rain, the few brave souls who wanted to teach these little sprites a lesson followed their instincts and hid under their desks—at that moment, they wholeheartedly agreed with Lockhart's earlier description of these sprites: little devils, little destroyers.

“Beautiful blow! Harry! But you have to use magic! A spell!” Everything happened so fast that in the chaos, Lockhart yelled at Harry, clearly the tension of the elves destroying the classroom was beyond his expectations. He rolled up his sleeves, waved his wand, and shouted, “Peschich Pixie Pestnomi!”

Harry was really looking forward to Lockhart's spell, and then, with that expectation in mind, he saw the wand in Lockhart's hand being snatched away by a house-elf and thrown out the window.

It goes without saying how important a wand is to an ordinary wizard, but Lockhart was even able to have his wand stolen—that confirms he's a complete waste.

The case is solved; the experiences described in the books couldn't possibly have been Lockhart's own.

At least the quick wit and superb skills he displayed in the story were completely inconsistent with his current performance. Just like the other students, Lockhart also crawled under the podium.

He was incredibly slippery and perfectly dodged an ink bottle that was thrown at his head.

Harry: "..."

Is this the only level of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year?
To be honest, Harry would rather this year's professor be a Death Eater like Quirrell. At least the Death Eaters Voldemort approves of are somewhat capable and won't turn the students into useless students.

Professor McGonagall will probably be very angry... Harry shook his head slightly, drew his wand, swung it along a fixed trajectory, and shouted, "Thud!"

Thump! Thump thump thump!

There was no magical glow, but the little sprites that were running wild in the classroom just a second ago fell heavily to the ground at the same speed in the blink of an eye—as if something was pressing down on them, and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't fly up again.

Of course, he couldn't play any more pranks, and he couldn't even crawl.

“It’s a very simple principle,” Harry said, looking at the students cautiously peeking out from under their desks. “If something keeps flying in the sky and refuses to come down, taking advantage of its aerial advantage to attack you, then the first thing you need to consider is how to bring it down from the sky, or at least get it on the same line as you.”

After imparting this most basic combat experience, Harry once again brandished his wand—spelling the spell methodically, from the casting action to the incantation.

"Recover as before!"

In an instant, the chaotic scene in the classroom came to life again, as if time had reversed. The torn oil painting was re-hung on the wall intact, and the curtains were restored to their original state and hung back securely by the window.

(End of this chapter)