HP and the Parseltongue Chronicles - Chapter - 16

Harry sat stiffly in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, his cheeks burning as Gilderoy Lockhart demonstrated how to perform a "convincing werewolf transformation."

"You see, dear boy," Lockhart said, dramatically waving his wand, "the key is to truly embody the beast within! Go ahead, Harry, a deep growl to start. Really feel it."

Harry's eyes darted to Hermione, who had her head down, furiously taking notes, and then to Ron, who was barely containing laughter behind his hand.

"Come now!" Lockhart clapped his hands. "You’re a werewolf caught under a full moon. Transform!"

Harry took a deep breath and let out what he hoped was a respectable growl.

"No, no, no! From the chest!" Lockhart flailed his arms. "Like this—Grrrrrrr! And then howl, boy! Give us a good howl!"

Harry clenched his jaw but complied, letting out a low howl that echoed embarrassingly through the room. Laughter erupted.

"Perfect!" Lockhart spun to the class. "You see, that's how you make the dark creatures hesitate. They think you’re one of them!"

After class, Harry shoved his books into his bag, determined to avoid Lockhart’s attention for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, Lockhart had other plans.

Harry ducked behind a tapestry on the fourth floor, heart pounding as he tried to catch his breath. Fred and George peeked out from the other side, their faces split with identical grins.

“Close call,” Fred whispered.

“Too close,” George added. “I thought he was going to corner you this time.”

Harry groaned. “I can’t keep this up. Lockhart’s everywhere! If I see one more set of his flashy robes or hear him talk about ‘the adventures of Gilderoy Lockhart,’ I might hex myself just to escape.”

The twins snickered, but Neville, who was nervously wringing his hands, didn’t share their amusement. “He stopped me yesterday outside the Herbology greenhouses,” Neville said. “He wanted me to tell him how great the Star Club is—and then hinted that I should convince you to invite him as our mentor.”

Harry rubbed his temples. The Star Club had exploded in popularity after the release of Stars Chronicles, and even Hogwarts professors had started noticing its influence. That, unfortunately, included Gilderoy Lockhart.

From the moment he learned about the club, Lockhart had tried every trick in the book to attach himself to it. He had complimented their broom designs, praised their magazine in front of the entire Great Hall, and even sent Harry a personally autographed book titled Magical Me with a note that read:

"For my dear friend Harry Potter and his magnificent club—the brightest stars in Hogwarts’ sky! Let us shine together!"

Harry had barely resisted the urge to burn it.

“Something has to be done,” Hermione said as she emerged from behind the tapestry, carrying a stack of books. “He cornered me in the library earlier and asked if I’d written any articles about him for the next issue.”

Fred snorted. “I bet he asked for a cover story, didn’t he?”

Hermione scowled. “Actually, yes. And he even offered to pose with his ‘best smile’ and autographed wand for the photos.”

George gagged dramatically. “If that happens, I’m quitting the club.”

“Join the line,” Harry muttered. “We can’t let him worm his way in. But he’s a professor, and we can’t exactly tell him to shove off without causing problems.”

Neville looked up suddenly. “What if we create a test?”

Everyone turned to him.

“What kind of test?” Harry asked.

Neville swallowed nervously but continued, “We can make a set of requirements—like practical skills. If he wants to be our mentor, he has to prove he knows something useful.”

Fred brightened. “Oh, I like that.”

George nodded. “Something he can’t fake with a few winks and hair flips.”

Hermione smirked. “You mean actual magical competence?”

Harry grinned. “Perfect. He won’t stand a chance.”

The next day, Harry sent Lockhart an official invitation to “demonstrate his skills” as part of a mentorship evaluation for the Star Club. To his horror, Lockhart showed up in dazzling violet robes, his hair glistening unnaturally under the torchlight.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Harry whispered as he and his friends waited in the clubroom.

“An entertaining disaster,” Fred corrected.

Lockhart strode in confidently, clutching a stack of his books. “Ah, my dear Harry! And look at all these eager young faces! The future of the wizarding world is right here in this very room.”

Harry forced a smile. “Welcome, Professor Lockhart. We’ve prepared a few tasks to assess mentorship compatibility. I’m sure someone with your... experience will find them easy.”

Lockhart beamed. “Why, of course! I’ve faced countless dangers—werewolves, banshees, vampires—you name it!”

“Good,” George said. “Because the first test is dealing with a simulated Boggart.”

Lockhart’s smile faltered for just a second. “A Boggart, you say? Well, naturally, I’ve banished dozens of them.”

Harry led him to the wardrobe where the harmless Boggart was stored. With the students watching eagerly, Lockhart stepped forward, wand raised.

“Now, watch closely, everyone,” he said, puffing out his chest. “This will be over in mere seconds!”

He flung the wardrobe door open.

The Boggart burst out, transforming instantly into a towering figure—Gilderoy Lockhart himself, but bald, covered in wrinkles, and holding a sign that said Fraud!

The room erupted into laughter, but Lockhart turned white as a sheet.

“R-Riddikulus!” he shouted, but his wand misfired, releasing a puff of smoke.

The Boggart advanced.

Harry quickly stepped in, waving his wand. “Riddikulus!”

The Boggart transformed into a broom and floated harmlessly away.

Lockhart straightened his robes, laughing nervously. “Ah! Just testing you all—important lesson there! Always be ready to improvise!”

Fred leaned over to George. “Did he just improvise a complete failure?”

The next day, Lockhart officially withdrew his bid to be the Star Club’s mentor, citing “more important engagements” but promising to “cheer them on from the sidelines.” Harry and the others celebrated the victory with butterbeer in the clubrooms.

Harry was beginning to wonder if Lockhart had a twin. No matter where he went—whether it was the library, the Great Hall, or even the Astronomy Tower—Lockhart seemed to appear out of nowhere with a smug grin and an endless stream of advice.

“Harry, my boy!” Lockhart boomed, sweeping into the Great Hall just as Harry was finishing breakfast with Neville and Hermione. “There you are! I was just telling Professor Flitwick that young stars like yourself need to learn how to shine properly. Fame, Harry, is a tricky thing to manage.”

Harry bit back a groan. “Good morning, Professor.”

“Ah, yes, good morning! I was just reflecting on my extraordinary career and thought—what better way to guide Hogwarts’ rising talent than by starting a Dueling Club?” Lockhart said, puffing out his chest.

Hermione looked up, intrigued despite herself. “A Dueling Club? Really?”

“Absolutely!” Lockhart said with dramatic flair, clearly pleased by Hermione’s interest. “What better way to prepare young witches and wizards for danger? Why, I myself have bested dozens of dark creatures using only my wits and wand.”

Neville muttered under his breath, “And a memory charm or two.”

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, but Lockhart didn’t notice.

“You’ll be there, of course,” Lockhart said, turning back to Harry. “After all, what’s a dueling club without Hogwarts’ most famous student?”

Harry plastered on a fake smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The Great Hall had been cleared of tables, and a long stage was set up in the center. Students gathered around eagerly, whispering excitedly about the chance to learn real dueling techniques. Even the Stars Club members had turned up, curious to see if the club would amount to anything useful—or if it would be another one of Lockhart’s disasters.

“Place your bets,” Fred said, leaning toward George. “How long before Lockhart hexes himself?”

“Five minutes,” George replied.

“Two,” Harry muttered.

Lockhart strutted onto the stage, resplendent in electric blue robes that sparkled under the enchanted candles. He raised his wand dramatically.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first meeting of Gilderoy Lockhart’s Dueling Club!” He paused, clearly expecting applause. When only a few polite claps followed, he pressed on. “Today, I will demonstrate the art of defense—techniques I used against trolls, vampires, and even—”

“A Cornish pixie?” muttered Neville, earning a snicker from Fred.

Lockhart clapped his hands. “Now, to begin, I’ll need a partner! Ah! Who better than young Harry Potter himself?”

Harry froze. “What?”

“Come up, Harry, don’t be shy!” Lockhart beckoned, waving his wand.

The crowd parted, leaving Harry no choice but to climb onto the stage. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look as he passed.

Lockhart patted Harry’s shoulder. “Now, watch closely, everyone. I’ll show you the proper way to disarm your opponent.”

He took several exaggerated steps back and raised his wand. “Ready, Harry?”

“Ready,” Harry said, though he doubted Lockhart had any idea what he was doing.

“On three! One… two… three!”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted, flicking his wand.

Lockhart barely had time to open his mouth before he was blasted backward, landing flat on his back with a loud thud. His wand clattered to the floor several feet away.

The hall went silent for half a second before erupting into laughter.

Lockhart scrambled to his feet, his cheeks flushed. “Ah-ha! Excellent form, Harry! Exactly what I was demonstrating—how to fall gracefully after a disarming spell.”

“Sure looked graceful,” Fred whispered, snickering.

Lockhart cleared his throat. “Now, let’s pair everyone up and practice what you’ve just seen!”

What followed was pure chaos.

Within minutes, spells were flying in every direction. Neville accidentally set his partner’s robe on fire. Fred and George were dueling each other while adding ridiculous commentary. Hermione tried to help Parvati cast a Shield Charm, only for Parvati’s spell to ricochet and explode a suit of armor.

And Lockhart?

He was darting back and forth, waving his arms and shouting unhelpful instructions like, “Now, now! Keep it friendly!” and “No jinxes above the knees!”

Harry was too busy trying to stop Seamus from cursing Dean to pay much attention—until Lockhart decided to demonstrate a more “advanced” maneuver.

“Watch closely, everyone!” Lockhart shouted, raising his wand. “This is called the Scintillating Shield!”

He flicked his wand—and instead of creating a shield, he summoned a flock of brightly colored canaries that immediately swarmed him.

Pandemonium erupted as Lockhart flailed, shrieking and swatting at the birds.

“Oh, this is priceless,” Fred laughed, doubling over.

Even Hermione, who usually defended professors, was hiding her giggles behind her hands.

Harry managed to stop laughing long enough to help Lockhart banish the birds. But by then, most of the students were already packing up their wands and heading for the exits.

Later that night, the Stars Club gathered in their club room.

“Well,” George said, leaning back in his chair, “I think we can officially call Lockhart’s Dueling Club a disaster.”

“No argument there,” Neville said, inspecting his slightly singed robe.

Hermione sighed. “It’s not funny. Defense Against the Dark Arts is important, and he’s making a complete joke out of it.”

“Exactly,” Harry agreed. “We need to be ready for real dangers, not canary attacks.”

Fred grinned. “Does this mean we’re starting our own Dueling Club?”

Harry hesitated. “Not exactly. But we do need to train properly. We’ve got many places to train, and we’ve got enough skilled people in the club to help each other.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. “We could create a secret training schedule. Small groups, rotating lessons—spells, shields, counter-curses—”

“Now we’re talking,” George said, rubbing his hands together.

Harry smiled. For all the chaos Lockhart caused, at least it had pushed them to take matters into their own hands.

The Stars Club room was buzzing with activity. First-years sat at desks arranged in neat rows, their faces filled with nervous excitement as Harry, Hermione, and Neville prepared to start the evening’s lesson. The idea had come after yet another disastrous Defense Against the Dark Arts class, where Lockhart had spent most of the time talking about his alleged adventures instead of teaching anything useful.

“It’s getting ridiculous,” Hermione had said after class, slamming her books down in frustration. “They don’t even know how to block a simple spell!”

Neville had nodded in agreement. “And if the first-years rely on Lockhart, they’re not going to be ready for anything.”

That was all it took for the Stars Club to step in. They had already been tutoring first-years in Potions, helping them survive Professor Snape’s notoriously harsh teaching style. Adding Defense Against the Dark Arts to the list seemed only natural.

“Alright, everyone, settle down,” Harry said, raising his voice to get the group’s attention. The chatter quickly died down as the first-years turned to face him. Hermione and Neville stood on either side, both wearing determined expressions.

“This isn’t going to be like Lockhart’s lessons,” Harry began. “We’re going to teach you spells that you can actually use to defend yourselves—not just wave your wands and hope for the best.”

Fred Weasley, who had volunteered to demonstrate spells, grinned. “And if you blow up a cauldron or set your robes on fire, don’t worry. We’ve all been there.”

The first-years giggled nervously, but Harry quickly brought them back to focus. “First, we’ll start with the Shield Charm—Protego.” He drew his wand and gestured toward Neville. “Neville, attack me with a basic Stinging Hex.”

Neville looked hesitant but nodded. He raised his wand and muttered, “Flipendo!” A soft jet of light shot toward Harry.

“Protego!” Harry said firmly, flicking his wand upward. A shimmering barrier erupted in front of him, deflecting the hex harmlessly to the side.

The first-years gasped, clearly impressed.

“Your turn,” Harry said, lowering his wand.

The next hour was filled with focused practice. Hermione went around correcting wand movements, Neville reassured nervous students, and Fred offered comedic encouragement to lighten the mood.

“Not bad, Creevey,” Fred said as Colin managed to block his first spell. “At this rate, you’ll be dueling Lockhart himself in no time!”

The room erupted in laughter.

After the Defense session, Hermione pulled out her Potions textbook, and the lesson quickly shifted gears.

“Potions is tricky,” Hermione said, pacing in front of the class. “And Professor Snape doesn’t make it any easier. But if you pay attention to the instructions and don’t let him intimidate you, you can do well.”

Neville raised his hand. “And don’t forget to label your ingredients. I nearly added dragon liver instead of toadstool powder once.”

The first-years chuckled nervously, but Hermione looked deadly serious.

“Potions isn’t just about memorization. It’s about precision,” she said, pointing her wand at the blackboard where key tips and instructions appeared. “Follow the steps exactly, and don’t let Snape rattle you.”

Fred leaned toward a group of Hufflepuff first-years. “If Snape sneaks up behind you, just keep stirring like you don’t notice. He hates it when you don’t flinch.”

By the end of the lesson, the first-years seemed more confident, and Hermione looked pleased.

As the room began to clear, Harry, Hermione, and Neville lingered to clean up. Fred and George stayed behind, discussing prank ideas while testing a self-stirring cauldron.

“I think that went well,” Neville said, stacking books into a corner.

Hermione nodded. “They’re learning fast. And they need to—we don’t know what might happen this year.”

Harry glanced at her, recognizing the unspoken fear in her voice. After the discovery of Tom Riddle’s diary and the strange whispers in the walls, it felt like danger was lurking just out of sight.

“We’ll keep them safe,” Harry said firmly. “Whatever’s coming, we’ll be ready.”

Fred looked up from the cauldron, smirking. “Speaking of ready, Lockhart’s dueling club is meeting again tomorrow. Want to place bets on how many spells he messes up this time?”

George grinned. “I say he trips over his own wand within five minutes.”

Harry laughed, but the tension in his chest didn’t ease. The Stars Club had given the younger students a fighting chance, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that their real test was still ahead.