Chapter 50
Thanks to Mad Dave's legacy in herbology, even if the Mandrake could scream and thrash about, it was still, in the end, just a plant. Albert understood the nature of the Mandrake after observing it for a few moments. He swiftly uprooted it, replaced the pot, and packed in fresh soil all at once. When he finished, he noticed many of his classmates were still locked in fierce battles with their own Mandrakes.
Yes—battles. Albert watched as more than one student got their finger bitten by the unruly roots.
Albert's successful repotting earned Gryffindor another five points. After Herbology, he took the opportunity to ask Professor Sprout a question he had never thought to ask in his previous life. In the original book, many students had to wait for the greenhouse Mandrakes to mature rather than just purchasing some from the outside. It had always puzzled him.
His question was simple: why had no one ever seen Mandrake root for sale?
Professor Sprout, puffing up with pride, explained that throughout Europe, Hogwarts was the only place to have successfully cultivated Mandrakes. Wild Mandrakes were difficult to find, and when mature, they had a habit of crawling out of the soil in search of a more suitable environment—making them even rarer to obtain. Thus, seeing Mandrake roots in the market was an exceedingly rare occurrence.
Albert thanked the professor and returned to the castle for a hot shower and a change of clothes. The whole thing reminded him of the legendary ginseng root—potent, mythical, and annoyingly elusive. He planned to use his own plant to approach Professor Sprout for further study of the Mandrake.
In the next class—Transfiguration—Albert and Hermione each earned five more points for Gryffindor, successfully transforming a beetle into a beautiful butterfly. Watching them, Harry and Ron couldn't help but feel a bit disturbed. They exchanged uneasy glances as the two perfectionists meticulously shaped wings and antennae. Albert, of course, had finished before Hermione, which made the situation even more surreal.
After lunch came the final class of the day, and Albert braced himself. If every professor had the power to deduct points, he sometimes felt tempted to skip classes altogether.
The next class was taught by none other than the famed author, memory-charming fraud, Third-Class Order of Merlin recipient, honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award. A man who could turn a classroom into a fan convention—and that convention into a complete disaster.
Yes, it was Gilderoy Lockhart.
Albert hated this class. No—he dreaded it. Just being in the same room as the man with his smug smile and dozen autobiographies was enough to ruin his mood.
When Albert entered, he found the classroom noisier than usual. A flock of excited girls filled the front rows, chattering about Lockhart with the glee one might expect if a celebrity like Messi walked in to sign autographs.
Thankfully, most of the screaming fans occupied the front. Albert quietly slipped into a back corner and stacked seven books in front of him—an improvised wall between him and Lockhart's insufferable performance. He was preparing to nap through the ordeal.
The bell rang. Once the students settled, Lockhart strode in with his signature swagger. The moment he opened his mouth, the class fell silent.
He raised a copy of Wanderings with Werewolves—a book he had "written"—picked out a student in the front row, and held up the cover, which bore a glamorous image of himself winking.
"I," he announced proudly, pointing at his own picture, "am 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. But I don't say that out of vanity! No, no—I once banished a Bandon Banshee with nothing but a smile!"
Albert nearly gagged.
If you're not vain, then why boast about it like a cheap advertisement? he thought, thoroughly disgusted.
Lockhart paused dramatically, as if expecting applause. To Albert's horror, many students laughed on cue. The sound seemed to invigorate Lockhart even more.
"I see you've all bought my complete set of books—excellent! I think we'll begin with a little quiz today. Nothing to fear—just to see how well you've read, how much you've learned…"
This so-called "complete set" had nearly bankrupted Ron's family. The monopolistic scheme was an unethical blend of education and grifting. Albert's fists clenched. He had found Lockhart insufferable in the book—but the real man was even worse.
Thirty minutes later, the quiz was in full swing. Every question revolved around Lockhart himself—his favorite color, his birthday, his preferred brand of hair elixir. It was less a quiz and more a fan club trivia contest. Was Lockhart really trying to build a fanbase inside a school? Albert thought the wizarding world desperately needed some form of consumer protection law to keep this kind of commercial nonsense out of education.
And yet, Albert had to endure another full hour of Lockhart reviewing the answers to his narcissistic exam.
Hermione scored full marks and earned five points for Gryffindor. Albert turned to her, surprised. She covered her mouth with her hand and whispered, "I just remember everything I read in books."
"Ha ha ha! Splendid!" Lockhart beamed. "Now, let's begin…"
He bent down and pulled out a large, covered cage from behind his desk. Carefully, he placed it on the table.
"Now, be warned!" he said in an ominous tone. "Today, you'll face one of the darkest creatures in our magical world. Fear not, as long as I'm here, you won't be harmed. Just stay calm."
Albert spotted his belongings nearby and grew uneasy. He did not want whatever was in that cage damaging his things.
With dramatic flair, Lockhart whipped off the cover, revealing a swarm of Cornish pixies.
To be fair, Lockhart was right about one thing: these little devils were dangerous.
They weren't magical in the way Dementors were, nor were they particularly malevolent. But they were clever, mischievous, and agile, with a mischievous sense of teamwork that made them surprisingly formidable. A group of pixies in a confined space was chaos incarnate.
And yet, for the sake of spectacle, Lockhart let them all loose.
Was disaster inevitable?
No Albert didn't think so. But he had no illusions. This class, like Lockhart himself, was a ticking time bomb.
---