The next morning I took Ron aside and gave him a thorough scolding of what he had done. Then, after receiving indistinct, irritated murmurs of impatience in pathetic response, I stormed down to breakfast, still fuming at his inappropriately indifferent attitude, and how he tacitly refused to accept the fact that he had done something terribly wrong and rash. As I hurried down the marble staircase I thought about how lucky he had been not to have been expelled from Hogwarts. Well, he should have! Hogwarts couldn't have students recklessly flying enchanted cars around.
I entered the Great Hall and took a seat at the Gryffindor table, after returning an amiable wave to Penelope. As I spooned some porridge into my mouth there was a flutter of wings and the post arrived. Owls swooped into the hall, dropping mail to their owners, hooting as they did so. A Daily Prophet landed beside me, narrowly avoiding my bowl, yet knocking some cutlery onto the floor at the same time. As I unfolded it a grey, feather-covered object whammed into the milk jug, and, after staring at it a moment, I recognized it as Errol. Hermione Granger, Ron and Harry Potter's friend, prodded him tentatively yet he did not regain consciousness. Ron stared at the owl, curiously nervous, and whispered, "oh no."
"Don't worry, he's alive," Hermione said airily, turning back to her semolina.
"It's not that," Ron said, swallowing uneasily. "It's that." And he pointed with a trembling finger at a red envelope in Errol's beak.
Neville Longbottom, a forgetful boy who shared a dormitory with him, advised seriously, "open it now. It's worse if you don't."
I then recognized the item as a Howler, and I guessed who it was from. Mum. Well, Ron deserved it. Scraping my bowl with my spoon, I picked up my time-table and departed before the Howler went off. I was not keen to experience it. Entering the Entrance Hall, I scanned my list of subjects for today. Well, first up was Transfiguration, one of my favorite classes and one of which I was determined to do well in this year, as my O.W.Ls approached. I had heard the exam affected your career in later life considerably, and that was why I was very particular about inflicting great attention and earnestness into my studies.
I reached the Transfiguration classroom with the rest of the Gryffindor fifth years and took my place at a desk. Professor McGonagall began the lesson with the necessary and customary introductions and announcements, including in the seriousness of our O.W.Ls and the revision and intense studying that was required. She said she hoped for our success, and advised that the best way to get good marks was pay close attention during classes and study hard and earnestly. I approved greatly of her persistence and, due to my concentration and industriousness accomplished transfiguring my rabbit into slippers quite easily.
The bell rang, and I hastened off to Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, just outside the door I was abruptly confronted by Penelope. She tugged on my elbow and I turned to her, and delighted surprise crossed my face. She smiled happily at me, and whispered, "can you meet me in that spare History of Magic classroom later? You know the one near Barnubus the Barmy on the seventh floor?"
I eyed her curiously yet consented quickly.
"Of course," I replied, squeezing her hand affectionately.
She grinned. "See you later." And then she dashed off, beaming.
I had to prevent myself cartwheeling all over the place. Instead I forced myself to remain calm and walk casually into the classroom. Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart, practically danced around the room upon his students' entry, smiling broadly and ushering them enthusiastically in. I raised my eyebrows, a little skeptically, quickly confirming him as an optimistic, rather childish fellow, disapprovingly observing the way he had propped up the set of books he had written up on his desk so everyone could see the large image of him on the front. I also noticed how he had kept writing 'Gilderoy Lockhart' all over the blackboard in different types of cursive. My cursive was much better than that. I sat down and pulled out some parchment and my quill, along with a bottle of ink.
"Now," Gilderoy Lockhart began, rubbing his hands together eagerly, contemplating the class before him somewhat proudly, "I am, as you probably all know, Gilderoy Lockhart, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year. I hope you are all ready to start, and are as attentive and as keen as I am! You probably are all aware of my background - how I have starred publicly, how I have many, many, MANY fanatics, how I have written biographies, concerning my thrilling adventures battling monsters and saving innocent peoples, and how, most importantly, I have won the Witch Weekly's best smiling award five times." His eyes and teeth sparkled. "As fifth years, I see it as my duty and responsibility to give you a serious start to this year, knowing you have your O.W.Ls approaching. I will actually bring a dark creature to class next week but for now I will proceed by giving a lecture on the creature you will analyse next week. The creature is..." He paused dramatically. "The imp!"
The class stared at him. I was caught by such severe disapprobation my expression automatically took on dubiety and disappointment. Gilderoy Lockhart, unperturbed by his students' reaction, then turned to talking about imps and how apparently 'dangerous' they can be. Rubbish! Imps? Maybe for first years, but definitely not for me, a fifteen year old! However was I to pass my O.W.Ls with this person teaching me?