It was an unusual sight to see first, second, and third-year students gathered together in the same Defense Against the Dark Arts class. It wasn't normal to mix year groups like this, but Professor Lockhart had requested it himself.
Hermione Granger sat in the front row, clutching her notebook as if ready for a historical lecture. To her right, Ron Weasley was yawning with boredom, while Harry Potter sat in the middle, his eyes darting between Lockhart and the walls — there was something suspicious in the air.
Across the room, Draco Malfoy lounged at his desk, pretending to be uninterested yet listening intently. Behind him, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini whispered in low voices, glancing occasionally at the students and the door. Among the other faces were Morag MacDougal from Ravenclaw, third year; Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, second year; and Terry Boot, a first-year — their expressions shifting between curiosity and unease.
Suddenly, the classroom door swung open, and Gilderoy Lockhart strode in briskly, wearing a robe adorned with faded golden embroidery, his famously wide grin fixed on his face.
He stood before the blackboard and waved dramatically as if he were an actor stepping onto a grand stage. Then he spoke in a loud, cheerful voice.
"Good morning, class! I trust you're all having a splendid day."
He paused for effect, then continued in the same theatrical tone.
"And for those who don't know me — though I highly doubt there's anyone here who doesn't — I am Gilderoy Lockhart! Professional author, adventurer, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and your esteemed teacher for this marvelous subject!"
He flashed an even wider grin and added with mock seriousness, "And by the way… do wish me luck that I don't end up like the professors who came before me!"
A few students exchanged looks, a few stifled small laughs, while Hermione alone clapped politely.
The moment Lockhart turned to the board, he announced loudly, "I'm quite sure most of you — if not all — have heard about the lessons we shall undertake in the first stage of Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Hermione's hand shot up immediately.
"Yes, Miss…?"
"Hermione Granger, from Gryffindor."
"Go on, Miss Granger."
She asked eagerly, "Professor, will you use time magic on us too?"
Lockhart smiled confidently and nodded. "Sadly, no. You are still in the first stage, and your schedules are not nearly packed enough for me to need to speed up your time."
He glanced over the rest of the class. "Any other questions?"
Hermione's hand went up again.
"Yes, Miss Granger, once more?"
"Professor Lockhart, how can you speed up time? Which book did that spell come from?"
Lockhart waved his hand as if spinning a marvelous tale. "Ah, an excellent question! In truth, Miss Granger, that spell isn't found in any potion book. In fact, it is my own invention."
She opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly cut her off.
"Yes, yes, Miss Granger, do go on."
"But I've read all your books. There's no mention or description of such a spell."
His grin widened, as if he'd found yet another reason to boast. "What wonderful enthusiasm, Miss Granger! If I could award points for sheer eagerness, I'd grant you a hundred immediately — but alas, the rules forbid it. As for the spell not being mentioned in my books — well, that's simply because it's… a private secret spell. Naturally, I wouldn't write about it anywhere."
She raised an eyebrow, her tone serious. "But why? Shouldn't such spells be shared for everyone's benefit?"
A few Slytherins chuckled under their breath, throwing Hermione disdainful glances. Some Ravenclaws exchanged small looks of mild disapproval, as if quietly scolding her for not knowing better. The Gryffindors, meanwhile, glared back at Slytherin.
Lockhart cleared his throat deliberately to break the tension.
"Ahem… Allow me to explain, my dear. In our world, spells aren't simply magic words to shape reality. They are legacy. A legacy passed from father to son, from master to apprentice, from mentor to student. And if the creator chooses not to share it… then no one else will know it."
Hermione muttered, slightly frustrated, "But that's unfair. It holds back magical progress."
Lockhart's grin did not waver. "It holds nothing back, Miss Granger. Because there is one special group in the wizarding world permitted to cross that line — a rare breed known as The Unspeakables."
A hush spread across the room as he went on.
"They work in the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries. They are allowed to study any kind of magic, no matter how rare or dangerous. They have full permission to experiment, answering to no one — not even the Minister himself. But in return, they are strictly forbidden from sharing any magic they discover without the owner's consent."
He added, waving his hand with theatrical flair, "They are chosen from the brightest witches and wizards of their generation. And, by the way, they do not share your concern for fairness."
A brief silence settled over the class before he ended with a wry smile.
"That's how the world works, Miss Granger. Some are born poor, some rich. Some with magic… some with nothing at all."
He turned to the students again and raised his voice. "Any more questions? … No? Very well then… let's begin the lesson!"
Lockhart's voice lifted slightly, resuming his lecturing tone.
"The werewolf, as I said, is a cursed human who transforms into a fearsome wolf at the full moon. The transformation is agonizing, and the victim rarely retains awareness through it."
With a flick of his wand, a magical diagram appeared on the board — an image of a man mid-transformation, bones twisting, dark fur sprouting, eyes glowing madly.
"As for counter-curses," he paused for effect, "they are complex and extremely difficult. But thanks to modern advances, we now have potions that can lessen the effects — the most famous being the Wolfsbane Potion."
His voice dropped suddenly, leaning forward as if to share a secret.
"But don't forget… werewolves are not just beasts. They are humans first and foremost. Some are victims… and some — yes — are nothing but merciless monsters."
Lockhart swept his eyes across the faces in front of him.
"And their bite? Deadly and cursed. Their saliva or blood carries the curse. If it gets into your bloodstream… you're finished. One bite is enough to turn you into a werewolf."
A tense silence followed, and a few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Lockhart chuckled lightly, as if enjoying the growing tension.
"And I assure you… none of you will be so unlucky in my class… at least not today!"
Blaise Zabini raised his hand. "Professor… how do you kill a werewolf? Or treat the bite before the curse sets in?"
Lockhart shook his head with an approving smile. "Excellent question — ten points to Slytherin."
He pointed his wand at the board again, and new words formed:
Methods of Defense and Dealing with a Werewolf
"You can kill a werewolf like any human — but in its beastly form, it's much faster and stronger. Stopping it without strong offensive magic is nearly impossible. So before you think about killing one, you must know the real priority: prevention and treatment."
He moved lightly between the rows.
"If a werewolf bites you while fully transformed — the curse spreads. But if it bites you while in human form, the damage is only physical."
He raised a finger for emphasis.
"But! There is a small window… if we treat the victim quickly. In the first few minutes after the bite, giving a Wolfsbane Potion can weaken the curse's effect and stop the transformation altogether. But it's extremely delicate work and must be done swiftly and precisely."
Lockhart looked at them intently.
"And if there's no other way… and you're forced to end the fight?"
His grin returned, wide and theatrical.
"That's when silver comes in."
He pulled out small items from his bag, displaying each in turn.
"A silver dagger — for close combat. A silver bullet — if you happen to carry a gun, though I always prefer the wand. A silver mist spray — very effective on open wounds, and excruciatingly painful for the werewolf."
With a wave of his wand, the tools vanished instantly, and he gave a bright smile.
"Any final questions before we move to the practical part?"
Ron suddenly raised his head. "There's a practical part?!"
Lockhart laughed softly and said in a conspiratorial tone, "Of course! How else will you learn to face a werewolf properly?"
Nervous whispers spread among the students, but Lockhart raised a calming hand.
"Don't worry — no real werewolf here… yet. I will transform this table into a werewolf with a transfiguration spell, and you'll face it together as a group using the tools: wand, spray, and silver dagger."
He straightened up, voice now firmer.
"I won't ask you to kill it — that's for stage two of my curriculum. I only want you to hold your ground for one minute."
He let his eyes sweep over the class.
"And to make it easier, you'll all fight it together."
He stepped closer to the table and gave a confident wink.
"And to motivate you more… this is your final exam. If you succeed, you get full marks: one hundred. If you fail… fifty at best."
He lifted his wand.
"Now then — let's begin."
With a precise flick, the wooden table transformed into a tall werewolf covered in grey fur, its blue eyes glowing fiercely. The students stepped back, forming a shaky circle around it.
Lockhart stood in the corner of the room and called out, "Remember, students — just one minute. But if it catches any of you before the time's up… you fail."
Beside Ron, Hermione kept muttering under her breath, "I must succeed… I must get full marks."
Ron shivered and edged away from her.
Lockhart clapped his hands. "Come on then, children. On my count — three… two… one… now!"
The werewolf let out a thunderous roar.
"ROOOOOOOOOOAR!"
Padma, Susan, Pansy, Tracey, Cho Chang, Hannah, and Neville screamed in fright as the beast lunged straight at Draco Malfoy, who froze in shock.
"Look out!" Harry shouted, diving forward to pull Draco down with him as the werewolf's claws swiped through the air above them.
Oscar from Hufflepuff struck the werewolf with a spell, but it merely bounced off its thick fur, turning its attention to him instead.
"Oh, mercy…" Oscar whimpered to the beast.
"ROOOOOOOOOAR!" the werewolf bellowed back.
"So… that's a no, then," Oscar squeaked as the creature advanced on him, fangs bared.
Blaise Zabini fired a quick spell that struck the werewolf's flank, dragging its attention away. At the same moment, Hermione whispered to herself calmly, raised her wand, and murmured, "Wingardium Leviosa…"
She levitated a spare wand into the air and sent it flying towards the werewolf's mouth — but the beast snapped its jaws shut and caught it effortlessly, then hurled it aside.
Before anyone could react, the werewolf leapt behind a low desk where Colin Creevey was hiding — and grabbed him by the collar, growling.
Lockhart's voice rang out, half-amused, half-dramatic, as he clapped twice. "Well, well! That was a lesson full of screaming."
He turned to look at the girls and Neville, whose face was bright red.
"And plenty of shrieking, yes…"
Then he glanced at Harry and Blaise. "Some impressive reflexes, too."
He nodded at Hermione. "And some… very creative tactics."
His eyes swept over the rest of the frozen students. "And the rest of you… well, you stood there like statues."
He pulled out his pocket watch and raised it for them to see. The dial showed: forty-nine seconds.
"So close! But, alas… you failed."
A few students groaned. Lockhart's grin widened.
"On the bright side — you now have a taste of what the final exam will be like."
Ron frowned. "Wait — wasn't this the final exam?"
Lockhart chuckled, folding his arms. "Oh, no, Mr. Weasley. I said this is your final exam — not that we're doing the final exam now."
He snapped his notebook shut with a flick of his wand.
"Class dismissed. Off you go, my dears… until next time!"