Half an hour later, Lockhart gathered the test papers and began flipping through them dramatically in front of the class.

“Tut, tut – not nearly enough of you remembered that my favourite is lilac. I clearly mention it in Year with the Yeti,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “And really, more of you need to pay closer attention to Wanderings with Werewolves. In chapter twelve, state quite plainly that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples – though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

He flashed the class another of his signature roguish winks.

Some students stared at him with open disbelief, their faces a mix of incredulity and secondhand embarrassment. Meanwhile, Fred and George, seated at the back with Alexis – and Scarlet still hidden beneath their table – were quaking with silent laughter. A few girls still listened to Lockhart with wide-eyed admiration, though their enthusiasm seemed to waver, likely confused by a test that had nothing to do with Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“And now – onto business!” Lockhart announced, moving to his desk. With great effort, he lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

“Be warned!” he began, his tone shifting to one of mock gravitas. “It is my duty to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind. You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this very room! Rest assured, no harm can come to you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

That sounded...reasonable. Any teacher at Caster Academy would have said something similar, Scarlet mused as she cautiously surfaced from under the table, just enough to peer over its edge. Provided, of course, that the teacher in question was competent. And this fellow didn’t exactly seem reliable.

Lockhart placed a dramatic hand on the cage’s cover. Fred and George, now fully alert, stopped laughing and subtly reached into their pockets.

“I must ask you not to scream,” Lockhart said in a low, overly serious voice. “It might provoke them.”

The class collectively held its breath. With a flourish, Lockhart whipped off the cover and exclaimed, “Yes, freshly caught Cornish pixies.”

A snort of disbelief came from somewhere in the room. “They didn’t look dangerous.”

“Don’t be so sure!” Lockhart retorted, waggling a finger in what he probably thought was a wise, authoritative manner. “Devilish tricky little blighters, they are!”

The pixies were electric blue, about eight inches high, with sharp, pointed faces. Their shrill voices sounded like a flock of quarrelling budgies. The moment the cover was removed, they began shrieking and darting around the cage, rattling the bars and making grotesque faces at the nearest students.

“Right, then,” Lockhart declared loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And to everyone’s horror, he threw open the cage door.

Chaos erupted instantly. The pixies shot like fireworks, ricocheting off walls and ceiling. A handful dove straight for the windows, shattering the glass and spraying the back row with shards. Others grabbed ink bottles and hurled their contents across the classroom, shredded books and papers, tore down pictures from the walls, overturned the wastebasket, and flung bags and books out of the broken windows.

The fourth-year students – with three years of inconsistent Defence Against the Dark Arts experience – were all caught off guard.

Screams filled the air as girls duck and dodged the pixies tugging at their hair being. One of the smaller boys let out a yelp as two pixies lifted him off the ground by his robes. Fred and George reacted quickly, hurling something at the little devils, forcing them to release their classmate, who landed on the floor with a thud.

“Come on now – round them up! They’re only pixies!” Lockhart shouted, rolling up his sleeves with feigned confidence. He brandished his wand and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”

The spell did absolutely nothing. One of the pixies gleefully snatched his wand and flung it out the window. Lockhart paled, gulped audibly, and dove under his own desk, narrowly dodging a pileup of students tripped by the rampaging pixies.

“Stupefy!” Alexis cried, her wand flashing as she barely managed to fend off a rogue pixie. Nearby, Fred and George, ever confident in their ability to handle the situation, were like firefighters wrangling an out-of-control hose. Armed with their newest invention – a sticky bomb that exploded into a viscous goo – they managed to pin several pixies to the wall, desks, and the floor.

Unfortunately, there were just too many pixies, and the twins were quickly running out of ammo from their pockets.

“Senseiiii--” Alexis called nervously over her shoulder to Scarlet, who stood calmly behind her, eyes fixed on the chaos. “Help appreciated! Would be perfect if you could do your magic now!”

Scarlet remained still, her arms crossed as if waiting to see if Lockhart had any other tricks up his sleeve. It became apparent soon enough that he did not.

She sighed, pulled out her wand, and softly muttered, “Beadouriché.”

“Huh?” Alexis blinked, hearing the unfamiliar chant, why does sensei talk with her wand?

Then, a soft, calming voice began to echo through the classroom – a gentle yet powerful melody that cut through the chaos, and the bombarded pixies stunned.

「ねむれ、ねむれ、母のむねに⋯⋯」

[Sleep, sleep now, my child, laying on your mother’s breast...]

Alexis froze, as the sound struck something deep within her. The tune felt oddly familiar, though she couldn’t place where she had heard it. No, wait – it wasn’t just a Japanese song. It was a lullaby!

「ねむれ、ねむれ、母の手に⋯⋯」

[Sleep, sleep now, my child, laying in your mother’s hand...]

The tender notes seemed almost dreamy, carrying warmth and tranquillity as it filled the room. The frenzied pixies, drawn to the song, began to gather near the red-haired girl. One by one, they folded their wings and drifted to the floor, fast asleep.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Everyone in the room stared, stunned, and silent, save for the faint hum of the lullaby as Scarlet held her dimly glowing wand aloft. The previously chaotic classroom now looked like a battlefield after a truce, with pixies peacefully scattered across the floor.

With a quick wink at Alexis, Scarlet gave her a subtle nudge. Alexis snapped out of her daze and grabbed the cage. The other students, shaking off their awe, scrambled to help, scooping up the slumbering pixies and carefully placing them back into the cage.

When the last pixie was secured and the cage firmly latched, the class collectively exhaled in relief.

Scarlet flicked her wand again and muttered, “Accio.”

She didn’t specify what she was summoning, but an object zipped through the broken window and into her waiting hand. It was a wand - Lockhart’s, to be precise, the one the pixies had thrown outside.

Straightening his robes and his hair, Lockhart emerged from beneath his desk. Flashing a broad – if somewhat sheepish – grin, he threw his arms out theatrically. “Ah, a genius student in my class!” he exclaimed, as if he had planned the entire event. “What a brilliant trick you’ve pulled! I knew you all could manage.”

Scarlet raised an unimpressed brow and turned to Fred and George, “Do you have any more of those?”

The twins held up another sticky bomb with matching grins. “These? We’ve got loads in our bag.”

“Great. Aim it at him,” Scarlet said casually as she tucked her wand back into her pocket, ignoring its faint hum of displeasure for being woken from its nap. Crossing her arms, she watched as almost every student in the classroom scrambled to get a sticky bomb from the Weasley twins. One by one, the students gleefully launched the bombs at Lockhart, their laughter filling the room.

By the time they finished the leftover ammo – which likely no more than ten - Lockhart was stuck to the wall, his flamboyant, shiny robes plastered with the gooey residue from the sticky bombs. His struggled, but his effort were in vain, his usual smug grin now replaced with an expression of genuine panic. His pristine appearance was utterly ruined, though Scarlet didn’t bother asking what the sticky substance was made of. She figured it was probably not to know.

The students erupted into cheers, exchanging high-fives and claps on the back as if they’d just won the Quidditch Cup. For a brief, surreal moment, even the most bitter of rivals like Gryffindor and Slytherin, celebrated together. In some strange way, this could almost be called a success – if only for the fleeting camaraderie it created.

“Unhand me at once!” Lockhart demanded, trying to regain his composure but failing miserably. His tone cracked as he wriggled against the sticky substance.

The classroom was still a chaotic mess, the remnants of their battle against the pixies scattered everywhere. Yet, slowly, the cheers swindled, giving way to an uneasy silence. A shift in the air stilled the students. They instinctively stepped aside as the red-haired girl began striding towards the front of the room. Her expression was calm, but her cold, measured gaze silenced any lingering whispers.

Alexis tugged nervously at the twins’ shoulder and whispered, “OMG, sensei is so mad. I’ve never seen her this angry before.”

“Neither have we,” Fred and George replied in unison, eyes wide.

“Professor Lockhart,” she said icily, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade. “Did you plan to teach us in such a manner – chaotic, leaving students to learn nothing in the process?”

Lockhart forcing a smile. “Why, my dear! You performed wonderfully – it was all thanks to me giving you a little...push...”

Scarlet didn’t let him finish. “I’m a second year,” she stated cooly, her steely gaze locking onto his. “And I do not see you as valuable in the role of a professor.”

Lockhart spluttered, “Now see here, missy, that is hardly proper manner--”

Scarlet cut him off again, her tone sharp and commanding. “I shall provide you with the syllabus for teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. Follow it, or...”

Her voice trailed off as she raised his wand, holding it delicately between her fingers. With a flick, his desk exploded into a thousand splinters. Gasps rippled through the room as dust and debris filled the air.

“I would prefer not to apply this charm on a living human,” Scarlet said, her tone as menacing as the wand in her hand.

She flicked the wand again, and in an instant, the desk repaired itself, along with every damaged table, chair, wall, and window in the classroom. The mess had mostly vanished, and the room returned to its original pristine state, with student’s belongings lightly scattered about, just like any ordinary classroom during a lesson at a brief glance.

The students gawked in awe, watching the large-scale non-verbal Repairing Charm unfold. None of them had the skill to put off such magic, and it left an impression.

“I heard a commotion...Merlin’s beard! What just happened here?” It was at that moment that Professor McGonagall entered the classroom. She froze in the doorway, just in time to see the final piece of furniture snap back into place.

“Professor McGonagall,” Scarlet spoke before anyone else could. She turned to face the formidable witch with a calm yet deliberate expression. Tossing Lockhart’s wand dismissively to the ground, she continued as she walked toward the doorway, “Professor Lockhart decided that it would be wise to release a cage of freshly caught Cornish pixies into the classroom without first teaching the students how to handle them properly.”

Professor McGonagall’s sharp eyes swept across the scene, her gaze lingering briefly on Lockhart, still glued to the wall. Confusion flickered across her face, soon giving way to thinly veiled disdain.

“And why,” Professor McGonagall began slowly, fighting to suppress the twitch of amusement at the corner of her lips, “is Professor Lockhart against the wall?”

“Fred and George invented a brilliant gadget that explodes into a sticky mush when it hits an object,” Scarlet explained smoothly, her tone steady and calm. “We used the sticky bomb to capture the pixies. Professor Lockhart was, unfortunately, in our way, so we had to...move him aside to get all the pixies back in their cage and restore some semblance of order.” She raised her voice slightly, glancing at her fellow seniors. “Isn’t that right, everyone?”

“Yes, absolutely!” Fred and George exclaimed, hurrying to the entrance to present their invention – though only residues were left - with proud grins.

The other students joined in, their voices layered with indignant complaints:

“If it weren’t for the sticky bomb, we’d have been doomed!”

“Look at my hair!”

“My face! Those little devils scratched my cheek!”

“It nearly dragged me to the ceiling! I would’ve broken a dozen bones if Fred and George hadn’t hit them with their bombs!”

“Ah, my glasses!”

“My notebooks! Reparo!”

“And, Professor McGonagall, we’re almost done fixing the classroom with Mending Charms.”

“Yeah, the only thing left to fix is Professor Lockhart.”

“Alright,” Professor McGonagall raised her hand sharply, and the room fell silent. “I see the situation is under control.” She turned to Lockhart, furrowing her brows before flicking her wand. With a swift incantation, the sticky mess dissolved, and Lockhart dropped to his feet.

Dusting himself off, Lockhart attempted to regain his composure, though his dishevelled hair and torn robes betrayed him. “Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” he said stiffly, trying and failing to sound dignified. He avoided the amused gazes of his students. “As I was saying, it is absolutely vital to remain calm and composed in all situations.”

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, though she made no comment. Instead, she turned to Scarlet, her sharp gaze narrowing. “This isn’t a second-year class for Hufflepuff, is it, Ms. Hong.”

Scarlet smiled innocently, unbothered by Professor McGonagall’s probing expression. “I was passing by and heard noises. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright. But my own class starts soon, so I really must get going, Professor.”

Professor McGonagall clearly suspected that the story was far more complicated than the students had let on but decided to let it slide. She gave Scarlet a curt nod. “Very well. Off you go, then.”

“Yes, Professor,” Scarlet said. As she followed Professor McGonagall towards the door, she glanced back at Lockhart, her eyes narrowing in a final, warning glare.

When Scarlet and Professor McGonagall exited the room, the students erupted into a flurry of whispers and chatter. They exchanged glances and animatedly discussed Scarlet’s impressive display of power.

Lockhart, still standing awkwardly by the wall, was completely ignored. Whatever scraps of respect the students had once held for their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor seemed to have crumbled entirely.