Lockhart's Teaching Methods (Part Two)

As he watched a group of cheering young wizards leave the classroom, Amosta's heart brimmed with confusion, bewilderment, and a crisis of faith. Still, he had finally figured out one thing: why Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall could not stand Professor Lockhart's teaching methods!

Maybe this was just an isolated case... On the way back to his office, Amosta, who had been forced to recite half a book, thought hazily.

But over the next few days, cruel reality proved to him that Lockhart's classes really were this absurd!

"How did Dumbledore hire such a weirdo?"

On Thursday morning, as Amosta left the first-years' classroom for the Great Hall to eat, he could not help feeling indignant on behalf of the young wizards. Back when he had attended this school, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had changed every year too, and their standards had varied wildly. But at least those professors had taught in earnest. Unlike Lockhart, who had turned the subject into a recital class and a drama workshop.

Speaking of acting, that had happened yesterday afternoon, when he taught Potter's year for the first time. He had held out some hope beforehand, thinking Lockhart might restrain himself in front of the "main character," but the result had left his jaw on the floor.

For a full two hours, Amosta had played a simple, honest villager from beneath the Himalayas, endlessly grateful to Lockhart. Lockhart had forced Potter to play a snowman, while playing himself.

"Do something, Professor Breen!"

When Defence Against the Dark Arts ended, Harry, who had been chased all over the room by Lockhart and accidentally fallen off a desk, clutched his bruised shin and looked at Amosta in despair.

"I'd be endlessly grateful to you!"

Ron covered his mouth and fought desperately not to laugh, but he soon bared his teeth and yelped as well. Hermione, carrying several of Lockhart's books, passed by him and stomped hard on his foot.

"I thought your performance was brilliant, Professor Breen!"

Hermione shot Ron a fierce glare, then, her face flushed red, said that to Amosta before running away.

Brilliant performance? Was that really the point, Miss Granger?

Amosta stared at the little girl running off, utterly baffled.

"Her opinion differs from ours, Professor Breen—"

Dean Thomas explained rationally to Amosta, "Hermione admires Professor Lockhart very much. She's always trying to convince everyone that those ridiculous adventures in Lockhart's books really happened, but she's never been able to provide proof. But now, she's finally found a fan of Professor Lockhart's—a person with some 'weight.'"

"Who?" Amosta asked, raising his eyebrows high.

"You, Professor Breen."

Harry cautiously studied Amosta's expression before speaking. "Hermione told me she heard Professor Lockhart say with her own ears that you're his most devoted fan—"

Amosta rolled his eyes so hard they nearly vanished, seriously considering the suggestion Professor Snape had mentioned last time.

At lunch, while Lockhart was talking the ears off an exasperated Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall leaned over and glared severely at Amosta, speaking in an almost whispered voice.

"Professor Breen, Hogwarts does not pay you to join him in making young wizards recite. Show them what you can really do, Amosta. You promised me!"

Amosta put down the Lemon Meringue Pie in his hand and looked over the crowded Great Hall. He saw Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table studying him in confusion, while several Ravenclaw girls pointed at him, giggling and shaking their heads.

"Headmaster Dumbledore—"

Amosta blinked, his tone calm.

"Yes, Amosta?"

As though he had nothing whatsoever to do with the matter, Dumbledore gave his beard a shake and emerged from his focused battle with a Cauldron Cake.

"If I wished to invite Professor Lockhart for a drink, and accidentally added something to his glass while we were drinking, resulting in Professor Lockhart having to rest in a hospital bed for a while, would you mind?"

Snape, who had kept his head lowered the entire time, finally stopped being stingy with his attention. The corner of his mouth curled, and a little life returned to his hollow eyes.

"—Do you remember what I taught in your first lesson during your first year, Amosta?"

"Powdered root of asphodel added to an Infusion of Wormwood makes a powerful sleeping potion: a Draught of Living Death. Under normal circumstances, it will leave someone groggy in bed for a week.

"But if taken with highly concentrated alcohol and without proper treatment, it will leave the person in a state of confusion where speech is difficult. The condition will last for two months."

Amosta nodded casually at Snape.

"You know, Professor Snape, my memory has always been quite good. And what is your opinion, Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"Cough, cough, Amosta—"

Dumbledore suddenly raised his head and began studying the patterns on the chandeliers overhead. His blue eyes, usually so piercing, had turned unfocused and hazy.

"I am already one hundred and twelve years old. The power of time truly is frightening. Lately, I have clearly felt that my legs are no longer as nimble as before, my eyes have begun to lose their clarity, and my hearing has grown a little poor. Therefore, I did not hear a single word of what you, Severus, and Minerva were discussing just now—"

Professor McGonagall pressed her lips tightly together and glared at him, half helpless and half angry.

But Dumbledore gave Professor McGonagall no chance to complain. He stood up immediately and told the group plotting to harm a famous author and Hogwarts's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor that he was feeling unwell and needed to return to his office to rest, then left without another word.

"Before nine tonight, I'll deliver what you need to your office."

Professor Snape stood as well. From the look of his departing back, he seemed almost impatient.

"Poppy!"

Under Amosta's meaningful gaze, Professor McGonagall, somewhat ashamed and irritated, turned to Madam Pomfrey, who was having fish stew.

"If you're free tonight, could you come to my office? There's something I'd like to discuss with you privately—"

"Oh, no problem, Minerva. I'll be there on time!"

Assuming her salary was about to be increased, Madam Pomfrey beamed and agreed cheerfully.

"Cough, cough, Professor Lockhart—"

After Professor McGonagall left, the staff table, which had been full moments ago, was already nearly half empty. Professor Flitwick took the opportunity while Amosta was speaking to Lockhart to dart away in a flash. His astonishingly nimble movements still faintly carried the poise of a former duelling champion!

"Aha, Amosta, do you also want one of my Valentine's Day cards early, like Filius? Oh! That truly puts me in a difficult position, but—"

"Actually,"

Amosta cut off Lockhart's lengthy speech directly.

"During the last second-year Defence class, Miss Granger told me that your favourite birthday gift is a case of Ogden's Old Firewhisky. Oh, and as luck would have it, I happen to have a bottle over eighty years old, a gift from Headmaster Dumbledore. Would I have the honour of inviting you for a drink at the Three Broomsticks this Saturday?"

"Do you two have anything else to say now?"

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione, who had been craning her neck to eavesdrop on the professors' conversation, looked at Harry and Ron, who were staring at each other in dismay, and lifted her chin proudly.

"He really is his fan!"