The atmosphere at the Gryffindor table was oppressively different.
The long table seemed divided in two by an invisible line—on the side near the door sat a dozen or so fifth- and sixth-years, with Today's Transfiguration and the Daily Prophet before their plates. On the open pages, Lockhart's name or photograph could be seen everywhere. On the side by the windows sat about the same number of younger students. Some had a copy of Alchemy and Dragon-Blood Studies before them, some had a paper titled Twenty Applications of the Fiendfyre Curse, while others had nothing at all, merely folding their arms and pressing their lips into a thin line.
A fourth-year Gryffindor boy sitting near the door was the first to break the silence. His voice was not loud, but it carried clearly enough for everyone at the table to hear. "I think it's a shame Professor Lockhart left. He really did teach Defense Against the Dark Arts pretty well later on. You have to admit that, don't you?"
A sixth-year girl by the window immediately set her fork against the edge of her plate with a sharp clink. "Taught well?" Her voice rose slightly. "You mean that after wasting four-fifths of every class talking about 'how he defeated that six-headed serpent,' he finally remembered to teach a few practical spells during the remaining fifth?"
"At least he taught them." Another sixth-year boy, thinly built, raised his voice as well. "You didn't even attend his classes last year! Everything you know is just hearsay, isn't it?"
"The reason he taught those spells was to make you worship him blindly, not to actually teach you."
"Then tell me this: last time, I used that Variant Barrier Charm he taught us to block your attacks three times in a row and beat