What Kind of Man Are You?

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was at the end of the second-floor corridor.

A small crowd of students had already gathered outside when Gavin arrived.

Several Slytherin girls huddled together, whispering about what color Lockhart's robes would be today. He had worn cornflower blue on the cover of Witch Weekly last week, and they all agreed the robes should have had silver buttons instead of gold.

Two Hufflepuff boys leaned against the wall. One was imitating Lockhart's signature pose from A Stroll with a Banshee: leaning forward sideways, one arm held straight out, head tilted slightly.

Gavin watched for two seconds, then nodded. The pose had a definite action-hero vibe.

Cordelia stood by the window.

Tracey Davis was glued to her side, recounting a line Lockhart had used in Travels with Trolls. Tracey could evidently recite the entire book backward by now.

Cordelia frowned slightly when she saw Gavin.

"You look awful."

"Probably didn't sleep well."

Gavin rubbed his brow. He really hadn't slept well. He had woken at five in the morning, and getting up early ruined the whole day.

Cordelia looked at him for two seconds without asking anything else. Instead, she took a honey sweet from her pocket and pressed it into his hand.

"Dibby asked me to give you this."

Then she turned and went into the classroom first.

Tracey paused in surprise, then hurried after her.

The classroom was different from last year.

When Quirrell had taught here, the room had reeked of garlic and incense, its air as stifling as a morgue.

Now life-size portraits of Lockhart covered the walls, each showing him doing something different.

In the one on the left, he adjusted his hair before a magic mirror. In the one on the right, he winked at the students.