Classes proceeded as usual. The following morning, after breakfast, Hermione Granger approached Richard.
"Good morning, Richi."
"Hermione," Richard greeted her with a polite nod.
The boy and girl stepped aside, stopping on the staircase landing between the first and second floors beside a window.
"Hermione, you look worried. Has something happened?"
"Professor Lockhart... Yesterday, he started the lesson by quizzing us on his books. I hope you've read them?"
"I've started one," Richard replied with a shrug. "Is Lockhart really as strict as Snape, starting his lessons with a test on his subject?"
Hermione hesitated before answering awkwardly.
"Well... The questions weren't exactly about the subject. Professor Lockhart mostly asked about himself."
Richard's eyebrows shot upward in astonishment.
"About himself? A teacher? During class?"
"Well... yes. His favorite color, what sort of present he'd most like to receive, and things like that."
It hardly seemed possible for anyone's eyebrows to rise as high as Richi's did. He stared at Hermione with wide-eyed disbelief.
"What sort of present he'd most like to receive?!" Sarcasm dripped from Richard's voice. "Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous! Hinting for bribes in the very first lesson... I'm delighted! That man came to this school to make money... Oh, thank you, Hermione! I think the Minister will find this information most interesting."
"Richi!" Hermione cried in alarm. "No! I don't think Professor Lockhart is taking bribes. He gave us an excellent practical demonstration. He brought Cornish pixies into class, and we had to deal with them."
"A practical lesson? Not bad at all."
A group of Gryffindor students came up the stairs past Hermione and Richard. Harry and Ron were among them. They stopped beside the pair.
The boys exchanged greetings, and Ron immediately burst out with his own account.
"Richi, can you believe what Lockhart pulled yesterday?"
"Hermione's just been telling me about the pixies."
Ron shot Hermione an irritated look, as though she'd stolen his moment in the spotlight, then continued with noticeably less enthusiasm.
"Oh... Then you already know he set the pixies loose on us."
"Ron," Hermione protested indignantly, "it was a practical lesson!"
"Yeah..." Ron drawled skeptically. "The professor didn't even demonstrate the spell. He only told us what it did, then hid under his desk."
"Professor Lockhart wanted to test what we'd learned in previous years," Hermione argued.
"Richi," Harry said, drawing Richard's attention. "Lockhart's really suspicious. He's pretending to be incompetent. It's strange—even first-years were able to deal with the pixies. I think he's hamming it up way too much, just like Quirrell did."
A flicker of annoyance crossed Ron's face, but he quickly pretended he'd noticed the same thing all along.
"Yeah, I noticed that too," he said.
Hermione declared confidently, "Professor Lockhart is far too powerful to bother dealing with such minor pests himself. I'm sure he was simply giving us a chance to prove ourselves."
Harry and Ron looked at Hermione as though she'd completely lost her mind, but neither of them said anything. Hermione interpreted those looks perfectly well. She puffed out her cheeks in offense and turned to Richard.
"Richi, I'd better get to class. Make sure you read Lockhart's books so you'll do well on the test."
"Thank you, Hermione," Richard replied with a polite smile. "Have a good day."
Picking up her handbag, the girl hurried upstairs.
Ron watched Hermione go, waited until she was well out of earshot, then remarked,
"She's completely barmy. Richi, how can you stand talking to that stubborn know-it-all?"
"Ron." Richie half-closed his eyes and shook his head. "You'd do better not to say things like that. You never know who might overhear. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. Hermione isn't perfect, but she's a good girl."
"Besides, girls have so many odd ideas rattling around in their heads that it's easier just to ignore their little quirks and accept them. Hermione's at that age when girls start looking for handsome idols, like pop stars. You have to admit that Mr. Lockhart, with exactly the right sort of looks, has carefully crafted an image designed to appeal to teenage girls and bored housewives alike. So don't think Hermione's foolish simply because she's fallen under the influence of teenage hormones. It's only because she doesn't have much life experience yet."
Ron let out a heavy sigh and threw up his hands.
"All right, all right, Richi, I get it. I won't say anything about your girlfriend anymore. But I still think she's weird."
Richard chuckled.
"Ron, you're not the one who's going to marry her, so just don't pay it any mind."
When the second-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Defense Against the Dark Arts class finally arrived, there were no Cornish pixies to be seen—only a test that had nothing whatsoever to do with the subject, followed by Professor Lockhart enthusiastically retelling the plots of his own books.
Richard was openly disappointed. At first, he had even considered taking steps to have the teacher replaced for sheer incompetence. After giving it some thought, however, he decided against it. His lessons in Charms and Transfiguration already provided him with more than enough new spells to study. Besides, he still trained the way Madam Marchbanks had taught him—practicing every spell until he could cast it flawlessly without speaking. That demanded an enormous amount of effort.
Things also got off to a poor start in Potions that year. Professor Snape, with his greasy hair, knife-sharp gaze, and biting remarks, paid Richard an inordinate amount of attention. His voice dripped with sarcasm and irony, and his faultfinding seemed endless. Richard understood perfectly well that Snape had forgotten nothing and was trying to settle the score over last year's incident with Draco Malfoy.
Grosvenor simply ignored the criticism whenever it was unjustified. Compared to bargaining with the Queen over a ten-percent stake in an extraordinarily lucrative energy venture, a professor at a school of magic was no more intimidating than a gnat. The young wizard had developed the kind of resilience that even a seasoned businessman might have envied.
The furniture in the Charms classroom had been rearranged, forcing the students to sit three to a desk. Since Richard, as always, was in no hurry and strolled through the corridors with his cane at a dignified pace, he was the last to arrive. The only vacant seat was beside Padma Patil.
The diminutive Charms professor climbed atop a stack of books and began the lesson.
(End of Chapter)
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