The Burden of Being Brilliant

Like Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall liked to call on him in class, often to answer questions and demonstrate spells that they had yet to learn; unlike Professor Snape, however, she did so without the desire to trip Harry up. After a few classes the professor had taken notice of Harry's interest in her subject, and seemed quite pleased by it; she'd also noticed Harry's propensity for working ahead of the class, and Harry could swear that sometimes she called on him just to give him a chance to show off. Despite the fact that he'd never failed her, she congratulated him on every success, which made him feel very pleased. Tom never bothered to congratulate him when he expected him to succeed...well, ever, really.

"Impeccable as always, Mr. Potter. Well done. Five points to Slytherin. Now, wands out everyone. We will practice the wand movements first."

"I can't believe I'm friends with a teacher's pet," Theo whispered to him when he sat down.

Harry smiled shyly. Truth be told, he didn't mind being a teacher's pet, if it was for Professor McGonagall.

Theo frowned as he practised the wand movement. "How do you hold your wrist again?"

Harry reached over and seized Theo's hand, turning it over and bending the wrist at just the right angle.

"Like that."

"Harry, can you help me with my wrist too?" Daphne whispered, voice saccharine, behind him.

"Daphne!" Parkinson hissed at her.

"What?" He could hear the pout in the blonde girl's voice.

"Yes!" Theo whispered hoarsely beside him, having accomplished a partially successful transfiguration. A small black button with short, stubby legs was skittering over the top of his desk.

Harry was about to congratulate him, when a small explosion sounded across the classroom.

"Again, Mr. Finnegan?"

"Sorry ma'am."

As Harry looked over their schedule for the day, he vaguely registered Theo shovelling more food onto his plate.

For a Slytherin, the boy wasn't very subtle sometimes.

"So, what do we have next?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"With Professor Lockhart," Bulstrode said dreamily beside him.

He heard Zabini scoff at her from the other side of the table.

Parkinson glared at him. "Do you have something to say, Zabini?"

Instead of answering her, he turned to Harry. "I assume you've already done the readings, Potter?"

Harry looked up from his timetable. "Yes, a couple of weeks ago."

The other boy raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Harry folded his timetable and placed it in between the pages of the fourth year potions text he had in his other hand, which was promptly plucked out of his hand by Theo.

"Eat."

Harry nodded in acquiescence, before turning back to Zabini. "I read all the assigned books, so I feel like I have a fairly solid impression of the material."

"And?" Zabini said impatiently.

"And it's, well, rubbish, I suppose you could say," he said as he obediently started to clean off his plate.

"Rubbish?" Parkinson nearly shrieked.

Harry swallowed the apple slice in his mouth. "Yeah, you know, rubbish - claptrap, codswallop, hogwash, nonsense..."

Zabini pointedly ignored the girls' sounds of protest and looked smugly at Harry. "What makes you say that?"

"They're children's books, not textbooks. I read them, of course, but they really weren't worth my time. I don't plan on looking at them again," he concluded simply.

Zabini smirked at him, seemingly pleased by his answer. Harry suddenly got the feeling that he'd just been used to prove a point.

Meanwhile, Bulstrode was staring at him, face stricken. "How can you say something like that?"

Harry shrugged. "Quite easily, I assure you."

"Self-important halfblood," Parkinson was muttering under her breath.

Harry sighed. "Just you wait. You'll agree. I give it a week, tops."

"Not bloody likely."

Malfoy, who was sitting beside her, was looking at her in annoyance.

"Anyway," Davis said beside him, sounding a little bit irritated herself, "Class is in five minutes – let's go."

Harry was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, to be honest. He was fairly certain that Professor Lockhart wasn't possessed by Voldemort or anything, but just looking at the man made him feel a bit queasy. There was something about the blonde, constantly smiling professor that rubbed him the wrong way, though he wasn't quite sure why. Tom seemed to think that the man was just a fraud, and just last night had been cursing Dumbledore for hiring yet another 'incompetent fool, a veritable muggle with magic' to teach them. Harry was reserving judgment for now, but that didn't mean he wasn't worried about the whole thing.

Professor Lockhart was waiting for them when they arrived at the classroom, and once the whole class was seated, the blonde man, dressed in silk, periwinkle blue robes, cleared his throat loudly and yet delicately, and the entire classroom was hushed at once. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of Travels with Trolls and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. Harry figured that they were supposed to be impressed by this. Unfortunately, it would take a bit more than a picture on a book to impress him. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly. Harry was not one of them.

He looked pointedly over at Parkinson, who scowled at him.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books – well done."

Excellent – so far, they were being appreciated for their ability to read their book list and go shopping.

"I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about – just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in..."

While he spoke, he made his way along the columns of desks, placing test papers on everyone's desks as he did. Once he finished, he returned to the front of the class and said with a flourish, "You have thirty minutes. Start – now!"

Harry looked down at his paper and started to read. He almost wished he hadn't.

.....

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