Harry Potter: From Baldur's Gate to Hogwarts

In Professor McGonagall's office, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley sat side by side on the chairs, their hands resting obediently on their knees, heads lowered, eyes fixed on the floor. Across from them, Minerva McGonagall sat behind her desk, fingers interlocked, her expression eerily calm. Her sharp green eyes, framed by square spectacles, scrutinized the three students in utter silence.

After what felt like half a century of oppressive silence, Professor McGonagall finally spoke.

"Explain yourselves, the three of you. Explain why not only did you fail to take the Hogwarts Express to school, but also ended up chasing a three-headed hellhound through the Forbidden Forest, only to stumble into an Acromantula nest and, in the process, blow up half the forest."

"Professor McGonagall, we had a good reason for not taking the Hogwarts Express," Harry spoke up, feeling it was his responsibility to provide a reasonable explanation while Hermione and Ron trembled under their Head of House's intimidating presence.

"For some reason, the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters closed just as we were about to go through it, so we had no choice but to take the Knight Bus to school," Harry explained.

"And because we hadn't eaten anything from morning till afternoon, we were starving by the time we arrived. Originally, we planned to visit Hagrid to get something to eat, but he wasn't home, so…"

"So, you decided to barge into the Forbidden Forest, chase after a three-headed hellhound, stumble into an Acromantula nest, and, in the ensuing battle, set a large section of the forest on fire?" Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"No, at first, we just wanted to hunt a deer or something to fill our stomachs. But the hellhound caught the scent of the meat and came charging at us, trying to eat us along with the deer. We had no choice but to fight back, and somehow, the Acromantulas got dragged into the fight too… which, um… resulted in burning down a small part of the forest," Harry looked at Professor McGonagall with an exceptionally sincere expression. "But none of this was intentional! If the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters hadn't suddenly closed, we would have arrived at school normally!"

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, do you have anything to add?" Professor McGonagall turned her gaze to the two sitting beside Harry.

"N-no, Professor," Ron stammered, while Hermione, on the verge of tears, merely shook her head.

"I will verify the situation at King's Cross. If I find out that you've lied…" Professor McGonagall didn't finish her sentence, but from the way the three of them nodded fervently, it was clear they understood just how dire the consequences would be.

"For now, we'll set aside the issue of missing the Hogwarts Express." Professor McGonagall pulled out a quill and quickly wrote on a piece of parchment. "Unauthorized entry into the Forbidden Forest—each of you will serve five days of detention and write a reflection of no less than seven inches, due in my office by the end of next week. Additionally, Gryffindor loses sixty points."

The moment she announced the point deduction, Hermione looked utterly devastated, as if the sky had fallen.

With their punishments in hand, the three slinked out of Professor McGonagall's office, utterly dejected.

The Start-of-Term Feast had long ended, but fortunately, the three of them had eaten plenty of roasted venison in the Forbidden Forest. Not only were they not hungry, but they were actually feeling rather full.

By the next day, thanks to a certain someone's enthusiastic retelling, the entire school had heard about how Harry, Ron, and Hermione had bravely ventured into the Forbidden Forest, battled a three-headed hellhound and a horde of Acromantulas for three hundred rounds, and ultimately unleashed a legendary magical fire that burned down an area crawling with spiders the size of men.

The Gryffindors, naturally, showered them with admiration. Losing sixty points? A mere trifle in the face of such a grand adventure! Meanwhile, the Slytherins wasted no time mocking the three "heroes" of Gryffindor at every opportunity—especially whenever Hermione earned house points through academic achievements, which prompted Slytherins to jeer as loudly as they could.

As for the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students? They were thoroughly entertained, eager for even juicier gossip.

And they didn't have to wait long—because an even bigger scandal soon erupted, featuring none other than the famous Gilderoy Lockhart, who had applied for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

On the afternoon of the second day of term, amid much anticipation, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart began his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

"As you all know, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League," dressed in an ostentatious gold robe, Lockhart descended from the podium, his flawless golden curls bouncing with each step. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he scanned the classroom, particularly pleased with the adoring gazes from several young witches. "Five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award—but of course, I don't talk about that much. After all, I didn't vanquish the Bandon Banshee with a smile alone!"

After delivering what he considered an excellent joke, Lockhart paused, expecting laughter. However, to his mild disappointment, only a few students chuckled knowingly.

"What is he even doing? We're here for a lesson, not a comedy show," Harry overheard Ron grumbling beside him.

Unlike Harry, who still had a neutral opinion of Lockhart, Ron outright despised him. Harry had noticed this back at Flourish and Blotts, and at lunch earlier, Ron had seized the opportunity to mock Hermione after catching her circling all of Lockhart's lessons with little hearts in her timetable. Hermione, of course, had not taken this lightly and had fired back immediately.

Naturally, they ended up bickering again.

Glancing at Hermione, who had chosen to sit farther away, Harry let out a long sigh.

After his brief introduction, Lockhart cheerfully pulled out a stack of parchment and waved it in front of the class. "I see you've all bought my complete works—excellent! Now, I think we can start with a little quiz—don't worry, it's just a small test to see how well you've read my books and how much wisdom you've gained from them."

Gilderoy Lockhart began distributing the test papers. Harry, confident in his preparation, picked up his quill—Hermione had gifted him one—and wrote his name at the top, ready to begin.

After all, out of respect for an adventurer, he had diligently read several of Lockhart's books over the past few days. While he wouldn't claim to remember every single detail, he was sure he could answer at least eighty percent of the content correctly.

Then, as he glanced at the first few questions, he blinked in confusion.

1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. In your opinion, what is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

...

...

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday? What is his ideal birthday gift?

Three full pages—filled entirely with these baffling questions. No Yetis, no vampires, no werewolves.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the test papers and, right in front of the class, began flipping through them.

"Tsk, tsk—almost no one remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I mentioned it in A Year with the Yeti. And some of you really need to reread Weekend with a Werewolf—I clearly stated in Chapter Twelve that my ideal birthday gift is for all magical and non-magical people to live in harmony. But of course, I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!"

He winked mischievously at the students, but aside from a few adoring young witches, most of the class simply stared at him with skeptical expressions.

Lockhart continued flipping through the papers, and Harry noticed that when he reached his own blank test, the man hesitated slightly. But almost immediately, Lockhart resumed his commentary as if the empty parchment didn't exist.

"Ah!" Lockhart suddenly exclaimed in delight. "Miss Hermione Granger even remembered that my secret ambition is to rid the world of the evils of bad fashion and to market my own line of hair care potions—brilliant, Miss Granger! A perfect score! Undoubtedly, a perfect score! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione, blushing furiously, raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent, simply excellent!" Lockhart beamed, leading the class in a round of applause. "Ten points to Gryffindor!"

When the reluctant clapping died down, Lockhart bent over and lifted a large cloth-covered cage from behind the podium, placing it on the desk.

"My job is to teach you how to defend yourselves against the most dangerous creatures known to the wizarding world. In my class, you will face the most terrifying beings—but rest assured, as long as I am here, you will not come to harm. The only thing you need to do is remain calm."

Harry watched the covered cage with curiosity, wondering what kind of creature might be inside. A nest of Ashwinders? A Rune-etched Serpent? A juvenile Acromantula?

Like him, many students stared at the cage with wide eyes, their interest piqued. Lockhart, ever the showman, reveled in their anticipation before dramatically whipping away the cloth.

"Freshly caught Cornish Pixies!" he announced triumphantly, displaying the tiny blue creatures he had paid a hefty sum to acquire. "I went through quite the ordeal to capture them, but now, I shall set them loose! Please, no screaming—it only provokes them."

The pixies were electric blue, about eight inches tall, with sharp little faces and high-pitched voices that screeched like a flock of quarreling parakeets. The moment the cover was removed, they began chattering noisily, bouncing against the bars, shaking the cage, and pulling grotesque faces at the nearest students.

Seamus Finnigan let out a snort of laughter—so loud that even Lockhart couldn't pretend not to hear it.

"Something amusing, Mr. Finnigan?" Lockhart asked, smiling.

"They just don't look all that dangerous, do they?" Seamus covered his mouth, struggling to suppress his laughter. The most dangerous creatures? These? Please. He could take on a whole swarm of them by himself!

"Never judge an enemy by its size!" Lockhart scolded, shaking his head. "Don't be fooled by their appearance—like imps, they are naturally mischievous and destructive!"

Imps… Harry's mind conjured up an image of the classic infernal creature: dark red skin, pointed ears, a mouth full of sharp teeth, a steel trident in hand, and a pair of bat-like wings flapping as it charged at its victim.

If Cornish Pixies were truly on par with imps, then a cageful of them could indeed be troublesome—at least for a group of second-years.

"Now," Lockhart declared, "let me demonstrate how to handle these vile creatures!"

With a flourish, he opened the cage door.

The moment it was unlatched, the pixies—cooped up for days—erupted from the cage like a swarm of angry hornets, immediately wreaking havoc.

They grabbed fistfuls of chalk and hurled them at students, yanked robes to lift students into the air, upended ink bottles over desks, shredded books and papers, and even tore Lockhart's own photographs from the walls, ripping them to pieces. A few crashed straight through the classroom windows, soaring gleefully into the open sky.

"Bloody hell! What is Lockhart thinking? Releasing them in class without any preparation?! I swear—STAY AWAY FROM MY BAG, YOU LITTLE GITS!" Roared Ron, punching two pixies out of the air before lunging after a third that was trying to dive into his schoolbag. As for why he wasn't using his wand like Seamus and Hermione...

One minute earlier.

"Come on, round them up, round them up! They're just pixies!" Standing atop his desk, Lockhart rolled up his sleeves and waved his wand, repeating the incantation the merchant had given him when he bought the creatures: "Peski…Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

Nothing happened—no, something did happen. A white flash burst from his wand, hitting Ron's battered old wand squarely—right as Ron was about to cast a Trip Jinx on a particularly aggressive pixie.

With a loud crack, Ron's wand snapped clean in two, leaving him staring in shock at the broken pieces in his hands.

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