(Told from Loki's point of view)
The next day, rumors and whispers followed us everywhere. I was overcome with giggles all throughout the day, mostly just because I heard people talking about flying rainbows very often. But despite that, Harry and Ron were both sullen, and I knew why. Ever since breakfast, things seemed to go downhill.
When the morning post came, an Asgardian raven flew into the hall and landed in front of me. It dropped the pristine letter in his beak on the table, and flew off. There was an Asgardian seal on it.
I pocketed the letter to read later, and it was lucky I did, because Ron was having his own problems.
"Oh no." He whispered, his eyes as big as saucers. He was staring at a bright scarlet envelope, and was looking at it as if it was going to explode. "She's sent me a howler."
"A what?" I ask, staring at it as well.
"Screaming letter." Neville explains. "Explodes if you don't open it."
"Oh." I say unpleasantly. Now I knew why Ron was wearing that shocked expression on his face.
"You better open it, get it over with." Neville urged. "My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it, and..." he gulped. "It was horrible."
The scarlet envelope started to smoke at the corners. Ron was looking at it like a band-aid that he didn't want to rip off. For a second it puffed up like a bomb, and at that moment Ron ripped it open, and I first thought it had exploded. Mrs. Weasley's voice filled the great hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.
It screamed at Ron, telling him about how furious they were at him, about what his dad had to do at work, but I was barely listening. I set my head down on the table and covered my ears to drown out the intense screaming of the letter. When the hall went silent, I figured it was safe to pick my head off of the table.
Ron looked shocked. I looked over at Hermione to see what she thought, but she just closed her book and told Ron he deserved it. Ron didn't seem very happy about that comment.
"Well." I breathe, snatching my letter off of the table and standing up. "At least my letter doesn't breathe fire or something of the sort, or does it?"
My eyes twinkle at Ron, who scowls at me as I walk out of the great hall.
On the bright side, Hermione seemed to think that the Howler had been a good enough punishment, and was being friendly to us again.
On the way to Herbology, I opened my letter as well. Lucky for me, it didn't scream at me, or breathe fire, it just sat on my hands, and I read over it, noting Frigga's neat cursive handwriting.
Dear Loki,
I'm becoming slightly concerned about our secrecy. When we received a letter from your school I was worried enough, but when I discovered that you used the Bifrost to transport your friends to school, I thought that was enough to intervene.
I don't know what you're playing at, but this is a big problem. I take Asgard's secrets very seriously, and if you're using its main form of transportation to teleport your friends from place to place, I become slightly worried. Next time something like this happens, do not use the Bifrost so openly. We know that Midgardians already know something of us, but as terribly inaccurate myths. Let's not give them the chance to discover that Asgard is a real place.
I hope you have fun this year, but please remember this letter. You have been warned. Odin knows about this too, and he is terribly disappointed in you. I thought we raised you to make better decisions.
With love,
Frigga
I wasn't comforted by this letter. I knew I screwed up badly, Frigga didn't need to tell me that. But it hurt for her to say that they raised me to make better decisions. I pocketed the letter.
During Herbology we dealt with Mandrakes, that were basically just screaming, ugly babies with stocks growing out of their heads. By the end of that lesson, I was surprised my eardrums haven't ruptured yet from all the screaming, despite the fact that I got stuck wearing an obnoxious pair of fluffy pink earmuffs.
Of course before it, Harry was stopped by Professor Lockhart, who seemed to like Harry just because he did some stupid thing as a baby. I didn't even care to hear the whole story, I already knew it from reading some books at Flourish and Blotts.
After Herbology, Ron was even more sour because he found out that his wand didn't work well when it was broken. (duh) He had tried to fix it with a bit of Spellotape, but during transfiguration his wand was a disaster. At least, more of a disaster than usual.
After lunch we were scheduled for— you guessed it, Defense Against the Dark Arts. I was somewhat curious to see how Lockhart would manage his class, it wasn't possible he could be worse than Quirrell, with all the great things he's done and written about in his books.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Right before his class, Harry was cornered by a new Gryffindor first year, his name was Colin Creevey. He had an old fashioned camera and wanted to take a million pictures of Harry, and then he wanted Harry to sign them. I didn't even bother to stand up for Harry when Malfoy came by, teasing Harry about how he was so popular.
I was in a salty mood when I sat at my desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I would be even more bitter in the next few seconds.
Lockhart began the class by showing us all a picture of his face, with that "dazzling, bright white smile." And then he listed off all of his achievements and awards. To top it off, he gave us a quiz before we had even learned a single thing.
I knew I would pass this quiz no problem when he set the paper in front of me, but that was before I took a look at the actual questions.
What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
This absurdity continued for three pages, all the way up to this;
54. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?
I now knew I wasn't gonna get a single one of these questions, so I crossed out Lockhart's name 54 times and wrote "Loki" in its place. Now every question looked something like this;
2. What is Loki's secret ambition?
I filled in every question accordingly, smiling to myself after ever question I answered.
Lockhart collected all of the tests, and looked through them as I smiled smugly.
"Oh dear," he said, flipping through the tests. "Hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac, I say so in Year with the Yeti. And very few of you remembered..."
And he went on, listing his favorite colors and secret ambitions. But what shocked me was that Hermione managed to get all of the questions right. I was honestly disappointed in her.
From the looks the class gave him, Lockhart seemed to realize it was time to move on.
"Anyway, back to business." Aaaand... he gave a speech. One where he was discussing how we would "face our biggest fears" in this room, and some other BS.
I was on the verge of dosing into a deep sleep, but just then Lockhart ripped the cloth off of the cage that he's been keeping in front of us for the whole class, and he announced, "freshly caught Cornish Pixies."
Behind me, Seamus snorted. Even Lockhart couldn't mistake that sound for a gasp.
"Yes, Mr. Finnigan?" Lockhart asked.
"They're not dangerous." I say, smiling at the little creatures.
"Speak when your name is called, Mr. Odinson." Lockhart said. "And do not let them deceive you! Devilish tricky little blighters these guys are!
"Now!" Lockhart announces, turning to the cage. "Let's see what you make of them!"
I wasn't expecting this at all. He opened the cage, and pandemonium reigned. The pixies were flying everywhere, and nobody really bothered to use their wands anymore. Some people hit them with books, and Lockhart bellowed a stupid-sounding spell that did nothing, and then ran to his office.
That bastard. I threw one of Lockhart's useless books at the wall and it smacked one of the pixies. I walked over to his office and made myself invisible. I opened the door and stepped inside, and I saw Lockhart breathing rapidly, sitting on his chair.
I paced around him for a few seconds, still invisible, until I said, "so."
He stood up and whipped his head around, trying to find where my voice had come from. I reappeared, and he sighed in relief. He collapsed back down in the chair without saying a word.
"I didn't quite appreciate you calling me 'Mr. Odinson' back in the room." I continue.
"I don't think I had anything better to call you, Mr. Odin—" I cut him off.
"Loki would be just fine with me. Although if you'd like to please me, God of Mischief would be better."
Lockhart chuckled in an attempt to regain his playful attitude. "I know you're on a quest to fame, have you come to me for advice? Because there's no one better!"
I smile but don't laugh. "I'm not on a quest to fame, per say, but an audience would be just perfect."
"Fame is having an audience!" Lockhart says.
"Fame is being arrogant." I correct. "That's exactly what you are, Mr. Lockhart."
He didn't seem to know how to respond to this. "Me? Arrogant? How outrageous! I'm such a generous person—"
"Generosity and Arrogance are not opposites." I say.
He looked appalled. "Mr. Odinson, I know you want fame, but it's earned over a long time. Be patient, young child."
"Patience is not strong with you, Gilderoy. You are not who you're made out to be, I know that." I say. "Fraudulence is a terrible crime, I sincerely hope that's not what you did."
He looked at me, shocked. "Who are you?"
"I already told you that, did I not?" I smirk. "Good luck for the rest of the year, by the way. My senses tell me that it's not going to be easy. For any of us." I add.
"I'm going to make it hard for you, sir." I say, a look of pity in my emerald eyes.
And with that, I stalk out of the room.