---
Chapter 44
A week later, exciting news appeared on the noticeboards of all four Houses—the school was starting a Dueling Club. With rumors spreading everywhere, it seemed Dumbledore had decided it was time for students to receive real combat training. Malfoy had been waiting for this chance for a long time; he had his own plans for the event.
At eight o'clock that evening, nearly every student crowded into the Great Hall, wands in hand and buzzing with anticipation.
The long dining tables had vanished. In their place, a gilded platform stood along one wall, lit by hundreds of floating candles. Overhead, the enchanted ceiling was once again a deep, velvety black.
Students whispered excitedly. Hermione wondered aloud whether Professor Flitwick would be instructing them—he was rumored to have been a dueling champion. But when Harry and Ron saw Lockhart sweep onto the stage in a bright magenta robe, their hopes died at once.
Snape walked in behind him.
"Those really were just minor mistakes," Hermione said confidently. "Tonight we'll see his real skill."
"Oh, please. He turned Harry's arm into rubber," Ron muttered. "I only hope he repeats the mistake—but on Snape this time. Maybe knock a few bones out of him."
"Stop arguing. Just watch," said the victim in question, and both Hermione and Ron fell silent.
Lockhart raised his arms for quiet and called out cheerfully, "Gather round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me? Wonderful!"
"Well, Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to start this little Dueling Club to teach you all how to defend yourselves—using methods I myself have used countless times! For details, you may consult my published works."
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart continued, beaming. "He tells me he knows a thing or two about dueling himself, and has kindly agreed to help me demonstrate before we begin. Don't worry—after our duel, I promise I'll return your Potions master to you in one piece!"
They bowed. Lockhart flourished dramatically; Snape merely inclined his head with visible impatience. Then they raised their wands in the standard dueling stance.
"As you can see, we hold our wands like this," Lockhart narrated. "On the count of three, we cast the first spell. Naturally, neither of us intends to seriously harm the other."
"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry muttered, eyeing Snape's murderous expression.
"One—two—three!"
Both lifted their wands. Snape snapped, "Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light burst forth—
Malfoy braced himself for second-hand embarrassment. He looked away, ready for the inevitable: Lockhart flying backward, hitting the wall, tumbling off the stage, then standing up and babbling through the humiliation. Once or twice was tolerable; but after witnessing it so many times, Malfoy wondered how anyone could be as thick-skinned as Lockhart.
"Protego!"
"What—?" Malfoy whipped his head back around.
Lockhart's Shield Charm deflected the red beam, sending it arcing harmlessly toward the ceiling.
"Expelliarmus!" Lockhart countered confidently. He twirled his wand with theatrical ease before releasing the spell.
"Protego!" Snape reacted instantly. But Lockhart's spell struck harder than expected. Though the curse rebounded, Snape staggered several steps before landing hard on the floor.
"What on earth…?" Malfoy felt his composure slipping. A ridiculous thought crept in—had Lockhart bribed Snape with photos of Lily so he would take a fall on purpose? It was absurd. Completely absurd. An idiot defeating the Half-Blood Prince—the inventor of Sectumsempra and the Muffliato Charm—in a duel? Who would believe that?
The Hall fell silent.
Then, except for Slytherin, every House erupted into cheers. It was the first time they had seen Snape utterly defeated and unable to retaliate. And who could he blame, when he had simply been outmatched?
"Now, did everyone see that?" Lockhart said brightly, waving his wand for attention. He strode forward and extended a hand toward Snape, clearly intending to demonstrate gentlemanly courtesy.
Snape ignored him, brushing off his robes as he rose on his own.
Neither Lockhart nor the cheering crowd seemed bothered by the snub. The only ones suffering second-hand embarrassment were the Slytherins—their Head of House, defeated by a man who could barely manage a classroom spell.
"Oh. My. God." Ron stood frozen, jaw hanging open.
"I think… he really did make a mistake last time," Harry breathed. Lockhart suddenly seemed like the greatest teacher alive—he had given Harry the satisfaction of seeing Snape thrown to the floor. Even if Lockhart had once turned his arm into mush… well, everyone made mistakes.
Hermione, meanwhile, smiled smugly—told you so.
After this public victory, all doubt surrounding Lockhart evaporated. His reputation skyrocketed. Now, not only were the girls starry-eyed—plenty of boys were also looking at him with admiration.
"Just now, Professor Snape and I used the Disarming Charm," Lockhart lectured grandly. "But as you can see, the same spell differs greatly depending on the caster." He shot Snape a sympathetic look. "No offense, Professor. All for educational purposes."
Snape's face had drained of color; he looked as though he had swallowed ice.
The Gryffindors chattered happily, furious with themselves for not having brought cameras to record such a historic moment.
"Harry, honestly, it's a pity Neville wasn't here," Ron said suddenly.
"A real pity," Harry agreed. "If he'd seen this, he might never be scared of Snape again."
---