Chapter 330: The Curse
The announcement caused a literal uproar in the Great Hall.
A second-year wizard, no matter how gifted, should never have been paired with a sixth-year student in a formal duel.
"Has Mr. Green finally crossed Snape?" the Hufflepuffs whispered, looking on with deep concern.
"This is blatant! It's a sickening abuse of authority!" Roger Davies roared with indignation. He turned to Penelope Clearwater, who was also watching with a deep scowl. The entire Ravenclaw table looked ready to riot.
"He's in for it now..." Theodore Nott of Slytherin chuckled, his cronies joining in the mockery.
Flint was the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team; he hadn't won that position through sportmanship or good grades. He was known for being a brutal, heavy-handed duelist.
Further back in the crowd, the members of the Room of Hope shared a very different kind of look.
"Sean against Flint?" Ron's face turned bright red as he fought back a laugh. "I just hope Sean doesn't accidentally... well, end him."
After all, Sean had faced a Basilisk alone and left it a bloody mess. They hadn't even seen a corpse—Sean had presumably vanished it.
"What is Snape playing at?" Hermione wondered, her mind racing. Even she couldn't parse Snape's motive. Was he just trying to humiliate Sean? Unlikely; Snape knew perfectly well that Sean had taken down a mountain troll single-handedly in his first year.
She looked to her side. Sean was already walking toward the stage under the weight of a hundred different gazes. He looked perfectly composed. To this day, no student at Hogwarts had ever seen Sean Green look panicked, rushed, or even mildly stressed.
This was exactly why his name carried such weight. Everyone knew him as an unshakeable, incorruptible wizard—the kind of person Professor Dumbledore openly praised as destined for greatness. The students, meanwhile, simply found his aura fascinating.
A group of Ravenclaws suddenly found their voices.
"Professor Snape, surely I'd be a better fit! A proper duel needs evenly matched opponents!" Roger Davies shouted, raising his hand. A ring of Quidditch players crowded around him, and Penelope gave a nod of approval.
On the stage, Snape's cold, black eyes flicked toward Roger. His voice was a flat, emotionless rasp.
"Clear off."
The Ravenclaws went stone-silent, cowed by the sheer malice in his tone. Roger slowly lowered his hand, realizing that not only had he drawn Snape's ire, but their "secret weapon" was now standing alone on the stage.
Marcus Flint swaggered forward, wearing a shark-like, predatory grin.
"I shall explain the procedure!" Lockhart shouted from the center of the platform. "First, face your partners!"
He struck a pose, clearly enjoying the limelight. "Next, bow! Raise your wands! On the count of three, cast your charms—but only to disarm. We want no accidents here. One—two—three—"
"Expelliarmus!" Flint roared, moving with surprising speed. His wand traced a wide, aggressive arc through the air.
Sean, meanwhile, had already deduced Snape's intention. But even so, a Hogwarts upper-year was hardly a challenge for him anymore. Even one as physically imposing and battle-hardened as Flint.
Sean raised his wand. He didn't speak. A silent Finite Incantatem and an Impedimenta left his wand in a near-simultaneous burst of magic.
At the same exact moment, the wooden floorboards of the stage warped and shifted. Two massive stone arms erupted from the stage floor, seizing Flint by the waist and hoisting him into the air. Before the Slytherin could even register the movement, his wand was flicked out of his hand by Sean's silent charm, clattering uselessly across the floor.
It was a perfect demonstration of Professor Flitwick's charm-chaining technique: offensive and defensive spells launched in one breath, combined with a swift Material Transfiguration to end the fight before it truly began.
"What happened?"
"Did Flint just lose?"
The younger students were blinking in confusion. They had seen both wizards raise their wands, and then, in the blink of an eye, Flint had been disarmed and restrained without a single word being spoken.
"Moving the scenery... that's N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration," Ron whispered, staring at the stage where the stone arms were now receding back into the wood.
"Did you not see the charms?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. Her powers of observation were far sharper. "It was the silent casting! Two silent spells at once! How did he do that?"
"Charm-chaining, Hermione," Justin explained softly. "It's in Sean's notes for Charms, though I don't think you've reached that chapter yet."
Unlike most wizards, Sean was happy to record his understanding of magic. He wasn't worried about others catching up; his own progress was moving far faster than his quill could document.
Snape cast a long, unreadable look at Sean before turning his dark gaze to the dangling Flint.
"Get off the stage," Snape hissed.
"Aha! It seems our winner is Mr. Green! Unexpected, perhaps, but I must say—he has clearly been paying close attention to my Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum! If he continues to study under my guidance, he shall reach even greater heights. No doubt about it!"
Lockhart was strutting like a peacock.
"I bet he'd say that no matter who won," Ron muttered, curling his lip.
Hermione nudged him, and Ron realized the entire Hall had gone silent. Snape was staring at Lockhart with a look usually reserved for a particularly disgusting potion ingredient. The students could practically feel the drop in temperature.
It took several seconds for the crowd to recover. When Sean finally stepped off the stage, a roar of applause erupted.
"Brilliant, Sean!" Ron yelled.
"I shouldn't have worried at all," Roger Davies laughed, giving Sean a firm pat on the shoulder.
In the shadows of the crowd, Theodore Nott ducked his head, refusing to meet anyone's eye.
As Sean made his way toward his friends, he paused. Standing at the edge of the hall were two figures he hadn't noticed before.
"Exquisite Transfiguration, Minerva," Professor Flitwick squeaked, his voice full of professional admiration.
"Two spells at once, Filius. That was your doing, I believe," McGonagall replied. Her mood, which had been sour since the start of the term, seemed to have improved significantly. The two old friends shared a rare moment of mutual pride.
While the two professors were enjoying the display, the atmosphere on the stage was turning lethal.
"Perhaps a demonstration of the proper duelling posture, Professor Lockhart?" Snape said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Of course... certainly," Lockhart replied, though his smile was looking a bit forced.
Sean looked at Snape's terrifying expression and was suddenly reminded of the "Defense Curse."
"Is Snape actually going to kill him?" Ron whispered, sounding genuinely worried.
"Surely not..." Justin said, though he looked at Snape's twitching wand hand and felt a sudden doubt.
"Don't be silly. Professor Snape wouldn't lose his head like that," Hermione argued. She paused, considering. "At most, Lockhart will end up in the hospital wing."
On the stage, Snape's upper lip curled into a sneer.
The members of the Room of Hope couldn't understand how Lockhart could still be grinning. Harry was convinced that if Snape ever looked at him like that, he would simply turn and run as fast as his legs could carry him.
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