Chapter 331: Lockhart Goes Down
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed. At least Lockhart bowed—flourishing both hands in an elaborate series of twirls and gestures—while Snape merely regarded him with icy disdain.
They raised their wands to chest height like drawn swords.
"As you can see," Lockhart announced, forcing calm into his voice for the benefit of the silent crowd, "we are holding our wands in the classic duelling stance.
On the count of three we shall cast our first spells. Of course, neither of us would dream of actually killing the other."
"Really?" Ron's gulp was audible.
"One—two—three—"
Both men whipped their wands up over their shoulders in perfect unison.
"Expelliarmus!" Snape barked.
A blinding flash of red light erupted. Lockhart staggered violently.
He flew backwards off the stage, struck the wall with a thud, and slid down it to crumple in a heap on the floor.
Malfoy and several other Slytherins burst into applause.
Sean was already sighing inwardly. Professor Snape clearly had no intention of going easy on Lockhart.
"See? He's fine," Hermione said, sounding relieved.
"I have a feeling it won't be that simple," Justin muttered, frowning.
Lockhart staggered back to his feet. His hat had fallen off; his wavy golden curls stood on end like a startled cat's fur.
"There, you see!" he declared, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a simple Disarming Charm—as you can plainly see, I have lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Brown.
Yes, Professor Snape, demonstrating that particular move was an excellent idea—though if I may say so without offence, your intention was rather obvious.
Had I wished to stop you, it would have been the work of a moment. Still, I think—for the sake of broadening their horizons—it might be instructive to show them…"
The murderous glint had faded from Snape's face. He wasn't even looking at Lockhart anymore.
Moments later Lockhart collapsed again. Several small gasps rose from the students; many assumed the earlier Disarming Charm had finally scrambled his brains.
But Sean knew better. Professor Snape had cast more than one spell at the same instant.
"He's not… dead, is he?" Ron whispered, barely concealing his glee as he stared at Lockhart.
"Fingers crossed," Harry muttered back.
"Don't be ridiculous!" Hermione snapped.
She wasn't worried about Lockhart per se—but any student who had actually read Green's Notes and paid attention in lessons knew exactly how brilliant Snape was at Potions.
Losing their Potions master because of one fraud seemed like a very poor bargain indeed.
…
Lockhart was carried off to the hospital wing. No one knew when—or if—he would return.
Down on the floor, Sean pondered whether Voldemort's curse might be more powerful than he had realised.
Seen from the inside, it was hard to believe that all of this had happened by pure coincidence.
Sean had coincidentally provoked Snape's anger. Lockhart had coincidentally started the Duelling Club. Snape had coincidentally been goaded by Lockhart during the very demonstration…
Magic truly was vast and unfathomable. Sean could not even trace the precise mechanism of this particular curse.
He glanced at Professor Snape. The man still wore that thin, mirthless smile, but the oppressive atmosphere around him had eased considerably.
"Demonstration over. Pair up."
Snape's voice cut through the room.
He began assigning partners with ruthless efficiency.
Sean saw Harry paired with Malfoy, Ron with Goyle, and Hermione facing Pansy Parkinson.
The groupings were, frankly, inspired.
Every pair had history.
The only relatively peaceful match seemed to be Justin with Neville.
Around Sean, a wide empty circle had formed. Despite the general enthusiasm for duelling, no one particularly wanted to face an opponent they had no hope of defeating.
Flint lasted exactly one minute. He didn't even know what spell had hit him.
"Follow me—"
Snape appeared in front of Sean. He gave him a single piercing glance, then strode away without another word. Brevity was his hallmark.
Snape moved so quickly that Sean had to hurry to keep pace.
"That's odd," Hermione murmured, watching them go. She turned to Justin. "Doesn't it seem like Professor Snape and Sean are… sort of…"
The duels that followed were a riot of eccentricity.
A sickly green mist drifted across the ceiling of the Great Hall.
Ron attempted to trip Goyle with a transfiguration spell—only to discover that Goyle didn't bother with spells at all; he simply charged.
Hermione and Pansy traded curses until Hermione finally ended it with a well-placed Stunning Spell.
If Justin and Neville provided the most technically impressive display—high proficiency in both offence and defence, spells flying back and forth in a balanced exchange—then Harry and Malfoy were easily the most brutal.
At the start Harry raised his wand high over his shoulder, but Malfoy struck on the count of "two":
His curse slammed into Harry, who felt as though he had been hit over the head with a frying pan.
He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be working, so he seized the opening, pointed straight at Malfoy and shouted:
"Rictusempra!"
A silver jet struck Malfoy in the stomach. Malfoy dropped to his knees, doubled over with helpless, convulsive laughter. He couldn't move.
Harry hesitated. Some instinct told him it would be unsporting to attack an opponent who was already down and helpless.
He was wrong.
Still gasping for breath between peals of laughter, Malfoy managed to aim his wand at Harry's knees.
"Tarantallegra!"
Harry's legs immediately began jerking and twitching as though dancing an uncontrollable tarantella.
Not far away, Sean had been following Snape, listening as the professor delivered precise, cutting critiques of the students' technique.
Along the way he had witnessed an astonishing variety of spells from the older students—and the equally varied counters they employed.
With the attitude that knowledge was never wasted, Sean observed carefully and absorbed Snape's explanations of how to neutralise each one in the simplest, most economical way possible.
Snape glanced at him from time to time. The sullen expression on his face had softened—very slightly.
They reached Harry and Malfoy just as Malfoy—still lying on the floor—raised his wand again and roared:
"Serpensortia!"
The tip of Malfoy's wand exploded. Harry watched in horror as a long black snake burst from it, landed heavily on the floor between them, reared up, and prepared to strike.
The crowd screamed and recoiled, clearing a wide space.
"Don't move, Potter," Snape said slowly.
He sounded almost satisfied to see Harry frozen in place, staring into the furious eyes of the serpent.
(End of Chapter)
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