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Chapter 145: The Dueling Club
Harry desperately tried to look confused, but Snape's fierce gaze was fixed on him. Whether Harry had done it or not hardly mattered—Snape had wanted to expel him for years.
Fortunately, a few minutes later, the school bell rang.
"He thinks I did it," Harry said in panic. "He's definitely going to expel me."
The three of them rushed into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where Myrtle was already waiting.
"Honestly, whether you did it or not, he's wanted to get rid of you for ages," Hermione said while excitedly stirring the stolen ingredients into the cauldron. "It'll be ready in two weeks."
She smiled brightly.
"At last! Once it's finished, we'll be able to get the truth out of Malfoy and find out who the culprit really is."
"Snape has no proof," Ron reassured Harry. "He hates you anyway. You shouldn't care what he thinks. It's not like he's ever treated you fairly."
"He won't let this go," Harry muttered uneasily. "He'll definitely investigate."
Harry wasn't afraid of monsters, threats, or even death. None of those things truly frightened him.
But being expelled from Hogwarts was another matter entirely.
If that happened, he would lose his home, his friends, and the life he had finally found for himself. He would rather face the Basilisk head-on than imagine being forced to leave Hogwarts forever.
Fortunately, things did not turn out as badly as he feared.
Just as Ron had said, Snape had no evidence.
And without evidence, there was little he could do.
Snape's hatred for Harry was not something new. It had existed long before Harry was born, passed down from his father, James Potter.
As far as Harry was concerned, as long as he wasn't expelled, Snape would continue hating everything he did.
A week passed peacefully.
One day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking down a corridor when they noticed a crowd gathered around a newly posted announcement.
Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan looked particularly excited.
"They're starting a Dueling Club!" Seamus said enthusiastically. "Beginning tonight. I think it's a brilliant idea. We could really use some practical dueling lessons."
"That sounds great," Ron said while reading the notice. "We should go. George promised he'd teach us some dueling techniques, but I bet he's forgotten."
"Too much has happened this year," Harry replied helplessly. "Nobody's had time."
At the start of the term, everyone had been focused on Quidditch training and trying not to lose to Slytherin's superior broomsticks. Then the attacks began, and George became too busy to pay attention to them.
"We should definitely go tonight," Hermione agreed. "Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons aren't enough. Since George is busy, we need more practice ourselves."
At eight o'clock that evening, they arrived at the Great Hall.
The long dining tables had vanished, replaced by a vast open space. In the center stood a magnificent golden stage. Hundreds of candles floated overhead, while the enchanted ceiling shimmered like deep velvet.
Nearly every student in the school had come. They stood shoulder to shoulder, gripping their wands excitedly and eager to participate.
"I don't see George anywhere," Hermione said, looking around. "He must be busy again."
"I wonder who'll be teaching us," Ron muttered. "I just hope it's not Lockhart."
"I'd rather it not be Snape," Harry said immediately. "I've had enough of his classes."
"Oh no..." Harry groaned.
Gilderoy Lockhart had just stepped onto the stage.
He was dressed in magnificent plum-colored robes and looked as self-satisfied as ever.
Worse still, standing beside him was a gloomy and intimidating figure.
Professor Snape.
Dressed entirely in black, Snape stood expressionless beside him.
Lockhart raised his hands for silence.
"Come closer, everyone! Can you all see me? Can you hear me? Excellent!"
The hall gradually quieted down.
"Professor Dumbledore has kindly allowed me to establish this Dueling Club so that I can train you all. If danger ever arises, you'll be able to defend yourselves just as I have done countless times before—and perhaps even protect others from the forces of darkness. Full details can, of course, be found in my published works."
Many students rolled their eyes.
"Allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape, whom you all know well."
Lockhart flashed a dazzling smile.
"Professor Snape tells me he has a little dueling experience himself. Very generous of him to help. To begin, we'll give you a brief demonstration. Don't worry—I'll return your Potions professor completely unharmed."
"If only they'd both knock each other out," Ron whispered to Harry.
Harry nodded hopefully.
Snape's lips curled into a faint smile.
The expression immediately made Harry uneasy.
He couldn't understand how Lockhart could remain so relaxed.
If Snape ever looked at him that way, Harry would run as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
Lockhart and Snape took their positions facing one another.
Lockhart bowed elegantly like a gentleman.
Snape merely inclined his head impatiently.
Then both raised their wands in the standard dueling stance.
"As you can see," Lockhart announced, "this is the traditional dueling position. Of course, I happen to know dozens of advanced alternatives."
He smiled proudly.
"We'll count to three and cast simultaneously. Naturally, we won't use anything too powerful, though I know quite a number of such spells."
"That remains to be seen," Harry muttered after noticing the malicious gleam in Snape's eyes.
"One... two... three!"
Both men raised their wands.
"Expelliarmus!"
Before anyone could react, a brilliant red flash shot from Snape's wand.
Lockhart never even managed to finish casting his spell.
The curse struck him squarely in the chest.
He flew backward off the stage, slammed into the wall, and slowly slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.
The Slytherins erupted into applause and cheers.
Hermione stood on tiptoe, trying to get a better look.
"He's alive," she said, covering her mouth. "That looked painful."
"Who knows?" Harry said with disappointment.
"Too bad he didn't even get the chance to hit Snape once."
Ron nodded in agreement.
(To be continued.)