Early October—barely the second month of term.
A bombshell rumour tore through Hogwarts like Fiendfyre.
"Lockhart's starting a Duelling Club. He's going to teach duelling."
"Lockhart's starting a Duelling Club?"
Viktor repeated the words with an extremely strange expression after McGonagall delivered the news.
"Yes, Viktor—you heard correctly. And Dumbledore personally approved it."
McGonagall scratched behind Tom's ears while wearing a similarly complicated look.
After a full month together, everyone at Hogwarts—students and staff alike—had come to the same quiet conclusion:
Gilderoy Lockhart's actual magical ability was… underwhelming.
To put it bluntly, he was a mediocre wizard at best—nowhere near the calm, brilliant, invincible adventurer he portrayed in his books.
So when that Lockhart announced plans for a Duelling Club…
It was hard not to laugh.
"I assume you're telling me this because Professor Dumbledore wants me involved—teaching the students some actual self-defence skills for Lockhart's little club?"
McGonagall nodded with clear approval at Viktor's quick understanding, then continued.
"Precisely. And Dumbledore feels Lockhart lacks the skill to run such a club properly. He wants you to take over as the official organiser."
"He hopes you can turn it into a proper, long-lasting club—like the others that have endured for generations."
"For that reason, Dumbledore will arrange for Flitwick and Snape to join as well—though their schedules are packed, so they'll only serve as assistants."
"Oh—and one more detail. Lockhart specifically requested you and Severus as his demonstration partners for the club's inaugural exhibition duel."
McGonagall's lips curved into the faintest, driest smile.
"I suspect that once you defeat him in front of the entire school… everything Dumbledore wants will fall neatly into place."
Before Viktor could respond, Tom—who had been blissfully melting under McGonagall's scratches—suddenly perked up and raised a paw like an eager student.
McGonagall chuckled.
"Of course I didn't forget you, little assistant. You'll be helping Viktor manage the younger students during club sessions."
Viktor smacked his lips thoughtfully.
They really had Lockhart arranged down to the last detail.
The man had bustled around, put in all the effort to get the club approved…
And now he would be neatly edged out of his own creation.
As the person about to step in and pick the ripe fruit Lockhart had so carefully cultivated, Viktor supposed he ought to at least show some concern for his flashy, spotlight-loving senior.
"Professor McGonagall… in that case, what happens to Lockhart himself?"
McGonagall let out a long sigh.
"Lockhart has committed very serious offences. Dumbledore is gathering evidence. Once it's complete, he will be sent to Azkaban."
"Serious offences?"
"Yes. Every story in his books—he obtained them by ambush Memory Charms on other wizards. And he altered the memories of his victims to cover his tracks."
"If one of Dumbledore's old friends hadn't also been targeted—and Dumbledore hadn't visited at the wrong moment—no one might ever have known."
"Be careful around him, Viktor. His Memory Charms are genuinely powerful. Even Dumbledore admits there are aspects in which Lockhart surpasses him."
Viktor nodded slowly.
So the flashy fraud wasn't completely useless.
A Memory Charm strong enough that Dumbledore felt outclassed in certain respects… that was real talent.
What a shame he'd wasted it.
In Viktor's opinion, with that level of Obliviation skill, a handsome face, and an insatiable need for attention…
Lockhart's true calling wasn't bestselling author.
He should have been a celebrity. Or a politician.
Both professions rewarded perfect memory manipulation, photogenic looks, and an impressively thick skin.
On all three counts, Lockhart was maxed out.
It was almost tragic how badly he'd misapplied his gifts.
...
Perhaps in a desperate bid for attention, Lockhart chose to make the announcement himself—right in the Great Hall at breakfast.
He stood on the staff table (ignoring McGonagall's scandalised glare) and proclaimed:
"Tonight, after dinner, in this very hall—I will demonstrate the proper art of duelling!"
"And I have invited two of our most esteemed professors to assist me in the exhibition: Professor Snape… and Professor Viktor Scamander!"
The hall exploded.
By dinner, Lockhart's reputation had undergone a bizarre, temporary resurrection.
After all—if he was willing to face Snape (Slytherin Head, terror of most students) and Viktor (world-famous adventurer-author) in open combat…
Surely he must have real confidence.
Who would volunteer for a public humiliation match they knew they'd lose?
Under the frenzied promotion of his remaining die-hard fans, Lockhart was suddenly repackaged as:
"A brilliant adventurer who simply isn't suited to conventional teaching—but whose true strength will soon be revealed."
By evening, anticipation had reached fever pitch.
When Harley dragged her exhausted post-training body into the Great Hall, the sight before her wiped every ache from her mind.
The four long house tables had vanished.
In their place stood a towering circular duelling platform of dark oak, inlaid with intricate ancient runes that glowed soft, ghostly blue under the torchlight.
The platform rose half a metre above the floor, ringed by three wide steps so spectators could sit right at the edge.
Most striking of all was the pale golden shield dome that completely enclosed the arena.
It flowed like living honey—slow, liquid ripples of light constantly shifting across its surface.
Harley looked up.
The enchanted ceiling had changed too.
No longer the usual starry sky or sunny day.
Instead, countless streaks of spell-light painted the darkness:
Crimson Stunners dragging long comet tails, clashing with scarlet Disarming Charms.
Sapphire-blue Shield Charms blooming like flowers only to shatter under emerald curses.
Silver-white Patronuses—lions, wolves, otters, stags—galloping silently across the black vault.
Silent explosions of magic, endlessly forming and dissolving—an enormous, wordless tapestry of battle.