Days of cold rain had left the castle damp and gloomy.
Louis, for appearance's sake, slipped a wool sweater under his robe—just to make it seem like he wasn't immune to the chill like everyone else.
Yesterday, George and Fred had finally returned with the materials Louis had requested.
Because students were only allowed to visit Hogsmeade on fixed weekends, the twins had to place an advance order for everything. By the time Louis received his items, an entire week had passed.
"Almost time to act," Louis mused. "I should start thinking about how to get my hands on the diary. I wonder if, without the basilisk rampaging around, Ginny Weasley will still throw the diary into the bathroom?"
Without that monstrous serpent to do his bidding, the Tom Riddle trapped inside the diary was just a powerless clown—utterly incapable of influencing Hogwarts.
Which meant Ginny might never sense the evil spirit within the diary… and could very well keep it with her at all times.
Louis didn't want to approach her openly to ask for it. If Ginny didn't discard the diary, he'd have to send one of his shadow soldiers—a disposable pawn—to steal it.
But before any of that, Gilderoy Lockhart's Dueling Club was finally being held.
The news first spread through the prefects of each House, followed by a notice on the Great Hall bulletin board. Yet no one actually knew who was hosting it.
Many students naively assumed it must be Professor Flitwick, the former Dueling Champion, hosting it to make up for the uselessness of their Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.
Ah, such innocence.
The event would take place in the Great Hall at eight o'clock in the evening.
"Louis, who do you think will be teaching the club?" Hermione asked as they made their way there together. The corridors were buzzing with chatter.
"Don't get your hopes up," Louis warned. "If any of the other professors were willing to do it, this so-called dueling club wouldn't have taken this long to appear."
"You mean… Professor Lockhart?" Hermione's eyes lit up with excitement. She clearly hadn't lost faith in him yet.
"This kind of showy spectacle has him written all over it," Louis said dryly.
The moment they stepped through the Great Hall doors, they were greeted by a massive dueling platform replacing the long tables.
"Oh! That's… shiny," Louis muttered, squinting a little. "Now do you still think I'm wrong?"
"But Professor Lockhart leading the club isn't that bad," Hermione argued earnestly. "His experiences are far more thrilling than any ordinary duel."
"Unless he's got half the power his books claim, tonight's going to be ugly," Louis said, eyes narrowing as he spotted Snape in the crowd. Judging by that expression, it wasn't hard to imagine how thoroughly he intended to destroy the boastful Lockhart.
Seriously—what part of Lockhart's brain had short-circuited enough to think making Snape his 'demonstration partner' was a good idea?
Did he really think the Potions Master was some harmless academic who couldn't duel?
Please. This was the man who, as a teenager, had invented his own Dark Magic.
His Sectumsempra could shred through most curses, rivaled only by the three Unforgivable Curses themselves.
With Snape's mastery of magic, he could mop the floor with Lockhart.
And yet, Lockhart looked absolutely smug, thinking he'd cleverly avoided dueling "the Dueling Champion" and "the Transfiguration Expert," without realizing he'd just walked into a far bigger trap.
When everyone had arrived, the Great Hall was packed—every student eager to watch the show.
Under the bright lights and countless eyes, Gilderoy Lockhart strutted onto the stage wearing his most dazzling smile, clad in his shiniest, most expensive robes—standing in absurd contrast beside Snape's pitch-black ones.
"Good evening, everyone! Please, settle down—how else will you hear my voice?"
He basked in the crowd's admiration. The sparkling eyes of the young witches nearly made him melt.
"With Professor Dumbledore's permission, I have established this Dueling Club to teach you all how to defend yourselves in times of danger—against dark magic, or even monsters!"
He flicked his robes dramatically for emphasis. "Just as I have done countless times. You're lucky, really—you can read all about my heroic deeds in my books."
The audience cheered—mostly the girls, of course.
"And tonight, I am honored to have your very own Professor Snape as my assistant! He tells me he's made a few small contributions to dueling magic himself—though, naturally, they pale in comparison to mine…"
Lockhart completely ignored the deepening shadows darkening Snape's expression and kept rambling.
"Don't worry, everyone—I'll make sure your Potions Master returns to you safe and sound!" he said with a wink.
"The duel will begin shortly! Now, don't be nervous—this is merely a demonstration. Professor Snape and I will show you how a proper duel proceeds. Remember, this is for display, not to kill each other!"
Lockhart turned toward the visibly brooding Snape and felt a flicker of satisfaction.
He actually thought Snape looked nervous.
"Now then, to begin—we must first bow to one another. It's a matter of etiquette—very important! Anyone who attacks before bowing would be considered a coward!"
Apparently, Lockhart had somehow merged his ridiculous sense of chivalry into wizard dueling. Though long-winded, it sounded legitimate enough to fool the crowd.
"Next, we raise our wands, begin the count, and at three, the duel officially starts. Each side casts their first spell."
"Professor Snape, are you ready?" Lockhart beamed.
"Of course," Snape said coolly—almost eagerly, as if restraining the urge to blast him into a wall immediately.
"Excellent! Then I'll begin the count—"
At that moment, Lockhart looked every bit the gallant knight about to challenge a dark overlord. And Snape, naturally, was the dark overlord himself—cold and composed.
The only problem? The "knight" had no idea he was already doomed.
Lockhart barely finished counting to three when a flash of red light slammed into his leg.
"Expelliarmus."
Snape's voice was quiet, almost lazy, his wand raised.
The spell had struck before the incantation left his lips—classic silent casting, a technique far beyond Lockhart's understanding.
The spoken words were just for courtesy.
Lockhart was flung backward, tumbling the length of the platform before smashing into the far wall. He lay there sprawled and groaning, not moving for several long seconds.
His wand spun gracefully through the air—and landed neatly in Snape's hand.
The duel had begun—and ended—before most students even realized what happened.
---
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