Lockhart and Snape walked to opposite ends of the gleaming golden stage.
Maurise knew exactly how this was going to end. He honestly could not understand how Lockhart, knowing perfectly well that his magical skills were practically nonexistent, could still maintain that suffocatingly confident, "I-have-everything-under-control" attitude. The man's sheer audacity was borderline psychotic.
Lockhart assumed a highly exaggerated, flamboyant dueling stance, brandishing his wand like a fencing foil. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells!" he announced loudly.
"One... two... three!"
"Expelliarmus."
Snape's incantation was spoken softly, almost lazily, but the wand movement was terrifyingly fast.
A concentrated, blinding beam of scarlet light blasted across the stage faster than the eye could follow.
BOOM!
Lockhart did not even have time to blink, let alone cast a Shield Charm. He was violently blasted off his feet, flying backward through the air like a ragdoll. He slammed heavily into the stone wall behind the stage, slid down, and crumpled onto the floor in a pathetic, groaning heap.
Tch, Maurise clicked his tongue. He had genuinely hoped Snape would use something far more vicious. Still, the sheer concussive force behind that simple Disarming Charm was incredibly impressive.
Lockhart staggered to his feet, his golden hair entirely ruined. He scrambled back onto the stage, desperately trying to salvage his dignity. "Aha! Splendid! An excellent demonstration! That is exactly what I wanted to show you all! I... well, I allowed Professor Snape to disarm me, you see. It was purely intentional, to properly demonstrate the effects of the spell!"
He spoke right over the mocking laughter rippling through the student body, selectively ignoring it with astonishing mental gymnastics.
Maurise suddenly realized that, in a highly specific, entirely twisted way, Lockhart possessed an incredibly resilient mind. To maintain his facade under such humiliating circumstances required a terrifying level of delusion. No wonder he had managed to con the entire magical world for so long. Astonishingly, even after that pathetic display, Maurise noticed several students still looking at Lockhart with genuine admiration.
Having poorly excused his defeat, Lockhart frantically shifted the focus. He announced that it was time for the students to practice in pairs.
The two professors stepped off the stage and began wading through the crowd, rapidly partnering students up.
Maurise soon found himself paired with Neville Longbottom.
The moment the chubby Gryffindor boy saw Maurise approaching, he let out a massive, audible sigh of relief.
"Hello," Neville whispered nervously. "I am so glad they paired me with you, Maurise. I thought I was going to get Malfoy."
Maurise looked at Neville, who was gripping his wand so tightly his knuckles were white. He offered a reassuring nod. "Let us move over to the side."
The two of them slipped away from the chaotic center of the hall, finding a quiet corner near the tall windows.
Once they were settled, Maurise smiled gently at the trembling boy. "Relax, Neville. I am not going to duel you. Let us just do some simple target practice to start."
Neville's rigid shoulders finally dropped. "Alright."
He possessed absolutely zero confidence in his ability to cast a spell directly at another person, let alone a prodigy like Maurise.
Maurise tapped his wand lightly against the stone floor. Instantly, a smaller, grey-white skeleton, roughly five feet tall, materialized from thin air.
The construct stood perfectly still. It held a short bone sword in its right hand and a small, round bone buckler strapped to its left forearm, looking exactly like a disciplined foot soldier awaiting orders.
Neville's eyes widened to the size of saucers. He nearly dropped his wand. "Wh-what is that?!"
"This is your opponent, Neville," Maurise said, patting the boy's shoulder encouragingly. "It is entirely harmless. It has no offensive capabilities and will not retaliate. You can practice the Disarming Charm on it, or any other spell you feel comfortable with." He paused, adding with a cheeky smile, "Unless, of course, you would rather duel me?"
Neville shook his head so fast his chubby cheeks wobbled. "No! No, this is perfectly fine!"
Maurise had entirely expected that reaction. "Excellent. Let us begin. I know you have been practicing your charms quite diligently."
Hearing the subtle praise, Neville took a deep breath and focused his entire attention on the skeletal soldier.
Nearby, a small group of students had noticed the construct and gathered around to watch, whispering excitedly among themselves.
"That is Black's magical skeleton!" a Ravenclaw girl muttered, adjusting her glasses. "I saw him use those in the common room. They are incredibly tough."
Hearing the whispering, Neville's anxiety spiked again. He glanced nervously at Maurise. Seeing the Ravenclaw's calm, encouraging expression, Neville gritted his teeth. He raised his wand, firmly locking his wrist, and cast.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The Hover Charm struck the skeleton's bone sword perfectly. The weapon instantly slipped from the construct's bony fingers and floated gently into the air.
"Brilliant execution," Maurise praised smoothly.
Neville scratched the back of his head, a shy, proud smile breaking across his face. Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, he immediately cast another spell. "Locomotor Mortis!"
The Leg-Locker Curse shot out much faster than his previous spell. It struck the skeleton directly on the kneecaps. The construct's bony legs snapped tightly together, and it instantly toppled over, crashing onto the stone floor with a loud clatter.
Success!
Neville was absolutely ecstatic. He had never expected his spellwork to be so fluid and effective under pressure. It seemed his early morning practice sessions were finally paying off.
Maurise raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. The speed and accuracy of Neville's casting were undoubtedly far superior to the vast majority of the second-year students in the hall.
The surrounding students were equally stunned. Neville Longbottom had a universally accepted reputation for being incredibly clumsy, forgetful, and magically inept. This display entirely contradicted that image.
"Now, let us try the Disarming Charm," Maurise instructed. He flicked his wand. The skeleton's legs immediately unlocked. It scrambled awkwardly back to its feet, and the floating bone sword snapped securely back into its grip.
"The Disarming Charm? I do not know how to cast that yet," Neville admitted, looking lost.
"That is perfectly fine. We will learn it right now. The incantation is Expelliarmus, and the wand movement goes exactly like this."
Maurise slowly and deliberately demonstrated the sharp, slashing motion. "This will be a breeze for you, Neville. After all, you are a natural talent."
He deliberately projected his voice, making sure the surrounding students heard the word "talent."
Neville's face instantly turned the color of a ripe tomato.
"Go on, give it a try," Maurise urged cheerfully. "Remember the core principle. You must focus your intent entirely on forcefully ripping the weapon from your opponent's grasp."
Neville took several deep, steadying breaths.
His current mindset was surprisingly simple: If Maurise Black believes I can do this, then I can definitely do this.
Finally prepared, Neville pointed his wand directly at the skeleton and shouted with all his might, "Expelliarmus!"
Well, the raw power is certainly there! The moment the spell left Neville's wand, Maurise knew the magical output was incredibly potent. Unfortunately, the aiming trajectory had suffered a catastrophic failure.
The bright red jet of light shot out wildly. It completely missed the skeleton, curving in a bizarre, impossible arc straight toward the center of the Great Hall... directly at Severus Snape, who was standing with his arms crossed, aggressively scolding a Hufflepuff.
Snape did not even turn around. With a near-imperceptible flick of his wrist, a translucent Protego shield instantly materialized behind his back.
BANG!
Neville's stray Disarming Charm smashed violently into the magical barrier, exploding into a shower of harmless red sparks.
Naturally, the spell failed to break the professor's shield.
Snape slowly turned around. His face was thunderous, his dark eyes practically radiating lethal intent.
The surrounding students instantly gasped, clapping their hands over their mouths in absolute horror.
A nearby Gryffindor, watching the chaos unfold, offered Neville a massive thumbs-up and announced loudly, "I have clearly underestimated you, Longbottom! I cannot believe you actually tried to assassinate Snape!"
Why on earth did you yell that?! Neville clutched his wand to his chest, shaking so violently he looked like he might vibrate into another dimension. Should he make a run for the Gryffindor Tower? Would Snape track him down?
Before he could formulate an escape plan, Snape was already sweeping toward them like an oversized, extremely angry bat.
"Professor Snape," Maurise immediately stepped forward, acting as a buffer. "That was entirely an accident."
He knew the Potions Master was generally quite lenient with him. He hoped to deflect some of the man's wrath.
"Mind your wand trajectory, Longbottom," Snape hissed, his icy glare boring directly into Neville's soul before snapping over to Maurise. "And you, Black. I suggest you keep a tighter leash on your incompetent friends."
With a final, dramatic swirl of his black robes, Snape spun around and stalked away.
Neville finally exhaled a breath he had been holding for the last thirty seconds, looking as though he had just survived a brush with the Grim Reaper itself.