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A deep, fearful silence hung over the Great Hall. The students, who moments before had been watching a farcical duel, were now processing the brutal, unflinching lesson they had just received. The three Unforgivable Curses were no longer just ghost stories whispered in the dark; they were real, terrifying, and they had just witnessed them in action.
"Because they are so dangerous," Hermione's voice became clear and sharp again, pulling them from their horrified stupor, "and because they are nearly impossible to defend against, my personal advice, should you ever find yourself facing a true Dark Wizard, is simple."
She paused, her cold, analytical gaze sweeping over the sea of young, impressionable faces. "Strike first. Strike hard. And show no mercy."
Snape's entire body went rigid. This isn't Defense Against the Dark Arts, he thought, a wave of pure, cold fury washing over him. This is the Durmstrang curriculum. She was teaching these children not to defend, but to kill. He flicked his black robes, about to step forward, to put a stop to this madness before she started handing out copies of The Anarchist's Spellbook.
"Therefore," she continued, her tone suddenly shifting, becoming bright and professorial again, "the Disarming Charm, Expelliarmus, will be the most important defensive spell you learn. It is the foundation upon which all other dueling rests." She turned, a sweet, innocent smile on her face, and gestured towards Lockhart. "And now, Professor Lockhart has graciously agreed to demonstrate its proper usage for us!"
Snape stopped dead in his tracks, the angry retort dying on his lips. A crack appeared in his furious expression. She had pulled back from the brink. She had been testing him, seeing how far she could push the lesson before he intervened. He was relieved, but also deeply, profoundly unnerved. He had seen the look in her eyes as she cast the Killing Curse. The cold, dispassionate focus. The absolute lack of hesitation. It was a look he had not seen since he had last looked his master in the eye.
A smattering of hesitant applause broke out. Lockhart, seeing his chance to reclaim the spotlight, bounded to the center of the stage. "Yes! Thank you, Miss Granger!" he boomed. "An excellent, if rather dramatic, introduction! Now, for a proper demonstration, I shall require a volunteer. Professor Snape, if you would be so kind?"
Lockhart's original plan had been to duel Hermione, but after witnessing her casual display of the Unforgivable Curses, he had wisely reconsidered. He looked at Snape. A greasy, unpopular Potions Master, he thought with a surge of confidence. How hard can he be?
Snape looked at Lockhart as if he were a particularly disgusting potion ingredient he was about to chop up. But he gave a curt, reluctant nod and stalked to the center of the stage, his black robes billowing behind him.
"Don't worry, Harry," Lockhart called out to the crowd with a dazzling wink. "I'll go easy on him. I'll be sure to return your dear Potions Master to you in one piece!"
Snape's lip curled into a silent, venomous snarl. He just raised his wand.
The two wizards bowed, Lockhart with a theatrical flourish, Snape with a stiff, contemptuous nod. They turned, walked ten paces, and spun around. Lockhart immediately struck a ridiculous, over-the-top dueling pose.
"On the count of three," he declared. "One… two…"
"Expelliarmus!" Snape's voice was a bored, lazy drawl.
A jet of scarlet light shot from his wand. It wasn't fast. It wasn't powerful. It was a slow, almost gentle cast. And Lockhart, who was still in the middle of his dramatic countdown, was completely unprepared for it. The spell hit him square in the chest, and he was lifted off his feet, flying backward through the air in a comical, undignified arc before landing in a heap at the far end of the stage. His wand went skittering across the floor.
The hall was silent. No one was surprised.
Lockhart lay there for a moment, a dazed, confused look on his handsome face. He quickly scrambled to his feet, dusting off his robes. "An excellent demonstration!" he announced, his voice a little shaky. "A fine example of the Disarming Charm! Though, I must say, Professor Snape, your intent was a little too obvious. An expert duelist like myself could see it coming a mile away. I simply chose to allow it to hit me, for… educational purposes."
A wave of poorly suppressed snickers rippled through the student body. Even Luna Lovegood, who had been dreamily observing the whole affair, let out a soft, musical giggle.
Snape just stared at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated loathing.
"Right then!" Lockhart said, desperate to change the subject. "Now, let's have a pair of volunteers from the audience!" He scanned the crowd. "Professor Snape, perhaps you would like to choose a student from your own house? And I shall select a champion from Gryffindor."
Snape's cold, black eyes swept over the Slytherin students. They landed on Draco Malfoy. "Malfoy," he said, his voice flat. "Get up here."
Lockhart, meanwhile, had spotted Hermione sharing a chocolate frog with Luna. "And Miss Granger!" he boomed. "I believe the entire school is eager to see you in action once more!"
The moment the words left his mouth, a piercing, terrified scream echoed through the hall.
Draco Malfoy, who had been starting to walk towards the stage, suddenly stumbled, his legs giving out from under him. He fell to the ground, his face a mask of pure, abject terror.
"No!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with a fear that was primal and absolute. "Not her! Please, change partners! Anyone but her!" He began to scramble backward on his hands and feet, away from the stage, away from Hermione, his eyes wide with a horror that no one could understand.
"Don't let her come over here!" he screamed, his voice dissolving into a pathetic, whimpering sob. He finally backed into Snape's legs and clung to them as if they were a life raft in a stormy sea, completely abandoning the last, tattered shreds of his pure-blood pride.
The entire hall just stared, stunned into a new kind of silence. Snape, who had been looking down at Malfoy with an expression of profound disgust, was now the one who looked surprised. He slowly raised his head, his dark, questioning eyes locking onto Hermione. His expression was no longer one of anger or irritation. It was one of genuine, deep, and troubled confusion, as if he were silently asking:
What in Merlin's name did you do to that boy?