"Come forward, gather round! Can everyone see me? Hear me?"
"As announced, Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to start a Duelling Club. With my extensive experience, I'll teach you how to protect yourselves properly. You might've read about this in books, but words are no substitute for real instruction…"
In the Great Hall, the long tables and staff dais had been cleared away, replaced by a temporary gilded stage. Hundreds of candles floated in the air, and the enchanted ceiling shimmered like black velvet, evoking a theater's curtain.
Lockhart stood in a resplendent plum-colored robe, his meticulously styled hair gleaming, his smile dazzling. He practically glowed like the star of a stage play.
At the side entrance, Professor Sprout couldn't help but mutter, "It's just a club opening. Why's he dressed like that?"
Professor Flitwick was equally puzzled. "He needs approval for even basic teaching supplies. How'd he get all these candles for the stage? Did Minerva sign off on this?"
McGonagall couldn't answer—she was upstairs reviewing the Christmas stay-over list, skipping tonight's event.
The professors' eyes turned to Dumbledore, standing in the corner.
Dumbledore spread his hands with a shrug, feigning ignorance. Just a headmaster who stays out of things, apparently.
Classic Dumbledore, Melvin thought, rolling his eyes. A few days ago, while admiring the snow in the courtyard, the old wizard had dropped cryptic hints about Horcruxes without fully committing—typical riddle-man behavior.
Fine, you don't spill, I won't either…
Melvin had played dumb too, steering the conversation into a half-hour philosophical ramble. They'd reached some unspoken understanding, and the Horcrux topic fizzled out.
But the stage decorations? That he could explain.
"Leftover candles from last year's Christmas feast," Melvin said. "Found them while clearing the storage room. We got new ones this year, so these were free for Lockhart's club."
"Why didn't I get any for my teaching tools?" Flitwick grumbled, eyeing the eager students below and shaking his head. They were in for a disappointment.
The gilded stage was packed with students from every house, shoulder to shoulder, clutching their wands, faces alight with excitement. When the Duelling Club notice went up, it spread like wildfire. Compared to choir, drama, or gobstones, a club about combat and magic was a magnet for attention.
Lockhart's first few months at Hogwarts had been underwhelming, but he'd settled in, repaired his damaged wand, and now his reputation as a legendary adventurer made his duelling lessons highly anticipated.
After days of buzz, the club's opening drew nearly every student in the school.
"Welcome again, everyone!" Lockhart's voice boomed, reaching every corner of the hall.
The spotlight, the adoring cheers—it was intoxicating. No potion, not even a Cheering Charm, could match this high. Lockhart basked in the praise, every nerve tingling with delight.
He'd planned to suppress his ego, channeling the poise of an old wizard from Snow Village for the opening. But the temptation was too much. Why wait until after the event to savor the glory in his office?
As for ensuring a quality lesson and handling the crowd, Lockhart was prepared. He cleared his throat. "First, let me introduce my assistant—Professor Snape!"
The Potions professor, always lurking in his sunless dungeon, fussing over cauldrons and specimens, looked frail and unsuited for duelling.
Could there be a better assistant?
Lockhart grinned. "Professor Snape claims to know a thing or two about duelling and has kindly agreed to help me with a little demonstration before the real lessons begin."
Snape stepped from the shadows, his lips curling into a faint, forced smile.
The students, only now noticing the assistant, gasped when they realized it was Snape. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Harry sucked in a breath, whispering to his friends, "If Snape smiled at me like that, I'd run."
Ron nodded vigorously, in full agreement.
Hermione stayed silent, but her expression said she agreed.
"Listen up, little ones, no need to worry!" Lockhart called. "After our demonstration, we'll return your Potions teacher to you, safe and sound!"
Snape's smile didn't waver.
The watching professors exchanged glances, a mix of pity and amusement in their eyes.
Sprout sighed. "Good luck to him."
---
"One, two, three!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Bang!
Lockhart flew backward, slamming into the wall and sliding to the floor, crumpled on the carpet. His bones felt like they'd shattered, his vision darkened, and he could barely breathe.
His first thought: My robe's torn. Then it hit him—he'd picked the wrong assistant.
This Potions professor wasn't just good with cauldrons. He was a duelist.
Cough, cough…
Lockhart staggered to his feet, wobbling back onto the stage, scrambling to save face. "Well, there you go! I just demonstrated the Disarming Charm, which, as you saw, made me lose my wand. My wand…"
He glanced around. Lavender Brown, in the front row, handed it back, her expression unreadable.
"Thank you, Miss Brown." Lockhart took the wand, his mind racing for a recovery. "Nice move, Professor Snape, but it was a bit obvious. I could've blocked it easily, but I let it through for the students' benefit. Now, how about you cooperate with me…"
Snape's eyes glinted coldly.
Lockhart faltered, his gaze darting around until it landed on the watching professors. "Levent… Professor Levent!" he called, seizing the moment. "Professor Levent and I have great chemistry. We'll give you a better show. Professor Levent? Where are you?"
He was sure Melvin would play along. And if he didn't? Well, how skilled could such a young professor be? Lockhart's face flushed with excitement. Even when Melvin shook his head, Lockhart turned to the students. "Let's give Professor Levent some applause, shall we?"
The students erupted in cheers.
The other professors stifled laughter, eager for the spectacle.
Melvin's expression soured. Why are these kids egging this on?
Didn't they see Snape wipe the floor with Lockhart without breaking a smile?
Duelling had a certain etiquette, like medieval knightly jousts or Wild West shootouts. You needed evenly matched opponents. Beating Lockhart wasn't satisfying, but losing to him? That'd be mortifying for months.
Amid the clamor, Snape tilted his head, sneering softly at Lockhart. "Did you forget? He's about to receive a Merlin Medal."
Lockhart froze, his smile stiffening.
Melvin Levent had quelled a multi-headed dragon rampage in Romania and taken down a gang of dark wizards stealing dragon eggs. The Romanian Ministry nominated him for a First-Class Order of Merlin, though the Merlin Knights later adjusted it to Second-Class. The ceremony was still pending.
A young professor who could handle dragons and dark wizards? Lockhart's confidence wavered. Would Melvin play along?
If not…
Lockhart touched his aching stomach, wondering if he should fake a concussion and pass out to get through the night.
Snape, reading his expression, stepped past him to the stage's edge. As the students' cheers died down, he said calmly, "I'll demonstrate with Professor Levent."
Lockhart slunk back, muttering excuses about feeling off, a damaged wand, or a head cold, noticed only by a few sharp-eyed students in the front.
Melvin glanced at Dumbledore, who offered no protest, and made his way through the parting crowd to the stage.
About thirty seconds later, under the eyes of the entire school, Melvin and Snape faced each other, bowed, raised their wands, and counted down in unison:
"Ready—three, two, one!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!"
A brilliant red beam shot across the stage, only to be stopped by an invisible shield, the collision sparking dazzling light.
Melvin flicked his wand, redirecting the red beam. Snape countered with another Disarming Charm, the two beams clashing into a shower of sparkling fragments.
The sparks mingled with the floating candlelight, a breathtaking display.
The Disarming Charm that had sent Lockhart flying was, in their hands, like a tame prop.
One spell ended, another began.
"Stupefy!"
"Protego!"
The hall fell silent, only the professors' incantations ringing out, spells whistling through the air. Some younger witches gasped in awe.
As they calmed, they realized this was no fierce duel like they'd imagined. The professors traded moves—one attacking, the other defending, then seizing the chance to counter. The spells were aimed at upper-year students' level, just challenging enough but within reach.
Their casting was slow, deliberate, like textbook illustrations brought to life.
They showcased rhythm, a true wizard's duel slowed down and broken apart so every student could follow.
"Immobulus!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Percy and his girlfriend Penelope stood in the front row, eyes unblinking, unwilling to miss a single move, their eyes red from strain.
The other students were equally mesmerized.
The watching professors noticed something deeper. Flitwick, a duelling master, squinted at the two figures, chuckling softly. "I knew they wouldn't play nice together…"
After a few more exchanges, the crowd noticed the spells' collisions growing heavier, like boulders crashing together.
Percy and Penelope, standing close, felt a breeze from the spells whip past, ruffling their hair. Percy refused to blink, tears welling in his eyes.
"Confringo!"
"Diffindo!"
Defensive and offensive spells sliced through the air, streaking across the stage. The duel had heated up, but the professors remained unhurried, displaying every detail clearly. Their wand movements were precise, fluid, almost elegant.
"Sectumsempra!"
"Fiendfyre!"
Boom!
The final clash of dark magic sent orange-red flames, tinged with scarlet, spraying outward. Just before they reached the stage's edge, an invisible bubble contained them, and the blazing light faded silently.
Both professors stopped, bowing to each other, their silhouettes etched against the hall's walls.
The students' eyes followed them off the stage, barely registering Lockhart's return as he rambled on.
"So, who's better—Professor Levent or Professor Snape?" Seamus, ever the instigator, sparked a debate.
"Levent. He took down a dragon!" said a well-informed Hufflepuff.
"Snape. He could poison Levent," quipped a Slytherin, slandering their own head of house.
Lavender tried to join in. "What about Professor Lockhart?"
Every student, regardless of house, glanced at the disheveled professor—torn robe, mussed curls, still spouting self-aggrandizing nonsense. They gave him a collective look of disdain.
Lockhart, oblivious or uncaring, pressed on. "That was a splendid exhibition match, but it had flaws. Their casting was too slow. Against a yeti or werewolf, they'd be torn apart before finishing a spell.
"That's enough demonstration! Now, pair up and start practicing your duels. Let's get to real duelling!"
---
"Fiendfyre?" Snape shot Melvin a pointed look as they rejoined the watching professors. "You're quite adept at dark magic, Professor Levent. Surprising."
"And you're quite skilled at proper duelling, Professor Snape. Equally surprising," Melvin replied lightly.
Snape's face darkened.
The other professors stifled laughs.
Melvin's faint smile lingered. He'd had his biases about Snape—the dour double agent who lived for potions and dark magic. This duel shifted his view. The man was more than capable of teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.