The magical ceiling of the Great Hall mimicked a stormy, moonless night, cloaking everything in darkness.
Flickering candlelight gave way to torches flaring to life along the walls, their glow spreading beyond the stage.
Students practicing dueling were paired off, scattered across the hall. Their eyes sparkled with excitement. Ever since witnessing Professor Levent's duel with Professor Snape, everyone was itching to try their own. They couldn't wait to start.
Ignoring Lockhart's incessant chatter, the young witches and wizards mimicked the poised stances of the more serious professors, bowing to each other and brandishing their wands.
The hall buzzed with energy.
Older students managed well enough, pulling off textbook spells with flair, trading blows in heated exchanges.
Younger students struggled. With only a handful of basic spells in their arsenal, they repeated the same standard incantations. You didn't even need to hear the spell—just watch the wand movement to know what was coming and counter with something similar.
It was dull, and both sides found it boring.
To make matters worse, Lockhart had grouped them by house, mixing the four houses in various combinations.
Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw pairs got along fine. With no bad blood, they treated the dull duels like a club activity—practice, nothing more.
Gryffindor and Slytherin matchups were another story. Last year's brawl and lingering Quidditch rivalries fueled their animosity. School rules usually kept things in check, but now, in dueling practice, they faced off like sworn enemies, eyes blazing.
Thanks to Lockhart's "perfect" pairings, Hermione was pitted against Millicent, a burly second-year Slytherin witch. Tall, stocky, and solid, Millicent's double chin wobbled as she sneered down at Hermione.
Hermione, wary of letting such an opponent get close, stuck to tactics from her tutoring sessions, maintaining a safe casting distance to avoid a physical rush.
One was lean and agile, the other sturdy but slow. Drawing on experience from two essays' worth of dueling theory, Hermione quickly controlled the pace, leading Millicent in circles around the arena.
Their duel drew a crowd of onlookers.
Perhaps recalling their Quidditch rivalry, Lockhart paired Harry with Draco, letting the two Seekers continue their feud on the dueling stage.
Draco, a pure-blood raised in a magical family, had played dueling games with friends before Hogwarts and learned a few non-textbook spells in his family's study. He saw no reason he couldn't beat Harry, who'd grown up with Muggles.
As Lockhart counted down to two, Draco flicked his wand early, firing off a spell the moment the countdown ended.
It was a minor hex, nameless, something he'd picked up somewhere. It felt like a cauldron smacking your head—painful but not harmful, weak but quick to cast.
Harry hadn't expected Draco to break dueling etiquette by attacking early. Caught off guard, he took the hit, his forehead throbbing with irritation.
Snapping back, Harry fired a Tickling Charm. Silver light hit Draco, who burst into uncontrollable laughter, gasping and clutching his stomach until he collapsed, twitching. It took a while for him to recover, glaring as he aimed his wand at Harry again.
Harry, trained systematically in tutoring, stayed alert, watching Draco's every move.
For both, the real duel was just beginning.
Tarantallegra!
Rictusempra!
Stupefy!
Expelliarmus!
Draco, burning with resentment, wanted to pay Harry back for every slight, to win back his Quidditch losses. Each spell was cast with venom, aiming for a decisive blow.
But the fight was tougher than he'd expected.
Harry approached it differently. He'd analyzed classic duels in theory, written inches of essays, and practiced with Hermione, the academic star. He cast spells with precise timing, unconcerned with landing hits. Whether Draco blocked or dodged, Harry drew him into his rhythm.
The difference in mindset quickly showed. Within a few rounds, Harry gained the upper hand.
Draco felt the strain, sensing victory slipping away. Gritting his teeth, he shouted, "Serpensortia!"
His wand exploded with a bang, and a sleek black snake shot out, its scales glinting ominously, baring venomous fangs that screamed danger.
The surrounding students, already watching the intense duel, screamed and backed away, clearing a space.
The moment he cast the spell, Draco regretted it. Unlike the earlier hex, this was dark magic—a venomous curse. If strictly enforced, he'd broken school rules, facing point deductions or detention.
Facing the snake, Harry acted strangely. His eyes glazed over, and instead of fear, he stepped forward, seemingly unbothered by the venom.
Ron and Hermione, who'd finished their duels, exchanged worried glances.
"Hiss—"
As Harry's lips moved, about to speak, a hand landed on his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance. He looked up into Professor Levent's calm, dark eyes.
"Evanesco!"
Snape strode by, his wand flashing white light, turning the snake into a wisp of black smoke.
Three minutes later.
"That's all for today's dueling practice. We had a slight hiccup, but it doesn't overshadow the success of our first Dueling Club meeting. Since it's Draco's first offense, as the club's supervising professor, I'll let it slide…"
Lockhart stood on the stage, grinning. "We'll hold these every Friday night. All interested students are welcome!"
The event ended.
Harry, frowning, spoke in a low voice. "I almost used Parseltongue."
He was still worried. "Parseltongue is bad news—only dark wizards have it. If I'd spoken it in front of everyone, they'd think I'm a monster."
"We know," Hermione said, walking beside him. "We tried signaling you, but you didn't see. Ron whispered to you, but you didn't hear. Thank Merlin Professors Levent and Snape stepped in."
Harry's expression was mixed. "Never thought I'd be grateful to Snape… Professor Snape."
Before he could say more, Draco appeared out of nowhere, blocking his path. "What're you lot whispering about?"
"None of your business!" Ron snapped.
"You… you…" Draco faltered, stung by the retort. Remembering his earlier curse, he held back a curse of his own, gritting out, "You're a disgrace to pure-bloods!"
Ron smirked. "Right, and you're the shining example, casting sneaky venomous curses in front of the whole school."
Draco clenched his fists, unwilling to tangle with this "pure-blood shame." He turned to Harry. "You won today, but don't get cocky. I just picked the wrong spell. Next week's Dueling Club, same matchup—you in?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
Harry shrugged. "Next week's the Christmas holidays. No Dueling Club."
"…"
Draco was speechless, frustration boiling over.
Ron piled on. "We're staying at school. If you stay, we could duel. You staying? Oh, wait, Draco's going home to Mummy for her homemade apple pie…"
Draco's neck flushed red with anger. "Only you Weasleys have to cook for yourselves! We have a house-elf!"
"House-elf…"
Harry's mind flashed to an ugly face. "What's your house-elf's name?"
Draco lifted his chin, smug. "Dobby. Why? Want one? Dream on. House-elves are for proper pure-blood families. If you—"
"!!!"
Harry's eyes widened.
He tuned out Draco's taunts, grabbing Ron and Hermione's arms and shaking them. "Dobby! Did you hear that? Dobby!"
Draco froze, baffled by Harry's reaction.
It's just a house-elf. What's the big deal?
Harry babbled incomprehensible things to his friends. Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, seeming to reach some silent agreement, then rushed upstairs, vanishing around a corner.
"No answer to my duel challenge? So rude!" Draco muttered.
…
Normally, climbing to the common room took ten minutes. Today, they made it in five.
The trio reached the Gryffindor common room well before curfew. It was nearly empty. They huddled in their usual homework corner, whispering so only they could hear.
After leaving the hospital wing, Harry had shared Dobby's warning with them. They'd dissected the house-elf's cryptic hints but couldn't pin down which professor was dealing with an outside dark wizard—until tonight, when they learned Dobby was the Malfoys' elf.
Harry leaned against the wall, images of Knockturn Alley flashing in his mind. He'd connected all the clues.
"I've got it! I know everything!"
Harry felt sharper than ever. "Dobby's the Malfoys' elf, so Lucius Malfoy is plotting something evil against the school. He made a deal with Professor Levent at Borgin and Burkes!"
Ron, sitting beside him, frowned. "But why would Professor Levent hurt us? If he meant you harm, he wouldn't have helped you in Knockturn Alley. If he wanted to hurt us, he could've done it in the spider nest."
He muttered, "Speaking of spiders, I haven't seen any in the castle lately."
Harry's brilliant deduction hit a snag, his brow furrowing.
Hermione ventured hesitantly, "What if Professor Levent was forced into it? Maybe he didn't want to deal with Malfoy but had no choice. Yet he hasn't carried out the evil plan…"
She'd always sensed the professor was hiding something but could never prove it. This theory tied up all the loose ends.
"That's it!" Her eyes sparkled, words flowing faster. "He can't reveal the plan directly, so he's been dropping hints to guide us to the truth. He's on our side!"
Ron scratched his head. "But what's Malfoy's plan got to do with Hagrid?"
"Don't you get it?"
Harry was starting to think his roommate wasn't the sharpest at this. "The Acromantula didn't kill Myrtle. There's a real Chamber of Secrets monster in the castle, and Malfoy's plot is tied to it!"
"Hagrid's innocent, and Malfoy's the culprit!" Ron's eyes lit up, then he frowned. "But they weren't even at school together. Hagrid's almost seventy, and Malfoy's about my dad's age. How could he be the culprit?"
"…"
Harry shot Ron a look. Brilliant at wizard chess, hopeless at deductions. He simplified it. "Malfoy's not the killer. He's planning to unleash the monster again to attack students and disrupt Hogwarts."
Ron finally got it.
Classic Malfoy move—never at the crime scene, but their fingerprints all over the wand, as the old wizarding saying went.
He asked solemnly, "What do we do now?"
"The key is figuring out what the monster is and where it's hiding," Hermione said, frowning.
Harry nodded, deep in thought, his brow creased.
"…" Ron paused for two seconds. "Can't we just ask Professor Levent?"
"We can't," Hermione said. "If he's bound by a magical contract with a dark wizard, he can't just tell us. Why else would he drop hints instead of coming clean?"
"It's so complicated," Ron groaned.
The trio sat in their corner, mulling it over for ages with no answers. They'd unraveled the plot but were stuck at square one.
"Left by Slytherin."
"Feared by Acromantulas."
"Yellow eyes."
Each whispered a clue, racking their brains for monsters that fit, but nothing clicked. When curfew hit and Percy, the prefect, ushered them to their dorms, they trudged off in silence.
Harry couldn't stop thinking about it. He barely noticed changing or brushing his teeth. Lying in bed, the clues still swirled in his head.
Drifting into a hazy sleep, he heard strange words in a half-dream.
A cold voice seemed to hiss complaints:
"Food… delicious…"
"Lined up in the pipes… one by one…"
"Roasted spiders…"
The voice faded into meaningless hisses. In the low, serpentine sound, Harry dreamed of dueling Draco, of the venomous snake with its gleaming yellow eyes.
"!!"
Morning light streamed through the window, and Harry jolted awake.