"What a shame I didn't get to see that duel. I bet it was an absolutely thrilling showdown," Lockhart said, not for the first time, during one of his classes after hearing about Hermione single-handedly trouncing a sixth-year prefect.
"But it's given me a brilliant idea. I'm planning a little secret event that's sure to surprise everyone."
Lockhart had a knack for riding the wave of gossip, always managing to turn attention back to himself. He was good at it—though, more often than not, his grand plans ended up crashing and burning, coming off as nothing more than attention-grabbing stunts.
Still, you couldn't deny his flair.
"I bet you're all dying to know what it is," he teased, flashing a dazzling smile, his pearly whites practically sparkling.
Honestly, he shouldn't be wasting his time trying to sell shampoo. The Potter family's signature shampoo already dominated the market—untouchable, irreplaceable. Despite Lockhart's relentless marketing, his shampoo barely sold, with only a handful of diehard fans buying in.
He'd do better endorsing toothpaste. That smile alone could sell a truckload.
Lockhart's mysterious act did pique the curiosity of quite a few young witches and wizards. He was a professor, after all—surely he wouldn't waste their time with something completely pointless, right? But whenever they pressed him for details, he clammed up.
"You'll find out Monday morning," he'd say, keeping up the air of mystery.
Monday morning arrived as promised. After morning training, the Discipline Committee members returned to the castle and spotted a small crowd of students gathered around the notice board, reading a freshly pinned parchment.
"Probably another one of Lockhart's silly stunts," Ron said with a scoff. "What is it this time? Catching a nest of Veela?"
If anyone in the Discipline Committee had a bone to pick with Lockhart, it was Ron. His mother and sister were huge fans of his books. Sure, Ginny had cooled off on Lockhart since starting at Hogwarts and seeing the man in person, but Mrs. Weasley was still starstruck. The Weasleys weren't exactly rolling in Galleons, and Lockhart's books were outrageously expensive. The set required for second year alone was a massive expense, and even though Ron had made a bit of money last year, it wasn't nearly enough to cover it.
Plus, every Knut he earned went to gifts for his family. He hadn't even upgraded his secondhand wand or replaced his pet. Like Neville, Ron was stuck with a hand-me-down wand—his from one of his brothers, Neville's from his father.
"You might be wrong about that," Dudley said softly, glancing at the parchment. "He's actually done something decent for once."
"Duelists' Club? Hosted by Lockhart?"
Hermione read the notice aloud, her expression skeptical. "Dueling? Lockhart? Him?"
The last word dripped with disdain.
Hermione was usually respectful toward professors, but only if they earned it through skill or character. Lockhart? His abilities were questionable at best, and his character… well, there were rumors swirling among the older students lately.
The romantic kind.
Hermione was quietly gathering evidence. If those rumors were true, Lockhart wouldn't just be sacked from Hogwarts—he'd be facing serious charges. Molestation of underage witches and wizards was no small crime in the magical world. Even if it didn't land him in Azkaban, he'd be dragged before the Wizengamot.
"Professors Snape and Flitwick agreed to this?" Neville said, reading further down the parchment.
Below Lockhart's name, in smaller print, were the names of Professors Snape and Flitwick.
No question about it—the notice was pure Lockhart. Only he'd make himself the centerpiece like that.
"What kind of Confundus Charm did that guy cast on them?" Ron wondered aloud.
Flitwick made sense—he was supposedly a dueling champion in his youth, so a Duelists' Club might appeal to him. But Snape? Snape wasn't exactly the type to get excited about social gatherings.
Harry could vouch for that. Every private lesson with Snape was far from pleasant.
"I doubt Lockhart could pull off a Confundus Charm," Ron quipped, slipping into his role as the group's resident snarker. "Maybe he just annoyed them into agreeing."
"Your brain's finally working, Weasley. This might be the closest you've ever gotten to the truth, Romeo," Malfoy shot back, his tone dripping with mockery.
This was their routine: Ron threw out a jab, Malfoy fired back with a sharper one, and Harry occasionally got caught in the crossfire.
"Stop slapping me with weird nicknames! Watch it, or I'll teach you a lesson tonight and yank out every strand of that not-gold-not-silver hair of yours!" Ron snapped.
The Duelists' Club's first meeting was set for that evening.
"It's platinum, you uncultured donkey," Malfoy retorted. He could brush off most insults, but mention his hair, and he'd lose it.
"I'll shove that red head of yours right up your—"
"Come on, bring it!"
"Looks like we're all in for tonight, so get ready," Dudley said, raising his voice slightly. "Harry."
It took a moment for Harry to respond with a distracted "Hm?"
"You've been out of it during training lately. Always zoning out, not listening when we talk," Dudley said, clearly unimpressed. "Tonight, you're dueling Neville. One-on-one."
"I want to see if you've improved or regressed."
Dudley wasn't happy with Harry's recent behavior. He wouldn't say what was wrong, which meant something was definitely up. Neville was chosen because he'd made the most progress lately.
That evening at eight, the long dining tables vanished, replaced by a gilded stage along one wall, lit by hundreds of floating candles. The ceiling was a velvety black, and nearly every student showed up, wands in hand, buzzing with excitement.
"Who's teaching us dueling techniques for the first lesson?" the young witches and wizards whispered among themselves.
"I bet it's Professor Flitwick. He was a dueling champion back in the day!"
That guess usually came from Ravenclaws.
"It's got to be Professor Snape. He's one of the strongest wizards I've ever seen."
That one was from Slytherins, naturally backing their Head of House.
People threw out all sorts of guesses—some Gryffindors even suggested Hagrid.
Ron, grinning, tossed out a joke. "Surely it can't be Lockhart himself, right?"
No way Lockhart lacked that much self-awareness… right?