"Finite Incantatem!"
Snape's counter-spell cut off Arthur's Crystal Volley, and out of sheer reflex, he followed up with a Silencio.
A moment later, he realized that some of Arthur's spells didn't even require incantations to begin with.
Arthur simply lifted his wand and made a sweeping motion. A dozen translucent blades of light materialized above him — the Carian Phalanx.
The light blades slashed toward Snape, forcing him into a most undignified scramble to avoid them.
Taking advantage of the opening, Arthur drew his wand back as if pulling a bowstring — Loretta's Greatbow was taking form.
By the time Snape had dodged all the light blades and looked up again, he was greeted by the sight of Arthur holding a two-meter-long spectral bow — with an arrow thicker than a man's head nocked and ready.
Arthur released his grip.
The glowing arrow streaked across the air, leaving a beautiful ribbon of light in its wake — a shame Snape had no time to appreciate it.
He jumped off the stage without hesitation.
No way was he taking that hit head-on!
Sure, he could have blocked it — but not without resorting to dark magic, or worse, a full-on curse.
The arrow smashed into the wall behind where Snape had stood, blasting a two-meter-wide hole clean through it. Its momentum didn't stop there — it pierced into the wall of the adjacent classroom before slowly fading away.
Snape looked at the damage, wondering if he'd somehow offended Arthur recently. Otherwise, why was the boy using something that destructive against him?
The entire duel had lasted only a few minutes, yet the students watching below were utterly dazzled.
They turned to Snape with mixed expressions.
Professor, this was your idea of a demonstration?
Sorry, but none of them could even begin to copy what they'd just seen.
Hermione was the first to come to her senses. She began clapping enthusiastically — her eyes shining.
As Arthur's biggest fan, seeing him best, Snape had her positively elated.
Of course, in a real battle, Snape wouldn't necessarily have lost.
But this was a wizard's duel — and according to the rules, the moment you fall off the stage, you lose.
Snape decided that next time, he'd choose the venue himself. This peacock of a student had picked the most impractical place imaginable — no room to sidestep at all.
The Gryffindors around Hermione, jolted by her applause, began clapping too.
Arthur didn't seem to care. He gave Snape a polite bow, cast a Disillusionment Charm, and vanished without a trace.
Snape didn't comment. His goal in testing Arthur had already been achieved. Let the boy do as he pleased.
And as a small bonus, Lockhart had been knocked unconscious by the residual blast of their duel.
That cheered Snape up considerably — this meant the rest of the class was his.
"Alright," he said, tone brisk. "Let's continue. I'll demonstrate a few simple spells."
He performed several standard incantations for the class to watch, then flicked his wand a few times — the chairs stacked by the wall transformed into a row of wooden training dummies.
"Those of you unsure about your control, practice on the dummies. Those with confidence, stay on stage — defend or challenge whoever you like."
Then, remembering something, Snape added dryly:
"And one more thing — absolutely no dueling offstage. Unless, of course, you want to end up in an urn."
Draco Malfoy, who'd been training diligently with his godfather to avenge his earlier humiliation, could hardly believe his luck — an official duel with Potter, served to him on a silver platter.
He swaggered up to Harry and sneered. "Potter, fancy a duel?"
Whether it was the deliberate mispronunciation or something else, Harry accepted instantly.
They climbed onto the stage, wands at the ready.
Neither bothered with the traditional bow.
Snape began the count. "One… two… three — start!"
Draco struck first.
"Leviosa Inverso!"
A bolt of light hit Harry, flipping him upside down midair before he crashed onto the edge of the long table.
The Slytherins burst out laughing, especially Draco's two cronies, who nearly doubled over.
Gritting his teeth, Harry got up, and while Draco was still laughing, he swung his wand.
"Rictusempra!"
But the spell didn't work quite right. Instead of reducing Draco to helpless laughter, it merely knocked him backward — right onto the floor beside Snape.
Draco gave his godfather a sheepish grin, only to be grabbed by the collar and hauled back to his feet.
"Continue," Snape said curtly.
Draco raised his wand again. "Serpensortia!"
A thick cobra materialized and lunged toward Harry.
From the shadows, Arthur watched with mild curiosity. He remembered the origins of that spell — supposedly invented by an Indian wizard who'd needed a way to make a living among Muggles.
Combine "India" and "snakes," and naturally, you got snake charmers.
Yes — those street performers with flutes charming cobras?
Many of them, it was said, were wizards. The flute was their wand.
Of course, he was half-joking.
What interested him more was the spell's mechanics — the serpent wasn't conjured from nothing, but summoned from somewhere else.
Just like that time someone had miscast a Levitation Charm and summoned a bull instead.
That made Arthur wonder — if the creatures were real, could he, say, cook them?
Snake soup was supposed to be quite nutritious, after all.
Onstage, the cobra suddenly shivered. It was cold — which was odd for a cold-blooded creature.
Harry raised his wand, ready to strike, but then remembered that time at the zoo — when he'd accidentally set a snake free to scare his cousin.
He paused, leaned forward slightly, and spoke.
"Stop!" (in Parseltongue)
The cobra froze. For a second, it thought it was hallucinating.
"Stop!" (again in Parseltongue)
No, not a hallucination. It hesitated, staring curiously at Harry.
"Stop!" (third time)
The cobra finally obeyed.
Alright, you're bigger than me. You say stop, I stop.
Snape blinked in confusion.
Since when did the Potters have any connection to Slytherin?
Lineage mattered in the wizarding world. Ancient families guarded their genealogies like treasures, and Snape had pored over the Potter family tree before — after all, no one studies you more carefully than your enemies.
He was certain there was no trace of Slytherin blood. Could it be from Lily's side?
But no — if Lily had been a Parselmouth, she'd never have been sorted into Gryffindor.
He couldn't make sense of it, but for now, he had more urgent concerns.
He raised his wand and cast, "Serpens Evanesco!"
The cobra dissolved into a puff of black smoke.
Arthur smacked his lips regretfully. So much for the snake soup.
"Alright," Snape declared. "That duel is a draw. Continue practicing."
Draco wasn't pleased, but since it was his godfather's judgment, he didn't argue.
Not that anyone cared — every student's attention was fixed on Harry.
He could talk to snakes.
Those unfamiliar with Parseltongue were quickly briefed by their classmates.
"I said, practice!" Snape barked, amplifying his voice with Sonorus. The sheer volume made their ears ring.
The chatter died instantly, and the students returned to their spells — though their minds were clearly elsewhere.
Especially Draco, who looked utterly dejected.
He'd fought Harry to a draw — yet everyone only cared about Harry being a Parselmouth.
After some thought, he slipped away to a quiet corner, glancing around nervously.
"Arthur! Are you here?"
He'd seen Arthur head this way earlier.
"What do you want?" came Arthur's voice, as he dropped his Disillusionment.
"You said before you had a way to get stronger fast. What's the price?"
"Well…" Arthur considered for a moment. "A hundred thousand Galleons, plus copies of all your family's rarest grimoires. I don't need the originals — just copies."
Draco frowned. The books, sure — he could copy those slowly at home.
But a hundred thousand Galleons? Impossible.
In truth, Arthur didn't care about the money — he just wanted the Malfoys' library.
A family that had lasted nearly a millennium was bound to have more than a few priceless volumes.
He hadn't even finished the Hogwarts Restricted Section yet, but it never hurt to gather more for the future.
Seeing Draco's hesitation, Arthur added casually,
"You can talk to your father about it. Tell him it's a risk-free, lifelong enhancement."
Draco nodded thoughtfully. He'd discuss it with Lucius later.
After class, Harry, still confused by everyone's stares, decided to return to the dormitory. The duel had drained him — mostly all that midair tumbling.
Ron caught up to him in the Gryffindor common room.
"Harry, you're a Parselmouth! Why didn't you tell us?"
"What?" Harry blinked.
"You can talk to snakes," Hermione explained.
"I know. I did it once at the zoo — set a python loose to scare my cousin. But what about it? Loads of wizards can probably do that, right?" Harry shrugged.
"Exactly!" Arthur suddenly chimed in, grinning.
"For example, I can talk to Errol."
He whistled toward the window, and his owl swooped inside.
"Errol, circle the room!"
Obediently, Errol flew a loop around the common room before landing on Arthur's shoulder.
Of course, the owl hadn't understood a word. It was following the telepathic command Arthur had sent — a trick he'd developed after learning to project his mental energy.
"See? Arthur can do it too!" Harry said, looking relieved.
Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew Arthur wasn't really speaking a language — he'd told her it was a psychic ability.
He often used it to chat with her and Ranni during boring classes.
"Stop messing around," she said. "Harry's case is different."
Arthur just shrugged and started petting Errol.
Hermione continued, "Harry, when you spoke, we couldn't understand a word. You were speaking another language. That's not normal."
"I was? But I didn't even realize… why?" Harry looked bewildered.
"I don't know," Hermione said, frowning, "but Salazar Slytherin — the founder of Slytherin House — was a Parselmouth too."
"Exactly," Ron added. "So now everyone thinks you're Slytherin's heir."
"I'm not! I can't be," Harry protested — though as he said it, he remembered the Sorting Hat telling him that Slytherin would've been a good fit. His tone faltered.
"Still," Ron said, "in history, every Parselmouth's been connected to Slytherin somehow."
Harry turned to Arthur, looking for reassurance. "What do you think?"
Arthur leaned back lazily. "I think it's awesome. You've got nothing to worry about. Talking to snakes is cool."
He wasn't lying — he genuinely thought it was.
In his previous life, during summers at his grandmother's countryside home, he'd been terrified of snakes and insects. Back then, he'd dreamed of having Harry's gift — commanding snakes to guard him.
"But… What if everyone thinks I'm Slytherin's heir? What if they think I opened the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry murmured, anxious.
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