Eight o'clock sharp.
The Great Hall.
The long house tables? Gone. In their place: a gleaming gold stage that looks like it belongs in Vegas, not Hogwarts.
Hundreds of candles float overhead, turning the whole room into a damn light show.
"Lucien, we're just doing a normal duel, right? After we're done, then you plug that… that thing you made?" Harry asks, double-checking but totally blanking on the name.
Lucien nods, jogging his memory. "Yeah, just like we practiced. Play at regular level. It's called VR glasses—virtual reality."
He pulls out a sleek silver-white rectangular helmet-looking thing, big enough to cover your eyes and part of your face. Two lenses up front, etched with blue and silver runes.
It's straight-up sci-fi, but 100% magic—no circuits, no batteries. It beams duel tutorials and virtual sparring right into your brain. Not as good as a real coach, but beats the hell out of reading a textbook or watching some lame play.
This is just the Gen-1 prototype for duel training. Lucien's got upgrades planned. After tonight's hype, he's dropping them in Workshop Seven for sale.
Given how much these kids suck at Defense Against the Dark Arts? Yeah, they'll sell like hotcakes.
"So, uh… the teacher running this duel club…" Harry starts.
Lucien jerks his chin. "Look—here he comes."
Strutting in like he owns the place: Gilderoy Lockhart in his purple-robe glory, flashing that trademark grin—teeth so white they're practically neon under the candlelight.
And right behind him, black robes billowing like a pissed-off bat: Snape. Face colder than a Chicago winter, but his eyes? A twisted mix of disgust and barely-contained glee.
Snape hates Lockhart's fake-ass bravado, but the idea of legally blasting the guy who stole his Defense post? That's a little slice of heaven.
Harry's face drops the second he clocks them. He leans in, whispering, "Lockhart's a total fraud, and Snape? He teaches Potions, not dueling. Why's he even here?"
Lucien smirks, reading Snape like a book. The old bat's probably drooling at the chance to live out his Defense professor fantasy—and legally beat the crap out of Lockhart while he's at it.
If Lockhart gets "retired" early and Dumbledore can't find a replacement… could Snape finally get his shot?
"Gather round, gather round!" Lockhart calls, waving like he's at a damn meet-and-greet.
The turnout's huge—Lockhart's eating it up. His plan? Flash some flashy spells tonight, set the stage for his big "hero saves the day" moment later.
Thanks to Tom Riddle's diary coaching, Lockhart's actually been improving. He's not the same clown he was.
"Can everyone see me? Hear me?"
Cue the squealing fangirls. Lockhart nods like a king.
"Thanks to Headmaster Dumbledore's permission, I'm honored to launch this Duel Club and teach you all my expert combat techniques!"
"Trust me—this could save your life someday. Want to learn more? Read my books!"
Down in the crowd, Lucien's mouth twitches. Damn. Lockhart's got other skills—unbreakable confidence and skin thicker than dragon hide.
What if… Lucien wonders. What if Lockhart Obliviated himself—just wiped the memory of stealing other people's stories? Believed 100% they were his? In a world where belief shapes magic… could he actually cast those spells for real?
It's a wild theory. But this is the wizarding world. Mind-over-magic might just work.
Get your hands on that Obliviate spell, Lucien. Test it later.
"Let me introduce my assistant—Professor Snape!"
"Your Potions professor knows a thing or two about dueling. He's generously volunteered to help with the demo."
"Haha, don't look so worried—I promise to return your Potions professor in one piece!"
Lucien catches Snape's eyes going sub-zero. Fists clenched.
Snape, you magnificent bastard. You'd endure anything for that Defense job. One more second and you'd be spamming Sectumsempra.
---
ON THE GOLD STAGE
Lockhart and Snape bow—Snape crisp and military, Lockhart doing some flamboyant hand-twirl bullshit that does jack squat.
Wands up, held vertically.
"We grip like this," Lockhart explains, grinning. "On three, we cast our first spell."
"One—two—three!"
Both wands snap up.
Snape: "Expelliarmus!"
Lockhart: "Neon Pierce!"
A blinding red bolt rockets from Snape's wand.
Lockhart's tip spits a white-hot arrow wrapped in spinning rainbow smoke—like a Pride parade had a baby with a missile.
Lucien raises an eyebrow. Holy shit, Lockhart actually cast something. Tom taught him something… but the power level?
PFFT.
Snape's Disarming Charm shatters the smoke arrow and slams into Lockhart's chest.
BOOM. Dude flies backward, SMACK into the wall—sticks there for a solid three seconds like a cartoon before sliding down in a heap.
Snape flicks his wand, smirking like he's savoring a fine wine. Slytherins lose their minds cheering.
"Lucien," Ron whispers, leaning in with barely-contained glee, "is Lockhart dead? Will Snape go to Azkaban?"
Dream come true for this ginger.
But Lockhart's already crawling up, trying to fix his exploded curls.
Lucien side-eyes Ron—kid's face screams disappointment.
Lockhart dusts off, grabs his wand from a giggling first-year.
"Thanks, Miss Brown!"
Chest and back screaming, he forces the megawatt smile. "See? That's what happens when Expelliarmus hits you!"
"Snape's move was telegraphed. I could've dodged or countered easily…"
Snape's face darkens again. Eyes like liquid nitrogen.
Lucien's 99% sure: no witnesses = Lockhart's a corpse.
Lockhart coughs. "Demo over! Snape and I will pair you up…"
Lucien gets paired with Parvati Patil (Gryffindor). He knows her twin, Padma, from Ravenclaw.
They chat a bit, do the pre-duel bow.
The "duel"? More like Lucien coaching Parvati while dodging stray spells.
Yeah—the Great Hall's packed, and Hogwarts kids' aim is dogshit. Especially in Defense. They're just yeeting spells like it's a paintball fight.
"Petrificus Totalus is slow to cast and hard to aim past three meters. Relax your wrist—it's not a death grip…"
Parvati nods, eyes wide. "You're such a know-it-all Ravenclaw. No wonder Padma talks about you."
Padma materializes behind her sister like a ghost. "You asked me about him, remember?"
Parvati's smile freezes. Before she can spin it, Lockhart's panicked voice cuts through:
"STOP! EVERYONE STOP!"
"TODAY WE'RE ONLY PRACTICING DISARMING CHARMS!"
No wonder he's freaking—kids are breakdancing from tickling hexes, passed out from sleeping charms, or just punching each other when spells miss.
BOOM.
Someone cast Bombarda. Lockhart's about to have an aneurysm.
How the hell did these kids survive Defense class? This is the Thunderdome.
"Finite Incantatem!"
Snape flicks his wand—green smoke floods the hall, canceling every spell. Chaos dies down.
Lockhart tries prying apart two kids in a fistfight, sweating bullets.
"This is chaos! Dueling isn't like this! Let's have a proper demo—who wants to volunteer?"
Two voices shout at once:
"ME!"
Snape's eyebrow twitches—Harry and Malfoy. Both throw Lucien an "OK" sign.
Lockhart eyes them warily. "Wait for me to count to three, got it?"
They nod.
"One—"
BAM. Both cast Protego base shields instantly.
Harry: "Expelliarmus!"
Red laser blasts out. Malfoy dodges smooth as hell—no way he's eating that.
They've sparred in Lucien's secret lessons a hundred times. Malfoy knows Harry's Disarming Charm is a freight train.
Malfoy: "Leviosa!"
Harry bats it away, rolls low, yanks potion vials from his pocket—
"Waddingo!"
Vials rocket at Malfoy. He dodges most, but two hit his shield—shatter, potion splashes the stage.
Snape, standing behind Malfoy, stops a stray vial mid-air with a flick. Face like thunder. Accidental or not, Potter—points off Gryffindor.
But Snape's more focused on their skill. Spell fluency, timing—leagues above their peers.
His eyes slide to Lucien. So you've been training them too, huh?
On stage, Harry and Malfoy are going at it—clean, sharp, professional.
Malfoy: "Serpensortia!"
Three black-ass snakes explode from his wand, slithering at Harry.
Screams from the crowd. Lockhart gulps. "I'll handle—"
Harry: "Lumos Solem!"
A blinding sun-ball slams in front of the snakes—freezes them.
Three quick Wingardium Leviosa—snakes float harmlessly.
The flash blinds Malfoy too.
Harry: "Expelliarmus!"
Malfoy's wand flies.
Dead silence… then the hall erupts.
"Holy shit, that was insane! "
"Gryffindor owns Slytherin—again!"
"Shut up, that was a fluke—wanna go, bro?"
Lockhart jumps in: "What a brilliant demo! Of course, thanks to my wrist technique lesson last week—"
Harry ignores him, pulls out the silver VR glasses from his beaded bag.
"Wanna know how I did it?"
Lockhart's smile freezes. That opening line… I taught him that…