The next morning, the bones in Harry's arm had grown back. Madam Pomfrey came to check on him, found that they had grown back quite well, and told Harry he could leave.
Harry, of course, had long been impatient.
He dressed as quickly as he could and hurried to Gryffindor Tower, eager to tell Ron and Hermione about Colin and Dobby, but they weren't there.
Harry went out to look for them, wondering where they could be. He felt a little hurt that they didn't seem to care at all whether his bones had grown back.
But after searching for a while, when he came to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, he found only Hermione there, brewing a potion.
"Harry!" she said. "You gave me a fright. Come in—how's your arm?"
"Fine," said Harry, squeezing into the cubicle.
A cauldron was set up on the toilet, and Harry heard a crackling sound from under it. He knew they had lit a fire underneath. Conjuring portable, waterproof fires was Hermione's specialty.
"Where's Ron? Isn't he here?" Harry asked curiously.
"Yes," said Hermione. "Um, I mean, I haven't seen him since this morning."
As they were talking, Ron pushed the door open and came in. He did not look happy.
"What's wrong, Ron? Where have you been?" Harry asked in surprise.
Ron was silent for a moment, then said, "I went to find Marcel."
"To find Marcel?" Hermione shot to her feet.
"Yeah, didn't find him..."
Ron said in a low voice, then left again, leaving Harry and Hermione staring at each other.
"Should we go and ask what happened?" Harry glanced at Hermione.
"I think it's best not to," Hermione said, shaking her head. She didn't know how to answer and just made an excuse.
For a moment, Harry was filled with confusion, and he forgot what he had wanted to say. But neither of them expected that, at the most unexpected moment, Marcel would suddenly appear before them.
…
On Monday morning, the news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying in the hospital wing like a dead person spread throughout the school.
In an instant, rumors flew around the school, and everyone was suspicious of everyone else.
The first-years now always moved in tightly-knit groups of three to five, as if they were afraid of being attacked if they were alone.
Ginny, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms class, was extremely upset.
To cheer her up, Fred and George took turns draping themselves in fur or sprouting boils, jumping out from behind statues to startle her. Harry felt this was clearly doing more harm than good.
Later, Percy, incandescent with rage, told them he was going to write to their mother, Mrs. Weasley, and tell her that Ginny was having nightmares. Only then did they stop their nonsense.
A few days after that, Harry was crossing the entrance hall.
They suddenly saw a small crowd gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up.
Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas looked very excited and called them over.
"They're starting a Duelling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight. I wouldn't mind duelling lessons, they might come in handy one day..."
And that evening at eight o'clock, the Great Hall looked different.
The long dining tables had disappeared, and along one wall was a golden, elongated stage, illuminated by hundreds of floating candles. The ceiling was once again like black velvet.
Almost the entire school was there. Fortunately, the hall was wide enough that although it was still crowded, there was at least a little room to move around.
Everyone was holding their own wand, their faces full of excitement.
But it wasn't long before, to everyone's disappointed expressions, Gilderoy Lockhart made his grand entrance.
He was wearing a long, magenta robe, his hair perfectly coiffed. Coupled with his good looks, at first glance, he was indeed quite dazzling—as long as he didn't move.
But for this flashy new professor to not move or speak was clearly impossible.
Lockhart waved for everyone to be quiet, then shouted, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!"
"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details, see my published works."
He waved his hand again, making a "please" gesture.
"Let me introduce my assistant—Professor Snape!" he said to Snape, who was below the stage. "He tells me he knows a little about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin."
"Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry—you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"
"I say," Snape suddenly interrupted, "I do know a little about duelling, but the one accompanying you for a demonstration today is not me—"
He took a step to the side, revealing the person behind him, and said with a cold smile.
"...It's him."
This time, everyone was surprised, because standing behind Snape was none other than Marcel—Marcel Maclean!
"Oh—haha," Lockhart was stunned for a moment, then said with a smile, "I think you must be joking. As a teacher, how can I duel with a student? It's too dangerous—"
"No, I think this is quite appropriate," Snape said with a faint smile. "This way, it will be even clearer for everyone to see the dangers of spells..."
He paused, then blatantly taunted Lockhart, "I believe that with such a disparity, controlling the danger should be no problem for a 'duelling expert' like you, right?"
As expected, Lockhart immediately fell into the trap.
"Oh, of course! I think your idea is not bad either... yes," Lockhart said, with a cloyingly sweet smile. "Then come on up, Marcel."
Marcel hadn't originally wanted to get involved in this matter, but for some reason, Snape had thrown it to him. He thought for a moment and finally agreed.
"Don't worry, my boy—no need to be afraid. You won't get hurt. I'm very experienced in duelling instruction," Lockhart said, maintaining his charming smile. "Perhaps I could even write a book on duelling. That would be very interesting."
"Maybe..." Marcel said casually, drawing his wand.
Below the stage, many students looked at Marcel with curiosity.
Although many had heard some things about the end of last term, the specific details had been blurred by Dumbledore. In fact, most students were very much looking forward to this sudden duel.
And at this moment, the gazes of Harry, Ron, and Hermione were also focused on Marcel, but their thoughts were clearly completely different. The one with the least psychological burden was probably Harry.
"Go, Marcel!" Harry shouted enthusiastically.
His meaning, of course, was that he hoped to see Marcel teach Lockhart a lesson and stop him from being so annoying.
Lockhart and Marcel stood opposite each other on the stage, a distance apart, and bowed to each other.
Compared to Marcel's plain and simple movements, Lockhart's were clearly much more flamboyant. He moved his hands in many fancy ways, skillfully putting on a very gentlemanly appearance, and even found time to make an elegant gesture towards Marcel.
Then, they held their wands in front of their chests like swords.
"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted duelling position. Marcel has done very well in this regard. It's clear he's reviewed the duelling knowledge in advance," Lockhart said to the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we cast our first spells. Of course, I won't let Marcel get hurt."
Instantly, all the students below the stage focused their attention.
"One—two—three!"
Marcel raised his hand and gave it a slight flick. The tip of his wand drew a spell-casting trajectory with astonishing speed.
"Expelliarmus!"
A slender red light suddenly appeared from the front of his wand, heading straight for Lockhart opposite him. Although the lightning-fast red light was not particularly dazzling, the solidity of the beam made even Snape's face flash with a hint of surprise.
Lockhart didn't even have time to react before he was hit by the red light. He was instantly sent flying backward off the stage, hitting the wall hard, then slid down and crumpled to the floor.
"If Snape had done it, the force would have been about the same..."
Although he didn't know why Snape had thrown this matter to him, once Snape proposed it, it was really hard for Marcel to refuse.
To put it bluntly, Marcel's research in Potions still occasionally needed Snape's help. It was rare for him to make a request, and to refuse it outright was clearly not in his best interest. Helplessly, Marcel could only do it.
Even though he himself knew that this kind of minimal, ridiculous imitation was probably just self-deception.
"No matter what, I need time... more time," Marcel thought to himself. "In my current state, I am completely unable to make reasonable judgments. This will be very bad."
Putting aside the expressionless Marcel and Lockhart, who was scrambling to his feet, just looking at the students gathered below the stage, almost all of them were too surprised to speak.
After a moment of silence, a wave of excitement followed.
Marcel looked at the situation below the stage, having long anticipated this. But no matter what, this did not meet his current needs, even if it was definitely beneficial to his popularity at Hogwarts.
"Professor Lockhart, my apologies," Marcel said softly. Without waiting for Lockhart to say anything, he jumped directly off the stage.
Below the stage, Snape looked at Lockhart's slightly embarrassed expression, his face full of a cold sneer.
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