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"As you can all see," Lockhart was still rambling on enthusiastically, "our beloved Headmaster Dumbledore has granted me special permission to establish this Dueling Club, solely for the purpose of teaching you how to defend yourselves, just as I described in Magical Me. Naturally, if you're interested in more detailed examples, I strongly recommend purchasing my complete collection of books."
For the next half hour, the Great Hall echoed with Lockhart's endless stream of self-praise and theatrical storytelling, each tale more exaggerated than the last.
It wasn't until yawns began spreading through the crowd like a contagious spell, rippling from student to student, that he finally, and rather reluctantly, gestured behind him and said, as if it were a minor afterthought, "Oh, right, almost forgot to introduce… this is Professor Snape. He claims to know a 'thing or two' about dueling and is, let's say, 'honored' to assist me with today's demonstration."
Then, flashing his signature dazzling grin, Lockhart added with exaggerated reassurance, "But do not worry… I'll be careful not to hurt your dear Potions Master. Not even a single hair on his greasy little head."
"I kind of hope something does go wrong," Ron muttered under his breath to Harry, leaning in close. "Like, they both blast each other and end up stuck in the hospital wing for a few days."
Harry couldn't help but add, "Or better yet, until the end of this term…"
Up on the stage, the two professors were finally preparing for their demonstration.
Lockhart began with an absurdly dramatic bow, sweeping his arms through the air in elegant spirals as though he were performing before royalty, each movement as theatrical as a courtier's salute.
In stark contrast, Snape looked as if the entire affair bored him to death. He gave the smallest possible nod, a curt little jerk of his head that seemed more insulting than polite, his greasy hair swaying slightly with the motion.
"Watch closely," Lockhart instructed, holding his wand upright against his chest like a ceremonial sword. "In a proper duel, the first thing you do is bow, then take your stance… just like this."
He turned toward Snape, still speaking in that confident, showman's tone. "We'll cast our first spell on the count of three. Of course, this is just a demonstration, so neither of us will be in any real danger."
But the sharp glint in Snape's dark eyes told a different story. A cold smirk tugged at his lips, and there was something unmistakably predatory in the way he stared back at Lockhart, as though he were already imagining the spell he'd use.
Down below, the students collectively held their breath.
None of them doubted Lockhart's words about this being a harmless demonstration. What they did question… what they feared and secretly hoped for, was whether Professor Snape might lose control for just a moment. Whether, by some perfectly timed accident, he might finally silence the arrogant Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher once and for all.
"One… two… three!"
Both professors raised their wands at the exact same instant. Snape's voice rang out, low and sharp, nearly overlapping with the final count.
"Expelliarmus!"
A blinding red beam exploded from the tip of his wand, slicing through the air with a crackling hiss before striking Lockhart squarely in the chest with pinpoint precision.
There was a dull, heavy thud, and Lockhart, as if he were nothing more than a life-sized rag doll, was flung backwards by the force of the spell. His body tumbled through the air in a wild, pathetic arc before slamming hard against the ground nearly five meters away.
His wand flew from his hand, spinning through the air in a graceful spiral. The entire sequence happened so quickly that not a single person had time to blink.
It was, without a doubt, far shorter — and far more entertaining — than the long-winded introduction Lockhart had given for Snape.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron gasped, clutching his chest as though he had just been hit. "That's gotta hurt like hell!"
Harry rose slightly onto the balls of his feet, trying to peer over the heads in front of him. "Looks like he's okay… unfortunately," he muttered.
Hermione didn't say a word. She merely shook her head in quiet exasperation, the corners of her mouth twitching as she turned her face away, clearly trying not to laugh.
Over in the corner, Lockhart had crumpled into a pathetic little heap, limbs tangled awkwardly as he lay against the cold stone. His golden-blond hair, once carefully styled, now hung loose and wild over his face, making him look less like a celebrated author and more like a scarecrow caught in a storm.
For the briefest of moments, he actually considered faking unconsciousness. Perhaps he could pass the whole thing off as a "technical mishap" and quietly slip away from the rest of the demonstration.
But in the end, he forced himself to move. Trembling, he pushed himself upright, though his movements were slow and unsteady. His robes were completely covered in dust, and that perfectly coiffed hairstyle now resembled a bird's nest after an explosion.
"Cough… cough… As you can all see!" he wheezed, staggering his way back up onto the stage, his voice shaking slightly from the lingering pain. "That, my dear students, was the famous Disarming Charm… as the name suggests, its effect is to… well… um… my wand… where's my wand? Has anyone seen my wand?"
Right at that moment, a sleek black raven swooped down from above with a sudden flap of wings. Clutched in its beak was none other than Lockhart's wand, the same jewel-encrusted, overly ornate thing, now dangling precariously as the bird circled over his head in wide, deliberate loops.
"Hey! Give that back!" Lockhart shouted, hopping in place like a frustrated child, arms flailing as he looked up. He looked completely ridiculous, like some sort of comical clown. "You filthy feathered beast! That wand is a limited edition!"
After a few more seconds of flustered leaping, Lockhart finally seemed to realize how utterly foolish he looked. His movements slowed, and with a defeated little huff, he gave up the chase. Turning back to face the students, he forced a smile onto his face… strained, awkward, but trying its best to be charming.
"Yes, well! That was, of course, all part of the demonstration that Professor Snape and I meticulously arranged ahead of time. I volunteered to take the hit so that you could get a more vivid, hands-on understanding of what the Disarming Charm actually looks like in action…"
As he spoke, he turned toward Snape again, and for a moment, the old confidence returned to his posture and voice. "Though if I may say so, dear Severus, your intent just now was rather too obvious. If I had actually tried to defend myself, I wouldn't have needed to lift a finger to dodge that little spell of yours."
Snape's gaze darkened immediately, his expression turning as cold and oppressive as the dungeons beneath the castle. But it wasn't Lockhart he was glaring at.
It was Sargeras… who had just stepped through the massive doors at the back of the Great Hall and was now walking with deliberate purpose straight toward the center of the stage.
"Uh… Sargeras, this is, um…" Lockhart's voice wavered as he spoke, his usual bluster shrinking without him even realizing it.
Sargeras didn't respond. He didn't even spare Lockhart a glance. With just a single icy look, he froze him in place, as if words alone were enough to paralyze him. Then, with the faintest flick of his wand, he pointed and spoke calmly.
"You. Stand over there."
The smile on Lockhart's face twisted into something pitiful, somewhere between a grimace and a wince. Moving stiffly and awkwardly, arms and legs almost out of sync, he shuffled over to Snape's side. The two stood together like enemies forced to attend a funeral side by side, stiff and uncomfortable in each other's presence.
Sargeras tilted his chin ever so slightly toward the ceiling, and in response, the raven dived down from above like a shadow falling from the clouds. It landed with effortless grace and released the wand from its beak, dropping it cleanly into Lockhart's trembling hands with surgical precision.
"If you're going to teach dueling," Sargeras said, his voice sharp and cold like steel just out of the forge, "then teach the full sequence."
The moment those words were spoken, the Great Hall erupted.
The students immediately surged forward, rising up on their toes and pressing toward the front of the stage, their eyes wide with excitement and wonder. The spark in their expressions was unmistakable… this wasn't just another class. This was something they'd remember.
Professor Flitwick came scurrying up to claim a front-row spot, his short legs moving with surprising speed. Even Professor McGonagall, who was usually so composed and reserved, had a curious gleam reflected in the lenses of her glasses.
And then, even Madam Pomfrey arrived in a hurry, clutching her medical kit tightly to her chest as she made her way through the crowd, murmuring under her breath the whole way, "Merlin help us all…"
"Before you raise your wand," Sargeras said calmly, twirling his own in a practiced motion. As it moved through the air, it traced three clear lines of crimson light, glowing like streaks of fire suspended in the air. "Remember three words: attack, defend, evade."
His gaze swept across the sea of faces below the stage, pausing on each one for a breathless second. Then suddenly, his voice cut through the hall like a blade: sharp, clear, and impossible to ignore.
"The essence of dueling lies in the dynamic cycle between those three actions. It is not — I repeat, not — a turn-based game where you simply take turns firing off spells!"
Before the echo of his words had even faded, his wand flared with a sudden, blinding light.
Six beams of magical energy burst from the tip like a rainbow of destruction, streaking across the hall with terrifying speed. In an instant, they crisscrossed into a deadly net, each ray charged with raw, concentrated power.
"Two against one," Sargeras' voice rang out amid the sound of magic tearing through the air. "Let's start by teaching them how to dodge."
Snape's face darkened so much it looked like a storm was brewing beneath his skin, his expression nearly black with restrained fury. But he didn't hesitate for even a moment. With a fluid twist of his body, he rolled to the side, just barely avoiding the brunt of the spellfire.
It wasn't that he wanted to go along with Sargeras' theatrics. Far from it. But the sheer magical pressure woven into those crossing beams — he could feel it pulsing in the air like the weight of a collapsing ceiling — was something no ordinary Shield Charm could have held back. One or two, maybe. But six? No chance.
Lockhart, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as quick.
Still locked in that ridiculous, cartoonish defensive pose he'd struck earlier, he didn't even try to move. The red spelllight slammed into his chest before he could react, sending him flying backward through the air like a rag doll… again.
"Dodge!"
Sargeras' voice thundered through the Great Hall, echoing off the walls like the crack of a whip.
With a flick of his wand, he cast a spell that yanked Lockhart's airborne body out of midair and yanked him back like a puppet on invisible strings. Without the slightest gentleness, he dropped him back in his original place like an uncooperative toy being returned to its shelf.
"That…" he said, his tone sharp and unwavering, "means using movement, cover, and even predicting your opponent's trajectory to avoid incoming spells. If you don't want to end up as a living target in a real duel, don't just stand there like a bloody fence post!"
Before the final syllable had fully left his mouth, Sargeras spun his wand once more.
With a roar like wind howling through broken glass, thousands of magical birds suddenly burst into being, shrieking and glowing as they erupted from the air around him.
Each one shimmered with radiant light, their wings leaving streaks of energy in their wake. They shot forward like a hurricane of spell-forged creatures, their screeches piercing and wild as they swarmed toward the two men on the other side of the stage.
It was like watching a blizzard of light and sound crash toward its target… not just a demonstration, but a storm conjured from sheer will.
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[Chapter End's]
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