"Practice leads to true knowledge, and that concludes the demonstration!" Lockhart's voice echoed proudly across the Great Hall. "Now, I'll come among you and divide you into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd be so kind as to assist me…"
Snape approached with a murderous expression, his black robes sweeping behind him like a shadow. His mere presence carried such weight that several students unconsciously stepped back. It was one thing to watch Lockhart duel him and quite another to imagine facing him themselves. Whatever Lockhart's claims, none of them were foolish enough to think they could best Snape.
Seamus Finnigan quickly paired off with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Harry and Ron tried to maneuver closer to Lockhart, hoping to end up with him instead of Snape—but fate, as usual, wasn't on their side.
"The dream team should be broken up, I think," Snape said coldly as he stalked toward them. His thin lips curled into a sneer. "Weasley, you'll pair with Finnigan. Potter—" His eyes glittered with a sharp, vindictive light. He seemed eager to vent his lingering humiliation from his earlier defeat.
"Draco," Snape said smoothly, turning toward the pale Slytherin boy standing nearby, "I think the Boy Who Lived will make a suitable opponent for you. Let's see what kind of person you can turn the famous Potter into."
Then, shifting his attention, Snape added, "As for you, Miss Granger—you'll partner with Miss Parkinson." He reached out and seized a startled Pansy by the arm.
Hermione exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. She had edged closer to Pansy on purpose, hoping Snape might pair them. To her mild surprise, her small bit of positioning had worked.
"Face your partners!" Lockhart announced brightly, hopping back onto the stage like a showman returning to the spotlight. "And bow!"
Harry and Draco stepped onto the dueling platform. The crowd's murmurs dimmed to an expectant hush. Harry could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his palms slick with sweat. He couldn't help recalling Ron's miserable experience with a wand backfiring in Hagrid's hut. He tried to focus, but anxiety gnawed at him.
"Raise your wands! Prepare yourselves!" Lockhart continued, dramatically flicking his own wand for emphasis. "When I count to three, cast your spells. Remember—disarm your opponent, and only disarm them. We don't want any unfortunate accidents, do we? One—two—three—!"
The boys raised their wands. On the count of three, they spun toward each other.
Whether it was nerves or instinct, Harry moved first. He raised his wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
A faint red light burst from his wand—but it was weak, sluggish compared to the fierce spell Snape had demonstrated earlier. The beam barely reached Malfoy before it struck an invisible barrier and fizzled out. Malfoy had already cast a Shield Charm, deflecting the disarming spell with ease.
A smirk twisted Draco's lips. He lifted his wand with practiced ease and said clearly, "Serpensortia!"
Lockhart's eyes widened. "I said, only disarm!" he scolded quickly. "No need to—"
But nothing appeared from Draco's wand. The air shimmered for a second and then stilled.
Malfoy looked entirely unbothered. "This spell is safer than a Disarming Charm, Professor," he said with feigned innocence.
Ron groaned from below the stage. "Safer? Breaking the rules should lose him points!"
Hermione's expression changed abruptly. "That spell… Serpensortia?" she whispered. Her pulse quickened. The castle had been tense for days—rumors of a Basilisk prowling the halls had everyone on edge. Anything involving snakes was enough to make hearts race.
A low wave of whispers rippled through the watching students. Even the word "snake" carried weight these days.
Harry, focused on Malfoy, noticed the Slytherin boy hadn't moved since casting his spell. Still, something prickled at the edge of Harry's senses—a faint hiss, a shift of air. He glanced down—and froze.
Coiling around his waist was a large python. Its emerald scales shimmered faintly under the hall's light. It slithered higher, wrapping itself around him, its tongue flickering as it met his gaze. Its eyes gleamed like twin drops of green fire.
Fear jolted through Harry, but along with it came something stranger—a flicker of recognition. An urge, deep and instinctive, to speak. To communicate.
"Can you let me go?" Harry asked softly, his voice trembling.
The serpent continued its slow ascent, ignoring him entirely.
"Hermione," Ron hissed, eyes wide, "what's Harry doing? Is he talking to the rope?"
"I—I don't know," Hermione stammered. She listened, but whatever Harry was saying made no sense to her. The syllables rolling off his tongue were foreign—hissing, slithering sounds that didn't resemble any human language.
From the stands, no one saw a snake. What they saw instead was something entirely different—a long coil of fabric, threads of Harry's robe twisting and unraveling, re-forming into a rope that snaked around his body. It wrapped tighter and tighter, constricting him as he spoke incomprehensible words.
"Is he talking to that rope?" a Ravenclaw whispered.
"Or maybe it's a counter-curse," another offered uncertainly.
Harry, oblivious to what others saw, fought to think clearly. The hissing syllables came unbidden to his lips, and he was certain—certain—that the creature understood him. But his desperate commands had no effect. The python's coils tightened around his chest and throat. Its head reared back, fangs glinting as it prepared to strike.
To the onlookers, it looked like the rope was winding up to choke him.
"Draco," Snape's sharp voice cut through the chaos. "That's enough. The outcome is clear."
Malfoy opened his eyes, as though snapping out of a trance. His face was calm, even bored. "Of course, Professor." He lifted his wand and said clearly, "Finite Incantatem!"
In an instant, Harry felt the serpent's body loosen and dissolve into nothing. The coils fell away, and the vision vanished—no trace of snake or rope remained.
The crowd erupted into confused murmurs. The duel had ended abruptly, lacking the excitement everyone had hoped for. Compared to the fierce exchanges between the professors earlier, this seemed almost dull.
Lockhart, however, recovered his showman's grin. "What a wonderful spell!" he declared, striding onto the stage as though he had choreographed the entire event. "It reminds me of an ancient Eastern proverb… what was it again? Ah yes—'To subdue the enemy without fighting…'"
"To subdue the enemy without fighting," a black-haired girl from Ravenclaw supplied helpfully.
"Yes, yes, that's the one!" Lockhart beamed. "You see, my ideal has always been world peace, and that sort of magic fits perfectly with it. Ten points to Slytherin!" he said cheerfully, waving his wand in celebration.
Harry stood motionless, still dazed. The image of the serpent lingered vividly in his mind—the glint of its scales, the sound of its hiss. For several long seconds, he didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe.
"Harry! Earth to Harry!" Hermione's voice finally pierced his haze. Ron was waving him off the stage to make room for the next pair of duelists.
He stepped down woodenly, still disoriented.
"Mate, what were you thinking?" Ron blurted. "You could've just ripped that rope off! It wasn't real!"
"Rope?" Harry repeated blankly, turning to look at him. His expression was bewildered. "What rope?"
Hermione frowned. "Harry, what did you see?"
Harry hesitated, his voice slow, uncertain. "I saw… a snake."
Ron gaped. "A snake? No, everyone else saw a rope! It came from your robe—it was wrapping around you like it wanted to tie you up."
Harry shook his head slowly. "No. It wasn't a rope. It was real… I could see it. Hear it. It even looked at me."
Hermione's brows knit together. "He must've used a complex spell—something that combines illusion and transfiguration. Maybe it altered what each person saw, or affected perception directly." She spoke quickly, trying to reason through it. "If he modified your robe's fibers and added a visual illusion, it could explain both perspectives."
Ron sighed, rubbing his temples. "Well, whatever it was, it worked. He had you good. Honestly, if I'd seen a bunch of spiders crawling on me, I'd have probably screamed and run for it."
Harry didn't answer. His thoughts were still trapped in that moment—the serpent's eyes, so vivid and intelligent, and that eerie sense of connection. He'd spoken to it. Not in English, not even consciously—but the words had flowed out of him like they'd always been there.
And yet no one else had heard them as words at all.
The hall gradually returned to its usual din as the next pairs took the stage. Students chattered about the duel, about Malfoy's strange spell, about how odd it was that Harry seemed to have lost so easily. A few Slytherins snickered. Lockhart continued his enthusiastic commentary, oblivious to the unease simmering among the Gryffindors.
Harry sat at the edge of the platform, his wand limp in his hand. He wasn't listening to the others anymore. The whisper of the serpent's voice still echoed faintly in his head, as if it had left something behind—something he couldn't quite name.
A snake—or a rope?
An illusion—or something more?
He didn't know. But one thing was certain: the way Malfoy had looked at him, and Snape's faint, satisfied smirk—none of it felt accidental.
Something deeper was unfolding.
And Harry, for the first time that evening, felt the chill of real fear—not of spells or duels, but of what he might discover about himself.
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