Chapter Eleven

The Dueling Club

Author's Note: Since Harry Potter does not exist for much of this story, I decided to have Malfoy duel himself, like in the "film adaptation". I hope you all find it as funny as I did.

Sunday morning the dormitory blazing with winter sunlight. Percy Weasley strolled out of the library, looking in far better spirits. He was happy that Gryffindor took the lead for the House Cup, thus earning fifty points for his house. As Percy approached Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, his smile faded. "I hope Ron's not in another girls' toilet" he thought to himself.

Percy proceeded onward; he had more pressing matters which to attend. If he had checked for his brother inside, he would have indeed found him there. From a locked stall came Ron and Hermione's voices. There was a clunk, a splash, and a gasp from within the stall and Hermione's eye peering through the keyhole. Inside the stall, an old cauldron was perched on the toilet, and a crackling from under the rim indicated they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a speciality of Hermione's.

"I heard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning about Colin and how the Chamber has been opened again. That's why I decided we'd better get going —"

"The sooner we get a confession out of Malfoy, the better," snarled Ron. "D'you know what I think? He was in such a foul temper after the Quidditch match, he took it out on Colin."

Hermione tore bundles of knotgrass and threw them into the potion. Ron and Hermione looked up, amazed. Hermione and Ron sat with their mouths open.

"Professor McGonagall said the Chamber of Secrets has been opened again, which means it was opened before!" Hermione said.

"This settles it," said Ron in a triumphant voice. "Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber when he was at school here and now he's told dear old Draco how to do it. It's obvious."

Ron and Hermione went back and forth discussing the mysteries surrounding the Chamber, such as where it might be, how it has never been discovered, and what kind of monster lies within.

"Maybe it can make itself invisible," said Hermione, prodding leeches to the bottom of the cauldron. "Or maybe it can disguise itself — pretend to be a suit of armor or something — I've read about Chameleon Ghouls —"

"You read too much, Hermione," said Ron, pouring dead lacewings on top of the leeches. He crumpled up the empty lacewing bag and looked forlorn.

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying as though dead in the hospital wing had spread through the entire school by Monday morning. The air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure-blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked.

"They went for Filch first," Neville said, his round face fearful. "And everyone knows I'm almost a Squib."

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious. The holidays would be the perfect time to use the Polyjuice Potion and try to worm a confession out of him. Unfortunately, the potion was only half finished. They still needed the bicorn horn and the boomslang skin, and the only place they were going to get them was from Snape's private stores.

"What we need," said Hermione briskly as Thursday afternoon's double Potions lesson loomed nearer, "is a diversion. Then one of us can sneak into Snape's office and take what we need."

Ron looked at her nervously.

"I think I'd better do the actual stealing," Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone. "You will be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I've got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so."

Deliberately causing mayhem in Snape's Potions class was about as safe as poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.

Potions lessons took place in one of the large dungeons. Thursday afternoon's lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors' work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape's favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron, who knew that if he retaliated he would get detention faster than you could say "Unfair."

Ron waiting for Hermione's signal, and hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione caught his eye and nodded.

Goyle's potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinner plate — Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Hermione slipped quietly into Snape's office.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape roared. "Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft — when I find out who did this —"

Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon. As half the class lumbered up to Snape's desk, some weighted down with arms like clubs, others unable to talk through gigantic puffed-up lips, Hermione slide back into the dungeon, the front of her robes bulging.

When everyone had taken a swig of antidote and the various swellings had subsided, Snape swept over to Goyle's cauldron. There was a sudden hush.

"If I ever find out," Snape whispered, "I shall make sure that person is expelled."

And the bell that rang ten minutes later could not have been more welcome.

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to stir feverishly.

"It'll be ready in two weeks," she said happily.

The potion frothed and bubbled.

A week later, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

"They're starting a Dueling Club!" said Seamus. "First meeting tonight! I wouldn't mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…"

"What, you reckon Slytherin's monster can duel?" said Ron, but he, too, read the sign with interest.

"Could be useful," he said to Hermione as they went into dinner. "Shall we go?"

Hermione was all for it, so at eight o'clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Hermione as she edged into the chattering crowd.

"Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young — maybe it'll be him."

Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called "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 dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling 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!"

"Wouldn't it be good if they finished each other off?" Ron muttered.

Snape's upper lip was curling. Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking like that at anyone else, they would have been running as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Lockhart courageously stood his ground and welcomed the challenge. Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

Snape bared his teeth.

"One — two — three —"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. "Do you think he's all right?" she squealed through her fingers.

"Who cares?" said Ron.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…"

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me —"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Ron first.

"Weasley, you can partner Finnigan."

"Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make. And you, Miss Granger — you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who reminded many students of a picture seen in Holidays with Hags. She was large and square and her heavy jaw jutted aggressively. Hermione gave her a weak smile that she did not return.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"

Malfoy barely inclined their heads, staring straight ahead. Since a suitable partner was found, Lockhart and Snape decided Malfoy should duel himself.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents — only to disarm them — we don't want any accidents — one… two… three —"

Malfoy had already started on "two": A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; he cast a Tickling Charm on himself, and he could barely move for laughing.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge. "Finite Incantatem!" he shouted;

Malfoy stopped laughing, and he was able to look up. A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene. Both Neville and Justin were lying on the floor, panting; Ron was holding up an ashen-faced Seamus, apologizing for whatever his broken wand had done; but Hermione and Millicent Bulstrode were still moving; Millicent had Hermione in a headlock and Hermione was whimpering in pain; both their wands lay forgotten on the floor.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels.

"Up you go, Macmillan…"

"Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second,"

"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away.

"Let's have a volunteer pair — Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you —"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat.

"Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox." Neville's round, pink face went pinker. "How about just Malfoy?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give him room. Lockhart raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops— my wand is a little overexcited—"

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked.

"Scared?" muttered Malfoy to himself. Malfoy felt better about dueling himself if he taunted himself as an actual opponent.

"Three — two — one — go!" he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, "Serpensortia!"

The end of his wand exploded. a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor ahead of him, and raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

Snape stood eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it…"

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged, hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. And miraculously — inexplicably — the snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose. The snake wouldn't attack anyone now, though how, no one could explain.

Justin looking angry and scared. He turned and stormed out of the hall.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. He was looking in an unexpected way: It was a shrewd and calculating look. An ominous muttering was heard all around the walls.

That night, through a gap in the curtains snow starting to drift past the tower window and everyone wondered what had happened during the dueling club. Why did the hostile snake suddenly back down…

By next morning, however, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled: Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly and revive Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey.

A fire was roaring in the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess. One of Ron's bishops wrestled her knight off his horse and dragged him off the board.

The castle was darker than it usually was in daytime because of the thick, swirling gray snow at every window. Illuminating the dark hallways was the light under thresholds of classrooms where lessons were taking place. Professor McGonagall was shouting at someone who, by the sound of it, had turned his friend into a badger.

A group of the Hufflepuffs who should have been in Herbology were instead sitting at the back of the library, but they didn't seem to be working. Between the long lines of high bookshelves, their heads were close together and they were having what looked like an absorbing conversation.

Up the corridor strode something very large and solid; Hagrid's face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, but it couldn't possibly be anyone else, as he filled most of the corridor in his moleskin overcoat. A dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands. This was the second rooster he found dead all term. Hagrid suspected it was the work of either a fox or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear. He was on his was to Dumbledore to see about charming the hen coop against such predators.

Along another corridor, which was particularly dark; the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. Something was lying on the floor. Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying on the floor, rigid and cold, a look of shock frozen on his face, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. And that wasn't all. Next to him was another figure, the strangest sight ever seen.

It was Nearly Headless Nick, no longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, floating immobile and horizontal, six inches off the floor. His head was half off and his face wore an expression of shock identical to Justin's.

A line of spiders were scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side.

A door right next to the site opened with a bang. Peeves the Poltergeist came shooting out. Peeves stopped, halfway through a midair somersault. Upside down, he spotted Justin and Nearly Headless Nick. He flipped the right way up, filled his lungs and screamed, "ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!"

Crash — crash — crash — door after door flew open along the corridor and people flooded out. For several long minutes, there was a scene of such confusion that Justin was in danger of being squashed and people kept standing in Nearly Headless Nick. The teachers shouted for quiet. Professor McGonagall came running, followed by her own class, one of whom still had black-and-white-striped hair. She used her wand to set off a loud bang, which restored silence, and ordered everyone back into their classes.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene; Peeves always loved chaos. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song: he kept repeating "You're all gonna die!" in a sing-songy tone.

"That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out.

Justin was carried up to the hospital wing by Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, but nobody seemed to know what to do for Nearly Headless Nick. In the end, Professor McGonagall conjured a large fan out of thin air, which she gave to Ernie with instructions to waft Nearly Headless Nick up the stairs. This Ernie did, fanning Nick along like a silent black hovercraft. This left Professor McGonagall alone.

She marched in silence around a corner and she stopped before a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

"Lemon drop!" she said. This was evidently a password, because the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind him split in two. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As Professor McGonagall stepped onto it, she heard the wall thud closed behind her. She rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, she saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

This must be where Dumbledore lived.