The dueling book and his author doesn't exist lol

Chapter 37: The Dueling Club

A week later, we were walking across the entrance hall when we saw a small group of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus and Dean called us 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?" Ron asked, laughingly. "Still, could be useful. Shall we go?"

We both nodded, so at eight o'clock that evening we hurried back to the Great Hall, where the long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. Most of the school was already there.

I had read about dueling in a book that someone had left in the common room one day. Dueling Mastery: The Art and History of Wizarding Combat by Cassius Bellator. Dueling didn't sound like something I'd enjoy, not like Harry or Ron might, at least not in the sense of it being fun or thrilling. For me, it's a necessary skill, something practical and essential in a world where danger seems to find us at every turn. I don't like the idea of harming others, and I'd much rather solve problems with my brain than my wand, but I understand the importance of being prepared. I did find some satisfaction in mastering the spells and techniques; it's like applying magical theory to real-life situations. Still, I'd never duel for sport or entertainment—it's a tool for defense, nothing more.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" I said curiously. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young, maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not- Oh bloody hell."groaned Harry.

Lockhart was walking onto the stage,in deep purple robes, looking almost like royalty. Snape was with him in his usual depressing black.

"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!" bellowed Lockhart over the crowd.

"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."

I couldn't help but blush. I had indeed read about some of his dueling trials. His magic use was impeccable. It seemed lik3 some of the other witches around me thought the same, because they were all a flutter like I was.

"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 whispered in Harry's ear, who laughed. I rolled my eyes.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed, at least, Lockhart did a lot of elegant movements with his hands. Snape, however, jerked his head slightly, as if he was already over it. 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 said. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"I wouldn't bet on that." Harry murmured, as Snape had a slight out for blood look on his face.

"One - two - three-"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent.

"Expelliarmus!" cried out Snape.

There was a dazzling flash of red 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.

I gasped and covered my face, hoping he wasn't injured. Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. A lot of the student body were laughing at the man, actually. I didn't find any of it funny.

"Do you think he's all right?" I asked, peeking through my fingers.

"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.

Lockhart looked disheveled. He got up off the floor almost drunkenly.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, feebly climbing 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 as if he wanted to off Lockhart right then and there. 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 Harry and Ron first.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think." he sneered. "Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter-"

Harry moved automatically toward me since he couldn't duel with Ron.

"I don't think so." said Snape, smiling a vicious smile. "Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss Granger - you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

I felt a heavy weight settle in my stomach. Millicent was notorious for her brute strength and love of confrontation, and I knew this duel wouldn't be fair. As I stepped onto the platform opposite her, wand in hand, she sneered at me, her eyes gleaming with malice.

Malfoy went over to Harry, arrogance dripping off his body. I hoped that they would be able to fight fair.

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

"This'll be easy," Millicent said, not bowing at all. "What's the matter, Granger? Scared you'll mess up that perfect little know-it-all image?"

I clenched my jaw, determined not to let her get to me. "This is a duel, Millicent," I said, forcing my voice to remain calm. "We're supposed to use our wands, not fists."

"Afraid I'll break you?" she taunted, taking a step forward. "Should've stayed in the library where you belong, Mudblood."

The word hit me like a slap. My cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation, but I forced myself to stand my ground. "That's rich, coming from someone who can't even spell half the words in the books I read," I shot back, gripping my wand tightly.

Millicent's face twisted with rage. Before I could react, she lunged at me, throwing her wand to the ground and grabbing my arm with her large, calloused hands. I stumbled back, caught off guard, but before I could regain my balance, her arm locked around my neck, pulling me into a suffocating headlock.

"You're nothing but a filthy little bookworm," she hissed in my ear, her grip tightening. Pain shot through my neck and shoulders as I struggled to free myself, my wand slipping from my grasp.

"Millicent, let go!" I gasped, trying to pry her arm loose, but she was too strong. Around us, students shouted and laughed, their voices a blur in the background.

"Fight back, Mudblood!" Millicent growled, clearly enjoying herself.

I flailed, desperate for air, when suddenly, Harry's voice cut through the chaos. "Get off her!"

Harry appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Millicent's arm and trying to pull her back. She snarled, resisting him, but Harry didn't let go. Ron darted forward, helping to pull me free from her grasp. As I stumbled back, gasping for breath, I caught Harry struggling against Millicent, who finally shoved him off with a vicious snarl.

"Dear, dear," he said, sounding almost cheerful as he surveyed the damage. "Up you go, Macmillan. Careful there, Miss Fawcett... Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second."

I glanced at Millicent Bulstrode, still fuming from our earlier scuffle. My jaw clenched, and for a fleeting moment, I entertained the thought of hexing her the next chance I got. She had no right to call me what she did or to grab me like that. I pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the scene unfolding around me.

"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," Lockhart announced grandly. "Let's have a volunteer pair. Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you—"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," Snape interjected smoothly, his voice dripping with disdain. "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."

I felt my heart sink as I saw Neville's face flush with embarrassment. He avoided everyone's gaze, and I wished I could somehow shield him from Snape's cruel words.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" Snape suggested, his twisted smile sending a shiver through me.

"Excellent idea!" Lockhart said, gesturing dramatically for Harry and Malfoy to step into the center of the hall. The rest of us instinctively backed away, giving them room.

I couldn't help but bite my lip in nervous anticipation. Lockhart's advice to Harry looked useless—he was gesturing wildly and clearly not providing anything remotely helpful. At the opposite end of the hall, Snape was smirking as he whispered to Malfoy, as if sharing some secret strategy. My stomach churned; whatever was coming, it wasn't going to be fair.

The boys met in the middle of the room, wands at the ready.

"Scared, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.

"You wish," Harry muttered back, his tone steely.

The excitement was palpable. Lee Jordan and George exchanged eager grins, while Ron looked ready to cheer Harry on. I, however, felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Something about Snape's smug expression made me uneasy.

"Just do what I did, Harry!" Lockhart said with entirely too much confidence, stepping back.

"What, drop my wand?" Harry shot back, his sarcasm barely veiled.

"Three—two—one—go!" Lockhart shouted.

Malfoy's wand moved like lightning as he shouted, "Serpensortia!" A long, black cobra shot out of his wand, landing with a loud hiss. The serpent reared up, its fangs glistening as it prepared to strike.

The hall erupted into chaos. Screams echoed around us as we scrambled to get as far away as possible. My heart hammered in my chest as I pressed myself against the wall, horrified.

"Don't move, Potter," Snape said coldly, showing no urgency to actually help. "I'll get rid of it..."

Before he could act, Lockhart jumped forward with a shout. "Allow me!"

He waved his wand, but instead of vanishing, the snake soared ten feet into the air and hit the ground with a furious thud. It hissed violently, slithering straight toward Justin Finch-Fletchley, its fangs bared and ready.

And then Harry spoke—but it wasn't English. It was a strange, hissing language that sent chills down my spine. His voice was calm but commanding, and the snake stopped, turning toward him instead of Justin.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered beside me, his voice barely above a whisper.

I couldn't tear my eyes away. Harry kept hissing, and the snake seemed to respond, its aggression fading slightly. But when Harry hissed again, the serpent coiled, clearly unsure whether to attack or obey. Justin, pale as a ghost, shouted angrily, "What do you think you're playing at?" before fleeing the hall in terror.

Snape stepped forward then, his wand slicing through the air. With a puff of black smoke, the snake disappeared. The room fell into an eerie silence, everyone's eyes fixed on Harry. Some, like Ron and me, looked confused, but others—particularly the Hufflepuffs—seemed genuinely afraid.

"Come on," Ron muttered, his hand on Harry's arm as he steered him toward the door. I chased after them, my heart beating out of my chest almost.

The tension in the air was almost suffocating as we made our way back to the Gryffindor common room. I could hardly think straight, the events in the Great Hall swirling in my mind. Harry's ability to speak to snakes—it wasn't just unusual, it was unnerving. I kept replaying the moment, the sound of that strange, hissing language echoing in my ears. When we reached the common room, Ron all but shoved Harry into a chair, breaking the silence.

"You're a Parselmouth. Why didn't you tell us?" Ron said, staring at Harry like he'd never seen him before.

"I'm a what?" Harry asked, looking utterly baffled.

"A Parselmouth," Ron repeated, his voice tinged with something between unease and fascination. "You can talk to snakes!"

Harry blinked at him. "I know. I mean, that's only the second time I've ever done it. I accidentally set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once—long story."

Ron and I exchanged a look, my stomach twisting into knots. A boa constrictor? I couldn't even imagine how Dudley must have reacted. "A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?" Ron asked, his tone half incredulous, half amused. "Barmy, mate."

"So?" Harry said, his voice defensive. "I bet loads of people here can do it."

"Oh no, they can't," Ron said quickly, shaking his head. "It's not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad."

"What's bad?" Harry demanded, his voice rising with frustration. "What's wrong with everyone? Listen, if I hadn't told that snake not to attack Justin—"

"Oh, that's what you said to it?" Ron interrupted, his tone skeptical.

"What do you mean? You were there—you heard me!" Harry said, clearly growing more agitated.

"I heard you speaking Parseltongue," Ron said grimly. "Snake language. You could've been saying anything…no wonder Justin panicked. You sounded like you were egging the snake on—it was creepy."

I watched Harry's face carefully. He looked completely flabbergasted, like he couldn't process what we were telling him. "I spoke a different language?" he repeated, horrified. "But—I didn't realize—how can I speak a language without knowing I can speak it? Do you want to tell me what's wrong with stopping a massive snake biting off Justin's head? What does it matter how I did it as long as Justin doesn't have to join the Headless Hunt?"

"It matters," I said quietly, my voice trembling slightly. "Because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for. That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent."

Harry's face drained of color, his expression a mix of disbelief and horror. "Exactly," Ron said, his tone cautious but firm. "And now the whole school's going to think you're his great-great-great-great-grandson or something."

"But I'm not," Harry said, his voice sharp with frustration as he looked at me for support.

"You'll find that hard to prove," I said softly, hating the words even as they left my mouth. "He lived about a thousand years ago. For all we know, you could be."

The weight of what I'd just said hung heavily in the air. Harry leaned back in his chair, looking like he'd been hit by a Bludger. I felt a pang of guilt. This wasn't his fault, but the way people had looked at him in the Great Hall, the whispers that would undoubtedly start… It was going to be a very long week.

The next morning, we woke to a blizzard. Thick snow swirled outside the windows, coating the grounds in a dazzling white. Herbology was canceled due to the weather, and for once, we had a free period.

Ron had taken the opportunity to utterly humiliate me in a game of wizard chess. His pieces were particularly brutal today—one of his bishops was currently dragging my poor knight off the board by its helmet. I was trying to focus on the game, but Harry, sitting beside Ron, looked so restless that it was impossible not to notice. He was shifting in his seat, bouncing his leg, and glancing toward the door every few seconds. I could tell he wanted to find Justin Finch-Fletchley and explain what had happened during the dueling club fiasco.

"For heaven's sake, Harry," I said, frustration bubbling over as Ron's knight demolished another one of my pieces. "Go and find Justin if it's so important to you."

"You're right," said Harry, standing abruptly. "I need to make him see reason."

He hurried out of the common room, leaving Ron and me to finish our game.

"Finally," Ron muttered, moving a pawn. "I can properly concentrate now that Harry's not bouncing his leg and moving the bench."

"You don't need to concentrate at all," I grumbled, retaliating with my rook and taking one of his pawns. "You're already good enough."

"Jealous?" Ron asked with a smirk.

"Hardly," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Yes, you are," he teased, grinning wickedly. "You're just mad you're not good at everything."

That stung more than it should have. Everyone always assumed I had to be perfect at everything, and it was exhausting. "I never claimed to be good at everything, Ronald," I said with a huff.

Ron must've caught the edge in my voice because he softened. "I know. Really. If it bothers you so much, I can give you a few pointers."

"That's fine. I already learn by playing you," I said, though my tone was sharper than I meant.

Ron grinned at the board, clearly enjoying himself. "Well, you're not learning much. Checkmate."

I stared at the board in disbelief. "I really hate you sometimes," I said, crossing my arms in mock annoyance.

Ron stood and stretched, grinning down at me. "No, you don't. You love me. I complete you. Without me, your life would be dull."

"You're insufferable," I laughed, shaking my head.

Ron plopped back down onto the couch, looking smug. "So, how do your parents feel about you not coming home for the holidays?"

I sighed, the memory of their letter flashing through my mind. "Well, they didn't particularly like it. Dad wasn't too keen on the idea, but Mum said it was the right thing to do as I had said I wanted to catch up on work."

"So you lied to them?" Ron asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

"I had to, didn't I?" I said, lowering my voice. "If I had told them I was staying to change into someone else by drinking a questionable potion so we can get information out of some evil kid, I don't think that would bode well."

"Well that's true," Ron admitted. "I keep forgetting your parents aren't part of the wizarding world."

I stiffened slightly at his words, the weight of the word Mudblood still fresh in my mind. "I don't see how you could forget," I said, my voice quieter now. "I am a Muggleborn, after all."

Ron's face darkened immediately. "Now, you know damn well I don't think about it like that. Okay, you're a Muggleborn. And? That doesn't make you any less of a witch."

His words were so earnest that they hit me straight in the chest. I felt a lump rise in my throat, but I willed myself not to cry. The last thing I wanted was for Ron to see me get emotional.

"Thanks, Ron," I said softly, managing a small smile.

"Anytime," he said, brushing it off like it was no big deal.

We played a couple more rounds of chess, though I gave up after Ron won every single game. My pride could only take so much in one morning. I decided to start on my Charms essay instead—it wasn't due until next term, but getting ahead always helped keep me calm. Ron, meanwhile, scribbled a letter to his mum on a piece of parchment.

But as the hours passed, I couldn't help but glance at the portrait hole. Harry still hadn't returned, and my stomach began to twist with worry.

"Where is he?" Ron finally said, echoing my thoughts. "It's been ages."

"I think we'd better go look for him," I said, standing up and grabbing my cloak.

Just as we were about to leave, the portrait hole burst open, and Harry stumbled inside, panting and looking pale. He rushed over to the couch, his expression a mixture of panic and determination.

"Harry, what's—"

"I have so much to tell you!" he whispered urgently, his voice trembling with emotion.