章 68: Snape and Harry
The two moved to opposite ends of the stage.
"In a wizard's duel, proper etiquette is a must," Lockhart said with a wide, toothy grin. "First, we show respect to our opponent."
He turned and bowed politely to Snape.
Snape, clearly reluctant, gave a curt nod in response.
"I wish the basilisk I fought had been this polite," muttered a disgruntled Gryffindor upperclassman. "Bowing before a fight—what nonsense."
For once, the Slytherins didn't voice a differing opinion. They nodded in agreement.
A fight was a fight.
Victory was all that mattered.
If sneaking an attack guaranteed a win, then sneak attacks were the way to go!
Onstage, the two wizards raised their wands to their chests. Lockhart turned back to the students and continued his monologue:
"After the bow, duelists adopt their stances—like so—"
He twirled his wand with a flourish, the long wooden stick spinning deftly between his fingers.
Snape's patience wore thin; he looked ready to fire a spell without waiting for permission.
"Mastery of wand handling," Lockhart said with smug pride, "is an essential indicator of a duelist's skill level." He glanced at Snape's increasingly grim face and finally decided to rein himself in. "When I count to three, we'll cast our first spells. Of course, we won't aim to harm each other seriously."
"One… two… three!"
Lockhart dragged out the last syllable dramatically.
The instant the word "three" left his mouth, both wizards raised their wands.
"Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light shot from Snape's wand.
"Protego!"
Lockhart's wand flared white as he conjured a shield. The disarming spell ricocheted off with a loud clang, slamming into a nearby candelabra.
Harry, Snape, and even the other professors wore expressions of mild surprise.
Lockhart himself seemed pleased—until Snape's second spell hit him.
"Expelliarmus!"
The second disarming spell tore through his feeble magical defenses, sending him sprawling backward onto the stage. His wand flew high into the air before landing neatly in Snape's outstretched hand.
"I knew it," Ron said gleefully. "He was bound to make a fool of himself."
Harry, however, shook his head. "It's hard to believe he could even cast a Shield Charm."
The Protego spell wasn't something just anyone could master.
Considering the dismal quality of Defense Against the Dark Arts education at Hogwarts over the years, the fact that Lockhart could pull it off was genuinely surprising.
Lockhart himself looked stunned, clearly not expecting to last for just one round.
After a long pause, he scrambled to his feet, disheveled and flustered. His robes were askew, several buttons had popped off, and his hat lay crumpled on the floor. He hastily picked it up, dusted it off, and plopped it back on his head.
"Well!" he declared, his voice strained but upbeat. "You all saw that, didn't you?"
"That was a demonstration between Professor Snape and me."
"A Disarming Charm—it's one of the most practical spells in a duel, as it disarms your opponent of their wand."
"But you might have noticed, I countered it earlier with the Shield Charm. Yes, the very advanced spell, Protego. Some Aurors can't even manage it! Only exceptionally skilled wizards, like myself, are capable of such feats."
"This charm, as you saw, can repel almost any hex or curse—save for the Unforgivable Curses."
"A duel isn't just about attack and defense. Strategy is equally vital!"
"Take Professor Snape, for example. When he noticed my defensive approach, he chose to counter it with relentless offense. Of course, I held back—no need to take things too far."
Snape sneered, tossing Lockhart's wand back to him.
Lockhart fumbled to catch it, nearly dropping it again. "And with that, our demonstration concludes! But—"
"To give you all a taste of the difference between a young wizard and a true master…"
He turned abruptly toward Harry.
"Mr. Potter!"
The crowd's attention shifted instantly to Harry.
"Would you care to…" Lockhart hesitated, then stiffened his resolve. "Would you like to duel with my assistant, Professor Snape?"
Snape raised an eyebrow, surprised that the peacock-like man had handed him such an opportunity. His lips curled into a subtle smile.
"Of course," Harry replied without hesitation.
"Excellent! Come up to the stage," Lockhart said, clapping his hands enthusiastically.
But Snape shook his head. "Potter and I don't need this ridiculous platform."
He stepped down from the stage.
McGonagall wasted no time; with a flick of her wand, the stage vanished. Lockhart, caught off guard, stumbled and nearly fell.
The crowd formed a wide circle, leaving ample room for the duel.
"Dear Professor," Harry said as he approached, drawing the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat. "Please be kind."
"Spare me your theatrics!" Snape growled through gritted teeth.
Lockhart hurried between them, positioning himself as the referee. "Now, bow!"
Neither Harry nor Snape moved.
"Well… I suppose that isn't necessary between the two of you," Lockhart muttered awkwardly. "Very well. One… two—"
Before he could finish, Harry rolled to the side in a swift dodge.
An invisible wave of magic surged forward.
Lockhart, unfortunately caught in the middle, was flipped upside down. His robes sagged, revealing a mat of chest hair and an unnaturally smooth, hairless stomach.
"Professor, you seem fond of that spell," Harry remarked, flicking his wand. A cluster of nearby chairs leaped into the air, transforming into a pack of white wolves that charged at Snape. "Does it have something to do with my father?"
"Using Transfiguration so crudely? Professor McGonagall would weep," Snape retorted coldly. He raised his wand, conjuring roaring flames that engulfed the wolf pack, reducing them to ash.
"Oh? How about this?" Harry asked, casting another spell.
From the flames, the wolves morphed into twenty flaming archers, their fiery arrows raining down on Snape.
"Protego!" Snape cast a defensive spell, abandoning his offense to deflect the attack.
But Harry wasn't finished.
"Finite Incantatem!" Snape's next spell dispelled the fiery transfiguration entirely.
Wooden shards rained down as the remains of the chairs scattered. Though blunted, they still posed a threat, bouncing harmlessly off the Shield Charm.
And yet—
"Nebulus!"
As Snape dispelled the attack, Harry summoned a dense mist that rapidly spread across the area.
Snape's vision was obscured.
The boy was dangerous in close combat. If Harry managed to close the gap—
Snape flipped his wrist, withdrawing several vials of potions from his robes. He hurled them to the ground, the shattered glass releasing clouds of vibrant blue-green gas.
The mist turned toxic.
Harry sniffed lightly.
Paralysis, disorientation, confusion—he quickly identified the effects.
Expensive potions, undoubtedly of excellent quality.
Unfortunately for Snape, Harry was immune.
Witcher physiology truly was a luxury.
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