第 22 页

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 and Harry, who

knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you

could say "Unfair."

Harry's Swelling Solution was far too runny, but he had his mind on

more important things. He was waiting for Hermione's signal, and he

hardly listened as Snape paused to sneer at his watery

*186*

potion. When Snape turned and walked off to bully Neville, Hermione

caught Harry's eye and nodded.

Harry ducked swiftly down behind his cauldron, pulled one of Fred's

Filibuster fireworks out of his pocket, and gave it a quick prod with his

wand. The firework began to fizz and sputter. Knowing he had only

seconds, Harry straightened up, took aim, and lobbed it into the air; it

landed right on target in Goyle's cauldron.

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

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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.

Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip 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 -"

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched 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 puffedup lips, Harry

saw 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 and scooped out

the twisted black remains of the firework. There was a sudden hush.

*187*

"If I ever find out who threw this," Snape whispered, "I shall make

sure that person is expelled."

Harry arranged his face into what he hoped was a puzzled

expression. Snape was looking right at him, and the bell that rang ten

minutes later could not have been more welcome.

"He knew it was me," Harry told Ron and Hermione as they hurried

back to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "I could tell."

Hermione threw the new ingredients into the cauldron and began to

stir feverishly.

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

"Snape can't prove it was you," said Ron reassuringly to Harry.

"What can he do?"

"Knowing Snape, something foul," said Harry as the potion frothed

and bubbled.

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A week later, Harry, 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 Harry and Hermione as they went into

dinner. "Shall we go?"

Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o'clock that

*188*

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 they edged into

the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling

champion when he was young - maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not -" Harry began, but he ended on a groan:

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

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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 in

Harry's ear.

Snape's upper lip was curling. Harry wondered why Lockhart

*189*

was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he'd have

been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

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."

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry murmured, watching Snape baring 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.

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"Who cares?" said Harry and Ron together.

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

*190*

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 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 Hermione.

"I don't think so," said Snape, smiling coldly. "Mr. Malfoy, come over

here. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter. And you, Miss

Granger - you can partner Miss Bulstrode."

Malfoy strutted over, smirking. Behind him walked a Slytherin girl who

reminded Harry of a picture he'd 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!"

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Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off

each other.

"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 -"

*191*

Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on "two":

His spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he'd been hit over the

head with a saucepan. He stumbled, but everything still seemed to be

working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at

Malfoy and shouted, "Rictusempra!"

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; Harry had hit him with a

Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing. Harry hung

back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy

while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath,

Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry's knees, choked, "Tarantallegra!"

and the next second Harry's legs began to jerk around out of his

control in a kind of quickstep.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

"Finite Incantatem!" he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Malfoy

stopped laughing, and they were 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. Harry leapt

forward and pulled Millicent off. It was difficult: She was a lot bigger

than he was.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at

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the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan ....

*192*

Careful there, Miss Fawcett .... Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a

second, Boot

"I think Id 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 Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the

middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you,

you do this."

He 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, too. Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart

and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"

"Scared?" muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn't hear him.

"You wish," said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did,

Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

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But Lockhart wasn't listening.

"Three - two - one - go!" he shouted.

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

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black

snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and

raised itself, ready to strike. There were screams as the crowd

backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly enjoying the sight of

Harry standing motionless, 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.

Harry wasn't sure what made him do it. He wasn't even aware of

deciding to do it. All he knew was that his legs were carrying him

forward as though he was on casters and that he had shouted stupidly

at the snake, "Leave him alone!" And miraculously - inexplicably - the

snake slumped to the floor, docile as a thick, black garden hose, its

eyes now on Harry. Harry felt the fear drain out of him. He knew the