At about quarter to seven that evening, walking slowly beside Hermione, Harry makes his way down to the great hall. Madam Pomfrey had reluctantly allowed Harry to leave for the duelling club, under the express instruction that he was not to actually duel himself: Harry had quickly agreed. There'll hopefully be more meetings of the club after the holidays anyway, and he doesn't mind watching for the time being.

Harry's bones have knitted themselves together quite well, apparently, but there's still a fair amount of bruising up his side, and he's been left tender. "You think it'll go well tonight?" he asks Hermione quietly, and she gives a rueful little laugh.

"I hope so," she says. "Hello, Mr Sartorius." The historian is just stepping into the entrance hall, and he looks to Harry and Hermione with his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Hello," Sartorius says in his low, quiet voice, and he gives a polite nod of his head. "Mr Potter, why don't you introduce your friend here, as she already knows my name?" He seems to find humour in the situation, and Harry gives the man a funny look, but he does as he's told all the same.

"This is Hermione Granger," Harry says, "She's a Gryffindor."

"Indeed?" Sartorius' laugh doesn't have the same slightly sharp note that a lot of the other Purebloods' seems to have - there's no nastiness in it, and he offers his hand to Hermione. Harry can see that she's surprised, but she still shakes his hand, and offers him a little smile. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms Granger."

"Are you helping with the duelling club tonight?" Harry asks, and Sartorius gives a little shake of his head.

"Oh, no, defensive magic was never a particular skill of mine, and I'm a horrific duellist. I merely wished to enjoy the chaos from the edge of the room." As they enter the room, Hermione and Harry settle on a bench to the edge of the room, out of the way. Two of the long tables have been pushed together in the middle of the room with a thick, blue cloth covering the whole surface and making a platform for the duellists: Snape is already stood on the platform, obviously in a bad mood, and Lockhart is at the side of the room, leaning against a wall and chatting to Cecilia Hayworth. Hayworth doesn't look all that pleased to have Lockhart talking to her, and the relief on her face is obvious when Sartorius approaches, offering the both of them a winning grin.

Lockhart stiffens a little, then rushes up to the duelling platform, clambering up to stand beside Professor Snape. There are a lot of students in the room, Harry can see, all from different houses and different years, but they all go silent when Snape begins to speak.

"Duelling," he says in barely more than a whisper, "Is a time-honoured tradition in the wizarding world. It is a battle of wits, of skill, between its two opponents: it is a true test of one person's magic against another's. A wizard's duel is not a mere case of defensive spells and offensive ones - it is not merely a list of suitable spells. One must learn to move fluidly as one casts, to be ready to change one's stance and position at a half-second's notice: duelling is not for the stiff and upright, but for the constantly evolving."

Hermione and Harry listen carefully as Snape goes on, discussing the history of duelling in his quiet, measured voice. Despite being off to the side of the room, they can both hear him perfectly, owing to the utter silence of the other students watching him, and even Lockhart seems to be slightly spellbound by the way Snape talks on the subject.

"He sounds more excited about duelling than potions," Harry murmurs to Hermione, and she shakes her head slightly.

"No, remember in first year? He gave that poetic speech about what potions can be used for. I think he just likes magic." Harry turns to look at Sartorius and Hayworth, and he can see that Hayworth is murmuring something, explaining something maybe, and he wishes he could read lips.

"Professor Lockhart and I will now have a short duel, that you might observe proper procedure."

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary, do you, Severus?" Snape goes stiff as he meets Lockhart's gaze, and Harry tries not to laugh at the way Lockhart shrinks a little at the sudden glare. "Professor Snape," Lockhart amends quickly, "Why don't we just show a defensive spell first? Now," Lockhart scans the students around the table, but then he spots Harry on the other side of the room. "Harry! Why don't you come up?"

"Madam Pomfrey says he's not supposed to duel, Professor," Hermione calls back, but Lockhart is undeterred.

"Come now, come now! I'll hardly cast back!" Harry sighs, and reluctantly he pulls himself up, making his way up to the duelling platform and stepping up onto the cloth floor. Snape comes towards him, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder before he can approach Lockhart properly. His grip is tight, and he keeps Harry firmly in place.

"Know any good jinxes, Potter?" he asks so quietly Harry can barely hear him.

"You really don't like him, do you, sir?" Harry asks, but he knows better than to expect an answer, and says, "Pimple jinx, sir?"

"Good choice," Snape answers briskly, and he leans away from Harry, making his way down from the duelling platform and leaving Harry alone with Lockhart. Everyone's eyes are on them, and Lockhart offers Harry a big, wide grin as he steps back. Harry sighs.

"Now, Harry, I'm just going to cast this shield charm, and I don't want you to worry about hurting me with whatever little spell you've got planned there!"

"I'm not worried," Harry replies dryly, and Lockhart seems to misinterpret the laughter that spreads through the students gathered around the stage, because he offers them his wide, toothy smile as well. Lockhart stands, making a complicated flicking motion with his wand, and then he stands with his hands on his hips. There's an awkward silence, and Lockhart gestures for Harry to cast. Pulling back his wand and thrusting it forwards in a clean motion, Harry says, "Furnunculus!" The sickly yellow spell flies through the air, and Lockhart bends over with a loud cry as it hits him.

He covers his face with his hands, letting out a horrified shriek, and without saying another word he flees as fast as he can from the room, sprinting out of the great hall's open doors.

"Can I go sit down now, sir?" Harry asks. Everyone is chattering loudly about the spell and why Lockhart's shield didn't work, but Snape doesn't seem at all deterred.

"Off you go, Potter," Snape says, seeming satisfied as he steps back onto the duelling platform again, and Harry retreats. He settles back on the bench beside Hermione, who shakes her head at him in obvious disapproval, but Harry refuses to feel guilty - Lockhart had told him to cast, after all. It's hardly Harry's fault he can't cast a shield charm. "Ravenclaws and Slytherins to my left, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors to my left. The lot of you, form orderly queues. Now."

---

At six o'clock, Snape pulls a battered, silver watch out of an inner pocket, glances at it for a moment, and declares the last duel. Once Susan Bones has won against Padma Patil, he orders, cleanly, "Go away." He'd called students up two at a time, one from each side of the room, and he'd mostly critiqued duelling stances and strategies rather than actual spellwork, but Harry still feels like he's come away having learned a lot.

Snape's horrible, but even when he's telling someone they're an idiot, he usually tells them why.

"I'll see you later," Hermione tells him quietly, patting Harry's shoulder gently, and Harry gives her a little nod, making his way towards the platform again as the rest of the students file out of the room. Lockhart had never come back after fleeing, but Harry's sure that by dinner tonight he'll have gotten rid of the new pimples on his face and forgotten about the incident.

Snape sweeps back the cloth from the tables, beginning to levitate them back into their usual places, and Harry takes the chance to practice the folding charm he'd been trying to get right for the past few weeks, doing his best to spread out the long cloth and get it right. In the end, it's folded into a square - a messy square, but a square nonetheless.

He hands Snape his written account of his incident on the stairs, and Snape takes the parchment, scanning over the lines with a neutral expression on his face. "At least it's not a house elf, this time," Harry says, and Snape furrows his brow at him.

"Pardon, Potter?"

"I had this house elf bothering me over the summer - kept telling me I couldn't go back to Hogwarts, and then he stole all my post over the summer. His name is Dobby, but he's been leaving me alone, now." Snape stares at him, expression inscrutable. For a second or two, Harry thinks he's going to say something, but in the end he doesn't.

"I will give this to Professor Dumbledore, Potter," Snape says, and, taking the cloth from the table, he leaves the room.

---

Mr Potter,

I actually did know Gilderoy Lockhart when I was at
school - I was some years above him, and he was a
Ravenclaw. He was a strange boy, very flamboyant and
more focused on his hair than his studies - especially for
someone in his house - but once he left school he must
have done something right to be so accomplished.

I didn't much like him, honestly, and thought he was a
bit of a pillock (don't share that with him, of course).

He sent me the most terrible Valentine's card to me
when I was in sixth year - he'd made a collage of pictures
of his own face for the card's outside. Needless to say,
I wasn't impressed.

Hope you're well,
Amelia Bones

Harry laughs a little as he reads her response, trying to imagine a younger, stern-faced Amelia Bones with a Valentine from Lockhart in her hands. At least Lockhart isn't an idiot just for them. He writes up a quick response for her, making sure to mention that Amelia's niece had won her duel at the club tonight, and he sets it aside to give to Hedwig in the morning before picking up his copy of the Daily Prophet.

The headlines are about some French gourmet shop opening up a branch in Diagon Alley, an altercation between vampires that happened at a Weird Sisters concert, and a debate about centaur lands in the Wizengamot - none of it's really all that interesting, but Harry finds his eye caught by a little advert in the corner of page 2.

YOUNG REPORTERS CHALLENGE

Are you an aspiring journalist below the age of 17?
Do you have dreams of having your name in print
one day, and joining us here at the Prophet?

Send us your best article by December 23rd! The
winning article will be published on Boxing Day,
and its writer will receive 100 Galleons and six
months' free subscription to the Daily Prophet!

Harry looks at the little advert, and he cuts it out - he's still a bit clumsy with the spell, and he's not nearly as smooth with it as Theo is, but he's better with it than he was before. He grins as he holds the little advert in his hand, and he nods to himself.

He knows exactly what he's going to do with this.