Snape's Invitation

On the first weekend of October, Zhang Wen did the boldest thing he had done since coming to Hogwarts.

He went down to the dungeons.

Snape's office was on the underground floor, in the same area as the Slytherin common room. The corridors were cold and damp, and the walls displayed specimens of unknown creatures soaked in green liquid. The atmosphere was probably about the same as a morgue.

Zhang Wen felt that Snape had chosen this place for his office entirely on purpose—just to make visitors uncomfortable.

He knocked on the door.

"Come in." Snape's voice came through the door, cold and precise, like a freshly sharpened scalpel.

Zhang Wen pushed the door open and entered.

Snape sat behind his desk with a stack of essays spread before him. His black eyes lifted to glance at Zhang Wen, with not the slightest hint of welcome.

"Professor Zhang," he said. "A rare visitor."

"Professor Snape." Zhang Wen sat opposite him. "I came to discuss something with you."

"The last time you came to 'discuss' something, you mentioned Quirrell." Snape's tone was unhurried. "I am quite curious what else you will reveal that you should not know."

Zhang Wen had come prepared.

He had already worked out how to deal with what he had accidentally let slip at the dining table last time. The best strategy was not to avoid the matter, but to take the initiative—approach Snape with a reasonable purpose and shift his attention away from "Zhang Wen knows too much" toward a specific matter.

"While grading the second-years' assignments, I found a problem." Zhang Wen placed four essays on Snape's desk. "Crabbe, Goyle, and two other second-year Slytherin students. The handwriting in all four essays is exactly the same."

Snape picked up the essays and glanced over them.

The change in his expression came quickly—first scrutiny, then confirmation, and finally an emotion Zhang Wen could not quite read.

"A Copying Quill." Snape set down the essays. "You know who did this."

It was not a question. It was a statement.

"I have a guess," Zhang Wen said. "But they are your students. I do not want to overstep and handle it myself."

Snape looked at him.

That look lasted about five seconds. In those five seconds, Zhang Wen felt as though every microexpression on his face had been dismantled and analyzed.

"You did not come to the dungeons over the essays," Snape said.

Zhang Wen did not deny it.

"The essays are real," he said. "But I do have something else I want to discuss."

"Speak."

"The Dueling Club."

Snape's eyebrow moved—a tiny motion, but for him, it was practically a dramatic change of expression.

"What do you mean?"

"I want to establish an extracurricular dueling practice activity at the school," Zhang Wen said. "Let students practice real combat in a safe environment. It would not replace regular classes. It would supplement them."

"It will not be easy to run properly." Snape's tone carried unmistakable mockery. "You should be able to imagine what will happen if it goes wrong."

Zhang Wen knew. In the original story, the Dueling Club Lockhart had run was a disaster—he had Harry and Malfoy duel, Malfoy conjured a snake, Harry spoke to it in Parseltongue, and the entire school began suspecting that he was the Heir of Slytherin.

But Lockhart had been the host. Lockhart was a fraud with no real teaching ability whatsoever.

"I am not a hack," Zhang Wen said.

"That much, I agree with." Snape said. That was probably the highest level of praise he could offer.

"I need a partner to host it with me," Zhang Wen said. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and the Potions professor jointly organizing it would carry enough weight, and it could also balance the hostility between Gryffindor and Slytherin."

Snape lightly tapped the desk twice with his fingers.

Zhang Wen knew he was considering it.

Snape was a complicated man. He disliked most students, lacked enthusiasm for teaching, and appeared on the surface to be a former follower of Voldemort, while in truth he was Dumbledore's most loyal spy. But one thing was certain—he was an exceptionally skilled wizard, proficient in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a position he had applied for over many years without receiving, and he cared deeply about students' safety in a way he would never voice.

If Zhang Wen could get him involved in the Dueling Club, there would be one more powerful ally close to the students.

If the Basilisk incident broke out early, having one more capable professor present was better than having none.

"What do you want me to do?" Snape asked.

"Once every two weeks, Saturday afternoon, in the Great Hall. You will guide the Slytherin side, and I will handle the other three Houses. Students may participate voluntarily. It will not be mandatory."

"The rules?"

"Only spells taught in class may be used. Dark magic is forbidden. Spells that cause permanent injury are forbidden. A professor will supervise every duel."

Snape was silent for more than ten seconds.

"The reason a Dueling Club might fail is not that there is anything wrong with dueling itself," he finally said. "It is because the host is incompetent. If the host has sufficient control over the situation—"

"That is why I came to you."

Snape looked at him, and the corner of his mouth formed an incredibly slight curve.

It did not count as a smile.

But for Snape, it was probably a sign of approval.

"I will consider it," he said. "You will have my answer on Monday."

"Thank you." Zhang Wen rose to his feet.

"I will deal with the essays," Snape added. "That Nott boy—he does not require your concern."

Zhang Wen paused.

Snape knew it was Nott.

Of course he knew. Snape was Slytherin's Head of House; he knew his students inside and out. He had probably known for a long time that Nott was using a Copying Quill to ghostwrite for others, but for some reason had chosen not to intervene.

"I merely handed the essays to you," Zhang Wen said. "How you deal with them is your business."

Snape did not respond.

Zhang Wen left the office and let out a long breath in the dungeon corridor.

Talking to Snape was truly exhausting. Every sentence felt like a move in chess, and every word could be used by him to infer one's intentions.

But at least the seed of the Dueling Club had been planted.

When he returned to the office, Artoria was reading the thick History of Hogwarts volume. She was already two-thirds of the way through it.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"Snape said he would consider it." Zhang Wen sat down and took a sip of cold tea. "But he did not reject it outright, which means he is interested."

"The Dueling Club." Artoria put down the book. "What is your purpose?"

"Three things." Zhang Wen held up three fingers. "First, to give students a safe environment for practical combat training. Class time is limited, and many students want more practice but have no opportunity."

"Second?"

"To bring Snape into my defensive network. If the Basilisk incident breaks out, I need as many professors as possible on my side. Dumbledore has already tacitly approved my actions, McGonagall supports my teaching reforms, and Filius Flitwick helped me make the mirrors. Snape is the only one who is both capable and suspicious of me. Rather than let him watch me from the sidelines, I would rather have him stand beside me."

"Turn a potential observer into a collaborator."

"Exactly."

"And third?"

Zhang Wen paused.

"In the original story, at Lockhart's Dueling Club, Malfoy conjured a snake, and Harry spoke to it in Parseltongue. That made the entire school suspect Harry was the culprit behind the Chamber of Secrets. I cannot let that happen."

"So you are establishing the Dueling Club in advance, and if you host it, you can control the rules of the duels—forbid the summoning of creatures."

"No snake means no Parseltongue incident. Harry will not be isolated by the entire school."

Artoria looked at him.

"You are dismantling the original story's chain of crises step by step."

"I will dismantle as much as I can," Zhang Wen said. "Some things are unavoidable—the Chamber of Secrets will open, and the Basilisk will emerge. But the consequences can be reduced. The Parseltongue incident caused Harry psychological harm no less severe than the Basilisk itself. If I can help him avoid that public humiliation—"

"He will be able to maintain a steady state of mind when facing the real crisis," Artoria finished.

"Precisely."

Artoria was silent for a few seconds.

"You said Snape knew about Nott."

"He knew, and he does not intend to let me interfere."

"Why?"

Zhang Wen thought about it.

"The Nott Lineage is an Aristocratic Clan of Death Eaters. Theodore's situation in Slytherin may be more complicated than we can see. He ghostwrites essays for Crabbe and Goyle—if it is not for money, then it is to establish some kind of social alliance among his classmates. Or he may be forced to do it."

"As Head of House, Snape needs to maintain a delicate balance within Slytherin," Artoria said. "If he rashly punishes Nott, he may disrupt that balance."

"Exactly." Zhang Wen nodded. "Slytherin is not as simple as Gryffindor. Gryffindor's problems are basically 'who argued with whom' and 'who got into trouble again.' Slytherin's problems are Lineage politics, blood-status hierarchies, exchanges of interest—essentially a miniature version of pure-blood society."

"It sounds like a royal court."

"In essence, it is." Zhang Wen said. "That is why Snape handles Slytherin differently from how McGonagall handles Gryffindor. McGonagall relies on rules and fairness. Snape relies on intimidation and information control."

"Two management styles."

"Both are effective." Zhang Wen thought for a moment, then added, "But Snape's approach makes students fear him, not trust him. In the long run—"

"Trust lasts longer than fear," Artoria said calmly.

Zhang Wen looked at her. Coming from the former King of Britain, those words carried extraordinary weight.

Artoria had probably experienced the difference between "trust" and "fear" firsthand, and painfully. The collapse of Camelot had, in some sense, come because the knights' trust in their king had fractured.

"Which one did you use in Camelot?" Zhang Wen asked.

Artoria fell silent for a while.

"Both," she said. "But I did neither well enough."

It was the first time Zhang Wen had heard her evaluate her own rule like that.

It was not modesty. It was reflection.

He did not press further. Some subjects were not suitable for digging too deeply into.

Sunday afternoon.

Zhang Wen took Artoria to inspect the rooster storage room on the fourth floor.

The three roosters were in good condition. The house-elf responsible for feeding them was called Dobbyn—not Dobby, but Dobbyn, another elf—and he delivered food and water punctually every day, performing his duties faithfully.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo—" A red-combed rooster let out an exceptionally loud cry when it saw Zhang Wen enter.

"Quiet," Zhang Wen said.

The rooster completely ignored him and kept crowing.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo—"

The other two were infected by its enthusiasm and started crowing as well.

The three roosters held an impromptu chorus in the fourth-floor storage room. They were so loud that they could probably be heard through two walls.

"I should ask Filius Flitwick to put a Silencing Charm on this room." Zhang Wen covered his ears.

Artoria stood at the doorway, watching the scene expressionlessly.

"They are indeed loud enough," she assessed. "If the Basilisk heard this, it should suffer greatly."

"The question is how to make the Basilisk hear it," Zhang Wen said. "We cannot patrol the castle carrying roosters."

"Why not?"

Zhang Wen glanced at her.

"Are you serious?"

"On the battlefield, armies carry war drums and horns to intimidate the enemy. Roosters serve the same purpose against the Basilisk. If we can make them crow at a critical moment—"

"The image is too absurd. The King of Knights charging into battle while carrying a rooster."

"Practicality takes priority over appearances."

Zhang Wen admitted she had a point. Still, he decided to keep "charging with a rooster" as the very last backup plan.

"I was thinking of another way," Zhang Wen said. "Record the rooster's crowing and amplify it with magic when we play it back. That way, we would not need to carry live chickens everywhere."

"Does the wizarding world have recording equipment?"

"No. But the wizarding world has—memory storage." Zhang Wen's thoughts began racing. "A Pensieve can store memories. If I can extract the memory of a rooster crowing and preserve it in some container, then play it when needed—"

"Too complicated." Artoria rejected the idea outright. "Tactical plans should be simple. The more steps there are, the higher the chance of failure."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Train the roosters."

Zhang Wen blinked.

"What did you say?"

"Train them to crow under specific conditions. For example, make them start crowing when they hear a certain signal. Then we only need to place roosters at key locations and send the signal when necessary."

"You want to train roosters to carry out military orders."

"Not military orders. Conditioned responses. Make a specific sound before every feeding, and the roosters will associate that sound with food. Afterward, whenever they hear it, they will crow excitedly."

Zhang Wen stared at Artoria for five seconds.

"When did you study animal behavior?"

"I kept hunting falcons in Camelot. The principle is the same."

Of course. The King of Knights had kept hunting falcons. That was perfectly reasonable.

"Fine." Zhang Wen nodded. "The rooster training plan. You will be in charge."

"I will need assistance. Have Hagrid cooperate with the feeding training."

"I will speak to Hagrid."

As Zhang Wen left the storage room, he looked back.

Artoria stood before the three roosters, examining them with the gaze of a commander inspecting troops.

The roosters seemed to sense some kind of pressure and fell silent.

Even chickens could sense the majesty of a king.

Zhang Wen decided not to comment on the sight.

On Monday morning, Snape gave his answer.

His owl delivered a note during breakfast, written in sharp, neat handwriting:

"Agreed. The first Dueling Club will be held on the second Saturday of October. You will draft the rules; I will review them. Also: your grading standards are too lenient. An essay awarded a B in the third year would receive only a D from me. —S.S."

Zhang Wen put the note away.

The second half was Snape's mouth at work. He always had to put you down while agreeing to cooperate, just to maintain his air of superiority.

But the first half was what mattered—he had agreed.

The Dueling Club was officially underway.

Zhang Wen immediately began drafting the rules and plans. The first event was set for the second Saturday of October, two weeks from now. He needed to complete the following preparations within those two weeks:

First, report to McGonagall and obtain her approval. This time should go more smoothly, since Snape would be co-hosting.

Second, notify the entire student body and explain the requirements and rules for participation.

Third, prepare the venue. The Great Hall needed to be cleared of tables and chairs, fitted with protective mats, and set up with a dueling platform.

Fourth, discuss the specific match arrangements with Artoria—especially making sure no one summoned a snake.

"What is the most important rule of the Dueling Club?" Zhang Wen asked Artoria.

"No lethal harm."

"Other than that."

Artoria thought for a moment.

"No losing control."

"Exactly," Zhang Wen said. "The purpose of dueling is to learn, not to fight. The moment someone loses control—say, Gryffindor and Slytherin students take a dislike to each other and turn practice into a real fight—it must be stopped immediately. That requires the hosts to have enough authority to intimidate them."

"Snape has enough authority."

"He intimidates Slytherin. Not Gryffindor—Gryffindor students aren't afraid of him. They just hate him."

"So you need someone else who can keep Gryffindor in line."

"That's you," Zhang Wen said.

Artoria looked at him.

"What you did at the opening feast already left a deep enough impression on the whole school," Zhang Wen said. "If you stand beside the dueling platform as a referee, no student will dare lose control."

"You want me to be the referee."

"Referee and safety officer. If things get out of hand, you intervene directly."

"How should I intervene?"

"However you think is appropriate."

Artoria gave a slight nod.

"But don't use excessive force," Zhang Wen hurriedly added. "They're students, not enemy troops."

"I know the difference."

Zhang Wen was not entirely sure she did. Her standard for "appropriate" was somewhat different from that of ordinary people. In her eyes, there were probably only two levels: "won't die" and "might die," with nothing in between.

"Let's be clear." Zhang Wen raised one finger. "By 'intervene,' I mean disable both sides' ability to fight. Not send people flying."

"I understand."

"Don't say that in the tone of 'I understand, but I reserve the right to use my own judgment.'"

"My tone has always been like this."

That was true. Every one of Artoria's "I understand" came with invisible parentheses—(but I will act according to my own judgment).

Zhang Wen decided that, before the Dueling Club began, he needed to have a detailed discussion with her about what level of intervention counted as appropriate.

Otherwise, he feared the first Dueling Club meeting would also be the last.

Monday evening, at dinner.

Zhang Wen ate at the staff table, watching the student tables out of the corner of his eye.

At the Gryffindor table, Ginny was sitting somewhere different from last week. Rather than occupying the far end of the corner, she had moved two seats closer to the middle. Hermione was on her left, while a first-year girl Zhang Wen did not recognize sat on her right—probably a new friend Hermione had introduced to her.

Fred and George sat across from her, performing tricks with forks to flick peanuts into the air. Ginny watched their performance with a clear smile on her lips.

Not the forced, polite kind of smile.

She genuinely found it funny.

Neville Longbottom sat beside Fred, talking to Ginny while he ate. Ginny occasionally nodded in response. Their conversation looked natural—the comfortable sort of exchange between two quiet people that did not require many words.

Harry sat beside Ron Weasley, a little farther away. He did not speak to Ginny directly, but Zhang Wen noticed that he glanced in Ginny's direction twice.

Twice.

That was two more times than last week's zero.

The progress was slow, but it was moving in the right direction.

"Ginny's condition has improved," Artoria said quietly.

"Mm." Zhang Wen nodded. "But it's still not enough. Look at her complexion—it's still too pale. The dark circles under her eyes haven't faded either."

"The Diary is still affecting her."

"A social network can slow the Diary's erosion, but it can't stop it." Zhang Wen lowered his voice. "As long as the Diary remains in her hands, Tom Riddle has a way to reach her."

"Why not simply take the Diary away?"

Zhang Wen had considered that question many times.

"Two reasons. First, the Diary is a Horcrux. If I take it directly from Ginny, Tom Riddle will realize that someone knows its true identity. He may act through other means—such as letting someone else find it. Then we'll lose control of the situation."

"And the second?"

"Ginny has already formed an emotional connection with the Diary. If I take it away rashly, her reaction will be unpredictable. She might break down, resist, or ask the Diary for help—and the Diary would use her panic to speed up its control over her."

"So your strategy is to make her put down the Diary on her own."

"Right. When she has enough friends and support around her, when she no longer feels lonely and helpless, the Diary's appeal will weaken. By then, even if it tries to intensify its erosion, Ginny will have enough mental resilience to reject it."

Artoria was silent for a while.

"What if her resistance isn't strong enough?"

"Then that's when we intervene," Zhang Wen said. "But I hope that day never comes."

Artoria said nothing.

She cut off a piece of roast chicken breast and ate it in silence.

Zhang Wen knew what she was thinking. She was calculating the worst-case scenario—Ginny being completely controlled, the Chamber of Secrets opening, the Basilisk emerging. In that situation, all social networks and psychological support would be useless. The only things that mattered would be a sword and a rooster.

That was the way a knight thought—always prepare for the worst outcome while striving for the best one.

In that respect, they were alike.

"What's for dessert?" Zhang Wen asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Artoria's gaze swept across the table.

"Apple pie and cream puffs."

"Which one will you have?"

"Both."

"You have both every time."

"Food should not be wasted."

"This has nothing to do with waste. You just want to eat both."

The corner of Artoria's mouth twitched.

"Apple pie first," she said, reaching for a slice.

Zhang Wen shook his head.

Some things would never change. Like the threat of the Basilisk, Dumbledore's riddles, and Snape's venomous tongue.

And Artoria's devotion to desserts.

In this world full of uncertainty, that kind of certainty was reassuring.