Parseltongue at the Dueling Club (2)

Applause started from the Gryffindor side, then Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and finally Hufflepuff. Ron's hands were red from clapping, and the whistle from his mouth was sharp enough to cut glass. Hermione did not clap. Her quill flew across the parchment, recording every movement from those few seconds.

Harry sat there, staring at Lockhart standing atop the iron pillar, his mind filled with what he had just seen—the anti-gravity backflip, the combination of the Gripping Charm and Featherlight Charm, all those applications he had never even considered.

He suddenly felt that his previous understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts had been far too shallow.

Severus Snape stood opposite him, his wand hanging at his side. His face was expressionless, but something churned deep within those black eyes. It was not anger, nor frustration, but something indescribable—confusion, perhaps, or wariness. He watched Lockhart on the iron pillar for several seconds, then turned and walked back toward his place. "The demonstration is over." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

Lockhart jumped down from the iron pillar, as light and nimble as a cat.

His boots touched the ground without making a sound. He gave Snape a slight bow. "You went easy on me, Professor Snape."

Snape did not look at him. He merely returned to the edge of the classroom, leaned against the wall with his arms folded, his black robes wrapping him in shadow. His gaze rested somewhere in empty space, as though he were no longer in the classroom.

Professor Flitwick walked to the center of the classroom and clapped his hands. "All right, students! The professors' demonstration is over. Now it's your turn. Pair up and spar using basic spells. Professor Snape, Professor Lockhart, and I will take turns offering guidance. Remember, don't go too far!"

The classroom