The corridor.
Harry was still absently listing Professor Snape's crimes, but Sean could tell he'd started to reflect a little.
Harry had begun to wonder: if Snape wasn't actually like the Death Eaters at heart, and had even helped protect him from the bewitched Quirrell… then why did he hate Harry so much?
And when he remembered what Dumbledore had said, his mood dropped.
"Voldemort transferred a part of himself into me,"
Harry said blankly. "Sean, I'm similar to Voldemort."
Beside him, Sean looked thoughtful. It seemed Voldemort's influence had pushed Harry into doubting himself.
"Oh, Harry, you made Voldemort vanish, and now you're worried you're like him—that's a bit too funny, don't you think?"
Justin emerged from the corner. It looked like he'd just come back from the kitchens and run into Sean and Harry.
That made Harry's eyes light up.
He'd been drowning in worry and somehow forgotten that simple fact.
Sean glanced at Justin; Justin was still smiling as he reassured Harry.
Both Sean and Justin understood Harry's fear. When it comes to the person who killed your parents, no one wants to see even a shadow of resemblance to them in themselves.
Soon the corridor was empty again.
Up in the Ravenclaw dormitory, there was a new black cat.
While the charm on the blank stone was still slowly recovering its magic, Animagus practice was the perfect way to keep sharpening Sean's soul transformation.
[You have practiced Soul Transformation once at apprentice level within the Master tier. Mastery +3]
The chime from the interface rang all the way up to curfew, and the night slipped by.
The next day.
Everyone felt Professor Snape's fury.
If he'd once been strict to the point of harshness, he was now a pure machine of rules.
Stir your cauldron a little too shallowly—five points gone.
Even Justin came out of Potions looking dazed. After two back-to-back lessons, Hufflepuff had lost forty points; even Ravenclaw had hemorrhaged more than usual.
It was an outright massacre of House points.
Fortunately, something else that evening pulled everyone's attention away.
Otherwise, half the school would probably be crowded at the Hourglasses, staring at the falling gems and betting on who'd slipped a Dungbomb into Snape's office.
"Professor Snape… I've got to say, he might be going a little mad."
In the Great Hall, Justin carefully chose his words—but still ended up with that as the most accurate description.
"We should steer clear of him for a while. Especially you lot."
Hermione looked at Harry, Ron, and Neville.
They'd all been his favorite targets for deducting points before; now the thought was unbearable.
Overhead, owls swooped in with the morning post. Sean sipped pumpkin juice and glanced up at the staff table. Snape's face was dark as a storm cloud as he spoke to Dumbledore, a smile stretched across his face that didn't reach his eyes.
This time, he seemed to be the one with the advantage.
By evening, though, the Hall was buzzing again.
Sean had originally been in the Hope Room practicing spells; once he started to feel a bit tired, he followed an excited Justin and the others down to the Great Hall.
Just like the day before, the long house tables had vanished, and a single golden platform was set up against the stone wall. Thousands of floating flames bathed the space in bright light, and the enchanted ceiling above was once again a bottomless velvet-black sky.
Practically the entire school had shown up. The place was packed, faces eager and tense, wands clutched tight as students whispered to each other.
"Did you see? Who's teaching us to duel? Who is it?"
There were too many older students blocking the front; Hermione couldn't see anything and had to ask nervously, "Is it Professor Flitwick?"
"Hermione, if you can't see, you can't expect us to suddenly grow a foot taller,"
Ron said, stretching his neck as far as he could, but seeing nothing either.
"As long as it's not—"
Harry didn't finish. His words turned into a groan as Gilderoy Lockhart strutted onto the stage in a magenta robe, dazzlingly bright. The person beside him was none other than Professor Snape, wearing his usual black.
Lockhart flourished his hands for silence, then shouted loudly,
"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me? Wonderful!
"Now then, Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to set up this little Dueling Club, so I can give you proper training, in case you ever need to defend yourselves, using the methods I've personally employed countless times to protect myself—details, of course, can be found in my published works."
His grand entrance completely blindsided them. Sean saw Hermione's excited expression freeze on her face.
Harry turned to leave. Ron followed.
Unfortunately, the "club" was technically a lesson. Percy was standing further back and stepped in front of them.
"Class is starting. Back to your spots."
Percy said calmly.
Sean watched Harry and Ron shuffle back with drooping shoulders.
On stage, Lockhart was booming,
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape."
He grinned widely. "He's told me he knows a bit about dueling himself—and has very generously agreed to help me demonstrate a little before we begin.
"I told him, I wouldn't want you youngsters to get worried—but once we're done with our demonstration, I'll be sure to return your Potions master to you in one piece. No need to be afraid!"
Snape's already-dark expression now looked positively murderous. Lockhart saw it and stammered slightly, his mind twisting for an escape:
"B-but perhaps, before we demonstrate, we could have two volunteers up here to show everyone what an incorrect duel looks like. Any takers?"
He stole a glance at Snape, saw that icy glint in his black eyes, and quickly turned his gaze away.
"Two volunteers… Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, what do you say?"
"That would not be wise, Professor Lockhart."
Snape cut in suddenly, gliding across the stage like an enormous poisonous bat.
"Longbottom could cause a disaster with the simplest spell. We'd likely have to scoop what's left of Finch-Fletchley into a matchbox and send him to the Hospital Wing."
Neville's round, pink face went scarlet. Justin and Hermione murmured to him, trying to soothe him.
"He's lying, Neville. Remember? You were seventh in the year."
Neville's expression eased a little at that.
"Sean Green. Up here."
Snape's gaze locked onto him. His eyes held no obvious emotion, only a deep, unreadable weight. Since the night before, he'd realised with a jolt that he'd somehow lost track of the boy again—of what he truly was.
Now he knew it wasn't because of anything he had done. Some wizards simply weren't meant to plod along slowly like mediocrities.
"And… Marcus Flint. You'll be his—"
He paused for half a second.
"Opponent."
~~~
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