That line caused an uproar.
A second–year being paired against a sixth–year made no sense to anyone.
"Did Mr. Green offend Snape or something?"
The Hufflepuffs were deeply worried.
"This isn't fair! This is blatant abuse of authority!"
Roger Davies yelled furiously. He turned to Penelope; the prefect's brows were knit as well.
In fact, every Ravenclaw looked grim.
"He's done for now—"
Slytherin's Theodore laughed loudly.
Marcus Flint was captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and that position was earned by far more than just talent on the pitch.
Further back, the members of the Hope Room wore very strange expressions.
"Sean versus Flint?"
Ron's face went bright red. "I just hope Sean doesn't slip up and accidentally—"
Sean had, after all, taken down the basilisk alone with a sword; they still hadn't seen so much as a corpse.
"What is Snape trying to do?"
Hermione's mind was spinning through possibilities, but even she couldn't figure out his intention. Just to make things hard for Sean?
Impossible—Snape knew Sean had taken down a troll by himself.
She glanced sideways. Under a storm of curious stares, Sean was already walking toward the stage. His expression was calm. At least so far, no one at Hogwarts had ever seen him look flustered or nervous.
That was exactly why the name "Green" had spread so widely through the school.
Everyone knew he was a wizard you didn't offend, didn't shake, and couldn't tempt. Even Dumbledore had essentially admitted he would do something extraordinary.
And to the students, there was something quietly compelling about him.
So a group of Ravenclaws spoke up at once:
"Professor Snape, sir, wouldn't it be better if I went instead? A proper duel needs evenly matched opponents!"
Roger Davies raised his hand, surrounded by a ring of Quidditch teammates. Penelope nodded in approval.
On stage, Snape's head turned at the sound. He gave Roger a single cold sweep of his black eyes, utterly emotionless.
"Get. Off."
The Ravenclaws froze like birds in winter.
Roger lowered his hand helplessly. He understood: it wasn't just him Snape had his eye on anymore—their "secret weapon" was doomed as well.
Flint swaggered up, smiling in that nasty way of his.
"Let me walk you through the basics. First, face your partner!"
Lockhart stood at center stage, projecting his voice.
"Next, bow! Raise your wands, and get ready!"
He called out, always delighted to put on a show.
"When I count to three, cast your spells. No serious damage—we don't want any accidents. One—two—"
"Expelliarmus!"
Flint reacted fast, wand carving a wide arc through the air.
Sean, on the other hand, had already more or less guessed what Snape was aiming for. But even among Hogwarts' upper years, there were few who could really go toe-to-toe with him.
Even someone like Flint, strong as an ox and with decent real-fight instincts.
Sean raised his wand, but didn't speak. Finite and Impedimenta were already cast, silently and instantly.
At the same moment, stone arms grew out of the stage, grabbed Flint, and before he could process what was happening, his wand had been knocked from his hand.
Professor Flitwick's "spell-combo technique" let you fire off a defensive spell and an offensive spell in the same breath; combined with one simple transfiguration, the match was over before it began.
"What just happened?"
"Flint lost?"
The students below were still dazed. All they'd seen was the two wands lift—then Flint was suddenly pinned and disarmed without any real struggle.
"He made the stone move—that's advanced Transfiguration."
Ron stared wide-eyed at the stage; the stone arms had already withdrawn.
"You didn't see it? The truly scary part was the silent casting—that was two silent spells at once!"
Hermione's sharp eyes had caught it. "But how did Sean even manage that?"
"Spell-combo work, Hermione. Sean wrote about it in his Defense notes—you just haven't gotten to that page yet."
Justin explained gently.
Unlike most wizards, Sean liked to write down his understanding of magic. He didn't worry at all about others seeing it; he improved far faster than his notes ever could.
In fact, writing things down just made it easier for him to reflect and revise.
On stage, Snape gave Sean an unreadable look, then turned that same cold gaze on Flint.
"Get off."
He snapped.
"Ah, looks like our winner is Mr. Green! What a surprise—but I must say, he's clearly been listening in my Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. If he studied with me properly, he'd go even further, no doubt about it!"
Lockhart preened like a peacock.
"I bet he'd say the same thing no matter who won."
Ron muttered.
Hermione poked him with her elbow; he suddenly realised the entire Hall had gone quiet.
Snape was staring at Lockhart as if the man were already a corpse on a slab. Even the students could feel the drop in air pressure.
After a long moment, when Sean finally stepped down from the platform, the students burst into thunderous applause.
"That was brilliant, Sean!"
Ron shouted.
"I was worrying for nothing, apparently."
Captain Roger called out with a big, relieved grin.
In the Slytherin crowd, Theodore hunched down and didn't dare lift his head.
Sean nodded slightly in response to Roger and Ron's wave.
But when his gaze shifted further off, he froze for a second. Two professors were standing there, watching.
"Excellent Transfiguration, Minerva."
Flitwick piped, in his thin, high voice.
"And simultaneous dual-casting—Flitwick, that's your handiwork."
McGonagall's mood hadn't been great earlier, but now it had noticeably improved.
As old colleagues, the two of them always managed to cheer each other up.
Their corner of the Hall was warm. On stage, the atmosphere between Snape and Lockhart was… very different.
"Perhaps we should demonstrate correct dueling stance, Professor Lockhart."
Snape said, voice cold as ice.
"Of course—"
Lockhart replied.
Sean watched the Potions Master's already-dark expression and couldn't help thinking again of the Defense position's "curse".
"Lockhart won't be killed, will he?"
Ron's voice shook.
"He… shouldn't be…"
Justin said slowly, thinking back on Snape's temper the past few days. The more he thought about it, the less sure he sounded.
"That's impossible. You really think Professor Snape lacks self-control?"
Hermione cut in, then considered it. "At worst, he'll end up in the hospital wing."
On stage, Snape's upper lip curled.
The Hope Nook kids couldn't understand how Lockhart still had the nerve to keep smiling like that; Harry, for his part, thought that if Snape ever looked at him that way, he'd already be sprinting in the opposite direction.