"Can everybody hear me?" Gilderoy Lockhart's magically magnified voice boomed through the Great Hall.
Arthur winced. The man's teeth were shinier than the polished dueling platform behind him. He half-expected birds to fall from the rafters in confusion.
Lockhart stood proudly at the front, dressed in a ridiculous shade of turquoise, arms outstretched as though announcing a royal feast rather than a club meant to combat real danger.
"It has been days," Arthur muttered to himself, "and that voice still sounds like someone stuffed sugar quills into a gramophone."
The Duelling Club had finally begun. Announced by Snape in his usual tone of dry disdain, it was supposedly created to give students a fighting chance. After the recent attacks and chaos, it was needed.
But with Lockhart in charge? Arthur had serious doubts.
He stood near the edge of the dueling platform with Draco, Blaise, and a few others, still nursing the dull ache from his ribs. It had been days since the hospital wing. Days since he lost the diary. Days since the attacks started again.
Now, the only thing standing between the student body and complete magical disaster was Gilderoy Lockhart.
Fantastic.
"Ten galleons Snape knocks him out cold in the first three seconds," Arthur said out of the corner of his mouth.
Draco smirked. "Three seconds? Be generous. I say five."
"I'll take that bet."
"Gentlemen!" Lockhart beamed, stepping dramatically toward the center of the platform. "As some of you may know, I've had more than a bit of experience in defensive spellwork…"
"Lying through your teeth isn't spellwork," Arthur whispered.
"…and I'm honored to pass on my vast knowledge to the next generation of brave young witches and wizards. With me today is none other than Professor Snape, who has graciously agreed to help demonstrate the correct way to duel."
Snape looked like he'd rather eat live Flobberworms.
The students murmured around them. Some, like Ron and Seamus, looked excited. Others, like Hermione, were already calculating techniques. Arthur wasn't interested in showmanship.
He scanned the crowd.
If someone stole the diary, and that diary was Tom's—his—then someone in this room either has it… or is being used by it.
And whoever it was, they were watching. Observing. Maybe even testing people, the way a predator tests a fence for weak points.
Arthur's eyes swept over the students one by one. Zabini. Calm. Too calm. Pansy. Fidgety. Too theatrical. Millicent. Strong, but blunt. No finesse. His gaze flicked briefly to Elena Potter across the room. Still laughing at something one of the Patils had said. Too casual?
He frowned. That day in the corridor. She had been running from something. From him. She had seen him with the diary.
Prime suspect.
She would never be anyone's first guess—and that made her perfect.
The sound of wands clashing snapped his attention forward.
Snape and Lockhart had raised their wands.
"We shall begin with a basic Disarming Charm," Lockhart declared. "Nothing to worry about, of course. Just to show how it's done!"
Snape's smile was razor-thin.
"On the count of three, then?" he said silkily.
Lockhart nodded. "Yes! One—two—"
"Expelliarmus!" Snape hissed.
There was a bang like a small cannon. Lockhart flew backwards, flipping once before landing in a heap of turquoise and ego.
The hall exploded in laughter.
Arthur just held out his hand. "I'll take those ten galleons now."
Draco grumbled and tossed a few coins into his palm.
Lockhart struggled to his feet, patting down his robes like nothing happened. "Marvelous! Excellent demonstration! Nothing wrong with a bit of theatricality to keep the enemy guessing!"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Guess too hard and you land on your face."
"Now then!" Lockhart cried, clapping his hands. "Let's try a few student matches! Nothing serious, just a bit of fun."
The crowd buzzed with anticipation.
"Let's see… Pansy Parkinson and Ronald Weasley!"
Ron looked horrified. Pansy looked like she'd just been asked to lead a dragon parade.
They stepped up. The duel was a mess—Pansy's spell rebounded, Ron tripped over his own feet, and the end result was both of them coughing on smoke.
"Brilliant start!" Lockhart cheered, clearly watching a different duel entirely.
Then came Justin Finch-Fletchley and Millicent Bulstrode. She nearly flattened him. He squeaked and rolled out of the way.
Then more pairs: Padma vs. Seamus, Ernie vs. Blaise…
And finally, Lockhart turned back to Snape. "Perhaps we should let some of the older students join in?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Very well. Let's raise the bar."
His gaze swept the room. It landed on Arthur.
"Mr. Reeves," he drawled. "Since you seem so confident in your abilities, why don't you come up?"
Arthur straightened, the faintest smirk forming.
"Of course, Professor."
"And… let's pair him with Ms. Derris."
A seventh-year Slytherin stepped forward—tall, precise, eyes cold as frost.
Arthur's grin faded slightly.
"Really, Professor?"
This wasn't going to be a slapstick wand-waving contest.
It was going to be a war.
And maybe—just maybe—the mask would crack on whoever was hiding behind Tom's words.
He rolled his shoulders, stepped up onto the platform, and locked eyes with his opponent.
Time to hunt.
————————————
Arthur adjusted his grip on his wand as he stepped onto the platform, squaring off against the older Slytherin girl—Derris. She stood like she'd already won.
Tall. Relaxed shoulders. Calm breath.
Dangerous.
His mind flickered—just for a moment—back to that summer.
Back to the Manor.
Back to Cassian.
-------------
Few Months Earlier
The courtyard behind The Reeves Manor was scorched in patches—evidence of previous duels. The sun hung heavy above the stone walls, beating down on Arthur as he gasped for breath, hands scraped, knuckles bruised.
Cassian stood over him, arms folded. Stern, but not unkind.
"You're too reactive," his uncle said. "If someone is stronger than you, you don't fight them with more power. That's a child's mistake. You fight them with precision. With clarity."
Arthur wiped sweat from his brow. "What if I don't know how strong they are?"
Cassian didn't blink. "Then watch them. Let them speak. Let them cast. Power leaves marks. Posture. Eye contact. Breath control. No one is perfect, Arthur. Not even the Dark Lord was... Is. They all have a loop—a rhythm. You find the break. You exploit it."
"And if I can't find it?"
Cassian smiled then, faint but proud.
"Then you survive long enough to. Use defense. Layer your shields. One spell doesn't block all. Keep one close to your chest, non-verbal, running quietly. Like your heartbeat. Let them think you're bare, then strike."
From the nearby steps, two of his cousins—Daniel and Dorian—watched silently, wands resting on their laps. Dorian nodded faintly.
"Don't flinch," he had told him later. "Flinching wastes seconds. Seconds lose fights."
---------------------
Now
Arthur exhaled slowly, Cassian's voice a whisper at the back of his mind.
He watched Derris.
Tall. Confident. But too rigid. Her right foot shifted before every weight change. Her wand hand was fluid, but her off-hand hovered like she was expecting to shield.
She's left-side dominant. Probably defensive spell up her sleeve. Delayed counterstriker. Time to bait her.
Snape raised his hand.
"On the count of three," he said. "One… Two… Three—"
"Protego silens." Arthur whispered.
His shield activated quietly, humming against his ribs like a second heart.
He was lucky he did
The spell came fast.
Derris didn't waste time with flashy openers. She flicked her wand and snarled, "Expulso!"—a blasting curse, sharp and precise.
Arthur didn't move. The spell smashed into an invisible wall inches from his chest.
Gasps rippled through the watching students.
Shield's still holding, he thought. Let her overextend.
She didn't hesitate. "Confringo!" This time, more vicious. The edges of the platform cracked with heat.
Arthur side-stepped. A simple slip-step Cassian had drilled into him endlessly.
Derris frowned now. Her stance shifted—foot forward, wand hand tightened. She's annoyed. That's good.
"Come on then, second-year!" she snapped.
Arthur didn't answer.
Instead, he raised his wand. "Ventaris."
A gust of controlled wind burst from his wand, not powerful, but enough to throw her hair into her eyes and unbalance her posture.
Her footing faltered.
There. A beat too long on the recovery.
He whispered, "Flagrante bind."
Thin ropes of flaming light erupted from his wand—Cassian's signature variant of the Binding Charm.
Derris tried to block—too late. They snaked around her wrist and elbow, binding tight.
"Release me!" she snapped.
But Snape had already raised a hand. "Enough."
The flames vanished.
Derris's glare could have set him alight, but Arthur didn't smirk. He just nodded.
"Nice control," someone muttered from behind. It sounded like one of the Ravenclaws.
Lockhart clapped awkwardly. "Well! Wasn't that thrilling? Excellent form, both of you. Very… spirited!"
Cassian would've been proud.
Arthur was already walking away. His heart was hammering, but his breathing was slow. Steady.
Then heard it:
"Stupefy!"
He imagined a red jet of light hurtled toward him.
Arthur's wand hand twitched before his mind did. The spell dispersed mid-air with a quiet shimmer—non-verbal deflection, pure instinct. Gasps echoed.
But she wasn't done. Another curse flew, more vicious than before.
Arthur didn't even think.
The magic rose from his chest, curling down his arm and out of his fingers like smoke.
A flash of green and silver.
A hiss.
A large, black snake burst from the end of his wand, coiling angrily on the floor. The spell had no name—just emotion and focus. But Arthur knew what it did.
It brought forth thought.
And in that moment, Arthur had been thinking about being cornered. Being threatened. A predator.
The snake lifted its head, tongue flicking. Its voice was a series of confused, drawn-out hisses—but Arthur understood perfectly.
"Where am I? What... isss thisss?"
It turned to face him, eyes glowing with otherworldly brightness.
"You. You brought me here. Take me back."
The crowd was frozen.
Arthur raised a hand, voice calm but low. "I'm sorry. It was a mistake. Just keep coming toward me. Slowly."
The serpent began to slide forward… but paused.
"Why should I? I am a natural predator. I should be feared by the likes of you."
Arthur's heart skipped. "Don't do this…" he whispered.
Too late.
The snake turned sharply—towards the nearest student.
Dean Thomas.
Its coils tightened, body rearing. Fangs glinting. Ready to strike.
"No!" Arthur shouted. "Come back!"
But it wouldn't. It was driven by instinct.
And Arthur—heart hammering—did the only thing he could.
He erased it.
A whisper of fire, a soft sizzle, and the snake curled in on itself, burning into blackened ash. The cinders blew away with the tiniest breeze.
Silence.
Arthur stood there, staring at the empty space where the creature had been. The connection had been brief, but it hurt. He could feel the hollow ache gnawing at him.
If this hurts... what would it be like with Elira? he wondered.
Then he looked up.
Everyone was staring. Not just with surprise.
With suspicion. Fear.
No... Arthur thought. Mission failed. There goes the hiding out in the background life.
Before the whispers could take form, Draco and Theo scrambled onto the stage. They didn't say a word—just grabbed him and hauled him down.
Lockhart's shrill voice echoed behind them, trying in vain to regain order.
Once they were clear of the hall, in the shadows of an alcove near the tapestry of the Laughing Centaur, Draco turned sharply.
"You were always careful," he hissed. "Why now?"
Arthur blinked. "What do you mean?"
Theo stepped in, voice hard. " Your beasttongue thingy, Arthur. In public. You spoke parseltongue. Slytherin's mark. At a time like this."
The realization hit him like a crashing wave.
The snake. The voice. His reply—out loud.
The whispers. The fear.
They thought he was the Heir of Slytherin.
He had walked into the Dueling Club hoping to find the Heir.
And now he was the prime suspect.
Foolish.
Draco looked at him. "What now?"
Arthur was quiet for a moment. The gears turned fast in his mind—no way back now.
"…We use it," he said finally.
Theo blinked. "What?"
Arthur exhaled. "They already think I'm the Heir of Slytherin. Then I'll play the part. I'll be the bait. We'll draw him out."
Theo swallowed. "And what if it doesn't work?"
Arthur turned to face them, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile—one that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Then," he said softly, "we'll be needing a new headmaster. Cause I'll be taking this one down with me."
Both boys froze.
That smile—it wasn't a joke.
And in that instant, Draco and Theo realized:
If Arthur really was already playing the villain…
He was being too good at it.