“I watched James Potter take down a Slytherin half-blood with a charm no student should’ve known. And I watched the professors lie about it.”

Flitwick stirred, but didn’t speak. His silence was confirmation enough.

“I saw the Slytherin boy carried out,” Cassian went on. “Still twitching. Wand hand shattered. Mind nearly burned out from magical feedback. And it was all swept away. Brushed under the rug because Gryffindor’s golden boy couldn’t possibly be that brutal.”

Lockhart opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“Duelling Club didn’t just get cancelled. It was buried,” Cassian said. “Because it turned into something it was never supposed to be. A showcase. A stage for legacy. For power plays. And no one wanted to admit that magic in the hands of children, even brilliant ones, is still dangerous.”

Flitwick, quietly, said, “That boy never came back.”

“I couldn’t sleep that night,” Cassian said softly, “listening to the older Slytherins whisper hexes they wanted to try. How they wanted to take revenge. How they wanted to just to hurt. Hurt Potter and Black. Other Gryffindors. And I realised… that wasn’t teaching. That was a bloodsport with prettier lighting.”

Flitwick sighed, long and quiet. “We’ll take precautions. There will be wards preventing stronger spells and dangerous intent. We’ll post a list of safe spells.”

Cassian shrugged, lifting his teacup. “Fine by me. Just don’t blame me when students get rampant all over.”

Lockhart, ever the optimist, beamed. “Well! We’ll avoid all that this time, won’t we? I shall be leading by example. A true demonstration of proper form and gallant restraint.”

Cassian deadpaned, “Right.”

Lockhart waved him off, radiant as ever. “Oh, ye of little faith. Rosier, if you’re so convinced, perhaps you should be my opening opponent. Give the students a show, eh?”

Cassian stared at him. Then turned to Flitwick. “You did this to me.”

Flitwick lifted both hands. “I never suggested that particular detail.”

Cassian looked back at Lockhart, expression unreadable. “You want a show?”

Lockhart grinned. “Yes!”

A slow, sharp smile curled at Cassian’s lips. “Then I’ll give them one.”

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. “Opening night, then. You versus me.”

Lockhart’s grin faltered just a shade. “Ah. Excellent. Educational.”

Cassian leaned down slightly, voice low and honeyed with danger. “Oh, absolutely. I’ll even use small words so the trauma sets in slowly.”

Flitwick bit back a laugh and reached for another biscuit. “Well then,” he said. “Duelling Club it is.”

***

By Thursday evening, the Great Hall had been cleared of tables, leaving a long strip down the centre for duelling. Torches along the walls burned brighter than usual, light gleaming off the polished floor. Lockhart had gone all out, draping deep purple banners and adding little sparkling charms overhead so the place had the garish gloss of a carnival tent. (The git, probably asked for an elf to do them).

Cassian walked in, hands shoved in his coat pockets, and stopped dead.

“Oh, for God’s sake…” he muttered under his breath.

Lockhart was already strutting up and down the makeshift stage, dressed in robes so violently turquoise they could blind a Thestral. He waved cheerily when he spotted Cassian.

“There he is! My partner in this grand endeavour.”

Cassian stepped up to the stage and squinted. “Is it too late to back out?”

“Far too late.” Lockhart clapped him on the shoulder. “The children are watching.”

Cassian glanced at the crowd. Students had packed into the hall, buzzing with excitement. Even a few staff had shown up, lingering near the walls.

“Right,” Cassian muttered.

Lockhart raised his arms theatrically. “Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts’ first Duelling Club in decades. I, Gilderoy Lockhart, will be your guide to the art of self-defence. And assisting me…” he gestured grandly at Cassian “…is Professor Rosier.”

A smattering of polite applause went around.

Cassian gave a small wave, expression flat. “Hello. I will be the one stopping Lockhart from accidentally killing you.”

A few students snickered.

Lockhart continued without breaking his rhythm. “Now, to demonstrate proper duelling form, Professor Rosier and I will engage in a friendly match. Wands only. No funny business.”

Cassian arched a brow. “Let’s get this over with.”

Lockhart chuckled. “Don’t be modest, Rosier. I know you are good.”

“Mm?” Cassian muttered, catching on to Lockhart’s little ploy immediately. Classic move… talk up your opponent, make him sound unbeatable, and when you knock him down, you look twice as brilliant. It wasn’t clever, just cheap theatre.

This wasn’t the first time Cassian and Lockhart had duelled. Back at school, they’d clashed more times than he could count, and not always with wands. Most of those matches had gone Lockhart’s way… not because he was brilliant, but because old Cassian could barely coax a spark out of his wand. Lockhart, with his polished robes and shining grin, had taken every win like it was the mother of all achievements. Cassian had avenged himself the only way he knew how… gold. He paid older Slytherins to corner Lockhart, hex him sideways, and leave him dangling from the Quidditch stands like last week’s laundry.

Old Cassian had hated Lockhart. And Lockhart had hated him back.

Now, years later, they were standing on a makeshift stage in front of a hundred wide-eyed students.

The students watched with bated breaths, eyes wide. Wands at the ready, they both raised them high and bowed.

Lockhart flourished his wand and called, “One… two… three!”

He’d barely finished the count when Cassian flicked his wand.

There was a sharp crack and a rush of air as Lockhart shot backwards across the stage. His feet left the floor, arms pinwheeling. For half a second, his expression was pure, dumb shock before he smacked into the far wall with a resounding thud. A purple banner dropped from its hooks and landed in a sad heap on his head.

The students froze, their mouths hanging open.

Cassian didn’t move. He lowered his wand tip, his expression cool, almost bored.

“Well,” he said dryly, “that was educational.”

A few of the braver Gryffindors snorted, quickly covering their mouths.

Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the platform. “That was a Disarming Charm, as you see, I’ve lost my wand, ah, thank you, Miss Brown. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Rosier, but if you don’t mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy. However, I felt it would be instructive to let them see…”

Cassian grinned, waiting to send him flying again. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, “Enough demonstrating! I am going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Rosier, if you would like to help me…”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart paired Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

Cassian shook his head, already striding through the rows of students Lockhart had so helpfully shoved together at random. “Mr Longbottom’s approach to a wand duel is more ‘blunt instrument’ than finesse, Professor Lockhart. Pairing him with Mr Finch-Fletchley, who is all defence and flinching means neither is going to learn anything. Diggory, swap in. Guide Longbottom through footwork before someone is bored to death.”

Cedric Diggory stepped forward obediently. Neville looked like he swallowed a toad whole.

“Mr Macmillan, you will work with Miss Edgecombe,” Cassian continued. “She will push you out of your comfort zone, and you can teach her a thing or two about maintaining a steady guard.”

Lockhart was still smiling, though it looked slightly strained now. Cassian ignored him completely.

“Miss Chang, Mr Goldstein… good pair, but switch. Goldstein, you are better off with Miss Brown. Chang, take Mr Corner. You will balance his habit of overreaching with actual sense.”

The students shuffled and swapped, some looking nervous, others excited. Cassian’s eyes swept the group like a hawk scanning for stragglers.

“Mr Boot,” Cassian called, making the Ravenclaw jump. “You have a habit of forgetting you got legs. Pair with Miss Abbott. She is light on her feet. Watch her. Copy her footwork. If I catch you rooted in place again, I will tie your ankles together and call it training.”

A few snorted quietly. Boot went red but nodded quickly.

Cassian clapped his hands. “Right then. Partners set? Face each other. Wands out. No hexing until I say, and if I see anyone try for a Bat-Bogey, you will spend the next month cleaning cauldrons in the dungeon. If anyone tries a spell outside the approved list, I will make sure you never set foot in this room again. Yes, including meals.”

He stepped back, arms folding loosely as he watched them line up. Although he wasn’t teaching practicals, he knew strong points of most of his students. It wasn’t difficult to pair them.

Lockhart clapped his hands, voice booming. “Excellent energy, everyone! Remember… confidence’s half the battle. And don’t worry if you’re nervous, I was duelling trolls before most of you were out of nappies.”

The duels were going surprisingly well. With Cassian circling the room, snapping at clumsy footwork and swapping partners when needed, most of the kids were actually learning something instead of just throwing sparks around.

Then, deep into the hour, it went sideways.

Somehow, because of course it would happen, Malfoy and Potter had ended up facing each other. If Hogwarts had an award for “Most Likely to Cause a Scene,” those two would’ve been joint winners.

Malfoy’s face was twisted into that usual smug sneer as he flicked his wand.

“Serpensortia!”

A thick black snake burst from his wand and hit the polished floor with a wet slap. The creature coiled, scales rippling as it raised its head.

Cassian’s shoulders tensed. That spell wasn’t anywhere on the Club-approved list. He took one step forward, his wand already in his hand…

“Allow me!”

Lockhart’s voice rang out, off-key and over-loud.

He brandished his wand with all the confidence of a man who’d never failed in his life. There was a loud bang and a flash of light. The snake didn’t vanish. It flew ten feet into the air, landed with a smack, and hit the floor hissing furiously.

Instead of slithering away like a sensible creature, it turned, eyes glinting, and shot straight towards Justin Finch-Fletchley. It reared up, fangs bared, ready to strike.

Cassian had just raised his wand…

“$#£½”

Harry’s voice cut through the air.

Not English. Not Latin.

Hissing.

(If you are wondering how Harry and Malfoy decided to duel, read here)

Spoiler

Ron barks a laugh as Malfoy’s hex fizzles: Nice one, Malfoy. Do you practise failure, or is it just natural talent?

Draco sneers back: At least my wand isn’t held together with Spellotape. Careful, Weasley, you might get splinters.

Ron shoots back instantly: I got a new one you git. One that fits not most expensive just to compensate.

A ripple of “oohs” runs through the hall. Malfoy’s pale face flushes: That is called being rich, Weasley. Wait, you don’t know what gold is, let alone concept of having too much.

Harry steps forward before Ron could lunge: Leave it, Malfoy. You’re just sore you got flattened by a spell a first year could’ve blocked.

Crabbe puffs up: Don’t talk to Draco like that!

Goyle shoves his way forward too: Yeah, Potter. Shut up or we will beat you down.

Ron bristles: Beat? Just you guys? Please, you’d trip over your own feet before I even aimed.

Draco smirks: And Potter would probably dive in after you, just like his mum dove in front of—”

Harry snaps: Don’t you finish that!

The crowd gasps. Crabbe and Goyle flanks Malfoy, grinning like trolls at a wedding. Ron squares up at Harry’s side.

Hermione rushes between them, hands out: Stop it! This is supposed to be practice, not—

Draco’s voice cuts her off: Out of the way, Granger. This is wizard business. You have no voice in this.

Ron’s ears goes scarlet: Don’t you dare talk to her like that!

Malfoy only sneers wider: Honestly, Weasley, defending a M- her? How quaint. Maybe she can teach you how to polish shoes since she’s so good at being beneath us.

The Gryffindors erupts with shouts, half the Ravenclaws too. Ron surges forward, Harry right beside him, Crabbe and Goyle cracking their knuckles.

And then Lockhart claps his hands, eyes sparkling like he’d just staged the whole thing: Wonderful! The spirit! The passion! Why waste such splendid rivalry on words? Onto the platform, boys, let’s have a proper duel!

Meanwhile Cassian is staring at his reflection, wondering how the world is fair. 

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Not a Spoiler, Just an image! ↓

Spoiler

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Author Rant ↓ 

Spoiler

If teaching is a dialogue, I’m definitely in a monogamous relationship.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep