Chapter 133: Chapter 133: The Art of the Duel

Sunday morning arrived crisp and clear. Arthur finished his experimental notes and decided it was time to visit Hogwarts and check on Harry’s progress. From what he’d heard, Harry was being trained hard by some top-tier mentors.

He activated his mirror. “Sirius?”

Sirius’s face appeared, slightly out of breath. “Arthur! Perfect timing. We are in the middle of a training session. When are you coming?”

“Where are you?”

“Unused classroom, sixth floor. Why—”

CRACK.

Arthur materialized in the center of the room, hands casually in his pockets.

“Still showing off, I see,” Sirius said without missing a beat. “Though I’ll never get used to you treating Hogwarts’ wards like they are non-existent.”

“They’re meant to keep out the weak ones like you,” Arthur quipped, surveying the transformed classroom—dueling platforms, reinforced walls, and training dummies arranged with precision. “Nice setup.”

“Arthur!” Harry jogged over, face bright with excitement. “You actually came!”

“Promised I would.” Arthur’s attention shifted to the diminutive professor beside Harry. “Professor Flitwick. Good to see you again.”

“Mr. Hayes.” Flitwick’s eyes sparkled with academic interest. “When Sirius mentioned you might visit, I hardly believed… But here you are, having accomplished what our founders deemed impossible.”

“I like to impress,” Arthur said with a slight smile. “I hear you’ve been teaching Harry proper dueling.”

Flitwick straightened with obvious pride. “Mr. Potter is one of the most talented students I’ve had the pleasure of instructing in quite some time. His spell-chain work is approaching professional levels.”

Harry flushed at the praise. “Professor Flitwick’s being generous—”

“Though,” Flitwick continued with a mischievous glint, “he’s not quite at the level of someone who can apparate through Hogwarts’ wards without breaking a sweat.”

“Different skill sets,” Arthur said diplomatically. “How’s the training structured?”

“I handle finesse and technique,” Flitwick explained. “Alastor provides… practical experience when his Auror duties permit. Sirius covers everything in between.”

“Moody’s training method is basically throwing Harry at dangerous creatures,” Sirius added. “Educational. Also terrifying.”

“Sounds about right,” Arthur conjured a comfortable chair. “Don’t let me interrupt. I’d like to see Harry’s progress myself.”

“Of course. Places, Mr. Potter.”

As they took positions on the platform, Arthur settled in with genuine interest. He’d never had formal dueling instruction—his combat style was self-taught, relying on overwhelming power and unconventional tactics. Watching a former champion like Flitwick was a treat.

“We’ll continue with advanced chain-casting,” Flitwick announced, settling into a textbook stance. “Remember—fluidity is key. Each spell should flow into the next without pause.”

They bowed, then the lesson began.

Harry opened aggressively. A flock of conjured birds burst from his wand, providing cover for a Stunner and a Body-Bind in rapid succession. The chain was seamless, each element supporting the next.

But Flitwick was poetry in motion. The champion’s wand moved in small, precise arcs. He deflected the stunner with a silent charm that absorbed and dispersed the energy. The body-bind met a mirror charm that reflected it harmlessly away. The birds found themselves suddenly made of soap bubbles, popping harmlessly.

“Excellent chain!” Flitwick called out, never stopping his movement. “But watch your transitions—”

He demonstrated with his own sequence. A tickling charm became a laughing hex which split into three separate jinxes. Each spell was perfectly timed, forcing Harry to defend from multiple angles.

Arthur leaned forward, genuinely fascinated. The technical skill on display was remarkable. Where he would’ve blasted through with overwhelming force, Flitwick used the minimum energy for maximum disruption.

Harry adapted quickly, his enhanced reflexes keeping pace with the professor’s speed. He started incorporating feints—beginning one spell only to seamlessly switch to another mid-cast. A particularly clever use of a smoke screen charm let him reposition for a better angle.

“Yes!” Flitwick squeaked with delight. “Misdirection within misdirection! Now defend!”

The tiny professor’s assault intensified. Charms came in waves—levitation attempts, charms that could blind if they connected, animated furniture joining the fray. Everything was non-lethal but would decisively end the match if successful.

Harry’s defense was impressive. He conjured physical shields when magical ones would be too slow, used banishing charms to create space, even managed to turn one of Flitwick’s own animations against him.

“Notice the economy of movement,” Sirius murmured to Arthur. “Flitwick never wastes energy.”

“While Harry’s compensating with agility and raw power,” Arthur observed. “Both valid, but Flitwick’s method has longevity.”

The duel continued for another ten minutes, evolving into a high-speed chess match. Attack, counter, counter-counter, each combatant trying to stay three moves ahead.

Finally, Flitwick called a halt. “Brilliant work, Mr. Potter! Your chain-work has improved dramatically.”

Harry was breathing hard but grinning. “Thanks, Professor. That redirection technique is brutal.”

“Practice it,” Flitwick advised. “Turning an opponent’s strength against them is often more effective than meeting force with force.” He glanced at Arthur. “Speaking of which…”

“My turn?” Arthur rose from his chair. “Different lesson though. Harry, what’s the first rule when facing an unknown opponent?”

“Assess their style?” Harry ventured.

“Survive,” Arthur corrected, stepping onto the platform. “Everything else is secondary. Ready?”

Harry barely had time to nod before Arthur moved.

Not the measured approach of a traditional duel—Arthur apparated behind Harry instantly, wand already in motion. Harry spun, shield charm half-formed, only to find Arthur had already moved again.

“Real combat isn’t formal,” Arthur called out, appearing at Harry’s left and firing a stunner from point-blank range. “Enemies won’t bow politely.”

Harry dove aside, rolling to his feet with impressive agility. He tried to create distance but Arthur was relentless, apparating to wherever Harry wasn’t looking.

“Constant vigilance,” Arthur said, channeling Moody as he attacked from above, having appeared mid-air. “Three dimensions, not two.”

Harry’s response was creative—he cast a dome shield and held it, preventing Arthur from apparating too close. Arthur nodded approvingly.

“Good adaptation. But static defense has weaknesses.”

He demonstrated by casting at the floor beneath the shield. The ground turned to quick sand pulling Harry in. But Harry was quick to jump and turn the ground back to normal.

“Environmental awareness,” Arthur lectured, casually deflecting Harry’s desperate counter-attacks. “The battlefield is a weapon.”

Harry freed himself with an explosion of raw power, immediately launching into one of Flitwick’s chain sequences. Arthur watched with interest, allowing the spells to get closer before—

He stepped inside Harry’s guard, wand forgotten, and placed a hand on Harry’s chest.

“Bang,” he said quietly. “In close quarters, magic isn’t always the answer.”

Harry stumbled back, eyes wide. “You didn’t use a spell.”

“Why would I? You left yourself open.” Arthur stepped back, giving him space. “Again. Remember—survival first.”

They continued, Arthur demonstrating scenarios Harry might face. Ambushes from multiple angles. Attacks during conversation. Spells cast without wand movements. Each exchange taught a different lesson about real combat versus formal dueling.

“Your technical skills are excellent,” Arthur said after a particularly good defensive sequence from Harry. “But you’re still thinking like a duelist. Death Eaters won’t follow rules.”

“Then how do I prepare for that?”

“By expecting chaos.” Arthur smiled. “You’re doing better than you think. That last counter would have caught most wizards.”

After ten more minutes, they called a halt. Harry was exhausted but exhilarated.

“That was…” Harry shook his head. “Completely different from anything I’ve practiced.”

“Both styles have merit,” Flitwick interjected. “Technical excellence provides a foundation. Mr. Hayes’ approach teaches adaptation.”

“Speaking of which,” Arthur said, “I’d like to observe more of these sessions, if possible. Your technical instruction is superb, Professor.”

Flitwick beamed. “You’d be most welcome. Perhaps we could even arrange some theoretical discussions on spell mechanics.”

“I’d enjoy that.”

After Flitwick departed for his office, Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder. “You lasted longer than I would have against Arthur’s disappearing act.”

“Barely,” Harry said, then brightened. “Sirius said something about a treasure hunt…”

“A treasure hunt in the Chamber of Secrets,” Arthur replied. “Still interested?”

“Are you kidding?” Harry was practically bouncing. “I’ve been wondering what else might be hidden down there ever since second year.”

“One way to find out.” Arthur placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Shall we skip the scenic route?”

The world compressed, and suddenly they stood in the main chamber, surrounded by serpentine architecture and ancient stone.

“I’m so jealous,” Harry breathed. “When can I learn to do that?”

“When you master Apparition, nearly get killed by a cosmic blue gem, and live to tell the tale,” Arthur replied dryly.

“…What?”

“I’ll tell you the story another day.”

“Right,” Harry said slowly, then asked, “So what exactly am I looking for?”

“Anything that responds to Parseltongue. Hidden doors, secret compartments, warded sections that might reveal themselves to a speaker.”

They spread out systematically. Harry worked his way along the walls, hissing “Open” and various other commands at every snake motif. Sirius and Arthur cast detection spells, looking for concealed spaces or magical signatures.

“Try being more specific,” Arthur suggested after twenty minutes yielded nothing. “Don’t just say ’open.’ Try ’reveal your secrets’ or ’show me Slytherin’s legacy.’”

Harry nodded, switching to more elaborate phrases. His Parseltongue echoed eerily in the chamber, but the stones remained stubbornly unresponsive.

“I’m finding some interesting ward structures,” Sirius called out. “But they’re all part of the original chamber construction.”

Arthur frowned, running his hand along a particularly ornate carving. “The magic here is old. Layered. But I’m not sensing anything beyond what we can see.”

They continued for another forty minutes, trying every method they could think of. Harry even attempted conversation with some of the snake carvings, reasoning that Slytherin might have appreciated cunning over direct commands.

“I hate to say it,” Sirius finally admitted, “but maybe we’re chasing shadows. If there was something here, Tom found it fifty years ago.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur mused, though he looked unsatisfied. “Or perhaps we’re approaching this wrong.”

“Different approach?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Just a thought.” Arthur placed a hand on each of their shoulders again. “Let me think about it, and then we’ll make another trip.”

Back in the classroom, Harry glanced at the time and winced. “I should head back. Prefect meeting. Hermione will hex me if I’m late again.”

“And I have papers to grade,” Sirius groaned. “The glamorous life of a professor. Thanks for coming, Arthur. That combat demonstration was invaluable.”

“I’ll be back next week,” Arthur promised. “I want to see more of those dueling techniques.”

After they left, Arthur remained alone in the empty classroom, his mind still on the Chamber. Every instinct screamed that he had missed something—some method of searching he hadn’t considered.

He Apparated back to the Chamber one last time, standing in silence amidst ancient stone and serpentine walls, letting his thoughts run wild.

And then it hit him.

Arthur smiled, settling cross-legged on the cold stone floor. He had been thinking like wizards—limited by walls, wards, and assumptions.

But there was another way to search. One that ignored physical barriers entirely.

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