Chapter 327: The Duelling Club
Outside the Ravenclaw Common Room.
"Which came first, the fire or the phoenix?" the bronze eagle knocker inquired.
"A circle, with no beginning," Sean replied.
The door swung open, and he immediately spotted Luna Lovegood still lingering in the common room. She was clutching a magazine upside down; curiously, the title The Quibbler didn't look any different when inverted, as if enchanted with a very specific, stubborn charm.
There was a smudge of dirt on her nose, and her hair was tied in a messy knot atop her head. The moment she saw Sean, her protuberant eyes shimmered with a faint, dreamy excitement.
"Oh... I saw your bookstore in the papers. I expect you didn't start writing those books just for the Galleons," she said, her voice sounding like someone speaking in their sleep.
"Mmm," Sean hummed.
Originally, Sean's notes were purely for his own study. It was only after Justin organized and published them that they became a commercial success. Sean had often felt that Justin deserved a larger share of the royalties, but they had ultimately settled on a fifty-fifty split.
"I don't think Daddy would ever pay people to write articles, either," Luna said airily. "They write because it's an honor. And, of course, to see their names in print."
She wrapped herself in a colorful blanket and, mid-sentence, drifted off to sleep right there on the sofa. Sean stared at her for a moment. Her shoes were missing again, and her hair was a disaster... He let out a silent, weary sigh.
Moonlight spilled across the windowsills of Ravenclaw Tower, where the line between reality and the ethereal mist always seemed to blur.
Following the trail of these strange vapors, one could catch a fleeting glimpse of a sign reading The Oak Tree Children's Home. A black cat regularly set out from this anchor point, the Void Rune against its chest glowing with a soft, pulsing light.
Beside a particularly kaleidoscopic cluster of mist, the cat had made several attempts to pull Harry and Voldemort into the realm together, but it had failed every time.
The bad news: Sean could feel a faint resistance—the source of his failure.
The good news: the resistance wasn't overwhelming. He had a strong intuition that once his proficiency in Soul Transfiguration reached the next tier, he would be able to drag the weakened fragment of Voldemort into his own domain within the Lands Between.
This meant that Sean—or rather, the black cat—needed to dedicate even more time to his soul-craft. It also meant he had to be very careful to avoid the increasingly enthusiastic members of the Hogwarts Kneazle Society.
He checked his progress:
[Alert: You have practiced Soul Transfiguration at the standard of an Adept within the Master Realm. Master-level Proficiency +10]
[Material Transfiguration: Adept (10/3000)]
[Soul Transfiguration: Entry (210/300)]
He was close. Very close.
On Sunday morning, Sean woke to find winter sunlight flooding the dormitory.
In the Ravenclaw Common Room, a crowd was gathered around the noticeboard. Usually, it just held timetables and club cancellations, but today, a fresh piece of parchment had drawn a massive audience.
"It's a new announcement..."
"A Duelling Club? What's that when it's at home?"
"It means exactly what it says, you dunderhead."
Sean edged closer. The crowd parted respectfully to let him through. He scanned the notice and understood the situation immediately.
Lockhart had clearly sensed the growing tide of resentment and skepticism from the students—especially from Hermione, who had been cornered him with increasingly difficult academic questions. Desperate to salvage his heroic image, he had scrambled to organize a Duelling Club.
Sean suspected this was the "DADA Jinx" finally asserting itself.
With that thought, Sean tucked his book under his arm and headed to the Great Hall. Lockhart wasn't his primary concern; he was more focused on his session in the dungeons tonight. He didn't just have Potion practice; he also had to face Professor Snape regarding the fallout from the Chamber of Secrets.
In the Great Hall, another group had gathered around a duplicate notice. Harry, Hermione, Justin, and Ron were all looking exceptionally excited and beckoned Sean over.
"They're starting a Duelling Club!" Ron shouted, practically vibrating with energy. "The first meeting is tomorrow night. I've been practicing Transfiguration for a year—I'm finally going to put it to use!"
"I wonder if Slytherin's monsters know how to duel properly," a nearby Gryffindor muttered, though he looked just as keen as Ron.
"It'll be useful either way," Harry said. He looked at Sean. "Are you coming, Sean?"
After all, Sean had defeated the Basilisk solo. They had spent the previous evening going over the details with Professor McGonagall—though for some reason, the Professor had looked progressively more ill as the story went on.
Harry was now convinced that not even a seasoned Auror could take Sean in a fair fight.
The group subconsciously clustered around Sean, waiting for his answer. Sean looked at the parchment and considered. He genuinely wanted to see how the jinx would manifest this time. The Basilisk was gone, so how would the "curse" manage to get rid of Lockhart before the end of the term?
By late afternoon, the Duelling Club was beginning to take shape.
In the Great Hall, the long house tables had vanished. Along one wall, a gilded stage had been erected, illuminated by hundreds of floating candles. The ceiling had turned a velvet, starless black. Almost the entire school had turned out to see the spectacle, the room packed with whispering, excited students.
"Looks decent enough. Wonder who's teaching us?" Justin asked. They were standing at the edge of the chattering crowd.
"Someone told me Professor Flitwick was a duelling champion in his youth," Hermione said. "Maybe it's him."
"We'll find out tomorrow. I just hope we get a chance to actually get up on the stage," Ron said, shadow-boxing the air. He had spent the entire day in the Room of Hope practicing his wand-work. After a year of grueling effort, his Transfiguration had finally brushed the edge of the [Adept] level. He was itching to test his progress against a Slytherin.
Sean looked at his friends. A year had changed them all fundamentally. Hermione and Justin were already far ahead of the curriculum. Harry's offensive charms had mostly reached the [Adept] tier. Neville's dual-wand style was becoming increasingly unpredictable. Even Ron had made staggering leaps in logic and skill.
Environment, it seemed, truly could forge a wizard.
As the evening approached, Sean made his way toward the dungeons. It was time for Professor Snape's final Potion class of the day—a joint session for Gryffindor and Slytherin. Since his first year, Sean had maintained a schedule of visiting the dungeons three nights a week for advanced brewing.
The atmosphere in the Potions classroom was, as always, suffocatingly tense. When the bell finally rang, the students fled like birds escaping a cage.
Harry, as expected, had been given a "stay-behind" for some minor infraction. Snape had ordered him to spend his evening scrubbing dried lacewing flies off the workbenches.
Sean arrived at the door just as the last of the Slytherins filed out. He caught Harry's eye; for a brief moment, they shared a look of mutual commiseration. Neither of them was looking forward to the next hour.
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