Harry Potter: I became Snape

After the Care of Magical Creatures class, Severus Snape, Patrick Abbott, and Pandora strolled with the crowd toward the Great Hall.

As they passed through the entrance hall, they noticed a small, noisy group gathered around the notice board, buzzing about a freshly pinned parchment.

Patrick squeezed through for a look and immediately waved Snape over with excitement. "Dueling Club," he said. "First meeting tonight. It's been years since they've held one—wonder why they're starting it up now."

"Odd that they haven't," Snape replied, pushing forward to read the parchment. "When you're up against a dark wizard, they don't exactly play nice."

It was hard to fathom why a practical way to hone students' combat skills like the Dueling Club hadn't been held at Hogwarts for decades. According to history, it wouldn't resurface until Harry Potter's second year, and even then, only briefly, thanks to Gilderoy Lockhart's flair for theatrics. After that, practical training for Hogwarts students would rely on an illicit student group, Dumbledore's Army. It was enough to make one suspect there were unsavory elements within that organization.

"I don't think I'll join," Pandora said to the pair. "Wizard duels are all about wands. It's just not that interesting."

"What else would you use?" Patrick raised an eyebrow.

"Lots of things." Pandora patted her pocket, her answer curt.

"For everyone's safety, it's probably best you sit this one out," Snape said.

Though Snape wasn't thrilled about dueling classmates, the chance to legally cast spells at them was too good to pass up. Both he and Patrick decided to give it a go, while Pandora didn't mind watching from the sidelines.

That evening, after a leisurely walk by the Black Lake, the trio hurried back to the Great Hall just before eight.

The hall's four long tables were gone, replaced by a wide stage. Hundreds of glowing candles floated above, dimming the starry enchantment of the magical ceiling.

Nearly the entire school had shown up, chattering loudly, each student clutching their wand with a mix of excitement and anticipation.

"Quiet—make way—"

A faintly familiar voice cut through the crowd, but the students, craning their necks, couldn't spot the speaker and ignored it.

Then, with a collective gasp, the crowd parted like water pushed aside by an invisible hand. Snape saw Professor Flitwick striding toward the stage with his short legs, Professor Slughorn trailing behind, his round belly swaying leisurely.

Flitwick pointed his wand at his throat and cast, "Sonorus!" His voice thundered over the hall's clamor, clear in every ear.

"Students, starting today, I—" Flitwick hopped onto the stage, "Filius Flitwick, champion of the Eleventh All-England Wizarding Dueling Tournament, will be your dueling instructor and referee."

"You should feel fortunate. It wasn't easy convincing the board to reinstate the Dueling Club," he continued. "Here's the plan." He raised his wand high. "For the first few days, all years except seventh will compete within their grades. The winner will earn fifty house points for their house."

"And, to encourage you to gauge your skills wisely—and to give older students a wake-up call—lower-year champions can challenge those from higher years, and the seniors cannot refuse."

"A cross-year victor—" his wand shot a burst of dazzling fireworks, "will claim the opponent's points. Of course, if you're from the same house, it's up to you whether to spare your senior's pride."

"Now, let Professor Slughorn and me demonstrate."

"If you please, Horace." Flitwick beckoned Slughorn onto the stage.

Slughorn smiled, ambling through the crowd and up to the stage, where he and Flitwick took positions at opposite ends.

They turned, faced each other, bowed, and raised their wands like arrows to their chests.

"As you can see, we hold our wands in the standard dueling stance," Flitwick explained to the now-hushed students. "On the count of three, Professor Slughorn will cast a spell, and I will defend."

"One—two—three!"

Both raised their wands above their shoulders in unison. Slughorn shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"

In a flash, a rope materialized in the air, slithering toward Flitwick like a living snake.

Flitwick reacted instantly, casting, "Protego!" A shimmering, invisible shield formed. The rope struck it with a loud bang, then fell limply to the ground, vanishing with a soft puff.

The hall erupted in enthusiastic applause, students standing on tiptoes, craning to see more.

"Thank you, Horace," Flitwick said cheerfully.

"My pleasure," Slughorn replied, one hand on his belly, the other behind his back, as he stepped off the stage.

"Oh, and the headmaster asked me to stress the rules," Flitwick added, conjuring a high stool and clambering onto it with effort. "First, no highly dangerous curses. Second, wands only—no magical creatures or plants. Third, do not break anyone's wand. Fourth, no deliberate verbal insults against opponents!"

"Now, first years, up you come."

The first years exploded into chaos, surging forward in a noisy mob. Flitwick had to hop down and reorganize them into groups, barely keeping the matches on track.

"I'm starting to think these rules were made with me in mind," Snape whispered to Pandora. "But, you know, those cabbages were pretty useful. Got any more tricks up your sleeve…?"

The first- and second-year matches were more entertaining than dangerous. The first-year champion was a blonde girl who wielded the Tickling Charm with startling speed and precision. Her opponents, though defeated, collapsed in fits of laughter, hardly upset about it. But since most young duelists would rather giggle themselves senseless than concede, only the first- and second-year matches wrapped up that day.

The third-year tournament began the next evening. Snape expected it to be as tame as the previous day's, but Gilderoy Lockhart's entrance changed everything.

Lockhart swept onto the stage in a stunning lilac robe, his golden curls styled in perfect waves that gleamed under the candlelight. Instead of bowing to his opponent, he spun gracefully to face the crowd, flashing a charming smile.

A few younger girls let out cheers.

"Something's off…" Snape's instincts flared, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. "This guy's trouble…"

Sure enough, purple smoke puffed around the hall, and suddenly, portraits of Lockhart's beaming face adorned the walls.

Ignoring the boos from the crowd, Lockhart flashed the same dazzling smile as his portraits. "Good evening, allow me to—"

But before he could finish, his opponent, red-faced with fury, cast, "Petrificus Totalus!"

A blinding white light flashed. Lockhart's smile froze, his arms snapped to his sides, and he toppled off the stage with a wobble, landing in full view of the crowd.

Screams erupted from the audience.

Flitwick scrambled down from his chair and hurried to Lockhart, checking him carefully.

"Gryffindor wins, but no points!" Flitwick told Lockhart's opponent. "Mind your dueling etiquette!"

"That's not fair, Professor!" the Gryffindor shouted, indignant. "It's his fault!"

"Indeed, his fault," Flitwick said, waving his wand to lift the Body-Bind Curse. "But remember, he's your classmate."

The victor stomped off the stage, still fuming.

Though freed, Lockhart remained sprawled on the floor, his smile rigid. His face shifted from red to white, then back to red, or Flitwick might've thought his counter-curse had failed.

"Up you get, Lockhart," Flitwick said, prodding him with his wand. "Come on, we've got a tournament to run."

The incident sped things up. The fourth- and fifth-year matches flew by in under an hour. The fourth-year champion was Barty Crouch Jr., whose mastery of spells was so polished that few opponents lasted ten rounds against him. The fifth-year winner was Dirk Cresswell, a Hufflepuff fluent in Gobbledegook, who used expert Shield and Disarming Charms to coax surrenders from his rivals.

Finally, the sixth-year matches began.

Snape was in the seventh group, facing none other than Remus Lupin.

They stepped onto the stage, bowed, and held their wands at the ready.

Snape and Lupin stood ten meters apart, eyes locked. They raised their wands almost simultaneously.

Lupin struck first, firing a Stunning Spell. Snape flicked his wand, effortlessly deflecting the red light.

"Moony," Snape drawled, unhurried, "long time no see. No need to rush."

"Severus," Lupin replied calmly, shifting his footing slightly, "Petrificus Totalus—"

Again, Snape lazily swatted the spell aside.

"Why aren't you fighting back?" Lupin asked, wand still raised. "Don't you want to win?"

"Don't you always think you're so innocent?" Snape's lips curled into a cold smirk. "You just stand by, watching. No, wait—you cover your ears, shut your eyes, and keep yourself out of anything messy."

"Did you know," Snape continued, "in the Far East, at Mahoutokoro, they published a manga a few years ago."

"Impedimenta!" Lupin attacked again.

Snape sidestepped, dodging the spell with ease.

"In that manga, the strongest guy always bullies the scrawny one. But plenty of people just watch, choosing 'neutrality,' like you, head down, pretending to be lost in a book…"

"Professor, he's using verbal attacks—" James's voice rang out from the crowd.

"He hasn't insulted his opponent, Mr. Potter. It's within the rules," Flitwick said, shaking his head.

Lupin kept firing spells, unrelenting.

"Blocked again, Remus," Snape said, deflecting each one with a casual wave, his tone dripping with mockery. "I can block your spells, but can you block the fear of your friends abandoning you?"

The words hit hard. Lupin let out a near-wail, slashing his wand wildly. The candles above transformed into rockets, streaking toward Snape in a fiery barrage.

Snape traced a wide arc with his wand. The rockets morphed into silver orbs, hurtling back toward Lupin.

Terror flashed across Lupin's face. He stumbled back, tripping off the stage.

"Remus, the headmaster made you a prefect, not a bystander," Snape said coldly from the stage.

"Move! Move!"

James and Sirius pushed through the crowd, rushing to help Lupin up. Peter trailed nervously behind.

"Professor," James said through gritted teeth, "can I face him next?"

At that, Peter shuffled sideways from behind Sirius, peering at the stage. His face lit up with eager anticipation, as if he couldn't wait to see what was coming.

————

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