[Duel Victory Achieved]
[Randomly selecting one ability from opponent…][Selection complete. Acquired: Talent — Skilled Spellcasting (LV2)]
Hmm? Why is there more?
Yes—because there is a very small fragment of Voldemort's soul inside Harry, essentially making him a walking Horcrux. So after my duel with Harry, that soul fragment passed on one of Voldemort's abilities to me, while the other talent came directly from Harry himself.
So far, the talents Sean had gained were mostly LV1. But this one—Skilled Spellcasting—was an extremely rare LV2 talent, and it had come from Harry. With it, Sean could grasp spells faster, succeed in casting more consistently, and improve at a far quicker pace. In simple terms: faster learning, faster mastery.
It was Sean's biggest surprise from the duel.
But the most useful gain at the moment was something else—Parseltongue.
Unlike Harry's version of Parseltongue, which was instinctive and fragmented due to Voldemort's lingering influence, Sean's Parseltongue had been earned directly from that soul fragment through the duel. And his version—Parseltongue LV3—was entirely under his control.
That gave Sean a real edge.
However, one crucial question remained—could he control the Basilisk?
Voldemort had been able to command it for two reasons: first, because of Parseltongue, and second, because he was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. Sean might have the speech—but not the blood.
So the answer was unclear.
And if he couldn't control the Basilisk, then he would need to find another way to deal with it.
Harry took the wand back from Sean without a trace of frustration. Instead, he looked at Sean with a touch of admiration and said, "Sean, your strength is far better than mine. Looks like I'll have to work even harder."
Unlike Sean, Harry didn't have a system panel or access to Gideon's notes. In truth, he wasn't much different from any other student. He learned magic entirely from his professors. But what Harry excelled at was Defense Against the Dark Arts.
During his seven years at Hogwarts, there were only a few professors who actually taught him anything of value. Quirrell in first year and Lockhart in second were as good as useless. It wasn't until Professor Lupin arrived in third year that Harry began to improve rapidly, quickly surpassing most of his peers.
Then came fourth year, when Barty Crouch Jr., posing as Moody, taught him some truly useful skills—albeit with ulterior motives. Despite everything, it was thanks to those two years of solid instruction that Harry grew stronger and even began teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to others later on. His talent was genuine, and having him in the Dueling Club was definitely worth it. Sean had already made a mental note to keep Harry close and make good use of him.
Somewhere along the line, Sean had unconsciously started treating the Dueling Club as his domain...
"Alright, alright!" Lockhart's voice rang out again, trying to recapture the students' attention. "I believe everyone now understands how the Disarming Spell works, yes? Wonderful! Now, find yourselves a partner and begin practicing."
He waved his arms dramatically.
"Only the Disarming Spell—just Expelliarmus, everyone remember that! No other spells!"
With that, the stage was cleared, and the floor below came alive with excited chatter as students paired off.
Sean and Harry had already stepped down from the dueling stage and joined the crowd, blending in with the others.
Sean stood beside Blaise, wand in hand. After hearing Lockhart's instructions, he calmly turned to his partner.
"Just stick with the Disarming Spell," Sean said casually. "Let's not cause a scene."
Blaise nodded, raising his wand.
Meanwhile, across the room, Harry had been hoping to pair up with Ron—but he didn't stand a chance. Draco Malfoy had been watching him from the start, and the moment Lockhart gave the signal, Malfoy rushed over with barely contained excitement.
"Come on, Potter," he sneered. "Let's see if you've learned anything."
Without waiting for a response, Malfoy launched a spell.
The duel that followed spiraled out of control almost instantly. The two boys didn't bother with Expelliarmus for long—soon, they were flinging minor jinxes and petty hexes at each other with wild abandon. Small stinging spells, tripping hexes, and tongue-tying charms flashed across the stage.
At one point, Harry was knocked backward and landed with a heavy thud, legs flying in the air. Moments later, Malfoy followed, slipping on his own spell and falling squarely on his backside. Neither paid any attention to Lockhart's desperate shouts for order.
Then it escalated.
Harry managed to land a well-aimed jinx that sent Malfoy tumbling. The Slytherin scrambled up, face flushed and furious. Gritting his teeth, Malfoy aimed his wand and hissed:
"Serpensortia!"
The tip of Malfoy's wand exploded with a sharp crack, and from it sprang a large, pitch-black king cobra. It slithered forward rapidly, tongue flicking, eyes locked on Harry—who froze in place, visibly startled.
"Potter, don't move!" Snape called lazily as he strode toward the chaos. His voice was calm, almost amused. His sharp eyes flicked from Harry to the snake, and for a brief second, an unmistakable smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Snape was in no rush to intervene.
Of course, he wouldn't let the boy die. That much was owed to Lily. But watching James Potter's son squirm? That, he relished.
Before Snape could raise his wand, Lockhart stepped in, puffed up with theatrical bravado.
"Let me!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the snake with a flourish.
"Vipera Evanesca Ascendio!"
A beam of white light shot from Lockhart's wand and struck the snake. The dark king cobra was flung into the air, its body twisting wildly, before it came crashing down with a snap, landing just a few feet in front of Harry.
But the spell hadn't vanquished the snake—it had enraged it.
Hissing furiously, it raised its head high, tongue flicking rapidly, and began to slither toward Harry with speed and aggression.
Harry didn't flinch. He didn't look to Snape, who had already drawn his wand and was ready to act.
As if driven by instinct, Harry stepped forward and said calmly to the snake, "Back off! Back off!"
The effect was immediate. The king cobra slowed, then froze, swaying gently as though listening.
But Harry wasn't the only one who had gone still.
The entire hall had fallen into stunned silence.
Everyone stared at Harry—some with wide eyes, others with visible fear. To their ears, Harry hadn't spoken English. What they had heard was something low and guttural, a hissing, serpentine sound that chilled the blood.
Parseltongue.
Those who knew of it—students and staff alike—immediately recognized the sound. And with it came the implications.
The entire school already knew about the mysterious attacks. It was common belief now that the culprit, the Heir of Slytherin, could speak to snakes.
Now here stood Harry Potter, speaking Parseltongue, calmly commanding a king cobra.
The connection was instant—and damning.
Whispers turned to gasps, and gasps turned to panic. Students stepped back—not from the snake, but from Harry. From the boy who had been at the scene of both previous attacks. From the boy who could speak the language of serpents.
Even those who had once trusted Harry now looked at him with unease. Fear.
The Heir of Slytherin... it's him!
Only Sean remained still, watching silently. He, at least, understood what Harry had said. But even he could see how quickly the tide of suspicion was rising.
Snape stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Harry. His expression flickered—complicated, thoughtful—but those emotions vanished almost as quickly as they had come. His face returned to its usual unreadable calm.
With a flick of his wand, Snape cast a single, silent spell. A thin jet of flame shot from its tip and struck the snake cleanly. In an instant, the cobra turned to ash and crumbled to the floor.
The snake was gone.
But the damage had already been done.