Chapter 160. Lockhart Talking to Himself
"Mr Macmillan, don't be nervous, you're about to break your wand."
"Mr Boot, don't throw your wand—that's not a dart."
"Oh, miss, you don't need to use your teeth in a wizard's duel..."
With Wesson and Snape keeping order—despite Lockhart's occasional meddling—the Duelling Club managed to stumble along. Charms echoed one after another in the Great Hall, though things were still a bit chaotic.
After all, most students were still a little unfamiliar with casting spells.
All told, though, it wasn't a bad evening.
At last, it was time to break up.
When Wesson clapped his hands and announced, "That's all for tonight's Duelling Club," the students, still unwilling to stop, immediately crowded forward.
They were in no hurry to leave; a few Gryffindors squeezed to the front.
"Professor, when's the next meeting?"
"Will you come to coach us again?"
Seeing this, Lockhart stepped up at once. Wesson took a step back—strictly speaking, this was Lockhart's club.
"Of course we'll continue!" Lockhart said, eyebrows dancing. "If you like, I can do every Monday—"
"Professor Wesson, will you come?" a Hufflepuff girl cut in directly.
Lockhart's smile froze; the corner of his mouth twitched twice. "Er... of course... I suppose...
"To know whether we can continue, we'll have to see what Professor Dumbledore thinks..."
To be honest, Wesson had no desire to hold another meeting like this.
Coaching and watching over these bursting-with-energy students had left him absolutely exhausted.
If it were small-group instruction, that was still acceptable; with this many people—better forget it.
Just then, Snape's gaze swept over the chattering students. "There will not be a next time," he said coldly.
Then he fixed his eyes on Wesson. "And you, Professor Wesson—we're not quite finished."
With that, Snape left the Great Hall at once.
Wesson shook his head helplessly.
A competitive fellow...
After Snape departed, the students drifted away one by one.
In the end, only Wesson and Lockhart were left in the Hall.
"Well then, I'll take my leave, Professor Lockhart," Wesson inclined his head slightly. "If you need help for the next meeting, I'll come."
Lockhart stood where he was, his expression like an overturned potion bottle.
Hearing Wesson's words, he slowly nodded and said nothing.
Defeated, perhaps? Or at a loss?
Either way, Wesson reckoned Lockhart wouldn't be running the Duelling Club again any time soon.
He certainly hadn't covered himself in glory tonight.
By the time the meeting ended, it was already very late.
Harry and the others were gathered round the common-room fireplace in Gryffindor Tower, discussing the meeting.
"So... you've been practising duelling with Professor Wesson all summer?" Hermione's eyes went round. "No wonder your Shield Charm is so smooth—ah, I shouldn't have slacked off during the holidays. Wait—underage wizards aren't allowed to use magic over the summer, are they?"
"There's always a way," Harry said. "For example, the Ministry can't trace you in places crowded with wizards."
Ron slumped in an armchair, stuffing Every Flavour Beans into his mouth. "Harry practised in secret all the time while he was at ours over the summer—and kept dragging me into it..."
"That's why you did all right today, isn't it?" Harry grinned. "Did you see Crabbe? He was like a gorilla at the meeting—only knew how to paw at people—you don't want to be like that, do you?"
The three of them burst out laughing.
Just then Neville hurried past and accidentally kicked the leg of Harry's stool.
"Ow—"
Neville crouched down in pain, clutching his toe.
"Neville, what's wrong? Why are you in such a rush?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
Eyes watering with pain, Neville still struggled to his feet. "I... my wand—I left it in the Great Hall."
They were all silent for a moment.
A wizard leaving his wand behind—now that was ridiculous.
But given it was Neville, it wasn't hard to understand.
Harry sighed. "Your memory really is a bit of a problem, Neville."
Neville scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. "Gran says that too, so she gave me a Remembrall."
"So where's your Remembrall?"
"I forgot where I put it."
Hmm. Very Neville.
Harry shook his head and stood up from the stool. "I'll go with you, Neville, so you don't get lost. Remember the last time? You fell asleep by the common-room door."
"Th—thank you, Harry." Neville looked about to cry.
Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall. "You've got thirty seconds—curfew is about to start."
"Don't worry," Harry said, giving Hermione a reassuring look. "Filch doesn't patrol this early."
Three minutes later, Harry and Neville were moving gingerly along the dim corridor.
"You really left your wand in the Great Hall?" Harry whispered. "And not by your pillow?"
"It's definitely in the Hall," Neville said with certainty. "I remember I put it on the floor—I was tying my shoelace and two students next to me started arguing and gave me a fright, and then... I forgot to pick it up."
Typical Neville.
Harry sighed. "All right—be careful. Don't let a professor catch us."
Soon, they reached the doors of the Great Hall.
Just as Neville was about to push the door open, Harry caught him by the back of his robes and stopped him.
Neville blinked. "What is it?" he whispered.
Harry put a finger to his lips—"Shh"—and murmured, "Someone's there."
They held their breath at once and listened. Footsteps were coming from inside the Hall.
As the steps drew nearer, Harry hurriedly pulled Neville into the shadowed corner and they crouched down.
"Don't speak," Harry whispered. Neville clapped a hand over his mouth at once.
Draped in black robes, they were as good as under a Disillusionment Charm in the dark, blending perfectly into their surroundings.
Before long, the doors of the Great Hall opened.
A figure came out slowly. In the dim moonlight, golden curls and a magenta robe betrayed his identity—Lockhart.
Harry let out a breath of relief at once.
Lockhart had probably been tidying away after the meeting.
And even if Lockhart spotted them, it wouldn't be a big deal—he wasn't as strict as Professor McGonagall.
As long as you flattered him, nothing was a problem.
However, Lockhart looked furious just then, muttering under his breath.
Harry cocked an ear and could just make out a few words.
"Damn it... didn't you say you could make me win?"
"I don't trust you? How could I not!"
"Oh, I didn't do anything to you—that's not on me, it's your own problem."
Talking to himself?
Harry couldn't help feeling a little puzzled.
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