November 29, 1992, Sunday
Another week had slipped quietly through Hogwarts' ever-shifting corridors, and so far, the Chamber of Secrets had remained mercifully closed.
The alarm I'd woven into the Marauder's Map, finally working after far too many frustrating evenings and ink-stained fingers, had stayed silent. No ripple of light, no shimmer around Ginny Weasley's name.
So, Tom was being cautious.
That was fine. I could be patient too.
If his goal was to spread fear, he was playing the long game, each attack spaced just far enough apart for everyone to start relaxing before he struck again. It was the sort of psychological pacing I could almost admire, if I weren't planning to ruin his fun.
Yesterday had been the third Hogsmeade weekend of the term. Normally, I didn't mind playing chaperone, it gave me an excuse to visit the Three Broomsticks, flash a few smiles, and sign autographs for adoring students while pretending to "supervise."
But this time… I'd made sure to slip out of the duty roster.
Madam Rosmerta and I had shared a rather complicated farewell at our last meeting, and while I'm excellent at many things, "awkward encounters with former lovers" is not one of them.
To be fair, "former lover" sounded harsher than it was. Rosmerta had been part of my life for a decade; friend, confidant, occasional co-conspirator in the fine art of indulgence. Ours wasn't the kind of relationship that ended with fireworks or shouting. It just… stopped, the way a favorite song fades out rather than ending on a note.
Still, I missed her. The easy laughter, the way she could pour a drink and an opinion with equal precision. You don't simply end ten years of that and walk away unscathed.
If I saw her again too soon, I might just forget why I thought breaking things off was a good idea.
And so, I trained the whole day instead, and today I was doing the same, hoping the act would help me keep Rosie's sad expression from my mind.
The Room of Requirement had graciously turned itself into a dueling hall that morning, high ceilings, gleaming floors, even a few enchanted dummies that hurled hexes with alarming enthusiasm. I spent the better part of the day dodging curses, perfecting counter-charms, and trying to convince my shoulder not to dislocate itself when one of the dummies got too enthusiastic.
House-elf Pipi, bless him, appeared at lunchtime with a tray of roast chicken sandwiches, pumpkin juice, and the sort of expression that suggested he'd been ordered to make sure I didn't starve myself again, definitely Aurora's job. And the thought made me feel guilty again, as I'd been evading her the past few days.
By the time I was halfway through my third round of shield drills, a silvery shape darted through the air; delicate, glowing, and distinctly weasel-shaped.
"Professor Lockhart," came Flitwick's squeaky, cheerful voice from the Patronus' mouth, "if you're not busy, do join me for tea in my office. There's something I'd like to discuss."
The weasel gave a polite little bow before fading away.
"Well," I muttered, brushing soot off my sleeve, "I guess it's time to call it a day."
A few cleansing charms later, I looked almost presentable. My robes lost their scorch marks, my hair returned to its proper volume (a small miracle), and my reflection gave me an approving nod.
I made my way down to Professor Flitwick's office, a cozy little room near the Charms classroom, cluttered with teacups, feathers, and more stacks of parchment than should legally be allowed to exist in one place. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and old spellbooks.
"Ah, Gilderoy!" Flitwick exclaimed as I ducked through the door. "Do come in, do come in! Tea's nearly ready."
He gestured to a chair much too small for a man of my height, but I managed with a dignified smile and minimal creaking.
"Professor," I said warmly, "always a pleasure. Though I must admit, your Patronus gave me quite the surprise, charming little fellow."
Flitwick chuckled, floating the teapot with a casual flick of his wand. "Ah yes, my old weasel. Handy for messages. Milk? Sugar?"
"No milk, twelve sugar, thank you."
"You're almost as bad as Albus," Filius chuckled.
The tea poured itself neatly into two cups, the smell rich and floral.
After a few pleasantries; grades, weather, Quidditch results, Flitwick's expression turned thoughtful. He tapped the rim of his cup. "I wanted to speak with you about something I've been meaning to do for a long time, but… haven't found the right partner for."
"Oh?" I prompted, curious.
"The Dueling Club," he said simply.
I blinked, then smiled. "Ah, that old tradition! I remember hearing about it back in my student days. It hasn't been active for years, has it?"
"Decades," Flitwick confirmed, eyes twinkling. "And that's precisely the problem. I've always wanted to bring it back. Hogwarts students should know how to defend themselves properly, and, if I may say so, how to duel gracefully."
He sighed, his shoulders rising and falling like a patient sighing at an old wound. "But between teaching Charms, running the Charms Club, and overseeing Ravenclaw House, I simply haven't the time to manage it properly."
I nodded sympathetically, though a suspicion was forming. "So you'd like someone else to take the lead?"
"Exactly!" he said, beaming. "And, as it happens, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is traditionally the one in charge. A dueling club falls neatly under your subject's scope."
I leaned back, lips curling into a smile. "You flatter me, Filius. Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
Flitwick's grin widened, his eyes gleaming behind his spectacles. "Would you be interested in restarting it, with my assistance, of course? I can help organize when I'm free, demonstrate a few charms, make sure everything runs safely. You, on the other hand, would be the face of it, the instructor, the one the students rally around."
I sipped my tea thoughtfully, already picturing what such a club could mean: control, influence, attention, and perhaps an opportunity to teach the students something truly useful in this chaos-filled year.
The idea had potential. Tremendous potential.
Flitwick looked up at me expectantly, the faintest flicker of excitement dancing behind his calm demeanor.
"Well, Professor Lockhart," he said, "what do you think?"
I took a slow sip of tea, letting the warmth linger while I weighed my words.
Finally, I set the cup down with a soft clink. "You know what, Filius? I think it's a splendid idea. But…"
Flitwick's ears perked up at that single word, the small professor tilting his head curiously. "But?"
"But perhaps," I said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, "we could give it a little… modern twist."
"Modern?" he echoed, eyes narrowing in intrigue.
"Yes. Don't get me wrong, I love a good traditional duel: elegant stance, proper bow, one-on-one civility before someone gets hexed in the face. It's all very proper. But the world beyond Hogwarts isn't quite as… polite."
Flitwick chuckled lightly. "I suppose you're not wrong there. Still, the name Dueling Club has a certain history to it."
"True," I conceded, raising a finger, "but what I have in mind isn't just dueling. It's… broader. More dynamic."
I stood, beginning to pace the small office, gesturing animatedly as ideas began forming faster than I could filter them. "Imagine this, Filius: students learning not only how to face a single opponent, but how to handle multiple attackers. How to cooperate, plan, adapt. Real-world tactics. Team duels, ambush simulations, maybe even a few controlled encounters with… dangerous magical creatures."
Flitwick blinked, teacup frozen halfway to his lips. "Dangerous? good heavens, Gilderoy, we can't put students in danger!"
"Of course not!" I said quickly, waving the concern away with a flourish. "I wouldn't dream of it. We'd use transfiguration, charms, and illusion work, perhaps even a bit of elemental magic to make things look real, but never be truly harmful. Harmless chaos, you might say."
He relaxed slightly, curiosity replacing alarm. "Hmm. Simulated environments, illusionary threats, group tactics…" He tapped his chin, thoughtful. "That would be quite advanced. You'd have to coordinate with at least three departments for that."
"Exactly!" I said, smiling. "A multidisciplinary experience. It teaches students not just how to cast faster, but how to think. How to survive."
Flitwick eyed me with open amusement now. "And what would you call such an enterprise, then? It doesn't sound much like the Dueling Club anymore."
"Ah," I said, straightening my robes dramatically, "I was thinking something a bit more… spirited."
I paused for effect, lowering my voice. "The Fight Club."
Flitwick blinked again. Then blinked twice more. "Fight Club?" he repeated, as though tasting the words.
"Yes. Simple. Direct. Has a certain punch to it, don't you think?"
He looked at me over the rim of his teacup. "It sounds… rather violent."
"Only in name!" I said with a grin. "In truth, it's all about discipline, control, and preparedness. It'll be structured, safe, and, of course, supervised by two of Hogwarts' most charming professors."
Flitwick couldn't help but laugh at that. "Charming, indeed. You do realize, Gilderoy, that if we call it a Fight Club, you'll never hear the end of it from Minerva?"
"Oh, she already doesn't approve of me," I said cheerfully. "Might as well make it worth her while."
The Charms Master shook his head, still smiling, but the sparkle in his eyes told me I'd hooked him.
"I must admit," he said, setting his cup down, "it's unconventional. But… you might be onto something. A club like that could genuinely help the students learn to think on their feet."
"Exactly!" I said, snapping my fingers. "That's the spirit, Filius! We can keep the structure of a dueling club but push it further; more teamwork, more application. Controlled chaos."
Flitwick gave a soft sigh, the kind that meant he knew he was being talked into something he wouldn't regret… immediately.
"All right," he said finally, smiling up at me. "Fight Club it is, though we'll need to present it to the Headmaster first. And perhaps… rephrase the name a touch when we do."
I grinned, reaching out to shake his hand. "Deal."
As our hands met, I could already picture it, the Great Hall echoing with spellfire, the gleam of anticipation in students' eyes, and my name, once again, on everyone's lips.
"Splendid," I said, with all the confidence of a man already imagining the front-page headline.
"Then let's teach Hogwarts how to fight, beautifully."
…