Severus stood at the edge of the Great Hall, his bored expression acting as a mask for his internal thoughts as the students filtered in. He had been wanting to bring back the duelling club for years; however, the Hogwarts Charter, a document not merely written but engraved into the very magic of the school, dictated that only the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor could call upon the duelling shields woven into the castle’s protections. The Charter itself was bound to the ward stone, an al-chemical artifact made by the founders themselves, what it was made from was unknown, and only the Headmaster's of Hogwarts knew of that secret.

  Seeing this... excuse of a wizard, Gilderoy Lockhart, be the one to reinstate the club, while he, Severus Snape, was relegated to an assistant—not through merit, but due to an archaic ward scheme—galled him. His entire life had been a series of impotence, shackled by forces beyond his control. First, at the hands of his father, then watching his mother waste away from an illness she refused to treat with potions because of that same drunken waste of a man. Then, the sting of losing his only friend to the Sorting Hat, followed by years of bowing to Pureblooded arrogance to survive—his father’s legacy staining even magic. Forced into the Dark Lord’s ranks by circumstance, bound to Dumbledore in a desperate bid to save his childhood friend, only to find himself locked in the role of Potions Master, a position that stank of wasted potential. And all because of that wretched, infantile curse the Dark Lord had pced upon the Defence Against the Dark Arts position.

  Insufferable.

  Lockhart’s insufferable voice cut through the hum of student chatter along with his own simmering resentment. "Now, my dear students! Before we begin, Professor Snape and I shall demonstrate the proper form of a wizard’s duel!"

  Snape barely concealed his disdain as he stepped onto the ptform. The sooner this ridiculous dispy was over, the sooner they could begin something useful, although, he could teach the little prat a lesson, it took everything not to curl his lip in a sneer at the man. Lockhart, of course, made a theatrical show of drawing his wand, grinning at the gathered students like some grand performer rather than a professor. The trumped up Peacock that he was.

  They took their positions. Lockhart executed an exaggerated bow, his cloak nearly catching on the ptform. Snape inclined his head the bare minimum, his wand already poised.

  "Three! Two—"

  He didn’t wait for one.

  His wand flicked sharply, sending a silent Expelliarmus at Lockhart before the buffoon could even react. The Defence Professor’s wand shot from his grasp, soaring through the air in an almost comically high arc before cttering to the floor several feet away. Lockhart himself barely kept his footing, his startled expression doing little to hide his humiliation.

  The Great Hall fell into a hushed silence, broken only by a few muffled snickers from the Slytherins. A handful of Ravencws exchanged knowing gnces, while the Gryffindors, ughed at Lockharts expense openly.

  Lockhart, to his credit, recovered quickly. With a bright, forced chuckle, he straightened his robes. "Ah! A textbook example of the Disarming Charm! Yes, well, quite effective! Just as I was about to demonstrate myself, of course!"

  Snape merely arched an unimpressed brow, stepping down from the ptform without another word. The dispy had served its purpose—demonstrating the stark contrast between a wizard who understood combat and one who thought of it as nothing more than performance.

  Now, things could begin, he started walking around the room pairing students up to start their duels, he assigned prefects to correct form, watching them run off like good little soldiers eased the resentment in his heart, at least here he had some sembnce of control, it was why he was such a task master he mused.

  As he finished making his way round the room he stopped, because before him was one of the few things in this school he appreciated. Talent.

  Miss Dagworth-Granger, paired with no one, not even paying attention to Snape was avidly watching the upper years, a notable difference to others of her year group. Typically, her year would be duelling against each other with their limited repertoire of spells and making the usual mistakes of rushing in and being brash, but she simply watched, soaking up the form the older students used along with the tactics they employed.

  There was no other choice.

  Snape folded his arms. "Miss Dagworth-Granger" he drawled, his voice carrying through the hall, causing all the students who were practicing to stop what they were doing. "As much fun as it would be to see you mop the floor with your peers, perhaps you care to join me in a demonstration?"

  He watched as Miss Dagworth-Granger turned to face him, what he received wasn't quite what he expected, gone was the casual way she watched the students, gone was the aloofness she portrayed more oft than not. She was now all hard edges, her face drawn into what appeared to be a frown, but he had learnt enough watching her over the st year or so. This, was her game face, this was going to be fun.

  She nodded to him "Lets."

  All the students parted ways, there was no pretending to be duelling in their pairs, every student was now watching the Troll Syer take to the stage again, even he was wrought with anticipation to see what she would bring to the table today. He was shivering, most attribute that to fear, but that was actually just his adrenaline hitting his system. Odd, he instinctively considered her a threat.

  Refusing to disregard decades of honed instincts he took in his opponent as she moved into position, she was in position, turned slightly to reduce the area of attack, and allowing control over where injuries could be sustained. Not a conventional style, and certainly not a taught stance, but she looked comfortable, too comfortable. Another mystery. Her parents were supposed to be squibs, according to his investigations, yet here she stood with the poise of someone who had been trained. That wasn't something learned through books alone—this was ingrained, muscle memory, the kind of instinct forged through repetition. He continued to take in her stance, rexed but some tension, resting on the balls of her feet, not on her heels, ready to move at a seconds notice.

  "A duel, then," he said smoothly, drawing his own wand with practiced ease. "Standard rules—disarming, stunning, or incapacitation to win. No Unforgivables, and I do expect my students to remain standing by the end of it."

  Miss Dagworth-Granger didn't dissapoint she smirked at him before responding rather cheekily "Ah, yes I should be considerate to the elderly, I know how much your joints ache in this cold, draughty castle."

  He snorted, normally he didn't find the students to have enough wit to banter back, too nervous of assumed offence, she had some steel in her.

  Lockharts voice cut through the silence. "Three. Two. One. Begin."