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HPTD - CH 124 - The Wand Grip of Victory (or Something Like That)
🕑 Added 2025-05-08 20:32:59 +0000 UTCThe Great Hall buzzed with morning chatter, clinking cutlery, and the faint hangover of too much butterbeer. Ben strolled in, looking suspiciously well-rested for someone who'd been passed a tankard every five minutes the night before. Ravenclaw's table erupted in cheers and teasing applause as soon as he approached.
"Oi, it's the Hufflepuff-slayer!" Edgar Cornfoot called, raising his goblet like Ben had just come back from war. "Come to break our breakfast too?"
Ben dropped onto the bench between Marianne and Tobias with a lazy grin. "Don't worry. I only hit people on broomsticks and Sundays. You're all safe until next week."
"That's today," Marianne said sweetly, biting into a muffin. "Better duck, Edgar."
Edgar gave her a suspicious look and shifted down the bench.
Across the Hall, the two Hufflepuff Beaters—both sporting fresh bandages—were waving enthusiastically in Ben's direction. One even winked.
Ben blinked. "Did… did she just wink at me?"
"Don't look so shocked," Marianne said, nudging him with her elbow. "You're officially interesting now. Girls love a bad boy."
Roger snorted into his eggs. "You broke her nose."
"Um, that was Tobias, I was just the logistics unit," corrected Ben, and Tobias roared with laughter, as if revelling in the memory.
"Hi Ben," said a Hufflepuff girl as she passed by the Ravenclaw table, which made Roger choke on his toast.
"Mate," said Roger. "How are you pulling this off? You knocked out half their team."
"Yeah, well," Ben said, stretching his neck, still sore from sleep, "I didn't mean to make it a romantic gesture."
"Too late," Marianne said with a smirk. "You're charmingly dangerous now. You'll have people asking you to sign Bludgers by lunch."
Ben grabbed a croissant, only half listening as more giggles and fluttery glances came from the Gryffindor table. It was getting weird.
'And why are those sixth years winking at me? I'm twelve for Merlin's sake,' he grumbled.
They stepped out of the Great Hall and nearly walked straight into a crowd huddled around the notice boards. "Bet they've posted the next Hogsmeade date," Tobias guessed.
Ben gave it a quick glance, then kept walking. "Crafty old man…" he muttered, thinking back to the conversation that started all this.
-
"You'll approve the Duelling Club… if I agree to help Lockhart?" Ben asked warily, arms crossed as he stood before Dumbledore.
"Not help," Dumbledore corrected with a twinkle in his eye. "Assist. 'Teaching Assistant' sounds rather official, don't you think?"
Ben folded his arms. "Why me? I'm not qualified."
You did suggest the club," Dumbledore reminded him gently. "And frankly, if there's anyone in this school qualified to show Hogwarts how to duel safely, it's the boy who has faced Slytherin's monster. Twice."
Ben tilted his head, dry. "You could always ask Snape."
"Ah, yes. Professor Snape. A duellist of exceptional skill... and patience measured in teaspoons." Dumbledore smiled as if the idea entertained him far more than it should.
Ben raised an eyebrow.
"I rather suspect that particular pairing might shut down the Duelling Club before the second meeting," Dumbledore said lightly. "Either Lockhart would end up in the hospital wing with his teeth permanently reversed, or Severus would be arrested for crimes against optimism."
Ben blinked. "Was that a joke?"
Dumbledore gave no answer — just that maddening little smile.
-
Later that evening, students poured into the Great Hall to find the House tables gone.
In their place stood a raised duelling platform, lined with flickering torches and a half-hearted velvet rope barrier. Overhead, the usual floating candles hovered, casting a warm glow.
At precisely eight o'clock, Gilderoy Lockhart strode in wearing deep mauve duelling robes that shimmered unnecessarily with every step.
He stood in front of the assembled students, beaming far too confidently for a man who had clearly read about duelling for the first time that morning.
"Welcome to the Duelling Club! I, Professor Lockhart — author, adventurer, and recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class — will be guiding you through the... erm… noble art of duelling — as expertly outlined in Chapter Twelve of Wandering with Werewolves. A classic."
Groans. Actual groans echoed in the room.
"Brilliant," someone muttered.
"Thought Flitwick was going to do this…"
"Do you think he even remembers how to hold a wand?"
Ben stood off to the side, arms folded. The moment was almost satisfying.
Lockhart cleared his throat and opened one of his books, flipping rapidly. "Now then, according to... er, Magical Me… duelling begins with proper posture. Or was it footwork? Ah, here — 'Always disarm with dignity.' Very important. You there — try to look dignified. Chin up. Excellent."
There was a brief, awkward pause.
Then, with a sideways glance at Ben, Lockhart leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for those nearby to still hear.
"You've read this one, haven't you?" he murmured, tapping the book with his wand. "Page 67, the Wand Grip of Victory — marvellous stuff. Er… remind me which grip that was again?"
Ben blinked and cursed his own sharp memory. "The one you said could stop a rampaging troll."
"Right! Of course. That one." Lockhart straightened quickly, cleared his throat, and turned to the crowd again. "And now, a demonstration — with the help of my trusted teaching assistant, Mr Benedict Brown!"
That got a murmur. A few of the girls perked up, whispering to one another. But most looked sceptical.
"The Beater?" a Slytherin said under his breath. "What's he going to do, hit us with a broom?"
Lockhart leaned in and whispered urgently, "I, er… might need you to run this bit. I don't quite remember—well, much of anything past my seventh birthday."
Ben stared at him.
Lockhart shrugged helplessly. "Bit of a haze, honestly."
Ben sighed, then raised his voice. "Right. Let's give everyone a taste of what they'll actually be learning."
He stepped forward, raised his wand, and with a flick, disarmed Lockhart so smoothly that the wand spun up and landed in Ben's hand.
"Oh!" Lockhart gasped, startled. "Very good—yes—textbook…"
backward.
A split second later, Ben hit him with a casual Flipendo that nearly sent Lockhart tumbling off the stage. Before he could hit the ground, Ben followed up with Levicorpus.
Lockhart ended up dangling upside down in midair, robes flopped over his head like a deflated balloon.
A wave of laughter and astonished gasps rolled across the Hall like a spell gone wild.
-To be Continued...
Man, I never thought I'd say this, but memory-less Lockhart is starting to grow on me.
Comments
Prashant Deopa
LOL, I do it all the time. Rubbing the back, crack it left and right, the whole shebang. I have a really stiff neck, you'd be horrified by the sounds it makes. But your point is duly noted.
Pseudo
PLEASE, never have Ben or anyone rub the back of their neck. No one does that. Ever. I have no clue who invented that literary device, but they were off their rocker.
Mitchell Bizon
Great chapter, beautiful chapter title. and I too quite enjoy memory-less lockhart.
