Everyday Life of a Top Student at Hogwarts

Chapter 267 Parsley and Lockhart's "Duel Club"

Chapter 267 Parsley and Lockhart's "Duel Club"

Inside the Eagle's Nest, intricate runes of a communication network spread across the parchment, but Karen's thoughts drifted in another direction.

He put down his quill, rubbed his temples, and his gaze fell on another stack of notebooks—fragments of information about Hogwarts Castle, especially the traces left by Slytherin, extracted from Tom Riddle's diary. Of course, there was also information about the other founders, but Cullen believed that the information about Slytherin should be more accurate.

Currently, Cullen has obtained the Marauder's Map. Although it cannot reveal the hidden chambers, it is sufficient for his needs. Now, one thing is missing: Parseltongue. This rare talent, a bloodline ability, is key to unlocking many Slytherin secrets. Cullen himself doesn't possess this talent, but he knows someone who has a Harry Potter. However, before seeking out Harry, he wants to see if he can find any unexpected treasures in the diary.

A plan took shape in his mind. He needed to get the diary to "voluntarily" bring up the topic.

Upon re-entering the heavily guarded inner layer of the workshop, Karen took all necessary precautions and activated his brain-sealing technique. He took out the pitch-black diary and placed it on a specially made isolation platform, but instead of directly forcing it with Fiery Blaze as usual, he did not do so.

He picked up a quill pen, dipped it in ink, and wrote on the blank page:

Recent research has stalled. I've been trying to understand the workings of certain ancient magical mechanisms that seem to respond to specific sounds or vibrations, far beyond the simple incantations of modern spells. The power of magical languages, especially those ancient ones passed down through bloodlines, is fascinating in its depth and directness. Unfortunately, this kind of knowledge is so rare, almost lost.

He stopped writing and observed the diary's reaction. The ink was slowly absorbed, and the pages remained blank, but Karen's "Eye of Truth" detected a slight fluctuation in the dark, thorny energy within the diary. A tiny, probing mental tentacle attempted to bypass his defenses and sense his emotions—a feigned confusion and longing.

After a few minutes of silence, new handwriting finally appeared:

"Your perception is quite keen. Modern spells rely on willpower and fixed syllable combinations, a crude and generalized application of magic. The true ancient magical languages, however, are the whispers of magic itself, the echoes of rules. They are often bound to specific bloodlines or profound understandings, capable of directly altering the very fabric of the world, possessing extraordinary power. Perhaps you are referring to runes?"

Or something even older—for example, a secret language for communicating with some magical creature?

Tom Riddle took the bait. He was carefully steer the conversation toward his area of ​​expertise, testing Karen's interests.

Karen continues her role, her writing revealing a moderate level of excitement:

[Communicating with magical creatures? That's certainly an interesting direction! I've read accounts that Salazar Slytherin himself was fluent in an ancient language that communicated with snakes, and was said to be able to command them directly. This power sounds almost legendary, almost unbelievable. Does it really exist? Or is it just an exaggeration by later generations?]

The response from the diary side was noticeably more enthusiastic, with the handwriting appearing several times faster:

[Exaggeration? No, of course not. Parsleyan is real; it is one of Salazar Slytherin's most famous legacies, a testament to his great bloodline and power. It is not simply "communicating with snakes," but a higher level of domination and resonance, a manifestation of ancient magical power in sound, and a mark of Slytherin's true heirs.]

The words were filled with admiration for Parsleyan speech and pride in his own bloodline. Karen could almost picture Riddle's arrogant and smug expression.

"It sounds incredibly powerful," Karen wrote, deliberately conveying longing. "But this talent seems to exist only in legends. Who in modern times could possess it? Perhaps this knowledge has truly been completely lost."

"[Lost in the art? Not necessarily.]" Riddle's response carried a condescending tone. "Talent is important, but guidance and understanding are equally crucial. The true secrets are often held by a select few. I happen to have some expertise in this area. At sixteen, I possess a depth of knowledge far exceeding that of ordinary people. If you are truly interested, perhaps I can offer some guidance. Of course, this requires exceptional talent and focus, something not everyone can achieve."

He started making empty promises again, implying that he possessed the relevant knowledge and could guide Karen to "touch" this power, attempting to use this as new bait to get closer to her, lower Karen's guard, and ultimately find an opportunity to take advantage of her.

Cullen sneered inwardly. Riddle would never have imagined that another Parseltongue existed at Hogwarts, and in Gryffindor no less. This information gap made Riddle's temptation seem somewhat ridiculous. But Cullen outwardly maintained an act of being attracted.

He ended the exchange at a measured pace, avoiding any overly eager or impatient manner that might arouse suspicion. He carefully sealed the diary again, a slight smile playing on his lips.

The fish have noticed the bait and shown great interest. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity. But before that, it's best to learn some parroting techniques, otherwise, you might actually be fooled by Riddle.

Just as Cullen had predicted, Gilderoy Lockhart was not content to be merely a clown who made a fool of himself in the classroom. His thirst for fame drove him to do something to salvage his crumbling reputation. After making several "constructive" suggestions to Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore, he actually received approval to open the "Duel Club" ahead of schedule.

The news elicited varied reactions from the students. The younger students were mostly filled with curiosity and anticipation, while the older students were largely there to watch the spectacle. The Slytherins were eager to demonstrate the "superiority of pure-bloods"; the Gryffindors were itching to teach the Slytherins a lesson; and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were more interested in learning or simply enjoying the show.

On the night of the first club event, the long table in the auditorium was moved aside, revealing a long, gilded stage in the center.

Hundreds of candles hung from the ceiling, illuminating the entire space. Students crowded around the walls, their voices mingling with excitement and curiosity.

Lockhart, dressed in his finest crimson robes, strode onto the stage, accompanied by Snape, who wore his usual black robes and had a somber expression, and Professor Flitwick, who wore a smile.

"Come closer, come closer! Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me? Great!" Lockhart flashed a smile and waved to the crowd. "Well, Professor Dumbledore has allowed me to start this little dueling club to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves in the way I have used countless times. For more details, please read my published works."

He paused briefly, seemingly expecting applause, but there were only whispers and a few soft laughs from the audience.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, grinning. "I was originally going to invite Professor Flitwick to demonstrate, but since Professor Snape offered to help me with a small demonstration before class, and since he himself knows a thing or two about dueling, he generously agreed. I told you, I don't want you little ones to worry—after I'm done demonstrating, I'll return your Potions teacher to you unharmed, so don't be afraid!"

"It would be good if they could all die together," Ernesto muttered under his breath, standing next to Karen. He was still indignant about Lockhart lowering the overall standard of the Defense Against the Dark Arts course, though more likely it was because he was unwilling to admit that Lockhart had also graduated from Ravenclaw.

Cullen didn't speak. His self-brightening light swept across the crowd, spotting Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the front, and the arrogant Malfoy and his two henchmen not far away. Professor Flitwick didn't speak either, simply standing at the teachers' table, nodding and smiling at everyone.

"Demonstrate? Hopefully Snape will go all out." Wesley crossed his arms and chuckled.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed. At least Lockhart bowed, making a lot of hand gestures, while Snape just impatiently shook his head. Then, they held their wands like swords to their chests.

"As you can see, we hold our wands in the usual dueling stance," Lockhart said to the quiet crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spell. Of course, neither of us will take the other's life."

"I'd love to see him try," Snape said, his voice low but loud enough for many students in the front to hear, eliciting suppressed laughter.

Two—three!

Both of them simultaneously raised their wands sharply over their shoulders. Snape quickly shouted, "Expelliarmus!"

A dazzling red light flashed, and Lockhart's wand flew out of his hand, slicing high into the air before being nimbly caught by Professor Flitwick behind him. Lockhart himself stumbled backward, crashing into the stage railing and nearly falling off; his hair was disheveled, and his smile froze.

A burst of laughter and cheers erupted from the crowd, especially from the Slytherin side, whose voices were particularly loud. Lockhart staggered to his feet, his face pale.

"Well, everyone saw that!" He staggered back onto the stage, forcing himself to remain calm. "That was a brilliant disarming spell—well—thank you for the demonstration, Professor Snape. But please don't take offense, your intention to pull that off was all too obvious. If I wanted to stop you, it would have been effortless. I think, to broaden their horizons, we should let them see—"

Snape's gaze was venomous. Lockhart seemed to realize something and quickly coughed, "The demonstration is over! Now, I will divide you into pairs for combat practice. Professor Snape, if you would like to help me—"

Snape, his face dark, still obligingly began weaving through the crowd, roughly pairing the students up. Unsurprisingly, he paired Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy as rivals, and also matched the other Slytherin and Gryffindor students.

"This combination is interesting," Fabian whispered.

"This is going to be interesting," Wesley said, sounding quite excited.

As practice began, shouts of "Expelliarmus!" immediately filled the Great Hall, wands flew everywhere, and occasionally, missed spells caused minor chaos. Some pairs even dropped their wands and began hand-to-hand combat. Harry and Malfoy, however, stared intently at each other.

"Ready, Potter?" Malfoy said in a low voice, his usual sneer on his face.

"I'm always ready." Harry gripped his holly wand tightly.

Lockhart weaved through the crowd, occasionally offering useless instructions: "Wrists need to be flexible, Miss Brown! — No, no, Mr. Truman, the incantation needs to be pronounced clearly!"

In the chaos, Cullen's opponent was Marcus Flint, the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, a tall and muscular man with a sinister smile on his face.

"Ravenclaw thief, it's all because of you that we lost the Quidditch Cup last year!" Flint said gruffly, with a hint of contempt. "I hope your dueling skills are as impressive as your lousy record system. Defeat you!"

His spell was powerful but slow. Karen didn't even chant; he simply sidestepped, letting the red light brush past him, and flicked his wrist at the same time.

Flint didn't even see Karen's movements. He only felt his foot slip, and then an uncontrollable burst of laughter erupted from his chest. He collapsed to the ground, his wand slipping from his hand, clutching his stomach and laughing hysterically until tears streamed down his face.

"Silent casting! Beautiful!" Professor Flitwick, watching from the sidelines, exclaimed, jumping up excitedly. "Ravenclaw, ten points!"

Soon, several more unconvinced Slytherin upperclassmen took turns challenging Cullen, but the result was never in doubt. Cullen didn't even use any advanced or powerful magic; she simply relied on precise silence spells, agile movement, and the multiple casting techniques taught by Professor Flitwick—occasionally casting two simple obstacle or disarming spells simultaneously to block her opponents' movement—to easily defeat them one by one. She garnered support and cheers from the students below the stage, especially from Gryffindor.

Professor Snape's face grew increasingly grim, especially after Professor Flitwick kept cheering and praising Cullen. Finally, after Cullen once again silently used a Knee-Lowering Curse to knock down a seventh-year Slytherin, Snape slid onto the stage like a giant bat.

"It seems Mr. Hawthorne is quite confident in his abilities." Snape's voice was cold and smooth, standing out clearly as the room gradually quieted down. "Perhaps you need a—more stellar opponent—to test your—little tricks."

The atmosphere instantly became tense. The students held their breath, and Professor Flitwick in the faculty seat frowned. Lockhart opened his mouth as if to say something, but swallowed his words under Snape's sinister gaze.

Karen looked calmly at Snape and bowed slightly: "I am willing to learn from you, Professor Snape."

He knew Snape was trying to dampen his arrogance and save face for Slytherin. But he wasn't afraid. He knew Snape's power far surpassed that of a student, but he himself wasn't an ordinary third-year student. Moreover, Snape would never use truly dangerous dark magic in such a public setting.

The two stood facing each other and bowed.

Almost the instant he stood up, Snape's wand moved with lightning speed, without even casting a spell: "Stand Still, Die!"

Karen didn't chant a spell either. His "Eye of Truth" allowed him to detect the subtle magical fluctuations beforehand. He slid to the side, the faint glow of the Armor Charm flashing before him, perfectly deflecting the spell so that it struck empty air. At the same time, he lightly tapped the ground with his wand.

"Immediately imprison them!"

Several ropes suddenly sprang from the ground beneath Snape's feet, but he merely snorted coldly, not even bothering to bend his head. With a casual flick of his wand, the ropes instantly turned to ashes. "Child's play," he said indifferently, pointing his wand at Cullen again: "Tooths like clubs!"

A blinding blue light shot towards them. Karen didn't take it head-on; instead, with a flick of her wrist, an empty silver plate on a long table that had been moved aside suddenly flew up and precisely blocked the spell's path. The spell struck the silver plate with a muffled thud, and the plate twisted and deformed, with sharp spikes the size of front teeth protruding from its surface.

"Transfiguration defense? Interesting." Snape narrowed his eyes, quickening his attack: "Tarantella Dance!" "Sandstorm!" "Ice Curse!"

A continuous stream of spells, vibrant in color, their power perfectly controlled—not enough to cause serious injury, but certainly not enough to cause lasting discomfort. Cullen moved with the agility of a small boat in a storm, sometimes using the Ironclad Charm to deflect attacks, sometimes employing Polymorph to summon obstacles for defense, and occasionally even launching precise counterattacks with the same spells, forcing Snape to defend. His silent casting speed was astonishing; often, Snape's spells were barely halfway through when Cullen's defense or counterattack was already complete.

What's most astonishing is his mastery of multiple spellcasting, a technique personally taught by Professor Flitwick. Occasionally, he could control two or even three simple spells simultaneously, attacking Snape from different angles. While these spells couldn't truly threaten Snape, they were enough to prevent Snape from easily crushing him as expected.

This duel had completely exceeded the students' expectations. They were dazzled and dumbfounded. This was not the kind of "expels" exchange they were used to, but a truly high-level application of spells and transfiguration, a silent and audible interweaving, with offense and defense shifting so fast it was breathtaking.

"Merlin—" Ron's mouth dropped open. "Cullen—he can actually play with Snape—"

"He hardly used any offensive spells; most of his magic was defensive and polymorphic," Hermione analyzed quickly, her eyes unblinking. "His magical control is incredibly precise!"

Even Professor Flitwick in the faculty section was beaming with excitement, while Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, but there was a hint of admiration in her eyes.

Snape's attacks were proving increasingly difficult, and his expression grew more and more grim. He hadn't expected a third-year student to be so troublesome, especially in front of so many students and colleagues. His spells began to carry greater power and speed.

Karen felt the pressure mounting. He knew that continuing would be disadvantageous, given that his opponent's magical reserves and combat experience far surpassed his own. He seized an opportunity, dodging a stun spell while simultaneously pointing his wand sharply at the massive candlestick hanging above Snape's head.

"Yugadimurleviosa!"

The candlestick suddenly loosened and, along with hundreds of burning candles, crashed down towards Snape! This unexpected turn of events caused everyone to gasp in surprise.

Snape's pupils contracted, and he reacted with lightning speed, pointing his wand upwards: "Vadivese!"

The falling candlestick and candle were instantly thrown back by a force, flying to the side and crashing against the wall with a crash, scattering candles and metal fragments everywhere.

In the instant Snape was distracted by the candlestick, Cullen's wand pointed again, this time at the smooth stone floor beneath his feet: "Flat Slide!"

The stone slab beneath Snape's feet instantly became as smooth as ice. He had just deflected the candlestick when he lost his balance and slipped. Although he immediately used his powerful magic to steady himself and avoid falling, he still stumbled noticeably and looked quite disheveled.

The scene froze for a moment.

Snape stood firm, his black robes billowing, his face as black as ink, his eyes blazing with genuine rage. He raised his wand, seemingly wanting to cast some more powerful spell, but then restrained himself and did not cast a spell.

"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" Lockhart suddenly rushed forward, standing between the two, his voice slightly shrill with tension. "A perfect demonstration! Showing how to utilize the environment in a duel! Oh, Severus, are you alright? Mr. Hawthorne, truly—truly unexpected! Both of you have displayed superb skill! I think—shall the demonstration end here? Let the students continue practicing, yes, continue practicing!"

He rambled on, but managed to prevent the situation from escalating. Snape glared at Cullen with a chilling look, then abruptly tossed his robes, turned, and strode off the stage, leaving the Great Hall.

Karen took a slight breath, calming the somewhat turbulent magical energy within him. Those few moves just now, especially the last one where he simultaneously controlled two spells and precisely calculated the timing, had taken a considerable toll on him.

A moment of silence fell over the audience, followed by a tremendous uproar. The students murmured amongst themselves, their gazes towards Cullen filled with shock, admiration, and disbelief. The Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students cheered excitedly.

Lockhart forced a smile, trying to regain control of the situation: "Alright, alright, just a little incident! Now, everyone, let's continue practicing! Be careful!"

The dueling club continued in an eerie yet exciting atmosphere. But many were somewhat distracted, still savoring the astonishing duel that had just taken place.

However, chaos was destined to be the theme of Lockhart's events. Soon after, in Harry and Malfoy's group, conflict finally erupted. Malfoy, seemingly spurred on by the duel between Cullen and Snape, or perhaps simply wanting to cause trouble for Harry, didn't use the Disarming Charm, but instead suddenly shouted, "Oolong out of the cave!"

The tip of his wand exploded, and a long black snake suddenly burst forth, landing heavily on the stone floor, its head raised, ready to attack. The crowd screamed and quickly retreated, clearing a space.

Harry stared at the black snake, feeling its icy gaze. The snake flickered its tongue, hissing menacingly.

"Don't move, Potter." Snape had returned sometime earlier, speaking lazily with a malicious smile. "I'll get him out of here—"

"Let me do it!" Lockhart shouted. He raised his wand, brandished it threateningly at the snake, and then let out a strange,

A deafening explosion. The snake didn't disappear; instead, it leaped high into the air before crashing back to the ground. Enraged, it hissed angrily and swam straight towards Justin, who was closest to it, raising its body, baring its fangs, and preparing to attack.

Justin stood frozen in shock, his face drained of color.

At that critical moment, Harry, for reasons he didn't know, felt an inexplicable impulse that made him take a few steps forward and hiss at the snake: "Get away from him! Go away!"

A miracle occurred. The ferocious snake immediately stopped its attack, lowered its head as if it had received a command, obediently turned to Harry, made a few soft hissing sounds, and then slithered away, quickly disappearing into the shadows of the corner.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, only then realizing that the Great Hall was deathly silent. Everyone was staring at him, their eyes no longer filled with shock, but with fear, doubt, and disbelief.

Justin's face turned deathly pale. He looked at Harry as if he had seen something extremely terrifying, then suddenly turned around and rushed out of the Great Hall.

Seamus stammered to Harry, "You—you were just talking to a snake? In Parselle?"

"Parsleyan?" Harry repeated blankly, not understanding what it meant.

"You're a parsnip!" Seamus's voice was filled with fear.

Ron and Hermione squeezed next to Harry, trying to explain, "Harry just stopped it! He saved Justin!"

But the surrounding students, especially the Hufflepuffs and some of the Ravenclaws, backed away from Harry, their eyes filled with wariness and distance. The Slytherins, on the other hand, had complex expressions; some were filled with envy, others with scrutiny, while Malfoy's face showed undisguised mockery and schadenfreude, along with a hint of jealousy and envy.

Harry stood in the middle of the clearing, looking at the fearful and suspicious gazes around him, feeling a chill of isolation and helplessness. He didn't even understand what was happening. Why was being able to talk to snakes such a terrifying thing?

Cullen stood on the periphery of the crowd, calmly observing everything. His "Eye of Truth" clearly captured the unique frequency and form of the magical fluctuations that targeted snakes when Harry spoke.

"The frequency is unique, with strong command and mental influence characteristics—completely different from the fluctuation pattern of ordinary spells, and closer to—the manifestation of some kind of innate instinct." He silently recorded the observed data. "Sure enough, this is Parsleyan."

The time has come.