Chapter 145: What’s Your House-elf’s Name?
The magical dome simulated a night of dark clouds obscuring the moon, pitch black.
Candlelight flickered, torches ignited on the walls, and the light no longer only covered the stage.
The students participating in duelling practice paired up two by two, scattering throughout the Great Hall, each little wizard’s eyes flashing with eager gazes. Since watching Professor Levent and Professor Snape’s duel, everyone was itching to try, unable to wait to start their own duels.
Ignoring Lockhart’s noisy instructions, the little wizards imitated the postures of the two serious professors, bowing to each other and waving their wands.
The scene immediately became lively.
For mid-to-upper year students, they could imitate quite convincingly; the spells from the textbook were just enough, with both sides exchanging blows heatedly.
The lower years suffered; they hadn’t learned many spells and kept using the same few basic standard spells. They didn’t even need to wait for the opponent to finish casting; just seeing the wand movement revealed what magic it was, so they would cast something similar to block it.
It was really boring; both sides felt there was no fun in it.
Lockhart had even grouped them by different houses, with all four houses in various combinations.
Combinations involving Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw were fine; there were no grudges between them. If the duels were dull, so be it—it was just practice, like a club activity.
The atmosphere between Godric Gryffindor and Slytherin was completely different. They’d had a group fight last year, plus the grudges accumulated from Quidditch matches. Normally constrained by school rules, they had no chance to vent; now meeting in duelling practice, they faced each other like sworn enemies, eyes burning with hostility.
Following Lockhart’s perfectly arranged grouping, Hermione faced Millicent. Millicent was a burly second year witch, tall and sturdy, solidly built; when she tilted her head with a disdainful expression, her thick double chin trembled.
Hermione didn’t dare let such an opponent get close, sticking to the tactics learned in tutoring class, maintaining a safe casting distance throughout, not giving Millicent a chance for a melee assault.
One was slender but nimble, the other robust but clumsy. Relying on the duelling experience accumulated from two theses, Hermione quickly controlled the combat rhythm, leading Millicent in circles around the grounds.
It attracted the gazes of a circle of classmates nearby.
Perhaps having noticed during Quidditch matches, Lockhart put Harry and Draco in a group, letting the two Seekers continue their past conflicts on the duelling field.
Draco was pure-blood, raised in a magical family from childhood; before even starting school, he played duelling games with friends, and even when passing time in his family’s study, he’d learned a few spells beyond the textbook. He felt there was no reason he couldn’t beat Harry, who grew up in a Muggle family.
When Lockhart counted down to two, Draco waved his wand early; at the instant the countdown ended, a spell whistled out.
An ordinary little hex without even a formal name—he couldn’t remember where he’d learned it. Its effect was to make the opponent’s head feel like it had been hit by a stew pot: painful but not injurious, low power, but fast casting speed.
Harry hadn’t anticipated this person ignoring duelling etiquette, attacking before the countdown finished. Caught off guard, he couldn’t dodge and took the hit, feeling a faint pain on his forehead that was infuriating.
Recovering, Harry directly flung a tickling spell; silver light sank into the body, and Draco instantly burst into laughter, gasping for breath, his whole belly convulsing until he clutched it and collapsed twitching on the ground. It took a while for him to recover, then he secretly aimed his wand at Harry.
Harry had undergone systematic training in tutoring class and didn’t relax his vigilance, always watching his opponent’s movements.
For the two of them, the real duel was only starting now.
【Tarantallegra】
【Repel Enemies Three Feet】
【Stupefy】
【Expelliarmus】
Draco harbored a pent-up anger, always wanting to make up for every loss he’d suffered at Harry’s hands, to win back the points lost in Quidditch. Each spell he cast was vicious, aiming for a one-hit victory.
But the battle was more difficult than he’d anticipated.
Harry had a different mindset; theoretically, he’d analyzed many classic duelling cases and pieced together theses over a dozen inches long. In practice, he’d sparred with top student Hermione, knowing how to time spell releases. He often didn’t care about hitting; whether Draco blocked or dodged, it just pulled him into Harry’s preferred rhythm.
The mindset gap soon reflected in the battle; after just a few exchanges, Harry gradually gained the upper hand in the duel.
Draco could feel himself tiring more and more, the scales of victory tipping toward his opponent. Gritting his teeth, he shouted:
【Serpensortia】
The wand tip exploded with a bang, and a slender black viper shot out, its scales pitch black and gleaming with ominous light. It reared up, hissing with sharp poisoned fangs—clearly highly venomous.
The surrounding classmates had long noticed the intense fight here; seeing the viper, they screamed in fear and backed away, clearing an open space.
The instant he cast this spell, Draco somewhat regretted it. Unlike the previous little hex, this was dark magic at poison curse level. If strictly enforced, he’d violated school rules, facing point deduction and detention.
Harry, facing the viper directly, seemed strangely off, his eyes slightly glazed. His face showed no fear; instead, he took two steps forward, apparently unconcerned about the deadly poison.
Ron and Hermione, having finished their fights on the outer edge, exchanged a glance and simultaneously realized, their faces showing worry.
“Hiss——”
Just as Harry’s lips moved about to speak, a hand pressed on his shoulder, snapping him out of that strange state. Looking up, he met Professor Levent’s pitch-black, calm eyes.
【Snake Shadow Vanishes into Black Smoke】
Professor Snape passed by, his wand tip emitting a white light that turned the viper into a wisp of black smoke and dispersed it.
Three minutes later.
“Today’s duelling practice ends here. Though there was an unpleasant little incident midway, it doesn’t affect the successful conclusion of our Dueling Club’s first activity. Since Draco is a first offender, as the club’s advising professor, I won’t pursue it……”
Lockhart stood on the stage, grinning: “Activities will be held every Friday evening hereafter; students interested are welcome to join.”
The activity thus concluded.
Harry frowned slightly, lowering his voice: “I almost spoke Parseltongue just now.”
He was still worried: “Parseltongue is a very bad thing; usually only evil dark wizards have it. If I revealed Parseltongue publicly, I’d be seen as a monster.”
“We know.”
Hermione walked beside him: “We even gave you looks, but you didn’t see. Ron came close and called you softly, but you didn’t hear. Luckily Professor Levent and Professor Snape arrived in time.”
Harry’s expression was complex: “I never thought I’d thank Snape… Professor one day.”
Just as he was about to sigh more, his earlier opponent Draco popped up from somewhere, standing before him: “What’s with all the secretive whispering?”
“None of your business!”
Ron blurted out.
“You… you…” Draco was stunned by the insult but, remembering his own nasty hex, swallowed his retort and gritted out, “Utterly disgraceful to pure-blood status!”
Ron sneered: “Yeah, you’re not disgracing pure-bloods, you who cast despicable poison curses in front of the whole school.”
Draco clenched his fists at that, not wanting to tangle with this crude disgrace to pure-bloods. He turned to Harry: “Today’s match is yours, but don’t get too smug—it was just me picking the wrong spell. Next week’s Dueling Club activity, just us two—do you dare?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Harry shrugged: “Next week is Christmas holiday; Dueling Club activities can’t happen.”
“……”
Draco was speechless, feeling utterly frustrated.
Ron immediately followed up: “We’re staying at school; if you stay too, we can duel. Are you staying? Oh, Draco’s going home to Mother for her homemade apple pie…”
Draco’s neck flushed red with rage; he roared back: “Only you Weasleys need the master cooking personally—we have house-elves!”
“House-elf…”
A ugly face flashed in Harry’s mind; he quickly asked: “What’s your house-elf’s name?”
Draco lifted his chin smugly: “Dobby. So? Want one? Dream on—house-elves are only for pure-blood families with proper lineage. If you want one…”
“!!!”
Harry’s eyes suddenly widened.
He could no longer hear the rest of the trash talk, grabbing Ron and Hermione’s arms and shaking: “Dobby! Did you hear? Dobby!”
Draco was baffled by his intense reaction.
It was just a house-elf?
Why so excited?
He saw Harry speaking incomprehensible words to them; the pure-blood disgrace and know-it-all miss exchanged glances, apparently reaching some agreement, then hurriedly ran upstairs, their figures soon vanishing around the corner.
“Not even a reply to the duel challenge—how rude!”
……
Normally a ten-plus minute stair climb took five minutes today.
The three returned to the common room; it was early before lights-out, so few people were there. They huddled in their usual homework-copying corner, discussing in voices only they could hear.
That night after leaving the hospital wing, Harry had shared Dobby’s matter with them; they’d thoroughly discussed the intelligence Dobby provided but couldn’t pinpoint which professor was transacting with the outside-school dark wizard—until tonight learning Dobby was the Malfoy family’s house-elf.
Harry huddled against the wall in the corner, scenes from Knockturn Alley flashing in his mind; now he’d connected all the clues!
“I know it—I know everything!”
Harry felt he’d never been so clever: “Dobby is the Malfoy house-elf, so Lucius Malfoy is plotting evil against the school. He made a transaction with Professor Levent at Borgin and Burkes!”
Ron sat beside him, puzzled: “But why would Professor Levent harm us? If he meant you ill, he wouldn’t have gotten you out in Knockturn Alley; if he wanted to kill us, he could’ve done it in the spider nest.”
He muttered softly: “Speaking of spiders, it’s been ages since seeing any in the castle.”
Harry frowned, his clever mind stalling again.
Hermione guessed uncertainly: “What if Professor Levent was forced? He didn’t want to deal with Malfoy but had to agree for some reason, yet he hasn’t carried out that evil plan…”
She’d long felt the professor was hiding something from them, unable to probe it out. Following this line, all doubts cleared.
“It must be it!” The little witch’s eyes sparkled, speaking ever more fluently: “The professor couldn’t directly reveal the plan’s content, so he kept hinting and guiding us to uncover the truth—he’s on our side!”
Ron scratched his head: “But what does Malfoy’s plan have to do with Hagrid’s matter?”
“Don’t you get it?”
Harry even thought this roommate a bit dim: “The Acromantula isn’t the real killer of Moaning Myrtle; there’s a real Chamber of Secrets monster hiding in the castle, and Malfoy’s plot is connected to that monster!”
“Hagrid is innocent—Malfoy is the culprit!” Ron had a sudden realization, then looked puzzled: “But they’re not from the same year—Hagrid’s nearly seventy, Malfoy’s about my dad’s age. How’s he the culprit?”
“……”
Harry glanced at Ron—this guy was so smart at wizard chess, but hopeless at deduction. He rephrased bluntly: “Malfoy isn’t the culprit; he’s planning to release the monster again, kill students, disrupt Hogwarts.”
Ron finally got it.
Typical Malfoy family style—not getting their hands dirty, pressuring kind Professor Levent instead. As the wizard saying went: crime scenes never have Malfoy shadows, but crime wands are covered in their fingerprints!
He asked solemnly: “So what should we do?”
“The most crucial thing now is figuring out what the monster is and where it’s hiding,” Hermione said, frowning.
Harry nodded in agreement, also frowning in thought.
“…” Ron was silent for two seconds: “Can’t we just ask Professor Levent directly?”
“Can’t ask directly—he was forced into a transaction with the dark wizard, probably signed some magical contract. If he could just tell us the answer, why hint and guide us?”
“So complicated.”
The three sat stunned in the corner, pondering long without result. Though they’d figured the matter’s ins and outs, the investigation was still at square one.
“Left by Slytherin.”
“Feared by the Acromantula.”
“Eyes are bright yellow.”
One sentence each, they muttered, running through every monster they knew in their minds, but couldn’t identify it. Until lights-out, with prefect Percy urging, they rose and silently returned to their dormitories.
Harry kept thinking about it, unaware how he changed and washed up; lying in bed coming to, his head still full of those clues.
Dozing off into unconsciousness, on the verge of sleep, in a half-dreaming state he heard strange words.
It seemed an icy voice was complaining:
“Food… delicious…”
“Placed in the pipes… one by one…”
“Roast spider…”
The voice faded, the rest turning to meaningless hissing; amid the low hissing, Harry dreamed—of duelling Draco, of that viper with bright yellow eyes.
“!!”
Morning light shone through the window; Harry jolted awake.
