The dim yellow light spilled onto the ancient stone road, casting a long, dark shadow of Professor Snape's flowing robes. Devon followed closely behind, his heart filled with both nervousness and anticipation.
They passed through winding corridors, with paintings lining the walls on either side. The figures in the paintings chattered softly, as if it was their visiting hour. They all seemed to silently observe the master and apprentice passing before them.
Occasionally, they encountered knights transformed from stone piers. Devon looked at them with great satisfaction. These stone guardians were strikingly lifelike, with what appeared to be soft skin and hair. At the same time, they radiated a strong sense of reliability. Their eyes were firm, their steps steady. Even in the dead of night, they maintained a vigilant watch.
Whenever one of these knights brushed past him, Devon always had the impulse to say hello or ask a few questions. But Snape, like a cold wind, swept past them without stopping, showing no intention of explaining their presence.
Devon secretly hoped Snape would ask about them, just so he could watch Snape's shocked reaction. Of course, Snape wasn't that kind of person.
Finally, they arrived before a spacious hall. Snape pushed open the door, and a cool breeze rushed out to meet them. In stark contrast to the cold outside, the interior held a different kind of chill.
The room's layout was similar to where Devon had taken his spell assessment when he first entered Hogwarts. However, the decoration here was much more practical and battle-ready. Around the room were various pieces of protective gear, long knives, spears, short swords, and other weapons that didn't seem like things wizards would normally use.
The walls were draped with robes and blankets adorned with runes. A special magical aura filled the air, making Devon feel his vitality returning. He even had the illusion that he had stepped back onto the battlefield where he had once performed at his best.
"This used to be where the older generation of wizards practiced the art of fighting dark wizards," Snape said, his voice low and powerful. "Now, it will become the place where you improve yourself."
Devon looked around, his heart pounding wildly.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
An overwhelming excitement filled him. He finally felt like he could show off his skills. Of course, part of that excitement came from the magic flowing back into his body. This place seemed blessed by ritual magic, accelerating the recovery of his magical power far beyond the normal rate.
Before entering, Devon's magic had only recovered to about half of his peak through Zen meditation. Now, in this hall, his magic quickly surged back. His pleasure at this recovery was intense, almost intoxicating.
But he knew the true cause of his excitement wasn't just the restored magic. It was also because he had previously copied Professor Flitwick's [Duelist] entry. Those rich experiences and combat instincts had poured into his heart like a clear spring, becoming an inseparable part of him.
At this moment, the wand in Devon's hand seemed to grow heavier — yet he gripped it even tighter. His fingers trembled slightly — not from fear, but from excitement.
Professor Snape stood at the center of the room, his back to a row of neatly arranged props. He turned to face Devon.
"Today, you will learn not just a skill but an art — the art of magical dueling. However," Snape added with a sneer, "even though I don't believe it will be of much use, I must first explain the basic rules and etiquette, because I heard you skipped class today."
His voice was like the cold wind of midwinter, laced with disdain.
"First, the two duelers must respect each other. Regardless of victory or defeat, maintaining elegance and dignity is an essential quality for every wizard. Before the duel begins, both parties should bow to each other."
Snape's voice rose slightly.
"Second, once a duel begins, it cannot be stopped without permission unless one party admits defeat or becomes unable to continue fighting. However, if you feel you cannot continue, you may surrender at any time to avoid unnecessary injury."
His eyes glinted playfully.
"Finally, it's important to remember that dueling is intended to improve one's skills, not to be used for revenge or to intentionally harm others. Therefore, in a duel, you are not just demonstrating skill — you are displaying your character as a wizard."
Devon's mouth twitched.
He felt that Snape was about to laugh as he read these so-called "rules." These rules really didn't seem like anything Snape would abide by himself.
Snape, to Devon, looked exactly like the type who would settle personal grudges during a duel.
Devon had a feeling tonight's "special training" would be nothing like the courteous duels described.
"Alright, the rules for clowns who only participate in competitions are over," Snape said coldly. "In real combat, these rules are meaningless. Your enemy won't care whether you bow — only whether you survive."
After saying this, Snape moved to the side, raised his wand, and pointed it directly at Devon.
"Stand across from me."
Devon was confused for a second, but quickly ran to the opposite side, drawing his wand as he moved.
"Professor, um... are we starting now?" Devon asked nervously. After all, he was about to face Snape — the man who could duel evenly with Professor McGonagall and had stunned Flitwick in the original books.
Snape's lips curled into a mocking smile.
"What? Aren't you the so-called 'spell genius'?"
Devon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He silently raised his wand, imitating Snape's stance.
"Bow," Snape commanded.
Devon bent at the waist to bow obediently.
But at that moment—
"Expelliarmus!"
A sudden red flash shot toward Devon at lightning speed!
He had no time to dodge!
Bang!
Devon was blasted backward, crashing heavily into a table stacked with protective gear.
"Snape! You—you have no martial ethics!" Devon yelled internally, cursing Snape's ancestors eighteen generations back.
So it turned out — Snape had set him up from the start!
Struggling to lift his head, Devon saw Snape standing there with a wicked grin.
"My dear apprentice, didn't I say it earlier?" Snape said, twirling Devon's wand, which had flown from his hand.
Snape examined the wand for a moment before tossing it casually back to Devon.
"Rules are meaningless in real combat. Your enemy only cares whether you survive."
He then tucked his own wand back into his robes, dusted off his hands theatrically, and turned to leave.
"Same time tomorrow," Snape said without looking back. "Don't be late again."
He pushed open the door and stepped outside.
But then Devon shouted, "Hey! Snape, are you running away?!"
Snape paused.
He turned his head, an eyebrow raised.
There stood Devon, back at the center of the classroom, his clothes covered in dust, wand tightly clutched in his hand — pointed directly at Snape.
His eyes burned with fierce determination.
Snape's mouth curved into a rare, genuine grin.
He slowly pulled his wand out again.
"Heh, I'm actually a little disappointed you didn't sneak attack me from behind," Snape said with a low chuckle.
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