Chapter 26: Dueling and Parseltongue

POV: Serena Prince

The Great Hall had been transformed. Long tables had been pushed against the walls, leaving a wide-open space for the newly established Duel Club. Golden chandeliers cast a warm glow over the polished floor, where students gathered in excited clusters. Professor Gilderoy Lockhart stood at the center of it all, dressed in dazzling turquoise robes, gesturing grandly as he addressed the eager crowd.

Serena Prince leaned against a nearby column, her arms crossed and her expression one of muted disdain. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes assessing the students present. Most were curious and hopeful, their chatter buzzing with anticipation. Lockhart, however, was the true center of her attention—and her scorn.

"Men," Serena thought with a faint sneer. "Always compensating for their inadequacies with theatrics."

Lockhart clapped his hands, calling for silence. "Welcome, welcome, my dear students! Tonight, we embark on a journey to master the noble art of dueling. With my guidance, of course, you'll all become adept defenders of yourselves and others."

The assembled students cheered, but Serena rolled her eyes. Lockhart's preening grated on her nerves. She had read his books, of course—and dismissed them as exaggerations and outright fabrications. Yet here he was, a beacon for the burgeoning "maninism" movement, championing male independence in a society dominated by witches. Serena found his entire persona laughable.

"Now, to begin," Lockhart continued, "we'll have a demonstration duel. And who better to join me than one of Hogwarts' most gifted students?" His eyes swept the room before landing on Serena. "Miss Prince, would you do me the honor?"

A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd. Serena pushed off the column, her expression unchanging as she strode to the center of the hall. Lockhart's smile faltered slightly under her cool gaze, but he recovered quickly.

"Excellent! Wands at the ready," Lockhart said, adopting a confident stance. Serena didn't bother with theatrics, holding her wand loosely by her side.

"On the count of three," Lockhart announced. "One… two…"

Before he could say three, Serena flicked her wand. "Expelliarmus."

Lockhart's wand flew from his hand as he was thrown backward, landing in an unceremonious heap. The hall fell silent for a moment before bursting into laughter and applause. Lockhart scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off with a sheepish grin.

"Ah, yes! A textbook Disarming Charm! Well done, Miss Prince, well done!" He tried to laugh it off, but Serena's icy gaze silenced him.

"Perhaps next time, Professor, you should wait for the count of three," she said, her voice sharp. The students laughed again, and Lockhart's smile stiffened.

Serena stepped back to the sidelines, her point made. "Beacon of hope, indeed," she thought. "If this is the best they have, men truly are hopeless."

The club continued, with students paired off to practice basic dueling spells. Serena observed the proceedings with detached interest, occasionally offering pointers to those struggling. She kept an eye on Holly Potter, curious about the girl's progress. When Holly was paired with another Gryffindor for a mock duel, Serena's attention sharpened.

The match began predictably enough, with simple spells exchanged. But when Holly's opponent's spell missed and struck a conjured snake on the floor, the creature hissed and coiled in aggression. Gasps echoed through the hall as Holly stepped forward, her green eyes wide but calm.

"Stop," Holly said, her voice low and firm. The snake froze, its head tilting toward her. She spoke again, this time in a language Serena recognized immediately: Parseltongue. The hissing words flowed smoothly, and the snake relaxed before slithering away.

The silence in the hall was deafening. Then, whispers broke out like wildfire.

"She's a Parselmouth!"

"That's Dark magic, isn't it?"

Holly's face turned pale as she realized what she had done. She glanced around, her expression a mix of confusion and dread. Serena's brow furrowed. Parseltongue was a rare gift, one she associated with ancient, powerful bloodlines like the Gaunts. But Holly was a Potter—and, more importantly, a girl. The talent could not have come from James who was both man and muggleborn.

"The prophecy," Serena thought, her mind racing. "Could it have marked her in ways we don't understand? This is no mere coincidence."

Lockhart's feeble attempt to regain control of the room fell on deaf ears. Serena stepped forward, her presence commanding.

"Enough," she said, her voice cutting through the noise. "This is not the time for baseless accusations. Potter's abilities are her own. Focus on your dueling."

The students quieted, though the unease lingered. Holly shot Serena a grateful look, but Serena didn't acknowledge it. Her mind was elsewhere, piecing together the implications of what she had just witnessed.

Later that evening, Serena sat in the library, surrounded by stacks of dusty tomes. She searched for any connection between Parseltongue and the prophecy, her frustration mounting with each dead end. "This changes everything," she thought, a mix of concern and curiosity brewing within her.

As the hours passed, Serena's determination only grew. Whatever secrets lay hidden in Holly Potter's bloodline, Serena would uncover them—for the girl's sake and for the future of the wizarding world.

POV: Holly Potter

Holly Potter sat curled up in her favorite armchair in the Gryffindor common room, the crackling fire casting long shadows on her drawn face. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and unease, replaying the scene from the dueling club over and over again. The hissing words had come unbidden, and the reaction from the crowd—the gasps, the whispers, the looks of fear—had cut her deeply. Even now, the memory of the serpent's obedient slither across the stage made her shiver.

"I spoke Parseltongue," she whispered, her voice barely audible. The words felt foreign in her mouth, as though admitting them aloud might make them more real.

Hermione Granger's sharp intake of breath broke the silence. She sat cross-legged on the rug, a stack of books piled precariously around her. Her brow furrowed, and she flipped through one of the thicker tomes with frantic energy. "Holly," she began cautiously, "I've been reading about Parseltongue. It's incredibly rare, usually associated with Salazar Slytherin and his descendants. But…" She hesitated, biting her lip. "It's also… often…"

"Considered dark," Holly finished bitterly. "I know, Hermione. Everyone's been looking at me like I'm the next Voldemort."

"That's ridiculous!" Ronda Weasley exclaimed, her freckles standing out against her flushed cheeks. She perched on the armrest of Holly's chair, her hands waving emphatically. "Just because you can talk to snakes doesn't mean you're evil! In India, Parselmouths are healers. They're celebrated for their ability to cure venomous bites. It's a gift, not a curse."

Holly managed a weak smile at Ronda's fervent defense. "Thanks, Ronda. But it doesn't explain why I can do it. I'm not related to Slytherin. At least, I don't think so."

Hermione looked up from her book, her expression torn between curiosity and concern. "It doesn't seem like something you'd inherit from your father," she mused, her analytical mind already piecing together possibilities. "It's not a known Potter trait. And… you looked just as surprised as everyone else."

Holly's eyes widened as a memory surfaced. "Wait," she said, her voice trembling. "I… I spoke to a snake once before. At Dudley's birthday. It was at the zoo. The glass disappeared, and I… I talked to it. I didn't even realize it was anything unusual at the time."

"So it's not new," Hermione said, her tone thoughtful. She reached for another book, scribbling notes in the margins. "The ability must have manifested before you came to Hogwarts. But why?"

"Does it matter why?" Ronda interjected, her voice firm. "What matters is that Holly's not dark. She's… well, she's Holly. And anyone who thinks differently can answer to me."

Holly's lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, both of you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Before either of them could respond, the portrait hole swung open, and Arcturus Black stepped into the room. His calm demeanor and steady gaze were a welcome contrast to the storm in Holly's mind. He approached quietly, his hands tucked into his robe pockets.

"Holly," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of reassurance. "I heard what happened."

Holly stiffened, expecting judgment or fear. Instead, Arcturus knelt beside her chair, meeting her eyes with an expression of understanding. "You're not alone in this. Parseltongue doesn't define who you are. And anyone who thinks it does doesn't know you."

The warmth in his words melted some of the tension in her chest. She nodded, blinking back tears. "Thanks, Arcturus. That means a lot."

He smiled faintly. "We all have things we don't fully understand about ourselves. But we figure them out. And we'll figure this out too."

For the first time since the dueling club, Holly felt a glimmer of hope. Surrounded by her friends, she realized she wasn't facing this alone. They spent the evening together, the oppressive weight of the day gradually lifting as they talked and laughed. Hermione shared obscure facts from her books, Ronda regaled them with exaggerated stories of her family, and Arcturus's quiet presence was a grounding force.

As the fire burned low and the castle settled into silence, Holly reflected on her friends' unwavering support. Whatever mysteries lay ahead, she knew one thing for certain: she was deeply grateful for the people who stood by her side.