The Cupboard Series 2: Hermione's Book Nook

Chapter 24

Rip ... Kill ... Tear ... So Hungry ... So Long ... Need to Kill ...

Harry froze half-way down the hidden stairway between the fourth floor and the second floor. The voice had come out of nowhere. Spinning around, he stumbled, lost his balance and slipped further down the stairwell. By the time that he'd recovered his balance, the voice had gone.

Slowly, hesitantly, he retraced his steps, running a gentle hand along the wall where he thought that he'd heard it. The rough stone wall under his fingertips gave no hint that there were any other secret passages nearby. He was all alone.

The ... voice must have been his imagination. Harry shivered at the thought. What in Merlin's name was his imagination doing thinking something like that?

Hesitantly, he gave the wall one last nervous look over before shrugging his book bag more firmly onto his shoulder and resuming his journey towards the Great Hall. Dinner awaited. Hearing strange, disembodied voices promising violent death needed to be put far, far from his mind.

Reaching the tapestry covering the entrance to the passageway, Harry slipped out, determinedly deciding to avoid going that way from now on. And also to 'forget' to mention what he'd heard to his friends. He hated to think about the way that they'd look at him if he did mention it.

-oOoOo-

Mid December saw a notable air or excitement permeate Hogwarts Castle, one that wasn't related to the myriad Christmas decorations that had begun appearing. Nor was it due to the fact that there was only a few days left of term before the Christmas holidays. No, this excitement was directly related to a notice that Seamus found pinned onto the Gryffindor notice board one morning.

"There's gonna be a duelling club!" he announced.

"Where? When?" different voices asked from around the common room.

"Let's see. Next Wednesday night, Great Hall, seven o'clock," Seamus read. "What do you guys reckon?"

"I'm in," Dean immediately declared.

"Yeah, could be good to learn how to duel," Neville agreed.

"Sounds like our Wednesday night's planned then," Harry stated.

As the day drew closer, theories were bandied around about who would be leading the Duelling Club. Some thought Professor Flitwick. There was a rumour that he'd been an international standard duelling champion when he was younger. Others thought Professor Snape would lead it, considering that it was no secret that he'd been coveting the Defence position for years. One or two even suggest Dumbledore himself, reasoning that he had defeated the Dark Lord Grindewald back in the day.

Harry's opinion was fairly firm. "Just so long as it's not Lockhart. I think I could handle it being anyone else, but not him."

That fear, it seemed, had been completely justified when, from out of the teacher's entrance to the Great Hall, the plum-coloured ponce bounded up onto the stage that had been conjured for just this event. His teeth were doing that ting effect thing that he loved as he flashed his smile at the crowd of students arrayed in front of him.

"Thank you all for coming," Lockhart stated, twirling his cape elaborately as he unfastened the broach that held it together before tossing it off into a waiting pack of seventh year girls. "Headmaster Dumbledore has given his permission for us to learn the noble art of duelling. And, as the winner of the Order of Merlin, third class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League and five times Winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, the obvious choice to instruct you all is ... me!"