The Assistant

"I'm thinking of starting a duelling club," the blonde-haired professor began. "Thought the pupils could benefit from my expertise. Some of the staff too I don't doubt." He smiled conspiratorially at the man opposite who sat, reading The Daily Prophet.

"What do you think? Splendid idea, eh? Yes, thought so." Blonde locks bobbed as the man became more excited. "Severus, you don't mind if I call you that do you? No. Severus, I thought it would be wrong of me to withhold my knowledge of the duelling arts. Yes, very wrong."

Snape finally looked up from the financial pages. "Are you talking to me?"

"Er, well, absolutely old chap."

"Well kindly don't."

"Right.....well, as I was saying. A duelling club, smashing idea don't you think. Chance for us to teach the students something practical. I mean potions are all very well and good, but it's the Dark Arts and duelling that they need, don't you agree?"

Lockhart somehow failed to hear the low growl.

"Thought you might be interested actually. A chance to get the houses working together for a change. I know you're all for that. I need an assistant you see, someone to help me out with the little tykes, someone to demonstrate technique, that sort of thing. So, what do you say?"

Severus Snape took a long hard look at the buffoon sitting opposite him. He smiled slightly as he visualised popping his head off with a pair of pliers. With regret he forced his mind back to the present. Still, duelling...with Lockhart. Another smile appeared. He unconsciously licked his lips.

"I'd be delighted Gilderoy.....old chap."

He ignored a snigger from the other side of the staffroom.

"Really. Well, smashing. Totally. You'll learn a thing or two, I'm sure of it. I'll see you tomorrow night then." Lockhart winked at Snape.

"You most certainly will," he replied through gritted teeth.

In great spirits Lockhart swept out of the room pausing only to check his reflection in the window pane.

For a long while nobody spoke. Severus slowly folded up The Daily Prophet and stood.

Professor Flitwick appeared at his side.

"Er.....Severus.....I was wondering."

"What?" he snapped.

"Don't suppose you'd be adverse to giving him something permanent, would you?"

Snape looked down at the tiny Charms Professor and smiled a wicked smile.

"It would be my pleasure."

And with that he left. What might have been excitement filled the room. Suddenly the silence was shattered as McGonagall slammed ten galleons down onto the table.

"I'll take twenty seconds."

"What's the bet?"

"Till Lockhart's unconscious."

"Twenty! You're optimistic. Ten seconds!" Sprout laid her money down.

"No, he'll want to toy with him first. I say two minutes." Hooch searched through her purse.

"One hundred and fifty-five days, four hours, two minutes and twelve seconds."

Everyone stared at Dumbledore. What the hell was he thinking? Still, if he wanted to throw his money away...

They took the bet.

But nobody was laughing when, exactly one hundred and fifty-five days, four hours, two minutes and twelve seconds later Gilderoy Lockhart was hit on the head by a stray boulder while in the company of one Harry Potter and his sidekick Ron.

Dumbledore had won. But then, he always did.