CHAPTER ELEVEN
was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at him like that he’d
have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction.
Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; at
least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas
Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like
swords in front of them.
“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combat-
ive position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd. “On the count of
three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to
kill, of course.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Harry murmured, watching Snape bar-
ing his teeth.
“One — two — three —”
Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed
them at their opponent; Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a
dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet:
He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid
down it to sprawl on the floor.
Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was
dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed
through her fingers.
“Who cares?” said Harry and Ron together.
Lockhart was getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off
and his wavy hair was standing on end.
“Well, there you have it!” he said, tottering back onto the plat-
form. “That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I’ve lost my
wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to
show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying
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