As the last cauldron was scrubbed clean and the worktables wiped down, the classroom finally settled into a quiet hum of completion.
That was when the knock came.
Sharp. Polite.
I looked up. "Come in."
The door opened, and Blake stepped inside, eyes flicking instinctively to the blackboard still covered in potion instructions and notes. She took in the scene at a glance—cleaned stations, tired but focused Slytherins, the faint lingering smell of nettles and heat.
"You're late," she said lightly.
"Perfect timing," I replied. I gestured toward the board. "Copy the recipe."
She raised an eyebrow but pulled out parchment and quill without argument, moving quickly. She understood the value of preparation as well as I did.
Once she finished, I tapped the board with my wand.
The words faded, leaving behind clean slate.
I turned to the group.
"Dinner," I said simply. "Great Hall—or the dueling hall like yesterday?"
There wasn't even a pause.
"Dueling hall."
"Same place."
"Definitely there."
Unanimous.
I nodded. "Alright. Pack up. We're moving."
Another knock interrupted us—this one firmer, more authoritative.
The door opened again.
Headboy Fawley stepped in.
His gaze swept the room, taking in the first-years, the cleaned stations, the absence of chaos. Whatever he'd expected, this clearly wasn't it.
"Headboy Fawley," I said evenly, already shouldering my bag. "You're just in time. We were about to leave."
He frowned slightly. "Leave? Where exactly?"
"You'll see," I replied, turning toward the door. "Let's go."
Curiosity won out over authority. He followed.
We moved through the corridors together, the group falling into a natural formation—no noise, no running, no nonsense. Blake walked beside me, quiet but attentive. Fawley stayed a step behind, eyes sharp, clearly mapping our route.
We stopped.
Right where everyone stopped every day.
The corridor leading toward the Slytherin dormitories.
Stone. Torches. Familiar walls.
Fawley frowned. "Isn't this just the usual path to the dorms?" he asked. "Why are we stopping here?"
I didn't answer him.
Instead, I stepped forward and faced the portrait.
Two duelists frozen mid-motion, wands raised, eyes sharp with intent.
I spoke clearly.
"Ad duellum adsumus."
The duelists moved.
They stepped back in unison and inclined their heads in a formal bow—precise, restrained, unmistakably respectful.
Then the canvas split.
Stone rippled.
A doorway unfolded where there had been none.
Light spilled out.
The dueling hall revealed itself beyond the threshold—vast, circular, torchlit, ancient runes faintly alive beneath polished stone. The portraits along the walls stirred with silent motion, spells flashing and fading in disciplined eternity.
Blake stopped dead.
Her breath caught—not loudly, but enough.
Fawley froze outright.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
"This…" Blake whispered finally, eyes sweeping the hall. "This is—"
"The dueling hall," I said calmly.
Fawley stared, disbelief warring with dawning understanding. "This was sealed."
"It was," I agreed. "Not anymore."
The hall seemed to breathe around us, torches flaring just a touch brighter as we stepped inside.
For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, both the Ravenclaw heir and the Slytherin Headboy stood silent—not because they were ordered to be, but because the castle itself had demanded it.
And this time, they were seeing it too.
Headboy Fawley excused himself shortly after dinner, giving the hall one last thoughtful look before departing. His presence lingered even after he left—an unspoken acknowledgment that what was happening here mattered.
We returned to practice.
Not with the same intensity as before, but with quiet persistence. One by one, mistakes were corrected. Visualizations sharpened. Wand movements steadied. By the time the enchanted torches dimmed again to signal the late hour, nearly everyone had succeeded.
Almost every matchstick had become a needle.
Some were crude. Some slightly bent. A few still bore faint traces of wood beneath the metal sheen—but they were needles nonetheless.
At 9:45, I raised my hand.
"That's enough for today."
Reluctantly, wands lowered.
"We'll end practice here," I continued. "From tomorrow until the weekend, this hall will remain open. You can come here at any time."
I let my gaze move across them.
"There won't be focused training sessions like this on weekdays. Professors will cover these spells—and the theory behind them—during the first month. Mostly so certain… dimwitted students can catch up."
A few smirks appeared.
"But," I added calmly, "I'll be in the library for one hour each day. Anyone who wants to complete homework properly, revise theory, or stay ahead is welcome to join me."
I paused just long enough for the implication to settle.
"It's a recommendation," I said lightly. "Ignore it if you wish."
Then, colder—
"Embarrass the house, and you already know the punishments."
That got their full attention.
"And one more thing," I finished. "Now that the Headboy has seen this place, don't be surprised if seniors start showing up for spell practice in the coming days."
A ripple of shuddering moved through the group.
"Rest up," I concluded. "Tomorrow will be an eventful day."
With that, we began filing out of the dueling hall, the ancient space dimming behind us, satisfied—for now.