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Snape's fingertips were still trembling uncontrollably, and beneath the folds of his robe, the muscles in his arm spasmed from sheer exhaustion.
Never before had he experienced the sensation of magical depletion so vividly — like a drained and withered marsh, dried to the point that even conjuring the faintest glimmer of a Lumos spell had become a struggle.
Though his chest still roiled with a fury that refused to subside, reason cut through the anger like a cold, sharp blade, whispering with merciless clarity: this crushing, one-sided duel had laid bare the unbridgeable chasm between them.
Perhaps,Snape thought darkly, perhaps even years ago — when that man was still a student at Hogwarts — I was already no match for him.
It was only today, during this public spectacle that had felt more like an execution than a lesson, that he had finally come to see the terrifying extent of the other man's power. That fluid, effortless rhythm of spellcasting, the precise and weightless control over his magic, and the chilling mastery with which he wove practical combat into a teaching demonstration — every aspect of it left no room for doubt.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, as though something had just clicked in his mind.
With strength like that… he could easily stake a claim as the third Dark Lord. And yet… Sargeras had chosen to return to Hogwarts and take up the post of professor?
Snape's gaze swept over the young witches and wizards below the stage, their faces lit with wild excitement, and a vague, unsettling theory began to take shape in his mind — was this man planning to cultivate a loyal following right here, starting with these children? Slowly but surely, would he then reach for control over the entire wizarding world?
Or… was there something else? Something hidden deep within this ancient school, some secret worth scheming for?
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On the other side of the stage, Lockhart was still lying in an exaggerated pose of "unconsciousness." If not for the occasional twitch of his eyelids, that ghastly pale face of his might've genuinely passed for a corpse.
Sargeras flicked his wand lazily, casting a quick Reviving Spell, then turned to the school matron with a lifted brow. "Madam Pomfrey," he said with a dry smile, "looks like we'll be needing some specialty revivers."
Understanding immediately, the school nurse gave a quick, knowing blink and reached deep into her medicine box. From within, she retrieved a bottle of potion bubbling with ominous green foam.
As the sharp, sulfuric stench — something like rotten eggs left too long in the sun — began to waft through the air, the "unconscious" Lockhart was suddenly seized by a violent fit of coughing.
At last, the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts was dragged off to the side to begin treatment, while Snape also returned to the staff seating area to rest.
Sargeras remained where he was, standing alone on the stage. He glanced down at the eager young witches and wizards below and gave a slight nod as he announced, "That concludes the demonstration. Now, it's time for the practical portion."
The students erupted in cheers, and the Great Hall burst into a frenzy of excitement. After watching for so long, they were finally about to try their own hand at spellcasting.
Meanwhile, Sargeras absentmindedly tapped his wand against the palm of his hand, over and over, his expression unreadable. There was something in his eyes — something that hovered between quiet amusement and a subtle warning — as he looked down at the buzzing crowd of students.
"First," he began, his voice unhurried, "let me make one thing very clear. If anyone turns this duel into a common street brawl…"
Before he even finished the sentence, a spray of sparks suddenly burst from the tip of his wand. The crackling firelight snapped through the air, and in an instant, the noisy Great Hall fell completely silent.
He didn't explain what the consequences would be… but no one needed him to. Everyone knew it wouldn't be anything pleasant.
Then, with a smooth motion, he began tracing shapes in the air with his wand. Glimmering arcs followed in his wake, and a moment later, the very floor of the Great Hall began to ripple outward like the surface of disturbed water. Under the influence of his magic, the space expanded far beyond its original size. Towering stone columns rose silently from beneath the floor, reshaping the hall into a vast arena divided into dozens of clearly marked dueling platforms.
"Slytherin versus Gryffindor! Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff!"
His voice rang out with perfect clarity, echoing from every corner of the room. "Form your teams freely… get into position immediately!"
The students responded like they had just been hit with a massive Cheering Charm. The room buzzed with energy as they sprang into motion.
Harry and Ron rushed toward each other at once. Malfoy grabbed hold of Crabbe and Goyle by their robes, dragging them toward the Slytherin side. Hermione was patiently demonstrating the standard dueling stance to a slightly flustered Neville, while Luna had already pulled Astoria with her and claimed one of the designated dueling zones.
"Lesson One," Sargeras declared, climbing an invisible staircase that lifted him gently into the air. His black robes drifted around him like a living shadow, catching the candlelight and moving as though the darkness itself obeyed him.
"Casting and dodging are not two separate movements… they're one rhythm, one breath," he said, now pacing calmly across the central floating platform that hovered above all the others. "I don't expect you to use any dazzling spells today, not on the first lesson. But there is one thing I do expect from each of you: to give it your all. Focus on your opponent, cast your spells, and then move. Avoid the counterattack. Do not just stand there waiting to be hit."
"Professor…" A timid Hufflepuff student hesitantly raised his hand, voice barely audible. "We barely know any spells... we've only learned a few…"
Sargeras looked down at the young wizard, eyes calm but unreadable. "I'm well aware of Hogwarts' curriculum," he replied evenly, "and just as aware that most of you have a handful of favorite little hexes you've picked up in secret when no one was watching. Don't be shy… now's the perfect time to test them out."
He paused briefly, then added, "And for those of you who truly don't know how to attack… at the very least, you'd better learn to dodge like a rabbit."
"But… what about the rules of dueling?" Ravenclaw's prefect, Penelope Clearwater, raised her hand with a concerned look. "Most of us aren't even familiar with the proper dueling courtesies…"
"Rules?" Sargeras repeated, a trace of something cold curling beneath the word. "The purpose of this club is to teach you how to survive danger, not how to put on a performance."
He gave a flick of his wand, and a streak of red light shot from the tip, zipping past Penelope's ear so closely it ruffled her hair.
"So forget about the rules. Throw them away completely. In a real duel, in a battle where your life is on the line, those flashy formalities will get you only one thing… a corpse."
Somewhere in the back of the room, a student muttered under their breath, "But Hogwarts is supposed to be safe… why are we learning this stuff?"
"Hogwarts might not be as safe as you think it is."
Sargeras's reply came without hesitation. His tone remained quiet, but there was a weight behind it that made every student fall silent again.
As he spoke, he flicked his wand once more, and a thick ribbon of magical smoke burst forth, twisting and coiling in the air before transforming into a massive, spectral serpent. The phantom snake darted through the crowd with surprisingly speed, weaving between startled students as it skimmed just above their heads.
The younger witches and wizards cried out in alarm and scattered in all directions, but the panic didn't last long. The great serpent was merely an illusion; it had no body, no weight, no bite. Once they realized it posed no real danger, the commotion quickly settled down again.
"I spent two years at Durmstrang…" Sargeras continued, "At that school, dueling and the Dark Arts aren't side electives… they're essential skills. Every student is expected to learn them, to master them, or fall behind. Compared to that… you're already far behind."
As he spoke, the illusionary serpent opened its gaping jaws once again, stretching wide like a greedy beast in a feeding frenzy. It glided over the crowd, swallowing every student in its path, one after another, like some twisted game of magical Snake. Then, as if it had simply lost interest, it dissolved back into smoke and faded from view, disappearing without a trace.
"But that's alright," he added, pausing for a heartbeat. "Right now, I'm giving you an opportunity. You can prove to me that you're not just useless little fools."
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Across the expanded dueling floor, more than thirty teams had already formed on their own. Some groups had gathered in tight clusters of three to five students, while others stood alone, either by choice or because they hadn't found anyone to partner with.
As soon as Sargeras swept his wand downward to signal the beginning of the match, the Great Hall erupted into chaos.
It was like someone had kicked over a hive of magical hornets.
Spells flew in every direction, flung with wild abandon. The young students hurled their magic across the platforms like they had an endless supply, paying little attention to aim or accuracy. Most weren't even bothering to target individual opponents — they simply lobbed spells into the largest crowds, hoping something would hit.
"Scourgify!" a first-year Hufflepuff shrieked, flinging a Cleaning Charm across the battlefield like it was an attack. A second later, a Ravenclaw girl standing on the opposite side of the hall suddenly began bubbling all over, her robes coated in a strange, slick layer of floating soap film.
"What kind of attack is that?" someone nearby bellowed in disbelief.
"I—I only know this one!" the boy shouted back, clearly panicked.
Meanwhile, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had formed a tight triangle, standing back-to-back with their wands raised. Several older Gryffindor students stood beside them, ready to defend or strike at a moment's notice.
At first, Hermione had hesitated. She stood frozen for just a second, unsure whether to go all out. But then… a beam of magic flew so close to her head that it singed the ends of her hair. It was a crude hex — Densaugeo — meant to make someone's front teeth grow out like clubs.
That was all it took to ignite her.
"Expulso!"
"Stupefy!"
"Incarcerous!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Rictusempra!"
"Incendio!"
Hermione's wand sliced through the air so quickly it left afterimages trailing behind, like the tail of a comet. Spell after spell erupted from the tip, firing off in rapid succession like a barrage of magical fireworks aimed straight at the chaos unfolding ahead.
But her fierce display didn't go unnoticed.
In the very next moment, three vicious jinxes were fired directly at her, hurtling through the air in synchronized retaliation. Harry, ever alert, reacted just in time — he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her out of the way in one swift motion.
Ron, however, wasn't nearly as lucky.
His battered old wand gave a pitiful sputter and then exploded with a loud pop, coughing up a puff of green smoke. The misfired spell rebounded wildly, and slammed right into his own face.
"Urgh—!"
Doubling over, Ron let out a groan as thick, glistening slugs began pouring out of his mouth in an endless stream. His face twisted in disgust, eyes watering as he tried to breathe between the nauseating gurgles.
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked, eyes wide with alarm.
But she didn't have time to rush to him. A second later, a Dancing Feet Spell hit the spot where she'd been standing a heartbeat before, exploding with a sharp crack. She was forced to throw herself into a roll, hitting the floor and scrambling out of range before it could catch her.
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Earlier, Sargeras had deliberately spaced the dueling platforms far apart, doing everything he could to prevent the exercise from collapsing into pure hand-to-hand chaos.
Clearly, he had underestimated the "creativity" of these younger witches and wizards.
Somehow, a few Slytherins and Gryffindors had managed to break through the space between platforms and charged straight at each other. In the blink of an eye, what had started as a spellcasting exercise devolved into a full-blown brawl.
"Take this, you prat!"
"Ow! Why are you pulling my hair?!"
"Let go! Who's choking me?! I can't breathe!"
Sargeras twitched at the corner of his mouth, his expression unreadable. With a swift flick of his wand, several streaks of silver light shot out and struck the tangled pile of students. The magic forcefully pried them apart and flung them backward, breaking up the scuffle like an invisible referee pulling fighters from a ring.
Finally, amid the scattered groans, crooked wands, and robes that looked like they'd been through a hurricane, he raised a hand and waved it slowly through the air — signaling the end of the duel.
All around him, students stood hunched and gasping, covered in soot, sweat, and stray sparkles of magical residue. Some looked dazed, others were clearly trying to pretend they hadn't just been tackled to the ground.
Sargeras glanced around the room, his eyes sweeping over the mess, and arched a brow.
Not bad. In fact, better than he'd expected.
At least eighty percent of the students had remembered his most basic instruction: cast, then move. They hadn't stood rooted to the floor like wooden dummies waiting to be hexed — they had fought like duelists, not targets.
"Not bad at all," he said slowly, the faintest flicker of satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "At least you didn't blow up the entire Great Hall."
Right on cue, Ron leaned over and gave a loud retch, another slimy slug slithering out of his mouth.
Sargeras didn't even flinch.
With a lazy wave of his wand, he sent out a spray of soft golden light. Healing charms shot from the tip, weaving their way through the crowd and landing on every student who had been hit by a hex, jinx, or ill-timed backfire. Slowly, the curses began to lift, one by one, as color returned to pale faces and wands began to steady in trembling hands.
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[Chapter End's]
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