Saturday, October 9, 1993
I arrived at Hogwarts earlier than usual that morning, the corridors still quiet and echoing with my footsteps. There was a certain thrill to being awake while the castle itself still seemed half-asleep, as if I were in on a secret the students had yet to discover.
The Great Hall doors were already open.
As expected, Professor Flitwick was there ahead of everyone else, floating a series of enchanted markers into place with meticulous precision. The dueling platforms were outlined in glowing lines on the stone floor, shimmering faintly as he adjusted their spacing. He hummed cheerfully to himself, wand flicking in quick, precise motions.
Professor Lupin stood nearby, sleeves rolled up, quietly reinforcing the containment charms around the room. He moved with calm efficiency, checking each ward twice, his expression thoughtful but relaxed. Helping with the club had become part of his routine now, a natural extension of his duties as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
And then there was the unexpected presence.
Professor McGonagall stood near the staff table, hands clasped behind her back, sharp eyes taking in every detail. She radiated authority without needing to say a word, and I could practically feel the weight of her scrutiny before I had even stepped fully inside.
I smiled anyway.
"Filius," I said brightly as I entered the hall, my voice echoing softly. "Early as always. I trust everything is prepared for today?"
"Of course, Gilderoy!" Flitwick replied, practically bouncing in place. "I simply could not sleep. The theoretical implications alone are fascinating."
That was Flitwick for you. Give him a new magical concept and he lit up like a child on Christmas morning.
I turned to Lupin next. "Remus. Good to see you."
"Morning, Gilderoy," he replied with a polite nod. "Everything is progressing smoothly so far."
Then my gaze shifted to McGonagall.
"Minerva," I said warmly, turning the charm up just a notch. "What a pleasure to have you here with us."
Her lips thinned, unimpressed. "Gilderoy. I am here to ensure that all proper precautions have been taken. This is still a school, not a dueling arena."
"Of course," I said smoothly. "Student safety is my top priority."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"
I chuckled lightly, unfazed. "That said, I must admit I am delighted by your interest. Curiosity is the foundation of progress, after all."
"Hmph," she replied. "You promised something… unconventional. I intend to see how you plan to deliver without putting my students in danger."
I spread my hands reassuringly. "Do not worry. No one is going to get hurt. Every spell, every movement, every exchange has been accounted for."
Flitwick beamed. Lupin watched me carefully, as though weighing my words.
"And," I added with a confident smile, "I assure you, Minerva, you are going to love it."
For a moment, her expression softened just enough to betray genuine interest.
"Well," she said briskly, "then I suppose we shall see."
I glanced around the Great Hall, mentally running through the plan one last time. The wards were solid, the space was controlled, and the lesson waiting just beyond those doors was something Hogwarts had never quite seen before.
Today was not about reckless spell-slinging.
Today was about teaching them how to fight properly, and I am not talking about humans.
…
As the students began arriving and the Great Hall filled, I stood at the front, staff resting lightly against the stone floor, watching the familiar mix of excitement, curiosity, and barely contained nerves spread across their faces. The hum of conversation echoed off the enchanted ceiling as benches filled and heads craned toward the center of the room.
When the last groups settled, I stepped forward and greeted them all, welcoming them to another session of the Fight Club.
"Last year," I said, letting my voice carry easily across the Hall, "when this Club was established, I promised you more than simply learning how to fight other witches and wizards."
A few students straightened at that.
"I also promised to teach you how to confront dangerous magical creatures. Unfortunately, time constraints made that… difficult."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"Well," I continued, smiling, "today we're going to remedy that."
I let the pause stretch just long enough.
"Today," I said clearly, "you're going to learn how to fight a dragon."
Gasps, startled laughs, and more than a few sharp intakes of breath followed immediately.
Before anyone could question me, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small dragon figurine, no larger than a child's toy. I tossed it casually toward the empty side of the room.
With a single wave of my staff, the figurine expanded.
It grew rapidly, scales unfolding, limbs stretching, wings snapping outward with a heavy whumph of displaced air, until it stood roughly the size of an elephant. Four powerful legs planted themselves against the stone floor, claws scraping faintly. Its green scales gleamed under the enchanted light, thick and layered like overlapping shields. Large leathery wings flexed once before settling, and its face, lizard-like but sharper, was crowned by a fish-like fin that ran along its forehead.
The dragon's yellow eyes snapped open.
It let out a mighty roar that shook the Hall, the sound rolling through the space and making at least half the students clap their hands over their ears.
I smiled.
"As you can see," I said calmly over the fading echo, "this is a Common Welsh Green. Native to Britain. They are not particularly aggressive toward humans unless you intrude on their territory or provoke them."
The dragon shifted its weight, tail sweeping slowly behind it.
"And before anyone panics," I added, "this is not a real dragon. It is a replica, created with the help of transfiguration, charms, and a touch of alchemy."
That explanation visibly steadied the room. A few students who had been inching backward toward the doors, clearly planning an escape at the first sign of disaster, let out relieved sighs and shuffled back into place.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Professor McGonagall staring at the dragon, utterly fascinated despite herself. The precision of the transfiguration clearly intrigued her. I caught her gaze and offered a knowing smile.
She immediately schooled her expression into stern neutrality.
A hand shot up.
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" I said.
Percy Weasley stood a little straighter than necessary. "Professor, isn't the size of this dragon a bit small?"
I nodded approvingly. "Quite right. This is a juvenile dragon."
I tilted my head slightly. "Did you seriously think I'd have you fight a fully grown dragon on your first attempt?"
Percy swallowed audibly. "Wait… are you saying we're going to fight that?"
Right on cue, the dragon reared back, roared again, and shot a stream of fire straight upward. The flames curled harmlessly toward the enchanted ceiling before dissipating, but the heat alone made several students flinch.
"You heard that right," I said pleasantly. "And honestly…"
I glanced around at their wide eyes and tense postures.
"It seems fun, doesn't it?"
…