The duel remained the talk of the school for weeks. Beyond the professors' seemingly simple yet astonishingly refined spells, the hottest debate revolved around one question—who had actually won?
From what everyone had seen, in the final exchange Professor Flitwick had managed to block Professor Fawley's attack without showing any clear signs of defeat before the duel ended. To many, it felt anticlimactic.
Supporters from both sides quickly began to argue.
"No way! Professor Flitwick was clearly being pressed by Professor Fawley at the end! How can you not see that?"
"But Professor Fawley's powerful offense was completely neutralized! That just proves how amazing Professor Flitwick's magic is!"
When neither side could convince the other, they decided to ask the professors themselves.
Professor Fawley insisted it had been an even match—a draw.
Professor Flitwick, however, claimed he had lost, admitting that he'd used a spell outside the rules: the Protego Horribilis.
That spell had long surpassed the limits of a regular Shield Charm, combining defensive enchantments like Salvio Hexia and Protego Totalum into a complex, high-level magic.
The duel's agreed rule had been clear—both sides could only use simple spells that students were capable of learning. Fusion spells like that were rare even among fully qualified wizards.
Once that explanation spread, the arguments over who had won finally began to die down.
But discussions about the magic itself grew even more intense. Interest in Charms and Transfiguration surged, and both Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall couldn't have been happier. They taught with bright smiles, often throwing in little demonstrations during class just to keep their eager students amazed.
Of course, the most anticipated class remained Professor Tver's Defence Against the Dark Arts.
No lower-year student ever missed his lessons. Even when the chill weather brought colds, students would drag themselves to class coughing and sniffling, only to be promptly sent to the Hospital Wing—much to Madam Pomfrey's constant irritation.
Seeing the students' growing enthusiasm, Tver decided to seize the moment and introduced the Light Orb Game across all three years.
Naturally, the difficulty was divided by grade level.
For first-years, it was simple—the light orb drifted slowly through the air.
For second-years, the orb's speed fluctuated unpredictably, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, making it hard to follow.
By third year, the challenge peaked—the orb not only changed speed but darted erratically in all directions, sometimes shifting three times in a single second.
But no matter the difficulty, the moment they tried it, the students were hooked. They couldn't get enough of the game that didn't require hanging anything from the ceiling. All day long, they compared scores, swapped tips, and—eavesdropped on the top students' discussions, hoping to pick up a few tricks and climb higher on the leaderboard next time.
Yes, Tver had created leaderboards for every year!
Each leaderboard ranked all four houses together, listing only the essentials—rank, name, house, and highest score.
It hung boldly at the back of the classroom, where every student could easily find their name and placement.
Those near the top instantly became school celebrities, admired and congratulated by everyone. Those lower down weren't exactly scorned—or if they were, they didn't have time to care.
As Professor Fawley put it, "Instead of worrying about your ranking, use that energy to get better. A low score just means you have more room to improve—and even a little progress can raise your score by a lot!"
Before long, the students were obsessed. Their passion for the Light Orb Game reached a fever pitch.
After class, during meals, even in the corridors—whenever they spotted something round, they couldn't resist the urge to grab their wands and take a shot.
"Hey, what if we practiced with an actual Quidditch ball? Might work even better," Ron said to Harry, who had just returned from Quidditch practice.
Harry had secretly joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team during the second week of term, right after flying lessons began. A week later, Professor McGonagall had given him a broomstick, officially starting his Quidditch training.
Weary from practice, Harry tucked his broomstick away. Honestly, he thought hiding it was pointless now—every Gryffindor who looked his way had that "We believe in you, kid" expression.
Once everything was stowed, he flopped onto his bed with a sigh.
"I don't know if that'd help," he said, "but Wood would definitely kill you."
"You've got it easy," Ron said enviously. "No one's beaten your 58 points yet. Even that Granger girl's still a few points behind you."
Harry grinned, pleased with himself. It was a good thing he was lying down—otherwise, he might've drooled.
"Well, not exactly," he admitted. "It took me a whole month just to gain one point. Malfoy from Slytherin went up by five!"
"Yeah, but he's only at 55 now. Professor Fawley said the higher the score, the harder it is to improve. Some people's scores have even dropped."
At that moment, a round-faced boy walked in, clutching a notebook like it was a precious treasure.
Ron's eyes lit up instantly. "Well, look who it is—our most improved first-year!"
No matter how many times he heard that, Neville would always blush, though a shy little smile crept onto his face every time.
"Please don't say that. I'm only at 35 points—way behind you two."
"Give it two more weeks, and you'll be ahead of me," Ron said, bouncing to his feet. "Come on, show me what the professor taught you tonight."
Neville hesitated, then carefully handed over the notebook in his arms.
Ever since he'd worked up the courage to ask Professor Fawley for help two weeks ago, the professor had been tutoring him twice a week. That was why Neville had been improving so quickly.
"Still just stuff about wizard instincts?" Ron flipped to the last page with a sigh, then handed it back like always. Every time Neville came back from tutoring, Ron borrowed his notes—only to find the contents incomprehensible.
"The professor seems really into this topic," Neville said, rubbing his arms a little. "He keeps talking about things like the soul and willpower." He shuddered. "Honestly, I feel like he's studying me instead of teaching me."
Ron flopped onto his bed with a dull thud, idly spinning his wand between his fingers.
"Well, at least you're interesting enough to study. I don't even qualify."
"You could ask the professor yourself," Neville suggested. "Maybe he'd come up with lessons that suit you."
Ron thought about it for a moment before sighing and giving up.
"Forget it. The professor probably doesn't like students like me—the kind who can't even afford a new wand."