At precisely 8:00 PM on Friday, the very atmosphere in the Great Hall of Hogwarts felt charged with anticipation. The traditional house tables, the symbol of daily routine and separation, had been magically swept away, leaving a vast, empty expanse of polished stone floor.
In the centre, where the Headmaster's lectern usually stood, a magnificent dueling arena now rose—a perfectly circular platform, subtly raised and surrounded by shimmering, invisible protective wards.
The hall was packed. Every student who had been eligible to join the newly formed Dueling Club was present, packed shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of others who had come purely to spectate the grand opening. A low, excited roar of conversation filled the air, the collective sound of hundreds of young wizards and witches speculating on the night's events.
"It just seems strange, doesn't it? Professor Swann is the Muggle Studies instructor," a Ravenclaw voiced, adjusting his spectacles. "How credible can he be at teaching combat spells? I mean, shouldn't Professor Flitwick lead this? He was a champion duelist, after all."
"Did you completely miss the duel on Wednesday?" an older Hufflepuff scoffed in response. "Potter made Malfoy look like a bumbling scarecrow, and Potter explicitly stated he'd been taking private lessons from Swann. You cannot argue with results."
A cluster of third-year witches, however, were focused elsewhere. "Honestly, I still think Professor Lockhart would have been a superior choice. He has impressive achievements, he's photogenic, and he's so charismatic on the stage.
What has Professor Swann actually done? Last year, when Fred Weasley was nearly taken by that Acromantula—it was Professor Snape who braved the Forbidden Forest and saved him. Professor Swann simply appeared after the danger had passed to collect them."
Fred Weasley, standing nearby with his twin, George, felt a burst of impotent fury. They have no idea. The sheer, terrifying power Sebastian holds. The things we saw...
Fred wanted nothing more than to break his gag order—the mental restriction Sebastian had placed on him—and scream the truth at these naive onlookers.
To tell them that Sebastian Swann had walked into a nest of deadly spiders with the calm authority of someone popping into a sweet shop. But the command held firm. Instead, he could only emphasize the point to his immediate circle.
"Listen to me," Fred stressed, his tone low and serious, leaning close to a small group of friends. "You absolutely cannot listen to that superficial nonsense. Professor Swann's capabilities are vastly beyond your—or any professor's—imagination. Do not mistake his quiet demeanor for weakness."
Harry, standing with Ron and Hermione, nodded in fervent agreement. The two months of relentless, high-intensity training had given him an intimate, if limited, understanding of Sebastian's sheer competence. "Fred's right. When Professor Swann arrives, you both need to pay absolute attention. His methods are brilliant, but they're also extremely demanding."
The sudden surge of volume from the students near the main entrance signaled the arrival of the faculty.
"The Professors! They're here!" the shouts echoed.
The grand entrance was certainly designed for effect. Five figures, each a master in their own field, strode confidently into the hall. The students exploded with enthusiasm, their applause thunderous, accompanied by ecstatic commentary focused heavily on aesthetics.
"Oh, marvelous! Professor Lockhart looks simply divine tonight! His sky-blue robes are absolutely magnificent and perfectly set off his eyes!"
"Look at Professor Flitwick! That tailored, high-collared dueling outfit! He looks incredibly sharp and ready for action!"
"Even Professor Snape looks good, in his elegant, flowing black robes. Very refined."
"Professor McGonagall is still the epitome of grace. I only hope to possess that much composure one day."
Lockhart, seizing the spotlight with practiced ease, took centre stage upon a specially erected raised platform. He cast a discreet but powerful Sonorus on his voice and addressed the hall with a dazzling, practiced smile.
"Good evening, my dear students! I am your host tonight, Gilderoy Lockhart! We have gathered tonight not merely for entertainment, but for edification. Four true masters of the arcane arts are here to reveal the profound secrets of magical combat! Let us show our appreciation!"
The applause surged again.
Sebastian watched from the side, nodding in quiet satisfaction. Lockhart, for all his fraudulence, was an unparalleled showman. When Sebastian had initially proposed the Dueling Club, Lockhart had instantly materialized, practically begging to be included.
Giving him the role of Host and Live Commentator was a masterful political stroke—it kept Lockhart busy, utilized his theatrical talent, and relieved Sebastian of having to answer trivial introductory questions.
Lockhart fielded a student's query with an exaggerated bow: "Professor Lockhart, will you be demonstrating your superior skill?"
"Ah, alas, no! I am far too skilled to embarrass myself by competing with these fine, lesser talents!" Lockhart chuckled, eliciting giggles from the younger students. "My invaluable task tonight is to provide illuminating commentary for your education."
Sebastian watched as a student from Hufflepuff piped up, "Why isn't Professor Sprout here?"
Lockhart responded instantly, striking a pose of mock horror. "Professor Sprout is worried! She fears her magical herbs and flora are simply too potent, and that she might accidentally conjure a particularly dangerous Mandrake and cause irreparable harm to you all! Her restraint is admirable!"
Sebastian stifled a smile. The casting was perfect.
"Alright, enough of the pleasantries!" Lockhart's voice boomed. "Your thirst for knowledge is palpable! Let us now turn our undivided attention to the arena! Tonight, we have three stunning exhibition matches! And first, we will see a masterclass in subtlety and surprise: Professor McGonagall and Professor Swann will demonstrate the strategic application of Transfiguration in the Duelling Arena!"
The announcement caused a ripple of confusion. Transfiguration? Students had expected explosive curses, elegant shields, and perhaps powerful disabling jinxes. How did the meticulous, complex art of transmutation apply to the chaos of a duel?
Minerva McGonagall, abandoning her usually severe expression for a rare, encouraging smile, stepped into the arena. Sebastian followed, placing several ordinary wooden chairs in the centre before handing McGonagall a small, wooden box—a Wizarding Chess set. He then stepped out of the ring, ready to observe.
Professor McGonagall addressed the students, her voice firm and articulate. "Transfiguration, as you know, is one of the most intellectually demanding branches of magic. However, mastering it provides immense advantages in a confrontational situation."
She raised her wand and delivered the first critical lesson: "Standard offensive spells—a Knockback Jinx, an Impedimenta, or a Stunning Curse—are often accompanied by a visible, bright jet of light." She demonstrated, firing a silent, crimson bolt towards a high, empty patch of wall. "Such a visible spell instantly gives away your intention, your trajectory, and your timing. It grants your opponent a fraction of a second to react."
"Transfiguration, conversely," she continued, her eyes gleaming with predatory intelligence, "can be effectively lightless and silent, making it the ultimate tool of surprise and disruption."
With a casual, almost imperceptible flick of her wand, she faced the cluster of wooden chairs. No light, no sound. The chairs simply began to change. The legs stretched and thickened into massive paws, the seat warped into a powerful, coiled torso, and the backrest contorted into a thick, muscular neck and terrifying, maned head.
In seconds, the chairs had silently become three massive, life-sized African Lions. They were magnificent and terrifying, their snarls low, guttural, and incredibly realistic. They paced slowly, their eyes fixed on the students, seeming ready to leap at a moment's notice.
"Once you master the art of Transfiguration," McGonagall explained calmly, despite the proximity of three lethal beasts, "you can utilize any mundane object near your opponent—a desk, a stone, a tapestry—to launch an instant, unexpected attack that is nearly impossible to defend against, as your opponent is not looking for a sudden, lethal predator."
A student with quick wits shouted, "Professor McGonagall! What are the Wizarding Chess pieces for, then? They're too small to be objects of opportunity!"
McGonagall smiled. "Excellent question! We cannot always rely on convenient furniture being available. But what can you always carry? Small, portable tools. These can be transmuted with remarkable power."
She opened the chess box and tossed a handful of the thumb-sized, carved wooden pieces—a Knight, a Rook, and a Queen—high into the air. The pieces spun rapidly, and as they struck the stone floor, they did not merely transform; they exploded into massive, imposing, ten-foot-tall Giants.
They landed with a physical tremor that shook the dueling platform, their crude, heavy clubs ready. The Giants then instantly formed a tight, impenetrable semi-circle around Professor McGonagall, acting like expertly trained, colossal bodyguards.
A unified gasp swept through the hall. "Merlin's socks!" a student shrieked.
The visual impact was stunning. Hermione's eyes were wide, glittering with pure academic desire. "An entire, devastating army! Simply by carrying a common chess set! The tactical implications are astounding! It's the ultimate element of surprise!"
Ron, meanwhile, was jumping up and down with visceral excitement. "Did you see that, Harry? It's like carrying an entire army in your pocket! That is the coolest thing I've ever seen! Imagine pulling out an entire squadron of Giants in a fight!"
Harry, however, felt a dull, sinking sense of disappointment mixed with a fresh wave of jealousy. His previous pride in his quick-draw dueling skills faded rapidly in the face of this elegant, sophisticated display of magical control.
Why did Sebastian say I wasn't suited for this?
He distinctly recalled Sebastian's words during one of their late-night sessions: "Harry, your mind is simple and straightforward. You respond with action, not contemplation. Transfiguration requires ruthless focus, patience, and a meditative calm. You are built for speed, reflex, and raw power. Do not waste your time mastering the long game; master the kill shot. Focus on disabling curses and lightning-fast evasion."
At the time, Harry had accepted the advice, focused on perfecting his Expelliarmus and developing his unnatural, reflexive dodging ability. But now, looking at Professor McGonagall, regal and utterly safe behind a barrier of transfigured giants, Harry felt an agonizing sense of limitation.
His own style—raw speed, quick jinxes, a direct approach—now seemed crude, like a bludgeon compared to McGonagall's elegant rapier.
Sebastian told me I was simple-minded.
The thought chafed at him. Why can't I learn both? Transfiguration looked infinitely more useful and powerful than simply disarming an opponent. It provided both defense and offense simultaneously without giving away his position.
He watched the Giants slowly dissolve back into wooden chess pieces and the lions return to wooden chairs at a second silent command from McGonagall.
Harry made a quiet, firm decision. It doesn't matter what Sebastian thinks. I'm going to try it anyway. I need that skill. I can't rely on just being the fastest man with a Disarming Charm. He had to try, because if the threat beneath the three-headed dog was real, speed and directness might not be enough. He needed cunning. He needed the ability to conjure a surprise army. He needed Transfiguration.
As Professor McGonagall bowed to the thunderous applause, and Lockhart began introducing the next exhibition match—a demonstration of charm-work shielding between Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape—Harry's focus irrevocably fractured. The spectacle, the applause, the ambition in the room—it all seemed irrelevant against the backdrop of the fourth-floor corridor.
He looked at Ron and Hermione, both still buzzing with the excitement of the dueling club.
A three-headed dog. Guarding a trapdoor. Just like the package Hagrid pulled out of Vault 713 at Gringotts.
The terrifying conclusion was inescapable: the item Dumbledore had worriedly moved out of the safest bank in the world was now hidden in a room guarded by a monstrous, sleeping beast, right here in the school. The Stone—Harry had a sudden, profound certainty that the thing in the package was the Philosopher's Stone.
Harry realized that the very skills being taught tonight—the Transfiguration for cunning, the Charms for defense, the Jinxes for combat—were not for schoolyard squabbles with Malfoy. They were necessary preparation for whatever or whoever was trying to steal the incredibly powerful object Dumbledore was protecting.
His training suddenly felt terrifyingly real.
He leaned in toward Ron and Hermione, his voice strained. "When this demonstration is over, we need to talk. Right away. I know what that dog is guarding, and I think I know who else might be looking for it."
The noise of the crowd, the dramatic clash of shields and charms in the arena, and the urgent pressure of his secret closed in on him. He had to be strong, cunning, and prepared.
Do you think Harry should share his suspicion about the Philosopher's Stone right here in the Great Hall, or wait until they are in the safety of the Gryffindor common room?