Two days later, a magically enchanted parchment that could update itself automatically appeared on the notice board in the center of the Great Hall—the Hogwarts Duelling Rankings.
Next to it was an application form for a Duelling Badge. Anyone could pick one up, fill it out, and submit it to their Head of House.
The rules for the Duelling Rankings were concise and strict:
1) Qualification for the Rankings: All badge holders whose information was entered would automatically be listed.
2) Challenge Rules:
• Only formal duelling challenges to opponents ranked higher than oneself were permitted.
• Challenges required at least 24 hours' advance notice, with Sagres himself or a Professor designated by both duelists serving as referee and safety supervisor.
• Challenging those ranked lower than oneself was strictly forbidden.
3) Protection Mechanism: Each challenged student had a "cooling-off period" and could accept a maximum of three formal challenges per week, preventing malicious, continuous duels.
4) Mandatory Reconciliation: All students who, during the previous "duelling craze," had harmed or humiliated others under the guise of "sparring" were required—within three days—to personally and sincerely apologize to the victims and obtain their forgiveness in order to receive a Duelling Badge.
• The apology had to be witnessed by a third party (a Prefect or Professor) and recorded.
As soon as the list was posted, the entire school was thrown into an uproar—then quickly settled into a peculiar order.
The energy of the belligerent was channeled into legitimate avenues of upward challenge.
Challenging the strong—and proving oneself under the rules and in the presence of authority—became a symbol of true honor and strength.
Those who had once bullied the weak suddenly found their so-called "power" meaningless in the face of real strength, and lost their targets for arbitrary venting.
As for the apology mandate, under the pressure of Sagres's cold gaze and the strict Duelling Ranking rules, most of the involved parties chose to comply.
They sought out their former victims and, under the watchful eyes of Prefects or Professors, reluctantly uttered, "I'm sorry."
Some apologies were stiff and awkward; others carried genuine shame.
The victims' reactions varied—some chose to forgive, while others refused.
Still, through these public apologies, cracks slowly began to mend.
However, there were always some who clung to luck and tried to slip through unnoticed.
A few students, thinking themselves clever or well-connected, offered perfunctory apologies—or pretended to have forgotten altogether.
Sagres's response was simple, direct, and extremely ...humiliating.
He didn't deduct points, assign detentions, or even waste a single word in class.
Instead, he sent formal, detailed letters to the parents of these so-called "well-connected" students.
The letters not only clearly listed their children's specific actions, times, locations, and the names of their victims, but also documented their refusal to comply with the apology order.
At the end of each letter was Sagres's formulaic, cold signature, accompanied by an unquestionable demand: "Please come to Hogwarts in person within one hour of receiving this letter to coordinate on this matter and supervise your child in fulfilling their apology obligation."
When several pure-blood parents, faces ashen, stood in the Great Hall before all Professors and students—suppressing their anger and embarrassment—and ordered their children to bow their heads and apologize to the students they had wronged, the silent force of that deterrent was a hundred times more effective than any detention.
Sagres had anticipated this from the beginning. He knew the temperament of these young wizards far too well.
Heh~
He had been fully aware of all the duelling incidents; his few days of apparent silence had simply been waiting for the right moment.
—After killing the chicken to scare the monkeys, he would use the rankings to guide their ambition, rules to shape their behavior, mandatory apologies to heal some wounds, and public punishment to strike directly at the incorrigible.
From then on, the atmosphere within the castle began to change—quietly, but unmistakably.
Private brawls vanished, while a passion for legitimate, rule-bound challenges reignited.
In the corridors, students no longer whispered about "who taught whom a lesson yesterday," but rather, "so-and-so's ranking has gone up again," or "Potter's Expelliarmus is as fast as lightning."
Those students who had been bullied and now received apologies, though not necessarily fully consoled, at least genuinely felt protected by an order upheld through rules.
Thus, the previously out-of-control and malicious "duelling craze" finally began to cool, like fire meeting ice, after the second duelling class.
Detention?
That didn't exist.
Point deductions?
Useless.
Sagres had more than enough ways to make these young wizards obey—but he chose not to use them.
He preferred a more indirect approach, using gentler methods to achieve his goals.
It wasn't that he feared being resented by misbehaving students; he simply wished to guide these young wizards—many of whom still clung to outdated ideas—toward the right path, as much as possible.
...
In the days that followed, the busiest person in the castle suddenly became Kestrel.
A large number of students flocked to the newly appointed professor, pleading with her to preside over duels. Those involved in mandatory reconciliations also frequently chose her to act as their apology witness.
The reason was obvious—her personality and age made her the most approachable among the professors.
Students genuinely liked this seemingly carefree, and even slightly "unreliable," new professor.
Kestrel herself also enjoyed it immensely.
Whenever she acted as a witness, she would quietly pull the apologizer aside, lower her voice, and say with a sincere, understanding expression, "Leave this to me! But, you know..."
She'd wink. "The condition is that you must truly repent..."
At that point, the other party often felt as if they'd been granted a great pardon, tearfully grateful: "Thank you so much, Professor Lumina! Professor Greengrass was right—we really shouldn't have messed around after learning just a bit of magic… We know we were wrong!"
"Good that you know you were wrong!"
Kestrel patted her chest and vowed solemnly, "Don't worry, leave it to me! Even if it doesn't work this time, it definitely will next time. I'll go persuade them first..."
"Thank you, Professor Lumina! You're truly the best professor at Hogwarts!"
"Oh, oh, it's nothing!" Kestrel waved it off, smiling brightly.
Then she would immediately slip over to the victim, leaning in just as mysteriously: "Listen, you absolutely mustn't forgive them too easily! At least make them apologize a few more times so they learn their lesson! Don't worry, I'll definitely help you 'uphold justice' and make them regret it bitterly!"
"Thank you, Professor Lumina! Then next time..."
"Of course you'll find me next time! I'll teach you exactly what to do—guaranteed satisfaction!" Kestrel took on the tone of a "kindred spirit."
"Thank you so much, Professor Lumina! You're truly the best professor at Hogwarts!"
"Oh, oh, it's nothing!" Kestrel waved again, her smile still bright.
The result was predictable: mandatory reconciliations naturally "failed" again and again.
What was remarkable was that both sides of each conflict were full of gratitude toward Professor Kestrel.
One side thanked her for her "generosity" and "diligent mediation," while the other praised her for her "firm support" and "upholding justice."
Kestrel's trick of playing both sides and pleasing everyone initially went quite smoothly.
She was like a busy, cheerful bee, flitting through the castle's corridors, empty classrooms, and courtyards, leaving behind a trail of "Oh, it's nothing!" and the satisfied smiles of both parties—despite their opposing goals.
She even prided herself on her "efficient mediation," convinced that she was both appeasing the victims and "profoundly educating" the wrongdoers—a true win-win.
However, there were no secrets in the castle, especially when a certain pair of eyes was constantly monitoring the enforcement of the rules.
Sagres detected the anomaly with almost no effort.
The repeated delays in the apology process, the unusually high number of invalid reconciliation witness records, and Kestrel's overly "active" involvement—combined with the nearly worshipful gratitude from students on both sides—formed a glaringly incongruous picture.
This was far from the "healing process" Sagres had envisioned, one guided by rules and structure.
It wasn't until Noctis started mimicking the phrases "You are truly the best Professor at Hogwarts!" and "Oh, oh, it's nothing!" that Kestrel finally began to rein herself in a bit.
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