The area outside the Dueling Arena was already a chaotic, pulsing mass of black robes, nervous energy, and rampant excitement. Students, drawn by the promise of spectacle and glory, pressed in from all directions, straining to read the massive announcement.
To cope with the sheer volume of the audience, the original, modestly sized notice board had been magically enhanced. It now stood as a colossal, four-meter-high display, shimmering with enchantments, upon which huge, kinetic magical characters flashed and scrolled, ensuring every detail was visible even to those crammed in the back rows.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione struggled against the relentless surge of bodies, jostling for a view of the enchanted bulletin. They craned their necks to read the bold, attention-grabbing header:
WHO IS THE STRONGEST DUEL CHAMPION?
WARRIORS, DRAW YOUR WANDS AND LET'S SETTLE THIS ONCE AND FOR ALL!
"Obviously, that warrior is me!" Ron bellowed, a surge of adrenaline and competitive spirit boiling over. The declaration earned him a few curious stares and a burst of mocking laughter from a group of nearby Slytherins.
Hermione and Harry exchanged a look—a silent communication of weary affection and mutual panic—before Hermione elbowed Ron sharply in the ribs.
"Ron, calm down, you great oaf! Nobody cares about your roar. We need to focus on the rules. This isn't just about yelling impressive things; it's about strategy!"
Ron rubbed his side mournfully. "Horrors! What wonderfully inspiring words! But Hermione finds no poetry in them," he grumbled, though he finally allowed his attention to drop to the scrolling text.
Hermione, rolling her eyes with a practiced ease honed by months of Ron's antics, began to recite the stipulations:
"'Eligibility: All Hogwarts students, from First to Seventh Year, are encouraged to participate, regardless of skill level. The competition is open to all Houses.'"
"'Registration: Opens today and closes promptly on Friday at 8:00 PM. No late entries will be accepted.'"
"'Structure: The Tournament will take place this weekend in the Dueling Arena. It will be divided into seven distinct class levels, with each year group competing solely amongst themselves.'"
"'Bracket Progression: Participants within each class level will compete head-to-head in two-person pairings. The list of initial match-ups will be determined by random lot. Winners advance to the next round; losers are immediately eliminated. This single-elimination format continues until a sole Champion is crowned for each year level.'"
The rules were simple, direct, and promised high stakes. As soon as they had absorbed the necessary information, the trio fought their way out of the suffocating crowd, heading toward the less congested registration area set up just inside the arena doors.
"Hey, Potter! Going to enter the Dueling Tournament, are you?"
Draco Malfoy's voice, sharp and laced with its usual, irritating smugness, cut through the din. He was standing near the registration desk, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, his posture radiating superior confidence.
"Of course, we are!" Ron snapped before Harry could utter a word. "And listen here, Malfoy, you keep that sneering look on your face. I'm going to personally make you pay for all the insults this time around."
Malfoy didn't even spare Ron a glance. His silvery gaze was fixed entirely on Harry, his lip curling in a look of profound disdain for the Weasley.
"You?" Malfoy scoffed, dismissing Ron with a simple turn of the head. Then, he focused solely on Harry. "Very well, Potter. Frankly, when I reviewed the entire pool of First Years, only you stood out as a worthy challenge. If you weren't in this, winning the championship would be meaningless. Since you're entering, I look forward to meeting you across the chalk line."
With a casual, cold smile and an exaggerated lift of one eyebrow, Malfoy turned and sauntered away, his two mountainous bodyguards lumbering in his wake.
"That git! That absolute, self-important ferret!" Ron hissed, his face crimson, his fists clenching and unclenching. "He didn't even acknowledge me! He completely dismissed me!"
"Don't let him get to you, Ron," Hermione advised calmly, though her own eyes held a spark of competitive fire. "He's trying to intimidate you. It won't work. Now, let's sign up quickly, and then we're going right back here to the practice grounds. We need to be training all week."
Word of the tournament spread like the Confundus Charm through the castle. Within hours, a line of students, eager to test the skills they had honed since the revival of the Dueling Club, snaked well down the corridor from the arena's registration desk. The entire week that followed was defined by nervous energy, competitive sparring matches in every available corner, and the frantic, late-night memorization of counter-curses.
A week vanished in a flash of spell-practice and revision.
When students arrived at the Dueling Arena at 8:00 AM on Saturday, they found the interior completely unrecognizable. The Professors, clearly, hadn't held back on the budget or the enhancements.
"Oh, my word, look at that! They've set up four separate dueling stages!" a student exclaimed, pointing at the raised platforms occupying the arena floor. "That means four matches can run simultaneously! This is brilliant!"
"It's a nightmare!" wailed his companion. "I won't be able to watch everything! I'll miss half the action!"
The faculty had anticipated this.
"Look, they've even arranged proper tiered seating for the audience," a witch noted, settling comfortably into a cushioned chair. "I thought we'd be standing all day. This is so much better than a Quidditch match!"
The true marvel, however, was high above the main stage.
"Check out the magical live broadcast! That massive shimmering screen!" shouted a Hufflepuff. "It's like a giant Muggle television, but magical! Even if you're sitting way at the back, you'll see every spell clearly projected onto that huge, floating screen!"
"And look at the bottom of the notice board—they're giving away a free enchanted video recording of the entire tournament to every participant! I can take it home and show my family my moves!"
"Heh, sure, if you're not vaporized the second you step onto the field…" came the inevitable, cynical reply.
When Sebastian arrived, the atmosphere was a dynamic mix of nervous tension and festive anticipation. He bypassed the throng and headed straight for the Professors' rest area, a small, plush lounge overlooking the main floor. The three other referees—McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape—were already there.
"Good morning, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Severus," Sebastian greeted them warmly, pouring himself a cup of steaming tea.
Snape merely sniffed, pulling his sleeves into his customary dramatic cascade. "It is 8:30 AM. The matches begin in half an hour. I note your continued dedication to the concept of 'just in time' arrival, Sebastian."
"A necessary vice when one is finalizing the prize selection," Sebastian countered smoothly.
Professor Flitwick, however, was beaming. "Sebastian, I am utterly thrilled! I truly look forward to today's performance."
He gestured enthusiastically toward the arenas below. "I have seen the progress of our young wizards since the Dueling Club's inception, and it is remarkable. Take the First Years, for example. In previous years, mastering even the basic Flipendo by this point was considered competent."
Flitwick's eyes sparkled with academic pride. "Now, I've found over a dozen students who have fully mastered the use of the Disarming Charm! That is a spell that used to stump many Third and Fourth Years! Furthermore, the remaining students possess a surprising depth of repertoire, capable of stringing together short, complex curses with impressive skill and speed."
Professor McGonagall, her expression softened from its usual sternness, nodded in emphatic agreement. "Filius is absolutely correct. The students' motivation has skyrocketed thanks to the Dueling Arena. It was, I must admit, a profound oversight on our part historically."
She sighed, a rare admission of institutional failure. "In the past, these children had no proper, safe venue for practical spell study. They had to sneak into empty classrooms or venture out to the edge of the Black Lake. Naturally, this bred complacency. Aside from required class practice, few students were ever motivated to drill on their own time."
"Now, everything has changed," McGonagall continued, her voice full of pride. "The professional facilities and the sheer social pressure of seeing their peers in the arena practicing has shamed even the lazier students into picking up their wands. I frequently see students here after classes, practicing together in groups of three or five."
"And it's not just the younger ones," Flitwick interjected, adjusting his waistcoat. "Every Friday at the Dueling Club, I observe several promising veteran students from the older years who have successfully integrated complex transfiguration like Polymorph into their dueling systems. We shall see how many of them manage to execute a high-level strategic transformation under the pressure of competition."
Snape, while attempting to appear utterly bored, didn't argue. He simply took a slow sip of his own tea. His silence was the highest form of professional agreement. The professors continued chatting, discussing the tactical possibilities they hoped to see.
At precisely nine o'clock, Sebastian finished his tea. He rose, adjusted his robes, and walked out of the lounge and onto the main competition floor, where a hush immediately fell over the thousands of students packed into the stands.
He stood perfectly centered, his figure commanding attention beneath the massive, magically televised screen.
"Good morning, Hogwarts!" Sebastian's voice, amplified by an undetectable spell, boomed with electric energy.
"The inaugural Hogwarts Dueling Tournament is now prepared to commence! Before we begin, please join me in offering a thunderous round of applause for our distinguished and highly qualified panel of referees: Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Snape, who will be overseeing today's critical decisions!"
The crowd erupted in a roar of cheers and enthusiastic applause. Harry clapped ferociously, his heart pounding against his ribs. He had only one mission: win the First Year Championship. Hermione's face was pale, her lips moving silently as she recited complex counter-curses in preparation. Ron's face was flushed, his hands trembling with uncontained excitement; he couldn't wait to get out there and duel.
Sebastian waited, soaking in the energy of the crowd. When the cheers finally subsided, he grinned—a genuine, captivating smile that promised both excitement and danger.
He raised his wand high above his head, the tip sparking with white light.
"I hereby declare…"
His voice dropped to a loud, thrilling whisper, drawing the entire hall to the edge of their seats.
"…The Dueling Tournament is officially OPEN! Let the battles begin!"