— — — — — —
"Congratulations," said a bright voice.
As Tom left the Great Hall with the crowd, heading upstairs for Transfiguration, Cho caught up with him. She looked radiant as she smiled. "Another paper published. That's amazing."
Tom just chuckled and shook his head at the girl's congratulations. "A short paper isn't much of a big deal. Still, thanks."
Ever since their run-in at the library, he and Cho had been running into each other more often. Sometimes they'd exchange a quick greeting in the halls, other times even sit down to read together. They weren't close, but "decent friends" was fair enough.
Cho rolled her eyes at his modesty. "Do all geniuses talk like this? That was a proper academic journal. Last year a seventh-year got listed as the second author in {Transfiguration Today} and bragged about it for half a year. And you're acting like this doesn't matter."
"Different people chase different things," Tom said with a smile. "I like studying, and there'll be more papers later on. This one really was nothing special—just a broad overview."
"Then I'll be waiting for your next masterpiece."
She laughed, chatting with him a bit more before heading off. Today she'd tied her hair up in a high ponytail, and it bounced lightly as she walked away.
Daphne, watching from the side, eyed her retreating figure with thinly veiled suspicion. Since when did someone else get to laugh and joke so easily with Tom?
Hannah from Hufflepuff had always been his friend, but Daphne had never worried about her. Cho, though, was different. That exotic charm of hers was rare at Hogwarts, and it clearly drew attention.
Quietly, Daphne slipped her arms around Tom's, clinging tighter than usual. Tom blinked in confusion, but with a warm, soft witch pressed against him, he decided he wasn't going to complain.
On the other side of the hall, Cho wasn't spared either—her friend Marietta intercepted her with a knowing grin. "I saw you talking to Riddle just now. Since when did you two start… getting close?"
"What do you mean, 'getting close'?" Cho swatted her arm in mock annoyance. "I was just congratulating him for publishing another paper."
Marietta smirked. "That's not what I asked. I want to know how you two even got acquainted."
Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Cho replied a little awkwardly. "Just happened to bump into him once, then a few more times after that. We ended up talking, and… well, you know."
"Sure, sure," Marietta said with a laugh. "I'll believe you if you keep saying it."
But then she sighed and patted Cho on the shoulder. "Bit late though, isn't it? If this were last year around this time, maybe. But now? Everyone knows Riddle's already got the Greengrass sisters glued to him, plus that Gryffindor know-it-all hanging around. Hard to get a word in, let alone anything more. Rough luck, Cho."
"You're talking nonsense." Cho pursed her lips, muttering, "Maybe read fewer romance novels…"
"Owaaa!"
She didn't get to finish. A loud commotion broke out ahead of them. Someone had gone tumbling down the staircase—a Gryffindor by the looks of the robes.
"Ahhhhhh!"
Before anyone could even react, a Slytherin rolled down after him. Draco Malfoy. The first Gryffindor was Ron Weasley.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?!"
Professor McGonagall had just been approaching the Great Hall when the crash happened. She hurried over, just in time to see Ron and Draco rolling across the floor, fists flying.
"Stop this at once!" she barked.
But the boys were too far gone. Ron had both hands locked around Draco's throat, while Draco Malfoy had shoved two fingers straight up Ron's nostrils in retaliation.
In the end, McGonagall had to use magic to blast them apart.
"Who will explain what happened here?"
She looked around at the surrounding students, but not a single one spoke. They were all here for the show, none of them had seen how it started.
"Professor, Potter hit me first!" Draco shouted, clutching his nose. "It's obvious he started it!"
"Liar!" Ron bellowed back. "You elbowed me down the stairs first!"
"I didn't shove you—you tripped yourself! I just turned around and brushed against you. If you can't keep your balance, that's hardly my fault." Draco sneered as he wiped away a trickle of blood, chin tilted proudly upward.
"Professor, I saw the whole thing. Malfoy did it on purpose."
Harry pushed through the crowd to stand beside McGonagall, glaring at Malfoy. "He was mocking Ron, saying last year he only solved your chess game out of dumb luck. We argued a little, and then Malfoy elbowed Ron."
"Rubbish," Draco scoffed. "That was just an accident. As for Weasley—if I said something unflattering, well, facts don't become insults just because he doesn't like them."
He turned on Ron, whose ears had gone scarlet. "Yesterday you lost three games in a row. Your face was as red as your hair. And you think you could ever beat Professor McGonagall at chess? Hah!"
He jabbed a finger at Ron's flushed face. "See? Just like yesterday with Riddle's chessboard!"
The crowd burst out laughing, Gryffindors included. Draco's mimicry was spot-on.
Only Tom, somewhere in the back of the crowd, was left utterly confused.… What did this have to do with him?
He'd spent yesterday morning in the library with Cho, then gone with Astoria to track down a unicorn in the afternoon. He had no idea Ron had been humiliating himself on the giant chessboard all day, losing so badly that even his own housemates stopped letting him call the shots.
Sure, Ron wasn't hopeless at chess—but he was no prodigy either. And chess required brains. Something Ron lacked most of the time.
"That's enough!"
McGonagall's voice cut through the laughter, silencing the hall. "Mr. Weasley won that chess match last year by skill, not luck. Mr. Malfoy, you will not belittle your classmates like that. Intentional or not, what I saw just now was the two of you brawling like Muggles."
That shut Draco up. He rubbed at his bruised eye, then flicked a glance toward Harry. If punishments were being handed out, he wasn't going down alone.
McGonagall's face darkened as she opened her mouth to deliver judgment—when another voice interrupted.
"Professor, no need for detentions or point deductions over something this small."
It was Laos. He stepped forward with an easy smile. "Students bicker. Happens all the time. At Ilvermorny, we see this constantly. Young people are bound to clash."
"Oh?" McGonagall blinked, curiosity cutting through her irritation. "And how does Ilvermorny usually handle such matters?"
She had been increasingly aware of how out-of-date some of Hogwarts' teaching philosophies were. Ilvermorny, on the other hand, had been making waves worldwide these past few years, drawing not just American students but many from South America as well.
With nearly five thousand students under its roof, they clearly had their own way of keeping order.
"Simple," said Laos with a shrug.
He pointed at Ron, then at Draco. "They're young, sure, but they're men. And when men want to settle a score? You let their wands do the talking."
"At Ilvermorny we've got eight dueling platforms set up around the campus. Any student who's got a grudge—between houses, or just personal—can apply to a professor and take it to the stage. No need to waste time splitting hairs over who's technically right or wrong. The winner's the one with the stronger wand. That's it."
The hall went quiet. McGonagall stared at him, disgusted.
"That's how Ilvermorny deals with conflict? So crude, so reckless. Aren't you worried it just encourages students to bully the weaker ones?"
Swish—
Half the Slytherins flicked their eyes toward Tom, some intentionally, some without even realizing it.
Tom blinked. "???"
He swept his gaze over the snakes. One by one, they avoided his eyes.
All right, fine. Tom hadn't technically bullied anyone. But mostly because he'd beaten anyone who might've tried—and they'd never dared give him the chance.
"Professor, you're overthinking this." Laos's tone stayed patient. "Grudges build up. They're messy, not easily untangled. If you ban duels, it doesn't mean those grudges vanish. It just means they smolder under the surface. Why not give them a proper outlet?"
He nodded toward Ron and Draco. The two boys were glaring at each other so hard it looked like they'd jump right back into it if given half a chance.
"Better to give them a stage than slap them both with detention and pretend that's fair. As for the psychological angle—frankly, it doesn't matter. I don't even remember half the kids I clashed with when I was a student. And the ones I do remember? At most I'd laugh about it now, maybe even think of it fondly."
'Well—except Graves, that bastard.' He kept that thought to himself.
McGonagall hesitated, chewing it over. When she thought back to her own school days, she had been the ringleader of Gryffindor, forever butting heads with Slytherin. Skirmishes were constant. But now? She still disliked Slytherins, sure—but that was because of who they were, not because she remembered the actual fights. Those details were long gone.
"This is an opportunity," Laos pressed, smiling. "I'm planning to propose an official Dueling class. Nothing too heavy—once every two weeks is plenty. Students would get real combat practice and learn proper technique."
"Compared to Ilvermorny's kids, yours are too sheltered. Half of them don't even know how to hold a wand properly in a duel."
McGonagall flushed, prickled by the jab. That was the trouble with foreign professors—always comparing. And unfortunately, she couldn't argue with him.
The students, on the other hand, lit up with excitement. In an instant, Laos's popularity skyrocketed, nearly putting him in league with Sprout and Flitwick as the school's most beloved teachers.
As for the least popular? Well, unless you enjoy being used as a test subject for dubious rat potions, best not to ask.
At that moment, the bell rang.
McGonagall cut things off briskly. "That's enough. We'll table the Dueling class for now. As for you three—this time I'll let it slide. But if I catch you brawling again, it's detention for a whole term, and no Quidditch practice either."
Draco and Harry both shrank back at that.
She turned to Laos. "Professor Wilkinson, I'll bring your proposal to Professor Dumbledore. For now, everyone to class."
The students groaned but dispersed, heading off reluctantly.
...
By the time morning classes wrapped up, the entire school was buzzing with news of Laos's idea.
At lunch, the staff table was missing several professors—house heads, and Laos himself—which only fueled speculation. Everyone assumed they were meeting to hash it out.
And they were right.
Up in the headmaster's office, the house heads and Laos were gathered.
Dumbledore, hands folded, didn't comment on the morning's scuffle. He simply listened as Laos laid out his vision for Dueling class.
"A fine proposal," Dumbledore said at last. "Our students would certainly benefit from sharpening their dueling skills."
"Professor Wilkinson, I'd be glad to assist," squeaked Professor Flitwick, his eyes sparkling. "I was quite the duelist in my youth. At one point I even considered applying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."
"Nothing would please me more, Professor Flitwick," Laos said quickly.
Whatever he thought about Hogwarts' rather green students, he wasn't about to underestimate its professors.
"We'll need to prepare," Dumbledore said. "In particular, persuading Madam Pomfrey will be no small feat. She'd ban Quidditch itself if she could. Getting her to accept formal duels will be… difficult."
McGonagall straightened. "I'll speak with her. The students do need the training. We can't avoid something simply because there's risk of injury."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Thank you, Minerva. That eases my mind."
Then he added, as though in afterthought, "Since we're considering reforms, perhaps this is also the right moment to settle the matter of the Shadow Prefects."
McGonagall blinked. "Albus—you've agreed?"
"Yes," he said lightly. "Even an old man must learn to bend. We cannot stand still forever."
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