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Two days later, a new notice appeared in the very center of the Great Hall's bulletin board. It was a large sheet of parchment enchanted with magic, its ink shimmering faintly as it shifted and refreshed on its own. At the top, written in bold, elegant script, were the words: "Hogwarts Dueling Rankings."
Right beside it hung another piece of parchment, far more mundane but no less eye-catching. It was a neatly arranged application form for claiming a "Dueling Badge." Anyone could take one, fill in their details, and submit it directly to the Head of their House.
The rules for the Dueling Rankings were simple, yet carried an unmistakable weight of authority:
1. Eligibility:
Every badge holder whose information was officially recorded would automatically appear on the list.
2. Challenge Rules:
• You may only issue a formal duel challenge to someone ranked above you.
• Challenges must be submitted at least twenty-four hours in advance, with either Professor Sargeras himself or a professor chosen by both duelists serving as referee and safety supervisor.
• It is strictly forbidden to challenge anyone ranked below you.
3. Protection Mechanism:
Any duelist who is challenged will have a "cooldown period." No more than three formal challenges may be accepted within a single week, preventing anyone from being deliberately worn down by repeated matches.
4. Mandatory Reconciliation:
Those who, during the past "dueling craze," had injured or humiliated fellow students under the pretense of "friendly sparring" must, within three days, personally and sincerely apologize to their victims face-to-face. Only after obtaining the other party's forgiveness would they be eligible to receive a Dueling Badge. This apology had to be made in the presence of a third-party witness, either a prefect or a professor, and it would be recorded in the school's official records.
When the rankings were unveiled, the school was thrown into an uproar, the air buzzing with startled voices and excited speculation. Yet that initial storm of noise gradually gave way to a strange and almost orderly calm.
The hot-blooded and competitive now found their energy channeled into a legitimate arena, with official challenges issued openly and fought fairly. Those with true skill could face opponents worthy of their time, testing themselves under the watchful eyes of both the rules and the gathered crowd. Victory here was no longer just about winning a fight; it had become a badge of honor, a public declaration of one's strength.
As for the bullies who had once preyed on the weak, they soon realized, often with a bitter jolt, that their so-called "strength" meant nothing when placed before genuine talent. And with the new rules in place, they had lost the easy targets they once tormented without consequence.
The reconciliation requirement, too, cast a heavy shadow. Under Professor Sargeras' cold, unblinking gaze, and with the authority of the rankings looming over them, most of the culprits chose compliance.
One after another, they sought out the classmates they had wronged. In the presence of a prefect or professor, they forced out the words, "I'm sorry."
Some apologies were stiff and perfunctory, each syllable dragged out like a stone across the ground. Others trembled with genuine shame, the speaker unable to meet the eyes of the person they had hurt.
The victims' reactions varied just as widely. Some chose to forgive, their expression softening after a tense pause. Others turned away, unwilling to accept an apology they felt had come too late.
Yet no matter the outcome, the act itself left a mark. In the open light of day, before witnesses, cracks that had once seemed too deep to mend began to close, slowly and almost imperceptibly.
Even so, there were always those who thought themselves clever enough to slip through the cracks.
A handful of students, relying on either their own cunning or the protection of influential families, decided to offer nothing more than the barest token gestures, or simply pretended to have forgotten the matter entirely.
Sargeras' response was simple, direct, and humiliating in a way no formal punishment could match.
He did not take away house points, he did not assign detentions, and he did not waste breath scolding them in class.
Instead, he quietly drafted letters, written in the most impeccably formal language and filled with painstaking detail, and sent them directly to the parents of these so-called "well-connected" students.
In each letter, he laid out a precise account of their child's behavior, complete with the exact time, location, and name of the victim, and finished by noting, in clear and undeniable terms, their refusal to obey the apology order.
At the bottom was his cold, official signature, and beneath it, a single uncompromising sentence: "Within one hour of receiving this letter, you are required to come to Hogwarts in person to address this matter, and to personally supervise your child in fulfilling their obligation to apologize."
When several pure-blood parents, their faces a dark and stormy shade, arrived in the Great Hall before the eyes of every professor and student, they forced themselves to swallow both their anger and their embarrassment as they ordered their children to bow their heads and apologize to their victims. The silent deterrent force of that scene pressed far deeper into the heart than any detention ever could.
Sargeras had expected this from the very start. He knew these young witches and wizards far too well to believe all of them would comply willingly.
He had kept track of every duel, every slight, and every provocation. The past few days of apparent indifference had only been him biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to act.
First, strike a decisive blow and make an example so sharp it left no room for doubt. Then guide the restless energy through the dueling rankings, channeling it into rule-bound challenges. Set boundaries for behavior, use the mandatory apologies to mend at least part of the damage, and finally, through a public reckoning, deal precisely with the few who refused to change.
From that point on, the atmosphere within the castle began to shift, quietly but unmistakably.
The backroom scuffles and whispered accounts of private brawls faded into nothing, while the passion for challenges flared anew, now contained within the safe confines of the rules.
In the corridors, the conversations had changed. No longer were students boasting about who had "taught a lesson" to whom the day before. Instead, they spoke in excited tones of whose ranking had climbed again, or how "Potter's Expelliarmus was as quick as lightning."
Those who had once been bullied, now with apologies in hand, even if they had not fully let go of the past, felt something different settle over them. It was not forgiveness, perhaps, but it was a real, tangible sense of living under a shield of order that came with knowing the rules were now on their side, protecting them.
And so, that once reckless, maliciously-tinged "dueling craze," which had teetered dangerously close to chaos, finally began to die down after the second dueling lesson. It faded away like a flame trapped beneath a layer of ice.
Detention?
Out of the question!
Docking house points?
Utterly useless!
Sargeras had countless ways to make these young witches and wizards bow their heads in obedience, yet he chose not to use them.
It was not that he feared the grudges of those who had broken the rules. Rather, he preferred to take a longer path, guiding them with a gentler hand toward the right direction.
What he sought was not immediate submission, but the slow reshaping of these narrow-minded young wizards, helping them to shed outdated notions and learn to live under the balance of fairness and discipline.
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In the days that followed, the busiest figure in the castle was no longer Professor Sargeras, but Kestrel.
Crowds of students flocked to the newly appointed professor, pleading with her to preside over their duels. Meanwhile, those involved in the mandatory reconciliations, when given the choice, almost always named her as the witness for their apologies.
The reason was plain as day. Her personality and age made her the easiest for young wizards to connect with. They liked her wholeheartedly, this professor who seemed cheerful, unrestrained, and perhaps even a little "unreliable" in the most endearing way.
Kestrel herself relished the role greatly.
Whenever she acted as a witness, she would always pull the apologizing student aside, lean close, and lower her voice with the kind of sincerity that said, I understand you completely.
"This one's on me, don't worry. But you know…"
She would blink, eyes glinting with playful warmth. "You've got to truly mean it when you say you're sorry."
It was at that moment that the other side often reacted as if granted a royal pardon, eyes brightening with relief and gratitude.
"Thank you so much, Professor Lumina! Professor Greengrass was right, we really shouldn't have gotten cocky the moment we learned a few flashy spells… We know we were wrong!"
"If you know you were wrong, then that's good enough!"
Kestrel would thump her chest with all the confidence in the world, promising, "Relax, leave it to me! Even if things don't work out this time, they'll definitely work out next time. I'll go have a word with them first…"
"Thank you, Professor Lumina! You're truly the best professor at Hogwarts!"
"Oh, come on now, it's nothing, nothing at all!" She waved a hand with easy cheer, her smile bright as sunlight.
The moment she turned away, however, she slipped nimbly over to the once-victimized student. With the same conspiratorial air, she leaned in close, lowering her voice as though sharing a secret meant only for the two of them.
"Listen, you absolutely can't give in too easily. At the very least, make them apologize a few more times, let the lesson really sink in. Don't worry, I'll make sure to 'see justice done' for you, until they're regretting it so much they'll be sick of themselves."
"Thank you, Professor Lumina! Then next time I—"
"Of course you'll still come to me next time!" she cut in warmly, her tone brimming with camaraderie. "I'll teach you exactly what to do, and I promise you'll be satisfied!"
"Thank you so much, Professor Lumina! You truly are the best professor at Hogwarts!"
"Oh, come on now, it's nothing, nothing at all!" Kestrel waved once more, her smile as radiant as before.
It was hardly surprising that, under such methods, the "mandatory reconciliations" failed time and again to achieve any actual resolution.
What was strange, however, was that both sides of every dispute seemed to feel nothing but gratitude toward Professor Kestrel.
One side admired her "generosity" and tireless "efforts to mediate," while the other praised her "unwavering support" and "commitment to justice."
Her little game of pleasing both camps, of playing two ends against the middle, went remarkably smoothly in the beginning.
She was like a busy and happy little bee, flitting through the castle's corridors, empty classrooms, and sunlit courtyards, leaving behind a trail of "Oh, it's nothing at all!" and "The best professor at Hogwarts!", along with smiles on the faces of both parties, even if their reasons for smiling could not have been more different.
She even began to take a certain pride in her "highly efficient mediation," believing she had managed to both comfort the victims and "deeply educate" the wrongdoers. In her mind, it was a perfect two‑birds‑with‑one‑stone solution.
However, Hogwarts was a poor place for keeping secrets, especially when there was always a pair of eyes watching over the enforcement of the rules.
It took Sargeras barely any effort at all to notice something amiss.
The repeated delays in the apology process, the records of multiple failed reconciliation sessions, Kestrel's overly "active" presence, and the way both groups of students looked at her with near‑worshipful gratitude all wove together into a picture that was completely at odds with the orderly, rules-driven "healing process" he had envisioned.
It wasn't until even Noctis had learned to repeat the phrases, "You really are the best professor at Hogwarts!" and "Oh, come on now, it's nothing at all!" that Kestrel finally began to rein herself in.
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[Chapter End's]
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