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Sargeras lifted his wand, and with a practiced flick, a stream of ancient runes spilled forth from its tip. They glimmered with a faint light, flowing as though alive, and each sigil settled precisely into the key nodes of the dueling platform.
The runes resonated with the protective array Professor Flitwick had already laid down, the two patterns overlapping and interweaving until they formed an even more intricate magical network.
From there, the construction advanced smoothly, every step carried out with perfect order under the joint guidance of the professors.
Day after day, crowds of students gathered along the edges of the Quidditch pitch to watch. They pointed, whispered, and debated in hushed tones, their eyes alight with excitement and wonder.
"Merlin's beard, look at that! It's almost as big as the Quidditch pitch itself! How in the world does a chunk of stone that size just float in the air?" A Hufflepuff boy rubbed his eyes as if doubting his own vision.
"Obviously it's magic! What else do you think would it be?" his Ravenclaw companion shot back with the air of someone stating the most obvious truth in the world.
"You're the one talking nonsense, not me!" the Hufflepuff retorted irritably.
"I don't know… Hogwarts feels different lately," a Gryffindor girl murmured. She pointed toward the castle outer walls, now covered with lively green vines and delicate drawbridges. "Look at those. It's wonderful, almost like we're living in a hidden fortress deep inside some ancient forest."
At last, on a bright afternoon, the final arcane circuit traced along the edge of the platform shimmered, then sank quietly out of sight…
"Buzzzzzzz!"
A deep hum followed!
In an instant, the entire dueling platform erupted with a wave of magic, radiant yet soft, bursting outward like sunlight through water. The glow rippled in concentric waves, washing over every upturned face below before slowly dimming and drawing back into itself.
This was the sign of completion!
With measured steps, Sargeras walked to the very edge of the newly completed platform. He looked down upon the sea of students waiting with held breath, their anticipation reflected in every gaze fixed upon him.
His voice was calm, not raised, yet each word carried clearly across the vast dueling grounds.
"The dueling arena has been completed. From this day on, all of your dueling lessons will be held here."
The answer came like thunder, a deafening wave of cheers and applause rolling across the grounds.
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Before the next official lesson, Sargeras resolved to mark the occasion with several grand exhibition matches to celebrate the platform's creation.
Naturally, what he envisioned was nothing like the shallow, attention-seeking antics Gilderoy Lockhart had once paraded before the students.
No… he intended to gather true and enduring strength to his side. With the steadfast support of formidable professors and the loyalty of trusted friends, duelists of real and proven skill, he would ensure that the fever for dueling did not end at Hogwarts but spread like wildfire across every corner of the wizarding world.
And so, under his deliberate push, rumors of the dueling platform began to seep into every stratum of magical society. The news appeared casually at the afternoon tea of The Daily Prophet's bustling editorial office, slipped into the idle chatter of Ministry officials over stacks of parchment, and from there multiplied as though someone had cast an eager duplication charm upon the story.
In what seemed, to many, the briefest blink of an eye, the tale of the Contract Platform was everywhere.
Across the wizarding communities of Europe, major newspapers ran article after article, each trying to outdo the others with headlines bold enough to capture the excitement.
[Pioneers of the Wizarding World: Educational Reform at Europe's Prestigious Hogwarts]
——–——————————————————
The Daily Prophet devoted its front page to the story, the headline gleaming in embossed golden script:
[The Magical Revolution of Hogwarts: A Thousand-Year-Old School Builds the "Impossible Structure"]
Beneath it, the subheading declared with dramatic certainty: [The Most Complex Magical Construct of the Age May Redefine the Art of Dueling.]
Witch Weekly, on the other hand, took an entirely different approach.
[Education or Spectacle? Hogwarts' Arena Sparks Fierce Debate Among Pure-Blood Families]
The article described in detail the sharp divisions that had erupted among old pure-blood houses, with some praising the innovation and others condemning it during a recent Ministry of Magic tea gathering.
Even more intriguing was a special report from the International Magical Observer:
[Europe's Magical Education Landscape Shaken: Durmstrang Headmaster Convenes Emergency Midnight Council]
The accompanying enchanted photograph showed Karkaroff standing grim-faced on the deck of his frozen ship, the icy planks beneath him glittering with frost as though to mirror his mood.
The Wizard United Gazette struck an even sharper note:
[Dumbledore's Secret Weapon? Unmasking the "Dangerous Web of Connections" Behind Hogwarts' Young Professor]
Beside the sensational headline was a grainy illustration clipped from years past, depicting the shadowy silhouette of Sargeras during his time teaching at Ilvermorny, as though meant to hint at a mysterious and controversial past.
Even the notoriously serious Journal of Spellcraft Innovation, a publication that rarely concerned itself with gossip or current affairs, found reason to publish a special feature:
[The Perfect Union of Ancient Runes and Modern Magic: A Technical Analysis of the Contract Arena Platform's Construction]
Professor Flitwick himself was invited to contribute a detailed technical commentary, his sharp insights lending the article both authority and undeniable weight.
The unveiling of Hogwarts' newly completed Contract Arena, with its staggering scale, intricate detail, and aura of secrecy, instantly became the most discussed subject across the British Isles. For a time, it even seemed to eclipse the feverish anticipation surrounding the coming Quidditch World Cup.
News of it spread as though it had sprouted wings of its own, soaring across the Channel faster than the swiftest owls could carry it. Within the castle walls, the excitement rose to a boiling point.
Dueling, that ancient practice brimming with danger, honor, and irresistible allure, swept through every corridor of Hogwarts with a fervor unlike anything the school had felt in decades.
In hallways, in the cozy warmth of common rooms, even at the dining tables in the Great Hall, young witches and wizards could be seen waving their wands at one another, reenacting imagined clashes, or debating heatedly over tactics and counterspells.
In no time at all, dueling had claimed its place beside romance, Quidditch, and pranks, establishing itself as the fourth great fashion of school life, a craze impossible to ignore.
The roster for the exhibition matches had not yet been officially released, but speculation about who would participate was already running wild.
Would Headmaster Dumbledore himself take the stage? Could it be Professor Greengrass, whose strength was said to rival the finest duelists alive? Or perhaps Sargeras had invited some famed dueling master from abroad to add spectacle and prestige?
The rumors multiplied like sparks in dry grass. Students argued endlessly, and even outside the castle, in Hogsmeade Village, the topic was inescapable.
Madam Rosmerta, the genial landlady of the Three Broomsticks, noticed with amusement that her patrons now spoke more about duels than about the Quidditch World Cup, something she would have thought impossible only weeks before.
In truth, Sargeras had no intention of calling in outsiders. Hogwarts already had a wealth of talent at hand. Severus Snape's skills were formidable, sharp and dangerous. Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration was both elegant and unyielding. Professor Flitwick himself had once been a renowned dueling champion, and above all stood Dumbledore, a man regarded by many as the greatest wizard of the century.
Sargeras had already discussed the matter with several professors, and together they planned to use the exhibition matches not merely to impress but to teach, demonstrating to the students the many ways spells might be cast, deflected, or woven together in battle.
On the very eve of the exhibition matches, however, an unexpected incident made every heart in the castle leap into their throats.
It was a moonless night, the kind where shadows seemed to gather more thickly than usual and every gust of wind carried a sharper, almost cutting edge. Without warning, the sentinel gargoyles, those enchanted guardians perched high upon the ancient stone walls of Hogwarts, let out piercing screams, a shrill metallic screech that tore through the stillness of the sky like shattering glass.
Doors slammed open as professors rushed from their offices and chambers, robes swirling like dark waves around their ankles, wands drawn, faces set in grim and unyielding determination.
From the direction of the Forbidden Forest's edge, two surges of unfamiliar magic pulsed outward, raw and unsettling, rolling in great waves that seemed to bend the very air and set the skin tingling.
It was not the suffocating chill of Dementors, nor the steady pounding hooves of centaurs. These were forces unlike any the castle had known in years, two vast and alien presences, heavy as moving mountains, driving relentlessly toward the protective wards of Hogwarts with alarming and unstoppable speed.
Professor Flitwick darted to check the runic feedback on the school's protective enchantments. His voice wavered, tinged with disbelief: "…They're not registered visitors. Whoever they are, they're heading straight for the castle!"
High atop the Astronomy Tower, Sargeras stood in the night wind. His gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, and, rather than alarm, his lips curved into an unexpected smile.
"They arrived pretty quickly…" he murmured under his breath softly, the words dissolving into the restless air.
As the staff braced themselves, ready to draw wands and confront these two uninvited intruders, Dumbledore finally appeared, striding calmly across the open grounds in front of the castle gates.
At that very moment, the night sky above the Forbidden Forest split apart, torn by two utterly different lights.
On the left came brilliance: a magnificent carriage shaped like a crystal palace, drawn through the night by twelve massive silver-white winged horses. Their coats shone like starlight, their wings slicing through the air with an effortless majesty. Upon the carriage's side gleamed the azure crest of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
The entire vehicle radiated a soft, almost dreamlike glow. It glided forward with such grace that when it slipped through the ancient wards of Hogwarts, it did so like a reflection sliding across water, smooth and flawless, leaving not a single ripple behind.
On the right came darkness, a massive ship, harsh and jagged, as if hewn from glaciers that had slept in the earth for ten thousand years. At its prow loomed the twisted visage of a sea monster, fangs bared in a frozen roar. The towering sails above carried the proud emblem of Durmstrang Institute, a black double‑headed eagle spreading its wings defiantly against the brewing storm.
The vessel broke through the clouds with a groaning roar, trailing sheets of ice and razor-edged wind. The cold rolled off it in waves, yet the ancient protections of the castle yielded before its power, letting it pass as though no barrier existed at all.
"Beauxbatons! Durmstrang!" the professors exclaimed, their voices a mix of shock and recognition. Students shouted as well, their cries echoing across the grounds.
For a heartbeat, Hogwarts fell completely silent, as if no one could quite believe what they had just witnessed. Then the silence shattered, replaced by a storm of gasps, excited shouts, and frantic speculation.
Why had these two famed European academies chosen to arrive at such an hour, and in such a dramatic, uninvited fashion?
The crystal carriage and the frozen ship descended slowly, settling upon the open lawns before the castle, facing the great floating Contract Platform like challengers meeting in a ring.
From the carriage, Madame Olympe Maxime of Beauxbatons emerged, tall and commanding yet strikingly elegant. The radiance of the winged horses seemed to linger upon her robes as she stepped down with measured grace, her face composed, her lips curved in a smile that balanced courtesy with quiet intrigue.
From the ice-hewn ship descended Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang. Wrapped in a heavy fur coat, his face was dark and severe, and each step he took seemed to carry the bitter cold of the polar seas.
Dumbledore advanced to meet them with his customary gentle smile, but the air between them shifted at once, charged with something sharp and unspoken.
The atmosphere, in that instant, became strangely delicate.
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[Chapter End's]
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