By the time I finished speaking with Professor Sprout, the castle had settled into that peculiar late-morning lull—no longer buzzing with first-day excitement, not yet pulled into the rhythm of lessons.
Lunch hour.
I made my way back toward the Great Hall, footsteps echoing softly through corridors that felt almost abandoned. Most students were still scattered across the castle, exploring towers, arguing over staircases, or testing how far they could wander before a prefect noticed. Teachers, as usual, preferred quieter spaces; few ever lingered in the Great Hall unless duty required it.
The doors opened without ceremony.
The Hall was mostly empty.
Sunlight poured through the enchanted ceiling, drifting clouds lazily reflecting the calm of the afternoon. A handful of students sat at distant tables, voices low, movements unhurried.
And at the staff table—
Severus Snape sat alone.
No papers.
Just a plate untouched and a goblet cooling beside it.
He looked up the moment I entered.
For a heartbeat, he simply watched.
Then, with a small, precise gesture of his fingers, he motioned me forward.
I approached without hesitation.
He slid a folded note across the table toward me.
"Your training area is prepared," he said quietly. "You may use the former Dueling Club hall."
My fingers stilled over the parchment.
"It was sealed after the club was shut down," Snape continued. "I've unsealed it."
I looked up.
"On the way to the Slytherin dormitories," he went on, tone clipped but deliberate, "when you take the right corridor instead of the left. There is a portrait of duelists at the middle of the passage."
He paused, eyes sharp.
"Say Ad duellum adsumus."
I committed every word to memory.
"The entrance will open," he said. "You may use house-elves to clean and restore the space. It has… not been used in some time. you can find them in the kitchen. Kitchen is on the left there is a portrait of fruit bowl. just tickle the pear."
I nodded. "Thank you."
"There are portraits inside," Snape added, almost as an afterthought—then corrected himself. "Recordings. Of some of the best duelists in Hogwarts' history."
I felt my breath still.
"One of Professor McGonagall."
"One of Professor Flitwick."
He hesitated.
"And one," he said carefully, "of your parents."
I met his gaze.
"They are dueling each other," he continued. "I thought you should be warned."
My fingers tightened slightly around the note.
"They are not sentient," Snape said firmly. "No personality was infused. No awareness. They are memories, nothing more. Motion. Spellwork. Technique."
He searched my face, measuring.
"You understand."
"I do," I said quietly.
He nodded once, satisfied.
Silence settled between us—not uncomfortable, not heavy. Simply… present.
I broke it.
"There's one more thing," I said, hesitating only a fraction before continuing. "I've spoken to the other Heads of House. About the study club."
Snape's eyes flicked to me, sharp and assessing. "And?"
"I plan to start it," I said. "But not immediately."
That earned me his full attention.
"I'm going to delay it," I continued calmly. "Until around Halloween."
For a moment, Snape said nothing. He studied me the way he examined unstable potions—looking for the flaw, the hidden reaction.
"And why," he asked at last, "would you do that?"
"Two reasons," I replied. "First—Slytherin."
His lips thinned slightly.
"If the club starts immediately, every house begins at the same level," I said. "If I wait, Slytherin first-years and a few upper years will already have weeks of structured practice. By the time it becomes official, we won't be catching up—we'll be setting the standard."
Snape's gaze sharpened, something dark and approving flickering beneath the surface.
"And the second reason?" he asked.
"Dumbledore."
That earned me a soft, humorless huff.
"If I push it too fast," I went on, "he'll shut it down. Or worse—bury it under committees, conditions, and moral lectures until it becomes useless."
I met Snape's eyes steadily.
"But if I delay," I continued, "and present a detailed structure—safety rules, supervision plans, academic framing—it stops looking like a risk. It becomes inevitable."
Silence stretched.
Then Snape nodded once.
"Cunning," he said flatly. "And irritatingly sensible."
I allowed myself a faint smile.
"You need to be the one to ask questions in the teacher's discussions," I added. "To refine the framework. Make it airtight."
Snape studied me for another long moment before speaking again.
"You really do have the minds of both your parents," he said quietly.
Not accusation.
Not praise.
Statement of fact.
"I'll get it started as soon as the groundwork is laid," I said. "Halloween seems… appropriate."
Snape's gaze drifted briefly toward the Great Hall ceiling, as if measuring time itself.
"Yes," he said at last. "It does."
He straightened slightly.
"Use the time well," he added. "Once you move, there will be no retreat."
"I know."
That was enough.
I turned to leave.
Behind me, Severus Snape returned to his solitude—but this time, it didn't feel empty.
Before leaving the Great Hall, my eyes caught on a familiar figure near the Slytherin table.
Nyx Calder.
She was standing slightly apart from the others, posture composed, dark eyes observant. One of the first-years. Sharp. Quiet. Reliable. I'd already given instructions earlier, but it never hurt to reinforce expectations.
I stopped beside her.
"Nyx," I said evenly.
She turned at once. "Alastair?"
"After lunch," I said, "make sure everyone is in the common room. No delays."
Her nod was immediate. "They'll be there, sir."
Good. No need to say more.
I left the Great Hall and headed somewhere most students didn't think to visit on their own.
The kitchens.
The moment I stepped inside, the reaction was… enthusiastic.
House-elves gathered around me in rapid succession, voices overlapping in polite alarm.
"Sir is hungry?"
"Does sir need lunch?"
"Warm meal for sir?"
"Fresh bread? Soup? Roast?"
I lifted a hand slightly.
"Just a simple meal," I said calmly. "Nothing fancy."
There was a brief pause—house-elves clearly offended on behalf of culinary pride—but they complied.
Within moments, a small table was set. Bread. A bowl of soup. Fruit. Water. Simple. Exactly what I'd asked for.
"Thank you," I said.
That seemed to settle them. The frantic energy eased, replaced by quiet attentiveness as I ate.
While I finished, I asked casually, "Is the old dueling hall still intact?"
That got their attention.
"The dueling place?" one elf gasped. "Very dusty, sir. Very unused."
"I'll be using it today," I said. "I'll need it cleaned."
"How soon, sir?" another asked, already anxious to please.
"Within the hour."
There was a moment of collective determination.
"Yes, sir!"
"Elves will clean!"
"Elves will prepare it properly, sir!"
Several vanished with sharp pops before I could add anything else.
I finished eating, nodded my thanks once more, and left the kitchens behind.
By the time I returned toward the Slytherin common room, everything was already in motion.
The first-years knew where they were meant to be.
The dueling hall would be ready.
And the castle itself—quiet, ancient, efficient—was already adjusting.
Now all that remained was to see who would step forward… and who wouldn't.