Tom suddenly realized something—the learning space wasn't omnipotent after all.
Yes, he could unleash ancient magic inside it, but it was never a complete and real world. The awe of heaven and earth, the raw weight of natural forces—those sensations could never be fully replicated there.
From now on, this valley would be his temporary training ground. He'd clear it with a few Muggle-Repelling Charms, then blast it daily with two spells before vanishing again.
After another half hour of rest, his strength was fully restored. Tom stirred his magic once more.
Thanks to Andros's demonstration, the process flowed far more smoothly than before.
The only difference was speed—he was slower than even Andros had been when deliberately dragging things out for him.
But once his magic began boiling, the casting went almost effortlessly. This time, success came easily.
Brimming with satisfaction, Tom returned to Hogwarts in high spirits.
It wasn't that he didn't want to keep practicing. But he had promised Cho to meet her at the library that morning—and a real man never went back on his word.
For the students of Hogwarts, the following week stretched painfully long as they awaited the next Dueling Class.
How seriously did they take it?
So seriously that even Oliver Wood—the Quidditch fanatic who lived and breathed broomsticks—cut down practice. Once. And the remaining sessions were shortened by thirty minutes. Not by his choice, of course. Angelina Johnson had protested furiously until he caved.
Every day, bruised and battered students hobbled out of the hospital wing clutching bottles of potion. Madam Pomfrey was already grumbling constantly before the class had even begun.
Fortunately, Professor McGonagall soothed her enough to keep her from storming into the Headmaster's office to demand a suspension of the Dueling Course.
At last, Friday evening arrived. At exactly eight o'clock, swarms of students filed into the Great Hall, nearly all of them at the stroke of the hour.
The hall had changed dramatically.
The four long house tables had vanished, leaving the chamber feeling vast and open. At the very center gleamed a grand gilded stage, its surface polished to brilliance. Above it floated hundreds of candles, their glow focused like radiant spotlights.
On either side of the golden platform stood two smaller stages, less dazzling but still drawing all eyes.
"Four houses, but five stages?"
"That big one in the middle… is it for the professors?"
"Wait—do you think Snape is going to duel Professor Wilkinson?!"
A ripple of excited whispers swept through the crowd.
Their speculation cut short as the professors entered together—Dumbledore himself leading the way, followed by Professors Rouse and Flitwick. Even Madam Pomfrey appeared, her expression stiff and severe.
Dumbledore, Rouse, and Flitwick stepped onto the central golden stage. With a simple wave of the Headmaster's hand, silence blanketed the hall.
His voice carried clearly to every corner:
"Thank you. Thank you all for your eager participation in this school activity. And we must also thank Professor Wilkinson for his splendid idea."
"As our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he has not only selflessly shared his knowledge in class, but also hopes you will transform that knowledge into genuine skill and experience. Let us give him a round of applause!"
Thunderous applause erupted, echoing like rolling stormclouds. The enthusiasm was genuine. Rouse bowed slightly, acknowledging the gratitude.
After ten long seconds, Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet them again.
"Before we begin—"
He was interrupted.
The great doors of the hall creaked open, though they had already been sealed.
Tom strode in, flanked by the Greengrass sisters.
The younger students immediately stepped aside, forming a path for them, their faces betraying unease.
Tom offered Dumbledore a faintly apologetic smile from below the stage, gesturing lightly toward the sisters as if to excuse his late arrival.
The Headmaster studied him quietly.
He wasn't upset—Dumbledore's heart was far too broad to be angered over an interruption. What struck him instead was how much Tom had changed in just a few short days.
Once, Tom had been sharp and dazzling, forcing others to instinctively lower their voices in his presence, to speak with calm restraint.
Now, though, he radiated something wilder. A barely contained ferocity edged his aura, animalistic and untamed.
Dumbledore suspected it was the result of studying some new branch of magic. But not Dark Magic—he sensed no trace of shadow in the boy's energy.
Still, it reminded him of how fragile magic could be. Even ordinary spells, when mishandled, could become lethal. Countless wizards throughout history had died at the hands of their own experimental incantations.
And Dumbledore guessed correctly. Tom's changes were born of his immersion in ancient magic. The eternal aura woven into his magic was becoming more active, reshaping him in ways even he couldn't yet control. He had begun to carry a trace of Andros's presence.
But while Andros could master his power with ease, Tom had yet to reach that level. He would need refinement—discipline—to harness it fully.
Dumbledore broke off his thoughts and turned back to the crowd.
"Before tonight's lessons, I have an announcement to make."
His voice rang firm.
"After discussion with the heads of house, I believe the prefect system has reached a stage where reform is necessary."
A murmur of confusion rippled through the students. Why prefects, all of a sudden?
Percy Weasley, meanwhile, blanched, his heart sinking like a stone.
Reform?
Would this strip away his authority?
Dumbledore pressed on without pause, giving them no time to chatter.
"Traditionally, prefects have been chosen from the upper years. But their coursework is already demanding. To burden them further with managing younger students splits their focus."
"Therefore, the school will now establish sub-prefects. From first through fourth year, each house will elect two students per year as sub-prefects. Their role will be to assist the prefects in managing their peers. However, they will not possess the power to deduct or award points."
"The selection criteria will weigh academic performance alongside practical displays in Dueling Class. Your head of house will judge you comprehensively."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, his voice echoing with finality:
"And tonight—tonight is your chance to shine."