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Under the terrifying, wheezing threat of the rapidly approaching Argus Filch and his glowing-eyed cat, the tense standoff in the dungeon immediately shattered. Everyone scattered like frightened birds and beasts, desperately running if they had the physical speed, or violently throwing themselves under Invisibility Cloaks if they had the magical means.
Only Peeves the Poltergeist, a chaotic entity entirely and truly fearless of death or detention, remained. He clapped his translucent hands together and laughed hysterically all the way down the corridor, whistling past the furious caretaker like an icy wind.
For a few days, a tense calm settled over the Slytherin dungeons. Just when Rabastan Lestrange bitterly thought their public conflict would simply fade away into standard House gossip...
A massive, highly disruptive piece of news suddenly spread like wildfire throughout the entire school. Its sheer popularity instantly surpassed even the frantic hype surrounding the upcoming Quidditch tryouts.
Regulus Arcturus Black, a second-year student from Slytherin, had audaciously posted a massive, magically glowing parchment poster directly on the primary notice board in the Entrance Hall. The poster formally stated that he, alongside a coalition of cross-House friends, had submitted official paperwork to completely restart the long-defunct Hogwarts Dueling Club. Furthermore, they had already formally invited the former International Dueling Tournament Champion—Professor Filius Flitwick—to act as the club's primary faculty instructor and combat referee.
The entire ambitious project was officially "Under Review by the Headmaster"...
However, the poster also featured a highly detailed, rotating magical illustration of a massive trophy shaped like a soaring golden eagle, alongside a heavy, glittering golden band of unknown purpose that looked suspiciously like a Muggle professional boxing championship belt.
At the bottom of the parchment, Black formally promised that if the club proposal was officially realized, the ultimate winner of the end-of-year Grand Dueling Tournament would receive a massive, highly lucrative financial prize entirely sponsored by the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. (Meaning, it was sponsored directly out of Regulus's own deep pockets).
The physical prize itself wasn't even the most important factor; the sheer, undeniable glory and school-wide honor of fighting for a championship belt was truly, overwhelmingly captivating! For a time, nearly every single young wizard in the castle was desperately eager to participate, especially the aggressive younger students who viewed it as a sanctioned way to legally hex their rivals.
There were even several highly prominent signatures of initial supporters magically inked at the bottom of the poster: the notoriously rebellious names of Sirius Black, Severus Snape, James Potter, and Remus Lupin were written boldly at the absolute forefront.
Coupled with the highly dramatic, near-violent confrontation between Regulus and Rabastan that Peeves had aggressively sung about all over the castle, and perfectly coinciding with the fact that all four Heads of House were currently reporting to the Headmaster regarding the curriculum, this specific incident rapidly and directly escalated straight to the Headmaster's circular office.
High in the tallest tower, inside the spacious, beautiful circular Headmaster's office.
Albus Dumbledore was currently sitting behind his massive claw-footed desk, carefully flipping through a thick sheaf of parchment detailing the highly complex preliminary plans, safety rules, and incredibly detailed mathematical scoring system for the proposed "Dueling Club." He peered over his half-moon spectacles, actively asking for the professional opinions of the four assembled Heads of House.
Putting the political implications aside for a moment, Dumbledore had to admit: this Dueling Club application was exceptionally, terrifyingly well-written.
He was particularly, genuinely surprised to see the highly advanced, Muggle mathematical concept of "logarithms" actively utilized in an underage pureblood wizard's application to calculate an Elo-based ranking system.
"Regulus Black," Dumbledore mused softly, stroking his silver beard. He looked up at the professors. "What, exactly, do you all make of this particular student?"
"Oh, little Regulus," Professor Sprout smiled warmly, her dirt-stained hands resting on her lap. "He is a remarkably good child. Exceptionally polite to everyone, regardless of their background. I honestly didn't expect a quiet boy like him to want to aggressively restart a combat-focused Dueling Club, but I fully support the initiative."
"His Charms ability is absolutely excellent. He is indeed a remarkably good child," Professor Flitwick nodded vigorously. His mood was currently exceptionally good, as thanks to Regulus's glowing poster, literally everyone in the school now knew he was a former International Dueling Champion. "If this Dueling Club is run well and properly supervised, it will indeed be incredibly helpful for the young wizards' practical Charms and Defense abilities."
Flitwick puffed out his chest slightly. "He formally asked me if I could be the primary instructor, and looking at my schedule... I believe I can certainly spare some time for such a worthy academic endeavor."
The application strictly stated that in order to even sign up for the competitive brackets of the "Dueling Club," a student legally needed to maintain an 'Acceptable' or higher grade in both Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and possess at least one 'Outstanding' in a core practical subject.
This strict academic requirement greatly, massively benefited the attendance and effort levels in Flitwick's Charms classes.
Nearby, Professor Slughorn simply chuckled loudly, his thumbs hooked into his velvet waistcoat, looking exceedingly, deeply proud of his own House's initiative.
A sharp, highly calculating light flashed deep within Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes. Ever since a certain charismatic, highly manipulative boy named Grindelwald... and later, a certain charming, brilliant boy named Tom Riddle... Dumbledore was inherently, deeply suspicious of any student who possessed too much natural charisma and rallying power. Those who knew history, understood the danger.
He turned his questioning, piercing gaze to his absolute most trusted deputy, Professor McGonagall.
Professor McGonagall raised a sharp eyebrow, her strict, serious voice carrying a rare, heavy tone of absolute approval. "I heard detailed reports from the prefects regarding the highly concerning matter between him and Rabastan Lestrange in the dungeons. Rabastan was aggressively, physically bullying a group of Muggle-born and half-blood little wizards right in the center of the Slytherin common room. It was the younger Black brother who stepped forward to immediately, forcefully stop it, publicly demanding they settle the ideological outcome with a formal, wands-only 'duel'."
"Furthermore, his practical Transfiguration work in my class is absolutely excellent. I already need to assign him highly advanced, separate coursework just to keep him adequately challenged." A very slight, highly rare smile appeared on Professor McGonagall's stern face. "Honestly, Albus, despite his family's notorious reputation... he is truly one of the absolute most outstanding, morally upright students I have ever seen walk the halls of Hogwarts."
Is that really, truly so? Dumbledore mused silently, steepling his long fingers.
His life had been far, far too long. He had seen countless brilliant disguises, witnessed thousands of masterful lies, and he knew one fundamental, heartbreaking truth deeply in his soul:
People change. And power corrupts.
He had once firmly believed he would always have the warm company of family and brilliant friends, but things change, tragedies happen, and from beginning to end, he seemed destined to always stand entirely alone at the top. Even his own biological brother, Aberforth, who currently lived so incredibly close by in Hogsmeade village, remained bitterly, aggressively distant from his life.
In Dumbledore's highly experienced view, the so-called "pureblood families" were undeniably, completely hypocritical. They ruthlessly denied or outright lied about having any Muggles or Muggle-borns in their family trees simply to violently maintain the fragile, political purity of the bloodlines they falsely claimed. In actual, biological fact, nearly every single wizard in the modern world had Muggle blood mixed somewhere in their veins.
And based on his nearly a full century of highly stressful, exhausting experience dealing politically with the Noble House of Black... the Black family was historically one of the absolute most fanatical, mentally deranged, and dangerous bloodlines among them all.
His calculating gaze drifted upward, falling heavily upon the magical portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. The former Head of the Black Family, and undeniably the most universally unpopular Headmaster in Hogwarts history, was currently violently pricking up his painted ears and poorly pretending to take a nap in his gilded frame.
Dilys Derwent, a highly respected former St. Mungo's Healer and a celebrated former Hogwarts Headmistress, easily read Dumbledore's intensely focused look. She didn't hesitate for a single second. She casually reached out of her own portrait and violently poked Phineas hard in the ribs with her painted wand to wake him up.
(It is a well-known fact that a professional who knows exactly how to heal the human body... also naturally knows exactly where to aggressively strike to inflict the absolute maximum amount of physical pain).
"Ouch! What do you want, woman?!" Phineas yelped, pretending to have just groggily woken up, looking around his frame with highly exaggerated confusion.
"We are currently discussing your great-grandson, Phineas. The exact same boy you were loudly, bitterly complaining about to the entire office last week," Headmistress Derwent said with full, commanding energy. "Don't play the fool with us. I know you heard every word."
"Young people these days always, arrogantly think they are absolutely right about every single thing in the universe," Phineas mumbled awkwardly, adjusting his painted robes and avoiding Dumbledore's gaze.
Seeing that every single living wizard in the Headmaster's office, as well as all the dozen old Headmasters in the surrounding portraits, were now staring intently at him, waiting for an answer, he sighed heavily. He added, quite reluctantly: "Ahem. Yes, well. My great-grandson—Regulus. He is honestly, philosophically speaking, even worse and more exhausting to deal with than his blood-traitor brother, Sirius... He comes into the hallway and constantly, relentlessly asks me highly complex, deeply infuriating philosophical questions! He traps me in logical paradoxes! He asks me whether the chicken or the egg came first... whether wizards or Muggles evolved first..."
"...and many other such utterly absurd, aggressively progressive questions that give me a migraine!" Phineas shook his head in deep, pureblood disapproval.
Down at the desk, Dumbledore's bright blue eyes narrowed slightly. Progressive philosophical questioning from the Heir of Black? How fascinating.
"Tell me, Horace," Dumbledore said softly, turning to the Potions Master. "Regulus has clearly made several friends within the school to support this Dueling Club initiative. Do you happen to know exactly who his closest associates are?"
It seemed Dumbledore highly approved of the famous political and military maxim: Who exactly are our enemies? And who exactly are our true friends? Answering this question is the absolute primary, foundational necessity of any successful revolution.
"Uh, well. I know for a fact he maintains a very good, highly academic relationship with Severus Snape, Dirk Cresswell, and several other highly talented boys in our House," Slughorn said, dabbing his sweating forehead with a silk handkerchief, clearly unsure of what answer Dumbledore was actively looking for.
"He also maintains a very good, remarkably close relationship with his Gryffindor brother, Sirius," Professor McGonagall added firmly. "I've frequently seen him casually sitting with his brother at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, openly and happily talking to Mr. Lupin and Mr. Potter."
"In my practical Charms Class, he constantly goes out of his way to help his struggling classmates master the wand movements," Professor Flitwick piped up. "Just last week, I personally saw him spend twenty minutes patiently helping David Gudge, a Muggle-born from Gryffindor, master the Summoning Charm."
Although he clearly has friends from many different Houses and backgrounds, Dumbledore thought critically, his mind spinning, that doesn't necessarily mean his core ideology has shifted. Most of those boys are still undeniably powerful pureblood or half-blood wizards...
"I also frequently see him spending his free time down on the grounds with Hagrid—" Professor Sprout added with a warm, oblivious smile. "The two of them happily helped me aggressively fertilize the Venomous Tentacula plants together at the end of last term."
"Absurd! Completely, utterly absurd..." Upon hearing the name 'Hagrid,' a look of clear, unadulterated pureblood disgust and deep disapproval appeared in Phineas Nigellus's painted eyes. He violently shook his head. "A Black fraternizing with the groundskeeper..."
But behind his desk, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes suddenly, brilliantly lit up.
Rubeus Hagrid was a fiercely loyal former Gryffindor. He was always highly informal, deeply scruffy-looking, and his controversial status as a half-Giant was absolutely not much of a secret within the castle walls. In fact, many prejudiced pureblood wizards actively knew about his 'tainted' blood and would violently warn their children to stay far, far away from him.
If the Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black was actively, happily spending his free time covered in dragon dung while fraternizing with a half-Giant...
"Hmm. He and Rubeus..." Dumbledore murmured slowly, a small, genuinely relieved smile finally touching the corners of his lips.
"I am telling you, Sirius, Hagrid is absolutely, undeniably the single person most intimately familiar with the lethal geography of the Forbidden Forest in all of Hogwarts, bar none," Regulus confidently introduced, gesturing to the massive man sitting across from them.
At this exact moment, Regulus was sitting comfortably with Sirius at the massive, oversized wooden table inside Hagrid's cramped, game-filled hut.
Regulus casually put down a rock cake that he literally could not physically bite into without shattering a molar. He smiled and generously admitted defeat. "Hagrid, your teeth are simply far too good for us mere mortals. Neither Sirius nor I possess the jaw strength required to actually bite into this cake."
Hagrid blushed, his cheeks turning a deep red beneath his tangled, wiry beard. He looked a bit embarrassed for a moment and quickly stammered, "I'm sorry, lads. I honestly don't have much else fit for human consumption ter eat around here—"
"It's perfectly alright, Hagrid. The boiling tea is more than enough for us," Regulus smiled warmly, picking up the massive, bucket-sized teacup in front of him with both hands. "By the way, my brother Sirius has never been inside your hut before. Is it alright if he takes a look around?"
"Of course! Go right ahead," Hagrid nodded enthusiastically, pleased by the boys' interest in his life.
Sirius stood up, staring blankly at the chaotic, fascinating ceiling of the hut. Several heavily dented copper pots hung from the rafters, alongside drying herbs, dead pheasants, and... a massive, incredibly long bundle of soft, brilliantly shimmering, pure white hair.
"That is genuine Unicorn tail hair, isn't it, Hagrid?" Regulus asked smoothly, though he obviously already knew the highly lucrative answer.
"Oh, aye. That's Unicorn hair," Hagrid said casually, waving a massive, dismissive hand. "Just pulled it off some low-hanging brambles. It constantly gets caught on the thorny branches deep in the forest when the herds run past..."
"I read in the Daily Prophet financial section that pure Unicorn hair currently sells for roughly ten Galleons a single strand on the open apothecary market," Regulus added, his voice dripping with casual, capitalist implication.
"Aye, maybe. But whenever the poor little forest animals get hurt, I just use the hairs ter tie up their bandages," Hagrid said, shrugging his massive shoulders, entirely oblivious to the absolute fortune hanging from his ceiling. "It works especially well... it's incredibly strong and possesses natural healing properties..."
See how unbelievably cool this guy is? Regulus shot Sirius a highly communicative, heavily meaningful look. He uses priceless wand cores as basic first-aid string.
"Oh, right!" Regulus suddenly put down his massive teacup, remembering his primary mission. "I almost forgot. I actually brought some very special, highly lethal friends down to the grounds to officially meet you today, Hagrid."
Through his active, passive 'Eagle Vision' link, Regulus could clearly see that his two massive golden eagles had already flown down from the Astronomy Tower and were currently circling the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Outside Hagrid's cramped hut, the sudden, piercing, terrifyingly sharp sound of two massive eagle calls echoed through the air.
Two majestic, heavily muscled golden eagles circled gracefully before landing heavily in the dirt yard, directly amidst Hagrid's massive patch of Giant pumpkins.
"Wow," Hagrid gasped. The famous, utterly fearless magical creature enthusiast and fanatic animal lover simply gaped through the open window, already completely, helplessly stunned by their sheer beauty.
"This is my good friend Hagrid. He will definitely, absolutely love you very much," Regulus said softly, stepping out into the yard and gently stroking Godric's and Regina's sun-warmed feathers. He turned to the half-giant. "Hagrid, this is Godric, and his mate, Regina. They are a bonded pair of apex golden eagles we legally 'freed' from a Muggle prison in the London Zoo over the summer, and they are our absolute best friends."
Godric and Regina slowly turned their massive, feathered heads to look directly at Hagrid. Their piercing golden gazes were filled with obvious, highly intelligent curiosity—they had almost certainly never seen a human being quite so massive and hairy before.
"These... they aren't actually classified magical creatures, are they?" Hagrid asked doubtfully, his beetle-black eyes still wide with awe as he watched the golden eagles' incredibly sharp, intelligent, almost human-like actions.
"No, they are biologically completely Muggle animals. But they are incredibly, uniquely special," Regulus said proudly. "They possess terrifyingly high intelligence."
"He isn't joking. They are so intelligent, they can literally understand almost everything we say to them," Sirius added with a brilliant smile, stepping out into the yard. His aristocratic face was full of genuine, deep affection for the massive birds. "But you have to be careful. They possess massive, fragile egos and demand absolute dignity, exactly like approaching a wild Hippogriff."
Upon hearing the magic word 'Hippogriff,' Hagrid immediately straightened his massive spine. He puffed out his chest, stepped forward carefully, and bowed deeply and adorably to Godric and Regina, formally introducing himself in a low, rumbling, respectful voice.
"I brought them here to establish a truce," Regulus added with a sly smile from the side, watching the giant man interact with the giant birds. He looked directly into Godric's golden eyes. "If you two are going to aggressively hunt and hang out in the airspace above the Forbidden Forest from now on, you absolutely must find Hagrid first and respect his rules. He is the absolute, undisputed guardian of this entire area!"