Three days of holidays had given the students time to settle into Hogwarts, especially the wide-eyed first-years finding their way through the vast castle. Then the first day of classes dawned, unfolding in the hesitant, slightly unsteady rhythm of new term lessons—everyone still restless, and searching for balance after the long summer away. When the day finally eased toward its end, dinner arrived, and the Great Hall woke in earnest.
Long tables stretched the length of the chamber, crowded with students who ate as though they had not seen a proper meal in weeks. Platters of roasted meat and bowls of vegetables passed from hand to hand. Goblets refilled themselves with a soft splash. Laughter burst out in sudden waves, then faded into the low hum of a hundred conversations layered over one another. First years leaned close together, eyes wide as they took in every enchanted detail, while older students lounged back with practiced ease, already slipping back into the rhythms of school life.
Above it all, the enchanted ceiling reflected the early evening sky, streaked with violet and gold as the sun dipped beyond the distant hills. Candles drifted lazily, casting warm light over polished wood and stone. It was a scene that Hogwarts had repeated for centuries, yet it never truly grew old.
At the staff table, however, the mood was more restrained.
Ethan sat stiffly on one of the high backed chairs, his posture a careful compromise between formality and discomfort. To his left sat Professor Amalai Crave, newly appointed Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts and newly elevated Head of Slytherin House. To his right was Lily Evans, occupied with her child and thankfully serving as a quiet buffer between Ethan and the rest of the table.
Crave ate with an intensity that made Ethan keenly aware of every sound. The man was tall and sharp featured, his dark hair slicked back and his robes cut in severe, traditional lines. There was nothing careless about him. Even the way he chewed seemed deliberate, as though each bite were a statement rather than a necessity. Unfortunately, the statement came with an impressive amount of noise.
Ethan tried, with limited success, to focus on his own plate. Roast chicken lay before him, steam rising gently, the skin crisp and golden. Under normal circumstances he would have enjoyed it. Tonight, he found himself cutting smaller pieces than usual, chewing slowly, all too conscious of the wet crunching sounds coming from beside him.
'A spell would fix it easily,' he thought. 'Something subtle to dull sound in a narrow radius. Nothing harmful or noticeable.'
He dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it formed. Casting magic at the staff table during dinner would be rude at best and suspicious at worst. Crave already seemed inclined to dislike him. Giving him a reason would be foolish.
So Ethan endured, jaw tightening slightly as he continued to eat in silence.
Professor Crave did not acknowledge him at all. Not with a glance or not even with a word. It was as though Ethan were an inconvenient piece of furniture that had been placed too close to him for comfort.
The man's reputation had preceded him. Amalai Crave came from an old family, one that claimed blood ties to Salazar Slytherin himself. Whether the claim was true or simply the result of generations of careful storytelling hardly mattered. The Crave family believed it, and belief often carried more weight than fact. When the previous Head of Slytherin retired quietly the year before, citing age and exhaustion, Crave had stepped neatly into the role. His appointment as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had followed soon after.
It was clear that he took both positions very seriously.
On Ethan's other side, the atmosphere could not have been more different.
Lily sat with her chair angled slightly away from the table so she could better manage the small chaos in her care. Her daughter Aria perched beside her, swinging her legs and holding a spoon with determined concentration. In her other arm Lily cradled Nina, the small cat who seemed entirely convinced that dinner was meant for her personal enjoyment.
Lily moved with practiced ease, guiding the spoon toward Aria while simultaneously fending off Nina's inquisitive nose. She laughed softly as the cat attempted to paw at a piece of meat that drifted too close.
"No, Nina," Lily murmured, smiling despite herself. "That is not for you."
Aria giggled, then promptly tried to feed the cat anyway.
Ethan glanced over, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. The sight grounded him in a way nothing else quite could. Lily noticed his look and returned it with a small, knowing smile before turning her attention back to her daughter.
He took another bite of chicken, finally managing to taste it.
The flow of dinner continued uninterrupted until a sudden flutter of wings cut through the noise. Several students looked up at once as an owl swooped through the open space of the Hall, its feathers catching the candlelight.
Owls were not unusual at Hogwarts, but their timing was.
Morning post was expected. Lunch deliveries were tolerated. Evening interruptions were rare enough to draw attention.
The owl flew with purpose, weaving neatly between floating candles before angling sharply toward the staff table. Its path was direct and unmistakable.
Ethan felt a familiar sinking sensation in his stomach.
"Please no," he muttered under his breath.
The owl landed squarely in front of him, talons clicking softly against the polished wood. It cocked its head and extended a leg bearing a letter.
A very pink letter.
The envelope was unmistakable, decorated with a large red heart that shimmered faintly as though enchanted to catch the eye. Even from a distance, it announced its intent with embarrassing clarity.
A few nearby students snickered.
Ethan sighed and reached for his wand. With a quick, subtle motion, he cast a containment charm around the letter before Nina could lunge forward. The cat swiped at the air, missed, and hissed indignantly as the owl took advantage of the moment to flee back toward the open doors.
Ethan set the contained letter on the table and immediately moved to tuck it out of sight.
He was too late.
"Well," came Professor Flitwick's cheerful voice from further down the table, "if my count is correct, that makes the seventy third letter today."
Laughter rippled along the staff table.
Dumbledore, seated at the center, peered over his half moon spectacles with unmistakable amusement. "It would seem," he said lightly, "that Oswin Selvanos has made our young professor rather famous among the young ladies of Britain."
Ethan closed his eyes for half a second, then opened them and forced a polite smile. "I am thrilled," he said dryly. "Truly."
Flitwick let out a bright, bubbling chuckle. "Those photographs have popped up absolutely everywhere! You and Selvanos had your little meeting, and though The Daily Prophet clearly intended the article and photo to serve as a campaign push for Selvanos, your picture completely overshadowed it. Now the talk is all about our young professor—quite the sensation you've become!"
"And now," Dumbledore added warmly, a spark of mischief in his eyes, "Mr. Thorne finds himself learning what happens when one strays too near the world of politicians."
Ethan rolled his eyes, the tension easing as he leaned back in his chair and accepted the absurdity of it all. "I did not ask for this," he said quietly. "I spoke to the man for less than ten minutes. He found me first, and suddenly I was surrounded by reporters, cameras flashing as my picture was taken."
"That was all it took, and now you have captured the hearts of many young women," Flitwick replied brightly.
Lily laughed quietly, careful not to draw Aria's attention away from her food. Ethan caught the sound and glanced at her. She offered him an apologetic look that did nothing to lessen the humor in her eyes.
The truth of it all weighed on him more heavily than he liked to admit. A brief interaction with Oswin Selvanos a few days earlier had spiraled entirely out of control. Photographs of them together had appeared in multiple papers, accompanied by speculation, exaggerated headlines, and more than a few imaginative interpretations.
Since then, his quarters had been flooded with letters.
Love letters. Invitations. Gifts. Confessions.
Some were harmless enough, awkwardly worded and painfully earnest. Others were far less so, laced with potions or enchanted trinkets that he destroyed without hesitation. The attention never let up, and the headache that came with it refused to fade.
He pushed his plate away, appetite gone.
Beside him, Professor Crave clicked his tongue softly. The sound cut through the lingering laughter.
Crave rose from his seat with sharp, economical movements. "Enjoy your meal," he said flatly, though the words carried no warmth. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away from the table, robes sweeping behind him.
The space he left behind felt oddly louder for his absence.
Ethan watched him go, then glanced toward Lily. "He is not particularly friendly," he said, keeping his voice low.
Lily shrugged, adjusting Nina as the cat settled against her arm. "The Craves rarely are," she replied. "They tend to keep their distance from most people."
Ethan nodded, eyes drifting back to the Hall. Students were still eating, oblivious to the subtle tensions among the staff. "I will try not to take it personally," he said.
Lily smiled. "A wise approach."
After a moment, she tilted her head slightly. "So," she said, "your first class is tonight, is it not, Mr Thorne?"
Ethan straightened. "Yes. It starts in about half an hour. Dueling fundamentals for first through fourth years."
"That is quite a lot of students to teach," Lily said.
"It is, but the class time should be enough for that many students to pick up the basics of spells and defense," he replied. "I just hope they are not exhausted."
At the mention of dueling, Aria's head snapped up. "I want to go," she announced immediately.
Lily sighed. "No, you do not young lady."
"But I want to see," Aria insisted, turning hopeful eyes toward Ethan. "Please."
Ethan laughed softly. "It will be very long," he said. "Three hours. You would fall asleep."
"I will not," Aria declared.
"You will," Lily said with firm confidence. "You are going to read the books I told you to read and then you are going straight to bed early."
Aria pouted, then leaned closer to Ethan. "You promised I could come to your office anytime."
"I did," Ethan said gently. "But I also said you needed your mother's permission."
Aria crossed her arms. "I know."
Ethan lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If you want to grow up quickly, you need your sleep. Otherwise, you will not be allowed into Hogwarts to study magic."
She rolled her eyes, thoroughly unimpressed. "I am not five years old. I know I start Hogwarts in two years, no matter what."
Chuckles rose from nearby professors. McGonagall's lips twitched in clear amusement.
Ethan smiled, then said, "How about this. You can take Nina with you tonight."
Aria's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really."
She squealed softly and hugged the cat, immediately launching into excited plans about sleeping arrangements.
Lily met Ethan's gaze and mouthed a quiet thank you.
He nodded, then stood. "I should go," he said. "I would rather be there before the students arrive."
McGonagall inclined her head. "I will have the prefects lead them towards the classroom."
Ethan thanked her and made his way toward the side door, the sound of the Great Hall fading behind him as the first night of term continued on without pause.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ethan stood at the very center of the dueling circle, the pale stone beneath his boots etched with runes worn smooth by centuries of use. The arena dipped gently downward toward him, ringed by rows of stone chairs that rose like a small amphitheater. Every seat was filled.
Students from all four houses watched him with open curiosity. Some leaned forward eagerly, elbows on knees. Others sat straighter than usual, as if instinctively sensing that this class was different from the rest.
Ethan lifted his gaze, slowly taking in the sea of young faces. He could see the first years gripping their wands too tightly, knuckles white with anticipation. Second years whispered excitedly to one another. Third and fourth years wore expressions of guarded confidence, already imagining themselves casting spells in the circle below.
A smile curved across his face, calm and assured.
"Well," he said, his voice carrying easily across the stone, "it seems all of you are here. Good."
The room settled immediately.
"My name is Ethan Thorne," he continued. "And I will be teaching you Dueling and the fundamentals of self defense this year."
A ripple of excitement moved through the stands.
"This is not a class most of you are familiar with," Ethan went on, beginning to walk the edge of the circle as he spoke. "In fact, it has not been formally taught at Hogwarts for several decades. Some of you may have heard stories. Some of you may think you know what this class is about."
He paused, turning to face them again.
"Let me tell you now," he said gently, "most of you do not."
A few students exchanged looks.
"Dueling is not about flashy spells," Ethan said. "It is not about overpowering your opponent. And It's certainly not about showing off."
He stopped walking and looked up to the crowd of students.
"It is about survival."
That single word seemed to sink deep into the stone.
"Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore have trusted me with this class," Ethan continued. "Not because they expect you to become fighters or Aurors, or because they want you to seek conflict with one another."
His eyes swept across the room.
"But because there are moments in life," he said softly, "when conflict finds you, much like what happened to you on the train a few days ago."
A hush fell over the arena.
"And when that happens," he said, "you deserve to know how to protect yourself."
A hand shot up near the Ravenclaw section.
Ethan turned and nodded. "Yes, Miss Smith."
The girl stood, smoothing her robes nervously. She looked to be in her fourth year, her expression thoughtful rather than reckless.
"Professor," she asked, "will we be learning from books or only practical material? This is the only class we were told does not require a textbook."
A few students murmured in agreement.
Ethan smiled again, warmer this time.
"A very good question," he said. "And a very important one."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"You can learn theory from books," he said. "You can memorize incantations, wand movements, and spell limitations. And you should. That knowledge is valuable."
He lifted one hand and tapped his temple lightly.
"But this class is not about what you know here," he said. "It is about what you can do when your heart is racing, your hands are shaking, and your mind is screaming at you to panic."
The students listened intently.
"In Dueling," Ethan continued, "knowledge that cannot be used under pressure is useless."
That drew a few uneasy laughs.
"So no," he said calmly. "There are no textbooks for this class. Instead, you will take what you learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms and bring it to life. You will watch, you will practice, and you will repeat each movement and spell until it becomes instinctive."
He looked directly at the younger students.
"Because when fear takes hold," he said quietly, "there is no time to think or recall lessons learned from books. Your mind narrows to action, to survival. If you have practiced your spells and defenses until they are part of you, like a sixth sense, your mind will grasp them instinctively, ready to protect you or even overcome an opponent."
The arena was utterly silent now.
"This class is exclusive to first year through fourth year students," Ethan went on. "And that is intentional. You are here to build foundations. Not to fight advanced duels. Well Not yet."
A few fourth years looked mildly disappointed.
"For now," he added, as if reading their thoughts.
He stepped back toward the center of the circle.
"Before we discuss spells," Ethan said, "we must discuss the most important tool you will ever carry."
He drew his wand smoothly from his sleeve.
"This," he said, holding it up, "is not just a piece of wood."
The wand gleamed faintly in the light.
"It is an extension of your intent," he said. "Your focus. Your will and your savior when needed."
He pointed it gently toward the ground.
"A wand reacts to certainty," Ethan said. "When you hesitate, it hesitates. When you panic, it misfires. When you doubt yourself, it reflects that doubt."
Some students swallowed.
"That is why the first thing we will learn," he continued, "is not a spell."
A murmur of confusion spread through the stands.
"It is how to hold your wand," Ethan said. "How to stand. How to breathe."
He turned slightly and adjusted his posture, feet shoulder width apart, knees relaxed, shoulders loose.
"This stance," he said, "keeps you balanced. You do not lock your joints. You do not tense your shoulders. Tension slows you down."
He raised his wand again.
"And your grip," he said. "Firm, but not tight. Your wand is not something you control through force. It responds to confidence."
He demonstrated, rotating the wand slightly in his fingers.
"For first and second years," Ethan said, looking toward the younger students, "this will be your focus for the first part of the year. How to stand. How to react. How to move without freezing."
Several first years nodded vigorously.
"You will not duel yet," he said. "There will be no formal matches. No spell exchanges."
Relief washed over some faces.
"You will watch," he said. "You will learn. And when you are ready, you will practice."
Ethan turned toward the Gryffindor section.
"Mr. Weasley," he called.
Two identical heads snapped up.
"Both of you," Ethan added.
A grin spread across Fred and George Weasley's faces as they stood and made their way down into the arena.
A ripple of laughter followed them.
"Thank you for volunteering," Ethan said mildly.
"We did not volunteer," George said cheerfully.
Ethan smiled. "You will do nicely anyway."
The twins took their places opposite each other.
"Now," Ethan said to the class, "observe carefully. This is not a duel. This is a demonstration."
He moved between them.
"Fred," he said, turning slightly. "George. I want you to raise your wands."
They did.
"Now," Ethan continued, "I want you both to cast Expelliarmus at the same time. Do not worry about power. Focus on control."
The twins exchanged a glance.
"One," Ethan said. "Two. Three."
Twin flashes of red light streaked across the space.
Both wands flew neatly from their owners' hands and clattered to the stone floor.
The class erupted in excitement.
Ethan raised a hand, calming them.
"Notice," he said, "that neither of them was harmed. No shields or counter curses. Just a simple disarming charm."
He turned to the students.
"The best way to defend yourself," Ethan said, "is often not to block. It is to remove the threat."
He picked up one of the fallen wands and handed it back.
"For most of you," he continued, "this spell alone can save your life if used correctly."
He dismissed the twins with a nod and they returned to their seats, still grinning.
"As this year progresses," Ethan said, "you will learn how to use basic spells intelligently. When to disarm. When to dodge. When to retreat."
He looked directly at them.
"Fighting is not about winning," he said. "It is about surviving."
The students sat in rapt attention.
"You will learn defensive charms," Ethan continued. "You will learn how to recognize an attack before it happens. How to read posture. How to notice hesitation."
He paced slowly.
"And most importantly," he said, "you will learn when not to fight."
That drew surprised looks.
"Running is not cowardice," Ethan said firmly. "Choosing to live is wisdom."
"This year," he said, "we begin with the basics. And we build upward together."
He smiled at them.
"Welcome to Dueling."