The day of the selection trials had finally arrived.
For the first time in days, Hogwarts awakened to something other than fear.
Ever since the Ministry of Magic had publicly acknowledged Lord Voldemort's return, the atmosphere within the ancient castle had changed. The corridors had grown quieter, and the laughter that once echoed through them had become increasingly rare.
Conversations that had once revolved around Quidditch, Hogsmeade weekends, troublesome homework, and the latest pranks had gradually been replaced by whispered discussions of Death Eaters, disappearances, mysterious attacks, and the uncertain future waiting beyond the school's enchanted grounds.
Even the professors seemed different.
Professor McGonagall carried herself with the same unwavering dignity she always had, yet there was a quiet weariness behind her stern expression that had not existed at the beginning of the school year. Professor Sprout frequently lingered after Herbology lessons to comfort frightened younger students, while Professor Flitwick had subtly increased the amount of practical defensive magic taught in every Charms class. He never explained the reason, but no explanation was truly necessary.
Each morning owls swooped through the Great Hall carrying freshly printed newspapers. Students unfolded them with anxious hands, their eyes instinctively searching the headlines for familiar names. Some prayed they would not find news of another Death Eater attack.
The war had not yet reached Hogwarts.
But everyone knew it was coming.
It was impossible to live beneath such a shadow forever.
People needed something else.
Something that reminded them they were still children rather than soldiers preparing for a war they neither wanted nor could avoid.
The European Under-Seventeen Dueling Championship had become exactly that.
Before the Voldermort fiasco, the tournament had dominated conversations throughout the castle. Every common room buzzed with speculation over which six students would represent magical Britain, which foreign schools would participate, and whether Hogwarts could reclaim the reputation it had once enjoyed decades earlier as one of Europe's greatest producers of duelists.
Now students who had never shown the slightest interest in organised dueling suddenly found themselves passionately debating the strengths and weaknesses of likely competitors.
Even breakfast conversations had become noticeably livelier.
"I heard Durmstrang students duel every single day."
"My cousin says Beauxbatons specialises in defensive formations."
"My brother went to watch dueling championship two years ago. He said they're incredible."
"I just want to see Helios duel again."
"So do I."
"I even heard Professor Flitwick himself couldn't beat him now."
"You made that up."
"I didn't!"
By the time the castle bells announced breakfast, excitement had spread to every corner of Hogwarts.
The Great Hall itself had been transformed.
Normally the four long House tables stretched beneath the enchanted ceiling from one end of the chamber to the other, filled with hundreds of students enjoying breakfast amid the familiar sounds of school life.
Under the direction of the professors, the enormous tables had been pushed neatly against the stone walls, leaving the centre of the Great Hall entirely open. In their place stood eight dueling platforms raised several feet above the floor. Each had been polished until the grey stone gleamed beneath the floating candles overhead, while shimmering blue barriers surrounded every arena like transparent domes of light.
Professor Flitwick drifted tirelessly from one platform to the next atop a small stack of enchanted books, personally inspecting every protective ward.
He tapped one barrier lightly with his wand.
The shield rippled gently before settling once again.
"Hmm..."
Adjusting his spectacles, he nodded approvingly.
"Excellent."
He floated to the next platform.
"Very good."
Another tap.
Another ripple.
"Splendid."
Watching nearby, Professor Vector folded her arms with an amused smile.
"You've checked those wards three times already, Filius."
Professor Flitwick looked genuinely scandalised.
"Only three?"
He shook his head emphatically.
"Not nearly enough."
He tapped another barrier.
"One poorly anchored Shield Charm..."
"...one overenthusiastic student..."
"...and suddenly we're replacing windows."
Professor Sprout laughed.
"I think the windows would survive."
"The windows perhaps," Flitwick replied gravely as he looked dramatically around the Great Hall.
"My dignity, however, might not."
Even Professor McGonagall allowed herself the faintest smile before returning her attention to the lengthy parchment floating beside her. The document contained the names of every registered participant together with their assigned match numbers and platforms.
Initially, the staff had assumed only members of the Dueling Club would volunteer.
Instead, students from every House had submitted their names.
Many had never competed formally before. Some simply wanted to test themselves against other talented students. Others dreamed of representing magical Britain on the international stage.
A surprising number admitted something far simpler.
They wanted to experience something exciting before the war inevitably changed everything.
Nearby, Madam Hooch strode briskly between the platforms, organising waiting areas for the competitors while occasionally calling instructions across the hall.
"Fourth-years over there."
"Fifth-years to the left."
"No, not that platform."
"That one's reserved for the judges."
Professor Snape stood beside Platform Six with his customary expression of permanent dissatisfaction. Apparently he had drawn supervisory duties for the day, and judging by the look on his face, he considered the assignment only marginally preferable to spending the entire afternoon grading essays.
High above them, Albus Dumbledore quietly observed the preparations from the High Table.
His silver beard rested lightly against his robes as his blue eyes wandered across the steadily filling hall. For a few silent moments, the elderly Headmaster simply enjoyed what he saw.
Laughter.
Excitement.
They were precious things.
Especially now.
Helios entered quietly through one of the side doors.
Whether he intended to compete or merely observe, he always preferred familiarising himself with the environment before it filled with people. His calm gaze travelled slowly across the transformed Great Hall, taking in every detail.
Eight dueling platforms.
Protective barriers.
Emergency medical stations positioned strategically near the walls.
His eyes lingered briefly on the placement of the exits before returning to the platforms themselves.
He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Professor Flitwick had organised everything meticulously.
As though sensing his arrival, the tiny Charms professor turned around.
His face immediately brightened.
"Mr. Black!"
Helios smiled politely.
"Good morning, Professor."
Flitwick hurried towards him with surprising speed despite his diminutive stature.
"I'm delighted you're here."
"I thought it best to arrive early."
"A most excellent habit," Flitwick replied enthusiastically. "I wish I could convince the rest of the school to adopt it."
Helios glanced around the hall once more.
"It appears everything is ready."
"Almost," Flitwick corrected cheerfully.
"I've only another..." He paused thoughtfully while counting the remaining platforms.
"...six inspections to complete."
Helios raised an eyebrow.
"Only six?"
Flitwick coughed delicately.
"Well..."
"...perhaps seven."
Both of them laughed quietly.
The older professor suddenly snapped his fingers.
"Oh!"
"I nearly forgot."
His cheerful expression softened into something more serious.
"I received confirmation from the Ministry late yesterday evening."
Helios waited patiently.
"The Ministry has formally approved funding for Britain's representatives."
He began counting on his fingers.
"Transportation."
"Lodging."
"Equipment."
"They'll cover everything."
Helios nodded thoughtfully.
"That should encourage future participation."
"Exactly!"
Flitwick almost bounced with excitement.
"You understand perfectly."
He clasped both hands together.
"For years I've been trying to convince the Ministry that international dueling deserves greater attention."
His eyes shone with unmistakable satisfaction.
"They finally listened."
For a moment he looked around the magnificent Great Hall, taking in the competitors' platforms and the carefully prepared arena.
"Perhaps..."
His voice grew quieter.
"...perhaps Hogwarts will once again become known for producing great duelists."
Helios studied the elderly professor for several seconds.
There was genuine happiness in Flitwick's voice.
The tournament meant far more to him than simply selecting six students.
It represented an opportunity for Hogwarts to remember what normal school life looked like.
Helios smiled warmly.
"I believe your students will give Britain every reason to be proud."
Flitwick's smile widened.
"I believe so too."
By the time breakfast had ended, students began pouring towards the Great Hall in enormous numbers.
The Entrance Hall became a sea of black Hogwarts robes as excited voices echoed beneath the vaulted stone ceiling. Groups hurried inside together, eager to claim good seats before the trials officially began.
Every available chair surrounding the dueling platforms gradually filled. Some students climbed onto benches in search of a better view until prefects politely—but firmly—ordered them back down again.
Soon afterwards, the Ministry officials arrived.
Members of the Department of Magical Games and Sports took their reserved seats near the front while several representatives from Britain's International Dueling Committee quietly reviewed lists of competitors and compared notes among themselves.
Unlike the students, they were not simply attending a school competition.
They were evaluating the young witches and wizards who would soon represent magical Britain before the rest of Europe.
Helios noticed them almost immediately.
In turn...
They noticed him.
Several officials exchanged quiet words while discreetly glancing in his direction before returning to their parchments. Their curiosity was carefully concealed, but not well enough to escape Helios's attention.
He pretended not to notice.
Instead, he calmly took his place near the competitors' waiting area and watched the Great Hall gradually come alive around him.
By half past nine, the Great Hall had reached capacity.
Every seat surrounding the dueling platforms was occupied, and students who had arrived too late to claim a chair lined the walls or stood upon the broad stone steps leading towards the Entrance Hall. Even the staircases overlooking the hall had become crowded with curious spectators eager for a better view of the trials below.
From above, the Great Hall resembled a grand amphitheatre, every available space occupied by excited faces waiting for the competition to begin.
The protective wards surrounding each arena shimmered faintly, their translucent surfaces catching the sunlight like sheets of crystal.
The atmosphere felt far closer to an international championship than an ordinary school event.
Laughter echoed across the hall as students debated predictions, argued over favourites, and compared the strengths of different competitors. Every now and then a burst of applause rippled through the crowd whenever one of the professors reinforced another protective barrier with an especially elegant piece of magic. Excitement spread naturally from one group to another, lifting the spirits of everyone present.
For a little while, the weight that had settled over Hogwarts during recent months seemed to disappear.
No one was discussing Voldemort.
No one whispered about Death Eaters.
No one worried about politics, or the coming war.
For this single morning, they were simply Hogwarts students once again.
Near the Gryffindor section, Rose Potter adjusted the leather glove covering her wand hand. She flexed her fingers experimentally before drawing a slow, controlled breath. The familiar pre-duel routine helped steady her nerves, though she doubted anyone except Hermione would notice the slight tension in her shoulders.
Hermione certainly did.
"Nervous?" she asked quietly.
"A little," Rose admitted with a faint smile before looking at her friend. "You?"
Hermione laughed.
"I'm not competing."
"I know," Rose replied, nudging her shoulder playfully. "But you always become nervous anyway."
Hermione sighed in theatrical defeat.
"I suppose I do."
Standing beside them, Ron folded his arms with complete confidence.
"I still think you're all taking this too seriously."
Three pairs of eyes turned towards him.
"What?" he asked innocently. "I mean..." He gestured broadly towards the dueling platforms. "You're already brilliant."
Rose raised an eyebrow.
"So your advice is?"
Ron grinned.
"Win."
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Truly inspiring."
Neville chuckled quietly.
"If Professor McGonagall ever retires..."
"...please don't apply," Rose finished.
Ron looked genuinely offended.
"I'd make an excellent professor."
Hermione regarded him thoughtfully.
"Of what?"
Ron confidently opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
After several long seconds, he frowned.
"...Good point."
The four of them burst into laughter, and for a brief moment the tension surrounding the competition simply melted away. The easy conversation, the teasing, and the shared laughter felt strangely refreshing after months of uncertainty.
Across the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy stood quietly beside the other Slytherin competitors.
Unlike previous years, there was no crowd gathered around him.
Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen, nor was there any loud boasting about pure-blood superiority or inevitable Slytherin victories. Draco stood alone, his immaculate robes hanging neatly around him as he calmly examined his wand. He wasn't checking it because he doubted it would function.
He simply did so out of habit.
Nearby, Blaise Zabini watched him for a moment before speaking.
"You've changed."
Draco didn't look up.
"So I've been told."
"You haven't insulted anyone all week."
"I'm trying something different."
Blaise's lips curved into a faint smirk.
"Being pleasant?"
Draco snorted softly.
"I'm not aiming that high."
The dry reply earned a quiet laugh from Blaise.
For a brief moment, the tension between the Slytherins eased into something almost comfortable.
Standing across the hall, Helios observed the scene in silence.
His gaze travelled slowly from one group to another, taking in nervous students quietly encouraging one another before their matches. Professors maintained composed expressions while discreetly watching over their students with obvious concern. Ministry officials gathered in small clusters, speaking in low voices while occasionally glancing towards the competitors.
Everyone had come for the same event.
Yet every person present hoped for something entirely different.
Some desired glory.
Others sought recognition.
The students themselves wanted something far simpler.
Helios understood every one of those motivations.
None of them were wrong.