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Dueling. To the untrained eye, it seems incredibly tense, fiercely swift, and exhausting—a violent, back-and-forth battle of wills burning through a wizard's adrenaline and magical core. But in absolute reality? A single, unbroken exchange of spells lasting a few dozen seconds is already considered an impressively long round.
Indeed, modern netizens who frequently engaged in high-stakes PvP (Player vs. Player) arenas intrinsically understood this time dilation. For instance, in his past life, when he played under the legendary username xuan yuan xiv, furiously pounding his mechanical keyboard and unleashing an absolute, chaotic barrage of DPS attacks until a victor was finally crowned in a frenzy of pixels... he always felt like he had been fighting for hours. But afterward, glancing at the system clock, he would realize it had only been a frantic three minutes.
So, Regulus thought, his analytical mind spinning as he watched the duels, how exactly can we structurally optimize this event to make it significantly more fun?
Simulated combat scenarios? Dynamic environmental design? A hybrid of PvP and PvE (Player vs. Environment) mechanics?
Could they use Transfiguration to actively build different scene maps, construct destructible buildings, add physical cover, and enhance the atmospheric tension... exactly like the tactical Muggle shooters he used to aggressively grind, like Counter-Strike or Overwatch?
Honestly, why not just go all out and create a massive, large-scale, real-life MMORPG arena directly on the Hogwarts grounds, operating at the exact same lethal scale as the legendary Triwizard Tournament?
There absolutely needed to be a coordinated Team Deathmatch mode as well. Strategizing, forming squads, and fighting back-to-back with your friends... that would be simply wonderful.
Not only would it comprehensively, violently improve the students' practical magical reflexes and drastically enhance their collaborative tactical skills, but it was fundamentally much more suited for preparing them for the brutal reality of the coming war.
But the absolute core design philosophy had to remain intact: It still has to be incredibly fun!
Life, even in the shadow of a Dark Lord, should be enjoyed. And since they were living in a literal magical world with reality-bending powers, it should be infinitely more fun than the Muggle world!
Stepping gracefully off the raised stage and blending back into the cheering crowd, Regulus stood at the front lines watching the flashes of spell-light. His mind was already rapidly calculating exactly how to continue stirring up massive, highly profitable chaos...
However, for a logistical project of that massive, architectural scale, his own personal magical core and finances probably wouldn't be enough. He desperately needed to absorb as many club members as physically possible, actively seek out free faculty labor, and aggressively attract heavy outside pureblood sponsorship.
Honestly, Regulus sighed internally, rubbing his temples, I am truly, deeply worried sick about the outdated state of Hogwarts' physical education.
During this time, the brackets officially commenced.
For the very first pair to take the stage, a terrified, trembling junior student was called up. The absolute second Regulus loudly called out, "Begin!", the poor boy completely panicked. His sweaty fingers slipped, and he fumbled, dropping his wand directly onto the hard wooden planks with a loud, humiliating clatter.
This, naturally, caused a massive, echoing burst of cruel laughter from the Slytherin and Gryffindor sections. His face burning scarlet, the little wizard snatched his wand off the floor and fled the stage as fast as a frightened bird.
Regulus, ever the flawless PR manager, immediately intercepted the boy at the stairs. He offered a warm, firm handshake and smoothly, expertly recycled Professor Flitwick's previous, highly inspirational 'chicken soup' speech about courage, successfully stabilizing the boy's shattered emotional state.
Unexpectedly, the magical matchmaking box paired up two highly familiar faces for the second duel—
Lily Evans of Gryffindor versus Avery of Slytherin.
The usually bright, incredibly amiable Miss Evans was currently terrifyingly, tightly composed. The warm emerald of her eyes had frozen into absolute ice, and she didn't offer the sneering Avery a single, polite pleasantry. Lily had absolutely not forgotten that Avery had recently, viciously used the vile slur 'Mudblood' to verbally attack her Gryffindor friend, Mary Macdonald.
"Begin!"
Avery immediately slashed his wand, sending a nasty, dark purple hex hurtling toward her.
The little Gryffindor queen didn't even flinch. She stood her ground and snapped her wand upward in a flawless, perfectly angled arc, casting a brilliant, blindingly solid Protego.
She didn't just block it; she aggressively parried. Simply by utilizing the redirected kinetic force of the deflected spell, she violently blasted the sneering Avery clean off his feet. He hit the wooden stage with a heavy, deeply satisfying thud, his wand rolling away into the shadows.
Flawless parry mechanic! Too beautiful! Regulus thought, his eyes widening in genuine appreciation.
She was undeniably beautiful, and the sheer, raw, kinetic violence of her spellwork was beautiful too.
Regulus clapped his hands loudly from the front row, completely ignoring the scowls of his Housemates. He simultaneously noticed that the highly intelligent, fiercely beautiful Miss Evans—exactly like his arrogant brother Sirius—already possessed quite a massive, highly dedicated fanbase... Many young wizards in the packed crowd were staring up at her with great, unblinking eagerness. This highly devoted crowd obviously included a slacked-jawed James Potter and a deeply awestruck Severus Snape...
Tsk tsk, Regulus smirked. Top-tier character designs and high aesthetic stats are undeniably a massive, passive fighting force of their own.
From the lower-grade brackets all the way to the upper grades, the duels became increasingly violent, fast-paced, and exciting.
The Ravenclaw prefect and the Hufflepuff prefect engaged in a grueling, back-and-forth, sweat-drenched slugfest that lasted a full three minutes. Ultimately, the badger proved to have slightly more stamina, edging out a narrow, hard-fought victory.
"Absolutely excellent footwork from both of you! Truly! Becoming Aurors in the future will be absolutely no problem for either of you!" Professor Flitwick squeaked, clapping his hands and giving both exhausted combatants incredibly high praise.
More like premium, front-line cannon fodder material for the Order of the Phoenix, Regulus commented cynically in his heart.
It's honestly a massive pity that Headmaster Dumbledore didn't personally come down to the Great Hall to aggressively scout his future child soldiers.
However, what Regulus absolutely didn't know was that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was paying incredibly close, paranoid attention to the exact movements of every single person in the Great Hall.
High up in the spacious, beautiful circular Headmaster's office, the only sound was the soft ticking of silver instruments and the crackle of the hearth. Fawkes the phoenix was perched elegantly on his golden branch, tilting his crimson head to peer curiously at a massive, swirling crystal ball resting entirely in the center of Dumbledore's desk.
The enchanted crystal ball was simultaneously, flawlessly broadcasting a live visual feed of the grand opening of the Dueling Club down in the Great Hall. The miniature, glowing figures of the duelists reflected sharply in Dumbledore's intensely focused, piercing blue eyes.
And for the vast majority of the evening, the scrying angle of the crystal ball was heavily, obsessively focused specifically around Regulus Black.
High on the circular stone wall, the painted portrait of the former Headmaster, Phineas Nigellus Black, was actively straining his neck to peek over his painted canvas, looking as though he desperately wished he could physically stretch his head completely out of the gilded frame to see the orb.
Phineas, being highly active and observant in the Headmaster's office every single day, had naturally noticed Dumbledore's sudden, extreme, and highly particular attention focused on his two living great-grandsons. At first, the vain portrait had simply assumed this was entirely due to Dumbledore's begrudging respect for the political power of the House of Black. But gradually, his sly Slytherin instincts sensed something deeply, dangerously off—
Dumbledore seemed to harbor a massive, terrifyingly heavy prejudice and intense, paranoid wariness toward the Black brothers. This extreme scrutiny had spiked violently the absolute second Regulus had publicly displayed such flawless, charismatic leadership ability.
And for Dumbledore, sitting alone in the dark, the horrifying historical parallels were simply impossible to ignore.
Dark hair. Devastatingly handsome features. Fiercely intelligent. Dripping with raw, undeniable magical talent. Hailing from a notorious, ancient family that fanatically prided itself on absolute pureblood supremacy...
As for Sirius? His natural handsomeness was practically doubled, but his explosive recklessness and constant, loud rule-breaking mostly just caused standard, albeit massive, administrative headaches for the faculty. Sirius was a known quantity.
But Regulus?
A Slytherin. Deeply, effortlessly charming. Terrifyingly skilled at quiet, structural organization. Already showing massive, undeniable signs of being a master at manipulating resource allocation and seamlessly, genuinely winning over the fierce loyalty of people from all four Houses...
It was agonizingly, brutally hard for Dumbledore not to be violently reminded of another brilliant, charming Slytherin student whose existence he deeply, eternally regretted.
Dumbledore had recently heard quite a bit of dark intelligence from his spies regarding exactly what that former student was doing in the shadows right now. And if even one percent of the horrific torture and murder he heard was true, then Dumbledore had to painfully admit that Mr. Tom Riddle's moral education at Hogwarts was an absolute, catastrophic failure...
When he had first met the orphaned Riddle in the orphanage, Dumbledore had clearly, immediately sensed certain terrifying similarities between Riddle and 'the other him' (Grindelwald). Yet, Dumbledore had been arrogant. He had been careless. He had been successfully, flawlessly deceived by a teenager's perfectly polite mask, and he did not violently intervene in time.
He still firmly believed, with absolute certainty, that Moaning Myrtle's tragic death and Rubeus Hagrid's horrific, unjust expulsion were directly, intimately orchestrated by Riddle.
But at that time, Dumbledore had only been the Head of Gryffindor House and the Transfiguration Professor. He hadn't possessed the absolute authority to stop it.
This time, however, Hogwarts was entirely under his watchful, omniscient eye. He absolutely, fundamentally must not fail the wizarding world again.
Dumbledore slowly pushed his half-moon glasses up the bridge of his crooked nose, his lined face looking impossibly old and terrifyingly serious in the crystal's glow.
"Albus. Exactly how are my great-grandsons faring down there?" the old Black Headmaster finally couldn't help but ask, breaking the heavy silence.
"See for yourself, Phineas," Dumbledore said calmly, his voice completely devoid of his internal paranoia. He gently tapped the crystal ball, rotating it slightly to face the portrait.
Inside the swirling depths of the crystal orb, Sirius Black had casually walked over to Regulus in the front row. The two brothers were bumping shoulders, saying something to each other, and laughing together with genuine, completely unvarnished affection.
"I think," Dumbledore murmured softly, his blue eyes unreadable, "that having two highly influential brothers placed in vastly different Houses really can miraculously improve the political relations between the students."
Back down in the Great Hall, after all six official duels had spectacularly concluded, the smoke cleared. Regulus calmly walked back onto the center of the wooden stage. Countless pairs of adrenaline-fueled, highly reluctant eyes from below the stage were fixed intensely on him, completely filled with burning anticipation for more.
"Thank you to every single teacher and student who enthusiastically came to the Dueling Club's grand opening tonight," Regulus announced, executing a flawless, deep, aristocratic bow. He then stood up, unpinned the heavy golden badge with the crossed-wands DC logo from his robes, and held it high above his head so the candlelight caught the metal.
"The official, enchanted Dueling Club membership badges have already been formally distributed to the prefects of each respective House. Those of you who successfully passed the mathematical selection algorithms for the active roster should immediately collect them from your prefects tonight. Thank you again to our tireless prefects for their hard administrative work."
After Regulus finished speaking, he walked gracefully forward to the edge of the stage. He produced two heavy, dark velvet boxes and flipped them open, revealing two massive, completely pure-gold, heavily enchanted badges. He handed them directly to Professor Flitwick and Professor Stokke.
"A very special, massive thank you to Professor Flitwick and Professor Stokke. For their bravery in stepping into the ring tonight, they shall forever be recognized as lifelong, honorary founding members of our Dueling Club," Regulus announced, applauding loudly.
The exhausted, thrilled audience below erupted in absolutely thunderous applause and deafening cheers. A beaming, highly flushed Professor Flitwick happily waved his pure-gold badge at the screaming Ravenclaws.
"Please continue to closely follow the notice boards for all future Dueling Club brackets and activities!"
As Regulus spoke his closing remarks, his dark, calculating eyes swept over the massive crowd, flawlessly and accurately locating the burly, scowling figure of Rabastan Lestrange standing near the back of the Slytherin group.
Rabastan, who had been glaring at Regulus with pure hatred the entire evening, suddenly met the twelve-year-old's eyes. Regulus offered him a chilling, predatory, half-smiling expression.
Rabastan's heart violently skipped a beat in his massive chest. A cold sweat broke out on his neck.
Is it happening? Rabastan panicked internally, gripping his wand tightly. Is he actually going to publicly call me out and challenge me in front of the entire bloody school right now?!
"The first official event is now officially concluded. Thank you all, and have a wonderful night!" Regulus suddenly announced, his voice cheerful as he entirely shifted his gaze away from the terrified fifth-year.
Regulus turned his back and casually walked off the stage.
Heh, Regulus smirked coldly in his heart. I'm not going to fight you yet, Rabastan. I'm just going to leave you hanging, sweating in pure, unadulterated paranoia every single day.