Chapter 52: The Fifth House

Chapter 52: The Fifth House

"So, Gryffindor has four absentees. Minus eight points."

"Ravenclaw, fewer absences, only three. Minus six points."

"As for Hufflepuff... just the one. Minus two points."

As Leon dished out his rather arbitrary point deductions, the Slytherins cheered, looking immensely pleased with themselves. Of the four Houses, only Slytherin was happy.

"What are you cheering about? Cowards," Leon's sharp voice cut through their celebration. "The other three Houses had students brave enough to challenge me. Are all the Slytherins dead?"

"For cowardice in the face of a challenge, Slytherin loses ten points!"

And just like that, no one was happy anymore.

"Now," Leon declared, "the lesson begins!"

"Before you start thinking about elegant bows and then getting knocked flat by your opponent, I want to ask one question..." He paused, letting the tension build as the younger students stared at him, wide-eyed.

"What is the purpose of a duel?"

"To defeat your opponent!" Harry called out from the Gryffindor group.

"To win honour!" a Ravenclaw girl suggested.

"To prove the superiority of pure-blood wizards!" Malfoy sneered, arms crossed.

Leon swept his gaze over them and shook his head.

"Wrong. The only purpose of a duel is survival. It is to ensure, in the shortest possible time, using any means necessary, that you are left standing, and your opponent is not."

"Honour is a consequence of victory. Rules are merely limitations on the method of duelling. Even the spells themselves are just tools serving that one, single purpose." He gestured towards a training dummy nearby. "It seems we require a more practical demonstration."

"Watch closely."

Leon spoke clearly: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

A beam of light struck a floor tile beneath the dummy. The tile ripped upwards, slamming into the back of the dummy's knees. As it buckled forward, off balance, Leon's wand flicked again, targeting its loose robes.

"Reparo!"

The spell, normally used for mending, flashed. The loose robe instantly tightened, the hem wrapping itself around the dummy's wand wrist like a binding. The dummy fell to its knees, its wand arm trapped.

Leon stepped forward, pressing his wand tip against the dummy's chest.

"In this position," he stated calmly, "I don't even need a spell. A simple push, and it's over."

The entire sequence had taken perhaps three or four seconds. The spells used were the basic Levitation Charm and a simple Mending Charm. There were no flashy exchanges, only cold observation and precise timing.

The students stared, mouths agape. They had never imagined the Levitation Charm could be used to create obstacles, or that the Mending Charm could restrain an opponent.

"These simple spells are all within your current knowledge. The key to duelling is not how many spells you know..."

"It's how, in the heat of the moment, you make every spell you do know serve a purpose beyond its original function."

His gaze swept across the assembled students.

"Professor Flitwick teaches you precision casting. As his assistant, I will teach you how to think like a fighter. How to use what you know to create the conditions for victory."

"Lesson one begins now," Leon declared, his wand held steady.

"Observe. Observe your opponent's stance, his grip on his wand, the direction of his gaze. Observe the reflections on the floor, the dust motes in the air."

A slight smile touched Leon's lips. "Information is the most powerful weapon."

"Alright. Pair off. Begin."

The students, now buzzing with a different kind of energy, eagerly paired up and began... staring intently at each other. The atmosphere became surprisingly intimate.

The Duelling Practice quickly became the most talked-about activity at Hogwarts. Leon's teaching methods sparked huge controversy.

Professor McGonagall expressed concern, finding his approach too aggressive, lacking respect for the artistry of magic.

Professor Snape sneered during Potions class that "certain individuals" were turning "the noble art of wizard duelling into a Knockturn Alley brawl."

But the results were undeniable.

Students, especially those who struggled in standard Charms classes, showed immense enthusiasm for this pragmatic, "win-at-all-costs" style of combat.

As "Professor Shelby's" reputation grew, he could finally begin the work he had long been preparing for.

Namely, selling suits to the students he deemed worthy.

Few refused. Rumour had it that wearing the black suit granted access to Professor Shelby's private weekend tutoring sessions, where he taught spells not covered in the Thursday practices.

Like wildfire, within a month, the corridors of Hogwarts began to see figures clad in sharp, black suits.

Some sneered, dismissing it as too "Muggle-ish," unbecoming of wizards (Snape, for instance, openly mocked the attire on several occasions).

But many others, particularly those who felt marginalized due to their background or perceived lack of talent, were drawn to the uniform's sharp, unified, and distinctly different look. It offered a silent acceptance, a new identity separate from the four established Houses.

Soon, students were actively seeking Leon out, asking if they too could "wear the black suit."

But Leon was selective. He only accepted those who demonstrated sharp observation, flexibility, or unique talents during the duelling sessions.

"I don't care about your blood. Only your ability. And your loyalty," Leon told each new recruit, always adding his signature compliment:

"You were born to wear this suit."

Quietly, a new trend, a new fashion, a new faction, began to take shape within Hogwarts.

Naturally, this did not escape the notice of the professors.

Professor McGonagall watched several younger Gryffindors in suits hurry past, her brow furrowed. But in the end, she merely sighed and did not interfere. She had to admit, their focus and discipline seemed to have improved.

During Potions, Snape watched a Ravenclaw student in a crisp suit meticulously prepare ingredients. "It seems," he drawled icily, his gaze flicking towards Leon, "that ostentatious attire cannot mask inherent mediocrity... though it may, admittedly, attract certain short-sighted moths to a flame."

However, the professor most unsettled by this development was Quirrell.

During one "accidental" encounter in the corridor, Quirrell stammered, "A v-very... distinctive group, Sh-Shelby. J-just... isn't it rather... c-conspicuous?"

"Do you like it, Professor Quirrell?" Leon asked, his eyes narrowed slightly, offering a rare, unsettling smile. "I wouldn't mind arranging a suit for you..."

Quirrell practically stumbled backwards, muttering incoherently. "N-no... no need, Sh-Shelby."

Leon watched his hurried retreat, calculating. If he wasn't mistaken, Quirrell was about to make his move...