Under threat of the pursuing Filch, they scattered like startled birds and beasts—running where they could, vanishing where they couldn't.
Only Peeves, truly fearless even in the face of doom, clapped gleefully and laughed all the way, whistling past like the wind.
After a few quiet days, just when Rabastan thought the conflict had blown over—
A piece of news spread throughout the school, gaining even more attention than the upcoming Quidditch tryouts.
Regulus Black of Slytherin had posted a large parchment notice on the board in the Entrance Hall, announcing that he and a few friends had applied to restart the Hogwarts Duelling Club, with former Duelling Tournament champion—Professor Flitwick—invited to serve as the club's instructor.
The proposal was still pending review...
The poster also featured an illustration of a trophy shaped like a golden eagle, along with a golden band of unclear purpose that resembled a belt.
Black stated in the notice that, should the proposal be approved, the winner of the group Duelling Tournament would receive a prize sponsored by the Black family—meaning himself.
The prize wasn't the main draw, but the honour was irresistible.
For a time, countless younger students were eager to join, particularly the more spirited and playful ones.
Some supporters had already signed their names: Sirius, Snape, and Potter were prominently listed at the top.
With Peeves having already sung about the dramatic confrontation between Regulus and Rabastan throughout the castle—and just as the four Heads of House were meeting with the Headmaster—this incident quickly escalated all the way to the Headmaster's office.
...
Inside the spacious, elegant, circular office of the Headmaster.
Dumbledore flipped through a parchment detailing the preliminary plan, rules, and scoring system for the Duelling Club, while consulting the Heads of House for their opinions.
Putting everything else aside, the Duelling Club application was indeed well-written.
Dumbledore was particularly surprised to see the use of logarithms in a submission by a second-year student.
"Regulus Black… what do you all think of this student?"
"Oh, Regulus," Professor Sprout said with a smile. "He's a good child—very polite. I didn't expect him to be the one to propose restarting the Duelling Club."
"His Charms work is excellent. A very promising young wizard," Professor Flitwick agreed, clearly in good spirits now that the entire school knew he was a former Duelling Tournament champion. "If run properly, this club could do wonders for the younger students' skill in Charms."
"He asked me if I could serve as the instructor, and I believe I can spare the time," Flitwick added.
The application had stated that to register for the Duelling Club, students would need to have achieved at least an Acceptable in both Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts, with at least one of those subjects at Outstanding.
Naturally, this would be a great boon for his Charms class.
Slughorn chuckled to himself, looking rather pleased and proud of his House.
A glimmer of light flickered in Dumbledore's blue eyes—ever since a certain Grindelwald, and a certain Riddle… well, those who understood, understood.
He turned his gaze to Professor McGonagall, his most trusted colleague.
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow and said, in her usual firm tone tinged with approval, "I heard about the incident with Rabastan Lestrange. Rabastan was bullying a half-blood first-year in the Slytherin common room. It was the younger Black who stepped in and stopped him—by proposing they settle it with a 'duel'."
"His work in Transfiguration is also excellent—I already have to assign him separate coursework," said Professor McGonagall, a faint smile appearing on her face. "Honestly, Albus, he's one of the most outstanding students I've seen at Hogwarts."
Is that truly so? Dumbledore mused silently.
His life had been far too long; he had witnessed countless disguises and deceptions, and he knew this truth all too well: People change.
He had once believed he would be surrounded by family and friends. But things changed, and from beginning to end, it seemed he was always alone.
Even his brother—Aberforth Dumbledore—who now lived nearby in Hogsmeade, remained distant from his life.
In his view, the so-called pure-blood families were riddled with hypocrisy. They denied or lied about the presence of Muggles or Muggle-borns in their ancestry to maintain the illusion of purity. Yet in truth, every witch and wizard in the world had Muggle blood somewhere in their lineage.
And based on nearly a century of experience with the Black family, Dumbledore firmly believed they were among the most unhinged of the lot.
His eyes settled on the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, who was feigning sleep while clearly eavesdropping with great interest.
Once Head of the Black family—and Hogwarts's most unpopular Headmaster—Phineas was hardly inconspicuous.
Dilys Derwent, former Headmistress of Hogwarts and Healer at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, caught Dumbledore's glance and didn't hesitate to jab Phineas awake with her wand.
After all, a skilled healer always knows precisely where to poke to cause the most pain.
"What do you want?!" Phineas asked, feigning sleepiness as he looked around.
"We're talking about your great-grandson—the one you're always complaining about," said Headmistress Derwent with energy. "I know you heard us."
"Young people always think they're absolutely right about everything," Phineas muttered awkwardly.
Seeing that all the wizards in the Headmaster's office—including the former Headmasters and Headmistresses in the portraits—were staring at him, he added reluctantly, "Ahem… my great-grandson—Regulus—he's even worse than Sirius... Keeps asking me whether the chicken or the egg came first, whether wizards or Muggles came first…"
"…and many other such absurd questions." Phineas shook his head disapprovingly.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Regulus has made friends at school, hasn't he? Do you know who they are, Horace?" Dumbledore turned to Slughorn.
It seemed Dumbledore shared the belief in a certain famous saying: Who are our enemies? Who are our friends? This is the fundamental question of revolution.
"Er, I know he's on good terms with Snape, Creswell, and a few others in our House," Slughorn replied, though he didn't sound entirely confident.
"He's very close to Sirius," Professor McGonagall added. "I've seen him with his brother in the Great Hall, chatting with Lupin and Potter."
"He's helpful in Charms class," said Professor Flitwick. "I've seen him assist David Gudge from Gryffindor."
Though he had friends from different Houses, that alone didn't mean much—most of them were still pure-blood wizards, Dumbledore noted silently.
"I saw him with Hagrid," Professor Sprout said with a smile. "They helped me fertilise the plants together last term."
"Absurd, absurd…" At the mention of Hagrid, clear disapproval appeared in Phineas's expression, and he shook his head.
But Dumbledore's eyes lit up!
Hagrid was a Gryffindor, always informal and scruffy in appearance, and his half-giant heritage wasn't exactly a secret. In fact, many wizards knew and made sure their children did too.
"Hmm… he and Rubeus…" Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully.
...
"Hagrid is the person most familiar with the Forbidden Forest in all of Hogwarts, bar none," Regulus confidently said to Sirius.
At that moment, the two of them were sitting together in Hagrid's hut. Regulus put down the rock cake he couldn't bite into and generously admitted, "Hagrid, your teeth are too good—neither of us can manage this cake."
Hagrid looked a little embarrassed and quickly said, "I don't have much else to offer—"
"It's alright. The tea is more than enough for us," Regulus said, lifting the teacup in front of him. "My brother Sirius—may he have a look around?"
"Of course," Hagrid nodded.
Sirius was staring up at the ceiling, where several copper pots hung alongside a long bundle of soft, silky white hair.
"That's unicorn hair, isn't it, Hagrid?" Regulus asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Oh, that's unicorn hair," Hagrid replied casually. "Caught on a branch in the forest—came off the tail, I reckon."
"I heard it sells for ten Galleons a strand on the outside," Regulus remarked.
"When the creatures get injured, I use it for bandaging," Hagrid said with a shrug. "Works a treat—strong as anything…"
"Cool, right?" Regulus gave Sirius a meaningful look.
"Oh—right. This time I brought some very special friends to meet you," Regulus said, setting down his teacup.
Through Eagle Vision, he saw that his eagles had already reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Outside Hagrid's hut, several sharp eagle cries echoed through the air—
...
Two majestic golden eagles swooped down in wide arcs and landed in the yard, amidst the rows of enormous pumpkins.
"Wow!" Hagrid gasped. The renowned magical creature enthusiast and animal lover stood frozen in awe.
"This is my friend Hagrid—you'll definitely like him," Regulus said, gently stroking the feathers of Goldie and Regina. "This is Goldie, and this is Regina. They're a pair of golden eagles we rescued from the London Zoo. They're our friends."
Goldie and Regina turned to study Hagrid, their sharp eyes filled with curiosity—likely because they'd never seen a human quite so large before.
"These… they're not magical creatures, are they?" Hagrid asked, still wide-eyed, clearly taken aback by the intelligence in the birds' movements.
"No, but they're very special," Regulus explained. "They're extremely intelligent."
"So intelligent they can understand what we're saying!" Sirius added with a grin, his face softening as he looked at the eagles. "They've got a kind of dignity—just like Hippogriffs."
Hagrid immediately stood up straight, gave a respectful bow to Goldie and Regina, and introduced himself solemnly.
"If you two are going to spend time in the Forbidden Forest," Regulus said with a smile, "look for Hagrid—he's the undisputed guardian of this place!"