Chapter 172: Official Shadow Prefects (Bonus)
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Tom had just realized something—his study space wasn’t as all-powerful as he once thought.
Sure, he could release ancient spells inside it, but in the end, it wasn’t a fully real world. The pressure wasn’t authentic there.
His plan was simple from now on: toss a Muggle-Repelling Charm in the mountains nearby, then every day, fire off a couple of big spells and dash.
...
"I really gained a lot."
After another half hour’s rest, once he’d fully recovered, Tom began channeling his magic.
Thanks to Andros’s earlier demonstration, the process went smoothly, though much slower. In fact, his pace was twice as slow as the intentionally slowed pace Andros had shown him.
But once his magic started boiling over, casting went far more smoothly this time—and he succeeded with relative ease.
Pleased with the progress, Tom headed back to Hogwarts in good spirits.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to keep practicing, but he had already promised Cho to meet her in the library that morning. A man keeps his word, after all.
---
A new week crawled by.
Every student was waiting for this moment, this day— Friday.
Just how seriously were they taking Dueling Class? Well, let’s put it this way—even Wood, Quidditch maniac that he was, actually cut one practice and trimmed the rest by half an hour.
Not of his own will, of course. The twins and Angelina Johnson had protested so loudly he had no choice but to give in.
Every day, students with bruises and black eyes could be seen limping out of the hospital wing clutching potions. And the course hadn’t even officially started yet. Madam Pomfrey was already grumbling nonstop.
Fortunately, Professor McGonagall managed to soothe her, so while Poppy Pomfrey kept complaining, she hadn’t stormed into the Headmaster’s office to shut down Dueling Class.
Finally...
At eight o’clock sharp that Friday evening, the Great Hall was packed to the brim.
The four long house tables had vanished, leaving the hall looking much more spacious. In the very center now stood a gleaming, gold-plated dueling stage. Hundreds of floating candles above acted like spotlights, flooding the platform with light.
On either side of the golden platform were two smaller stages. They weren’t as dazzling, but they still commanded attention.
"Four houses, but five stages?"
"The big one in the middle... is that for the professors?"
"Wait—is Professor Snape gonna duel Professor Wilkinson?"
That thought had students buzzing with excitement.
The professors soon filed in, Dumbledore among them, and even a very sour-faced Madam Pomfrey.
Dumbledore walked up onto the golden stage with Professors Laos Wilkinson and Filius Flitwick. He raised a hand, and silence swept the hall. Every eye turned toward him.
His voice rang out clearly, echoing off the walls.
"Thank you, everyone, for your enthusiasm in supporting this school activity. And especially, let us thank Professor Wilkinson for providing this brilliant idea.
"As Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he not only shares his knowledge generously in class, but he also hopes to see you turn that knowledge into real skill and experience. A round of applause for him!"
The hall thundered with clapping, sincere and wholehearted.
It took a good ten seconds before Dumbledore raised his hand again, calming the crowd.
"Now, before the course begins, I have—"
He was cut off.
The massive doors of the Great Hall swung open.
Tom walked in with the Greengrass sisters at his side.
Students nearby instinctively stepped aside to clear a path, their expressions uneasy.
Tom gave Dumbledore an apologetic smile and led the sisters to a quiet corner.
Dumbledore’s gaze lingered on him.
Not because Tom had interrupted, of course. Dumbledore wasn’t so petty. No, it was because he noticed—Tom had changed again in just a few short days.
Before, Tom’s sharpness alone was enough to make people lower their voices when speaking with him. But now, that sharpness was tinged with something wilder, almost feral.
Dumbledore suspected it was the result of Tom’s magical studies—though clearly not Dark Arts, since he sensed no shadow of corruption on him.
Still, it was worrying. Even ordinary magic, if mishandled, could be deadly. Countless wizards throughout history had perished at the hands of their own experimental spells.
And indeed, Dumbledore’s hunch wasn’t wrong. Tom’s recent training in ancient magic had stirred a primordial resonance in his magic, shifting it in strange, unpredictable ways. He was even starting to resemble Andros a little. The difference was, Andros could control it. Tom couldn’t. Not yet.
"In any case," Dumbledore’s voice rang out again, breaking the tension, "there is one more announcement before we begin."
He looked across the crowd. "After much discussion, the Heads of Houses and I agree that the prefect system is overdue for reform."
The students glanced at one another, confused. How had they suddenly gotten onto prefects?
Percy Weasley’s face went pale. His stomach dropped. Reform? Did this mean his authority was in danger?
But Dumbledore gave them no time to chatter.
"For years, prefects have always been chosen from the upper years. Their studies are already demanding enough, and on top of that, managing the younger students divides their focus further.
"So, starting this year, the school will be creating Shadow Prefects. For each house, in every year from first through fourth, two students will be chosen as Shadow Prefects. Their role will be to assist the house prefects in managing their year-mates. However, they will not have the power to deduct or award house points.
"Selection will be based on both academic performance and practical ability demonstrated in Dueling Class, with final evaluations made by your Heads of House.
"And tonight," Dumbledore smiled slightly, "is the perfect chance to show what you can do."
This time, the hall broke into loud, uncontrollable murmuring.
Some thought it was good, others bad.
The twins were among the loudest complainers. Having Percy pop up every five minutes was already unbearable—if the school gave more classmates official permission to act like little spies, what freedom would they have left?
Wait a second.
Why couldn’t they be the Shadow Prefects?
Fred and George glanced at each other, and the identical spark of mischief in their eyes was enough to set them both laughing under their breath.
"Professor McGonagall, we’re ready to improve!"
The Gryffindors were equally restless. A chance to show off in front of the whole school? That was every young lion’s favorite kind of opportunity. Many of them were already determined to go all out tonight, hoping McGonagall would take notice.
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were much calmer. The badgers especially—aside from some initial surprise at the sudden reform, they quickly returned to their natural state of "Oh? Alright then."
While the others whispered and speculated, Tom quietly checked his system panel.
[Congratulations, Host.]
[The "Shadow Prefect" system you proposed has now been formally adopted across the school, complete with defined rights and responsibilities. This marks a long-term change to the ecology of Hogwarts.]
[During your school years, you will now receive a fixed stipend of 250 credits per month, along with 25 achievement points.]
[This month’s allowance has been deposited.]
A smile spread across the boy’s face.
Finally. After all this maneuvering, the fruits were his to reap.
Before, only Slytherin had a Shadow Prefect system, which earned him 100 credits of "salary" per month, with no achievement rewards.
But now? Two hundred and fifty per month. Likely a hundred from Slytherin, plus fifty each from the other houses.
Did the number sound odd? Who cared—benefits were benefits. Even if the name was clunky, what did it matter? If it pushed him closer to becoming a living legend, he’d accept it.
Well... maybe not that fast. The path still had to be taken step by step.
Besides, a steady stream of achievement points was nothing to scoff at. As long as the school and its students could handle it, he’d find more ways to stir things up. With that, would he ever have to worry about running out of teachers or credits again?
On the stage, Dumbledore finished his announcement and departed. Professor Laos flicked his wand, and a sharp hum cut through the hall, gradually silencing the chatter.
"Those curious about the Shadow Prefects can ask your Heads of House afterward. Time is short, and we need to finish tonight’s task before ten."
He inclined his head toward Flitwick. "And I must thank Professor Flitwick for agreeing to be my assistant tonight. Together, we’ll give you a proper demonstration of a duel."
Laos nodded, and Flitwick smiled back warmly. He had taken a real liking to this new DADA professor. The man clearly had ability.
Among the Heads of House, only Snape’s expression was sour. He despised anyone who held the position he had coveted for years. Originally, he’d planned to seize this chance to embarrass Laos in public. But since Flitwick had stepped up as assistant, that little scheme had died before it began.
"Now," Laos addressed the students, "a duel is not a mere fight. It is an act of ritual, carrying etiquette and respect. Do not underestimate the ceremony—it reflects discipline and character."
He and Flitwick walked to opposite ends of the stage, then turned to face one another. They bowed, straightened, and raised their wands like arrows before lowering them diagonally to their sides.
"Good. Remember that process. Get it wrong, and people will assume you don’t even grasp the basics of courtesy."
Laos continued, "Once the ritual is complete, the real duel begins.
"The Disarming Charm is a very practical spell. It’s quick, effective, and it strikes at the heart of your opponent’s strength. A wizard without a wand is like a tiger without teeth. Of course, don’t rely on it against Uagadou-trained wizards—they’ve been practicing wandless casting since day one."
"The wand is a European invention, and while African witches and wizards have adopted it as a useful tool in the last century, many spells are cast simply by pointing the finger or through hand gestures."
He then glanced at Flitwick. "Professor, do be careful."
Flitwick nodded.
"Expelliarmus!" Laos shouted. A streak of red light shot out, hitting Flitwick squarely. The Charms Master staggered back two steps, and his wand flew neatly into Laos’s hand.
"Simple, effective, isn’t it?"
He returned the wand politely.
"But don’t expect opponents to just stand still. More often, it’ll look like this—"
"Expelliarmus!" x2
Both professors cast at the same time. The spells clashed midair with a burst of sparks, grinding against each other as the magic locked.
A tingle ran down Laos’s scalp. He twisted his wand to the side, deliberately breaking off the clash before his spell collapsed entirely.
Too close. Another second or two and Flitwick’s magic would’ve overwhelmed his own.
Wiping away a bead of sweat, he explained, "Power struggles like that are dangerous. If your magic isn’t as strong as your opponent’s, you must disengage quickly and rely on skill to win."
"And finally," he went on, "the last method of defense: dodging and blocking. The Shield Charm is a versatile option, but don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s invincible. Many Dark spells will pierce right through it."
He lowered his wand. "Alright. The rest of the evening is yours."
Pointing toward the platforms, Laos said, "There are four smaller stages, one for each house. Students of the same year may duel freely with one another there.
"As for this one—" He grinned suddenly, the expression just a bit wicked. "This stage has no restrictions. Any student, from any house, of any year, may issue a challenge. If you have a score to settle, or simply want to test yourself, this is the place."
His eyes twinkled. "And wasn’t there already a conflict from that day?"
Right on cue, Draco Malfoy shoved his way through the crowd with Crabbe and Goyle at his heels. Striding onto the stage with all the arrogance in the world, he leveled his wand at Ron Weasley.
"Weasley! Get up here and take your beating!"
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