Dark Wings Over Hogwarts

The Great Hall was abuzz with excitement as students settled in for dinner, the long tables filled with steaming dishes and the clatter of utensils against plates. The discussion among the students revolved around the day's classes, particularly the two new professors who had taken the school by storm.

"I swear, Professor Quirrell's classroom smelled like an apothecary gone wrong!" a second-year Gryffindor groaned, wrinkling his nose. "That ginger scent was overwhelming. It was like he spilled an entire vial of powdered ginger on himself."

"And what was with his stuttering?" a Hufflepuff chimed in. "He barely managed to get through a sentence without stumbling over his words. How are we supposed to learn anything about Defense Against the Dark Arts like that?"

Across the table, a Ravenclaw leaned in with a smirk. "Did you notice how he kept touching his turban? Something's definitely off about him."

A few seats away, the third-years were far more animated—especially those who had attended the first-ever Combat Magic class with Professor Zane Falconer.

"That was brilliant!" Lee Jordan exclaimed, hands moving excitedly as he recounted the duels. "The way he made us fight each other right away, no silly warm-ups or theory? That's a real class!"

"I still can't believe he blocked George's Stupefy with just a flick of his fingers," Fred Weasley said, shaking his head in awe. "No wand, no shield—just raw magic. That was mental!"

"He's not like any professor I've ever seen," Cedric Diggory admitted. "It felt more like dueling an actual battle-mage than a school lesson."

"And he doesn't just teach magic—he teaches strategy," Roger Davies chimed in. "Did you hear what he said? 'Combat isn't about throwing spells. It's about knowing when not to.'"

Even some of the older students, particularly the fourth and fifth-years, were listening with interest. The enthusiasm was infectious, and at the High Table, the professors exchanged glances. Some, like Snape, remained expressionless, while others, like McGonagall, seemed genuinely intrigued.

---

The High Table: A Quiet Discussion

Professor McGonagall set down her goblet and turned to Flitwick, who had been listening with a small smile.

"It's been some time since I've heard the students so excited about a Defense class—if you can call it that," she said, raising a delicate brow.

"It's unconventional, certainly," Flitwick agreed. "Dueling is an art, but it requires discipline. I wonder if Professor Falconer intends to temper their enthusiasm with proper control."

Across the table, Snape leaned back slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. "If he believes reckless aggression is the key to defense, he's a fool. We'll see how long before one of them lands in the Hospital Wing."

Dumbledore, who had been silently observing, finally spoke, his voice calm but thoughtful.

"Zane Falconer is not a fool, Severus. His methods may be unfamiliar to Hogwarts, but they are not without merit. The world outside these walls is changing. Perhaps it is time our students learned how to truly defend themselves."

Snape gave a noncommittal hum, but McGonagall did not seem fully convinced. "I only hope he remembers that these are students, not soldiers."

Dumbledore's twinkle dimmed slightly, but he merely nodded.

"That remains to be seen."

---

At the Slytherin Table: A Different Kind of Interest

While many Slytherins were just as interested in Falconer as the rest of the school, one particular third-year sat in deep thought, her food untouched.

Isla Rosier was not like other Slytherins. Her family was different. Unlike the old pure-blooded lineages that clung to tradition, the Rosiers had built their legacy through power, not heritage. They were the underworld kings, the shadow rulers who controlled what many others feared.

Yet, despite her family's reach, Isla had never heard of Zane Falconer before today.

It didn't make sense.

A wizard of his caliber should have at least been recognized in elite circles. Even if he operated in secrecy, someone in her family would have heard of him. Her father had connections spanning the Ministry and Knockturn Alley—yet there were no whispers, no records, nothing.

That made Falconer the most intriguing man she had ever encountered.

She glanced around at the students still chattering about the day. To them, Falconer was just a fascinating new professor. To her, he was a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

From a young age, she had been called a prodigy. Spells that took others months to master came to her as naturally as breathing. Her family whispered that her potential could one day rival even Dumbledore's.

But she was still young, still inexperienced.

If Falconer truly possessed knowledge beyond anything she had encountered, she needed to learn from him. Not as a student, but as a seeker of power.

"Lost in thought, Rosier?" a voice drawled.

She turned to see Cassius Warrington, watching her with amusement. He was another Slytherin third-year, but unlike her, his ambitions lay in house politics, not true power.

"Just thinking," she said smoothly.

"About our new professor?" Warrington smirked. "You're not the only one. Everyone's talking about him."

"Not in the way I am," Isla murmured. She pushed her plate away and stood up. "Enjoy your dinner, Warrington."

She left the table, her mind already forming a plan.

If she wanted answers, she needed to see Falconer in action. Watching wasn't enough—she had to test him.

Tomorrow, she would find a way.

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Note : I've introduced a new character who plays an important role in the story. I'd love to hear your thoughts on how they fit into the plot and if there's any way to improve their development. Let me know what you think!