Daphne stood at the entrance to Victor's room, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe with her arms crossed over her chest.
— How much longer are you going to sit like that? — she asked, making no effort to hide her impatience.
Victor, sitting on the bed in a lotus position, slowly opened one eye.
— Look, there's still plenty of time before breakfast. Is it absolutely necessary to interrupt my union with the cosmos?
— Absolutely, — she cut him off, shaking her head. — We need to settle the matter of the first-years. We need to sift through them carefully and take the best into our faction before they're lured away.
Victor let out a heavy sigh and finally emerged from his trance.
— You and these children again. Don't you have enough people? Why are you pestering me about these freshers?
Daphne exhaled slowly, trying to maintain her composure, and stepped closer to the bed.
— My sister is among them, Victor. And that little fool is already buzzing around those pure-blood degenerates.
— If this is all about Astoria, just drag her over to our side and be done with it, — he shrugged.
— She won't listen to me! That dunce is convinced to her very core that since she's from an ancient house, she must stick with people of the same status. She sees them as the elite and us as upstarts.
Victor couldn't help but burst out laughing.
— Amusing. I remember a time when you were exactly the same. Fine, I'll figure out how to shatter her rose-tinted glasses. I actually noticed an interesting detail yesterday: the Quidditch team is composed entirely of pure-bloods. It's high time we fixed that. I'll speak with Professor Snape about it.
He smiled predatorily, a spark of excitement gleaming in his eyes:
— Once we start squeezing them out of the team, they'll predictably start demanding their rights. That's when we'll put the pressure on. And when they ignominiously shove their tongues up their own backsides, our younger brothers and sisters will quickly realize where the real power lies. If they have even a shred of brains, they'll come crawling to us themselves.
Daphne gave a satisfied nod. The tension in her shoulders finally vanished.
— Thank you.
— Don't mention it. Sigh, how lucky I am to have such a sweet and obedient sister.
Suddenly, there was an insistent knock on the door.
— Yes, come in! — Victor called out, without changing his posture.
A breathless third-year appeared on the threshold.
— Victor! You're being summoned to the Headmaster's office immediately. It seems... your sister has beaten someone up.
Victor froze with his mouth open, staring at Daphne.
Five minutes later, he was flying up the moving staircase toward the Headmaster's office. Inside, Adele stood with her head bowed, while Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick stood before her.
— Adele! — Victor burst into the office. — Sweetheart, are you okay? Are you alright? Where does it hurt? — He began feverishly inspecting her.
— I'm fine, — the girl replied calmly.
— Mr. Moss, — McGonagall interrupted sternly. — It appears your sister has inherited some of your less desirable character traits. This morning, Miss Moss struck a fellow student quite hard. We have tried to ascertain the reason, but she remains silent. Perhaps you can help loosen her tongue?
He looked surprised and put an arm around her.
— Adele, tell me. What happened?
She looked up at her brother.
— I woke up from the noise. I saw her hiding Luna's shoes under a wardrobe. I told her to put them back, and she... she started laughing. She called Luna "Loony Lovegood" and said she didn't need shoes anyway because her head was in the clouds. So I stood up and decked her. She just fell down. Who knew she was so fragile?
Victor nodded understandingly.
— Well, there you go. It's not Adele's fault. The girl just turned out to be too weak.
— Victor, this is not funny at all! — McGonagall frowned, but then immediately softened and sighed. — Miss Moss, defending friends is a noble act, and one I commend. But physical violence is the worst possible choice.
— I agree, Professor. Adele, hitting your schoolmates isn't good, — Victor nodded with a most serious expression, at which the others merely rolled their eyes meaningfully.
— Miss Moss, you will be punished, — McGonagall concluded. — Filius, if you please.
— E-eh... me? — Flitwick jumped. He adored his Ravenclaws and was completely incapable of punishing them.
— Yes, Filius. Adele is in your House; it is your place to punish her.
While Flitwick scratched the back of his head in confusion, agonizing over a punishment that wouldn't upset the child too much, Victor intervened.
— Professor, allow me to handle this myself! — he blurted out. — As her older brother, I am deeply saddened by her behavior. I promise I will carry out disciplinary work with her.
And before anyone could get a word in, Victor grabbed Adele by the hand and hauled her toward the exit.
— THANK YOU! WE'RE LEAVING! — he shouted from behind the closing door.
McGonagall and Dumbledore stared at Flitwick in silence. He merely adjusted his glasses sheepishly.
— Well... I suppose it is only right if Victor speaks to her himself.
— Haaa... Filius, you are far too soft, — Dumbledore sighed.
— Albus, for Merlin's sake, what has happened to the Sorting Hat? — McGonagall froze in horror, staring at the shelf.
The ancient artifact looked pathetic: the Hat's entire body was covered in provocative graffiti. In large letters on the most prominent spot, it read: "I AM A STUPID HAT," and various offensive things were drawn all around it.
Dumbledore raised a hand warningly, calling for silence.
— Quiet, Minerva... It has only just stopped screaming. It is clearly not thrilled with its new image.
— "NOT THRILLED"?! — Suddenly, the Hat tore open its mouth-slit and roared so loudly that the instruments on the tables rattled. — I WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU, ALBUS, IF TWO LITTLE MASKED BANDITS KIDNAPPED YOU IN BROAD DAYLIGHT AND DOODLED ON YOU FROM HEAD TO TOE! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I'VE ENDURED?! WHERE WAS YOUR CONSCIENCE ALTOGETHER?! HOW COULD YOU NOT NOTICE MY ABSENCE UNTIL THE MORNING? I'LL STUFF THEM IN AZKABAN WITHOUT ANY SORTING! I...
While the Hat choked with rage, reaching an ultrasonic screech, McGonagall leaned close to the Headmaster's ear.
— Was it Victor? — she whispered.
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully.
— I am not sure. It could have been the Weasley twins. Hard to say.
McGonagall paused for a moment. Fred and George indeed could have pulled such a stunt.
Victor stepped out of the office, holding Adele gently by the shoulder, and as soon as the door closed behind them, he broke into genuine laughter.
— Ha-ha-ha! Adeley, who would have thought I'd be called to the Headmaster because of you.
— You aren't angry?
— Angry? — Victor stopped and hugged her tightly. — Oh, my dear Adele, I'm not just "not angry" — I'm proud of you! But, — he pulled back and put on a serious face, — you acted too rashly. You're a smart girl; you could have been more careful. If you can't think of anything, ask me first next time. Your brother has vast experience in how to maim people and remain crystal clean.
Adele nodded.
— Next time, I'll try harder.
Victor gave an approving nod.
— Alright then, let's go get breakfast.
— Yes, let's hurry! — the girl fussed, taking his hand. — We need to look after Luna. That silly girl doesn't understand when she's being bullied.
— Luna? — Victor smiled. — I see you've grown attached to her?
Adele immediately turned away demonstratively.
— Not at all. I just feel sorry for her. I'm afraid everyone will pester her without me.
Victor merely gave a warm smile.
The evening in the Slytherin common room was quiet—ordinary students tried to steer clear of this particular corner. Victor was sprawled lazily in a deep armchair; Daphne stood behind him with her arms crossed.
Opposite them sat the "opposition." Draco Malfoy sat on the very edge of the sofa, clutching his fists, guarded by Crabbe and Goyle. Astoria sat beside him, trying to mimic her sister's proud posture. Between them and Victor, maintaining neutrality, sat Gemma with her friend.
— My dear rivals, — Victor began, scanning them with a lazy gaze. — Thank you for finding the time to join this little gathering.
— Don't mention it, — Gemma smiled thinly. — Especially since you wrote "Come, or I'll burn your room down" in the invitation. I found it to be a very sincere gesture.
— Ha-ha-ha! Yes, I wrote it from the heart, — Victor laughed warmly, then shifted his gaze to the pure-blood group. — So, which of you is in charge now?
— It's... me, — Draco replied. His voice wavered for a moment, and he hurried to straighten up to hide his fear.
— Oh! Summer really hit you hard, didn't it? — Victor sympathized. — Anyway. I gathered you to discuss the composition of our Quidditch team. I've noticed a regrettable injustice: the entire team consists of representatives of the pure-blood faction. As the self-proclaimed King of Slytherin, I've decided to fix this and replace them with my own people. I trust no one has any objections?
— Personally, I don't care, — Gemma remarked, examining her nails. — If your people bring victories to the house, I'm not against it. The result is what matters.
Malfoy and his lackeys merely stared glumly at the floor. A heavy silence hung in the air. Draco wanted to object, but meeting Victor's eyes, he immediately swallowed his words.
— Hmph! And who gave you the right to decide who gets on the team? — Astoria crossed her arms and tilted her chin up defiantly. — Only we have the right to determine the roster. Draco, tell him! I'm right, aren't I?
An awkward pause filled the room. Malfoy seemed to have suddenly found something extremely interesting in the carpet pattern and studiously avoided the girl's gaze. Gemma merely covered her mouth with her hand, hiding a smirk. Daphne looked at her sister with unconcealed pity and slowly shook her head.
— Is this... a collective decision of your faction? — Victor asked softly, leaning forward.
— No! Sorry, don't listen to her, — Draco jumped up, but immediately caught Victor's heavy stare and lowered his tone. — We don't object, it's just... there's a detail.
— And what detail is that, Draco?
Malfoy sat back down, nervously adjusting his cuffs, and muttered:
— My father bought the newest brooms for the whole team. I wanted to ask... can I take them back if we're kicked out?
— What brooms? — Victor inquired lazily.
— "Nimbus 2001," — Malfoy exhaled.
Victor narrowed his eyes. He remembered this moment: Lucius Malfoy had literally bought his son a spot on the team by gifting equipment to Snape and the squad.
— "Nimbus 2001" is a serious claim, — Gemma spoke up. — Such brooms would give our team a colossal speed advantage.
— Agreed, — Victor nodded, tapping his fingers on the armrest. — We can't afford to lose such a generous sponsor.
— Besides, — Daphne added, — we can't just write off Terence Higgs, Cassius Warrington, and Adrian Pucey. They are the backbone of the team, experienced players. Finding equivalent replacements for them in a week would be practically impossible.
— Hmm... — Victor thought for a moment. — I admit, I was too harsh there. Fine, I've changed my mind: we'll hold an open and fair trial. No nepotism or old connections. Only the best will make the team.
— I agree, — Gemma was the first to raise her hand, accepting the new rules.
— We do too, — Malfoy nodded. A spark of competitive fire lit his eyes. He was confident in his skills; he had practiced all summer to the point of exhaustion, dreaming of showing up Potter.
— Good then. We need to set a day for the trials.
— We can do it tomorrow, — Draco offered quickly. — Professor Snape has already booked the pitch for us for the whole day.
— Excellent, settled. Daphne, dear, inform the others: anyone who wants to be on the team must show up at the pitch tomorrow right after breakfast.
Daphne gave a short nod.
— Well then, if no one has any valuable additions, that's all.
Victor stood up, stretched lazily, and with a short goodbye, headed to his room. Daphne turned slowly to Farley:
— Gemma, I trust you haven't forgotten that the trial regarding the betrayal will take place tomorrow evening? I hope you've prepared a worthy defense.
Farley merely gave a crooked smirk, but a flash of worry crossed her eyes. Daphne turned a stern gaze on her sister:
— Astoria, I'm going to go inform everyone about tomorrow now, and when I return, you'd better be in bed. Good night.
When the elder Greengrass left, Gemma collapsed against the back of the sofa with a groan.
— Damn, so much trouble because of these two idiots... — she rubbed her temples wearily. — What trial? Why can't he just beat them up and close the matter? Anyway, Draco, good night. Good luck tomorrow.
Draco nodded, watching her leave. When they were alone with Astoria, he turned to her sharply, his face distorted with anger and fear.
— Have you gone completely mad?! — he hissed. — Why are you provoking him? Your sister will cover for you, but what about us? I have no desire to spend the start of the term in the Hospital Wing because of you!
— What are you even talking about? — Astoria frowned in confusion. — I don't understand why you're all shaking so much. We're in school, under the teachers' supervision. He won't dare do anything to us!
— HE WILL! — Draco almost shouted. — Just like he did last year! Listen to me carefully: either you shut your mouth and stop making him angry, or don't come near us again. Crabbe, Goyle, let's go. I need to get some sleep so I can prove tomorrow that I'm worthy of being Seeker.