Harry, sworn by Madam Pomfrey never to aim a wand at her or set her ablaze, returned to the Slytherin common room. The gazes he met were different—curious, even from Crabbe and Goyle. He stuck to the story agreed with Zabini: Quirrell was a thief, and Harry merely stumbled upon him, doing little.
"A rumor's spreading you defeated Quirrell, Potter. True?" a Slytherin asked.
Azrael had sparked the tale, hyping Harry as an ambitious Slytherin who faced a thief to survive in the House. The rumor grew, painting Harry as a powerful wizard. He quickly corrected it.
Some were disappointed he omitted broom battles and troll fights—known only to him and Hermione—but others pressed for details of that night, including Ron and Hermione's roles. Marthenas, Calo, and girls eavesdropped. Harry shared everything except the trolls, praising Ron, Hermione, and Zabini. Slytherins laughed, patted his shoulder, and left. Zabini basked in the girls' praise.
As the crowd dispersed, prefect Gaffgarion, holding a DADA study guide, approached. "Potter, don't make a racket in the common room."
"Gaffgarion!" Harry yelped.
"You lot, go sleep. Potter, stay," Gaffgarion ordered. Zabini's trio, already scolded, scurried off.
"Sorry, I'll head to my room," Harry said, bowing, eager to escape. His bedrest left him alert, but Gaffgarion intimidated him.
"Think I'll let you off, Potter?" Gaffgarion blocked him, scolding his rule-breaking and dragging friends into trouble. "Rules are for keeping, not breaking. Don't get it twisted."
"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled.
Gaffgarion softened. "Still, you made it back alive. Good job, Potter."
"Uh… thank you," Harry said, conflicted by the harsh-then-kind words.
"But between you and Malfoy, I'd pick Draco. He's a model Slytherin. You're a troublemaker," Gaffgarion added. "Yet, against Quirrell, I'd back you. You're Slytherin, and I'm your prefect. That's our way, Harry."
He called Harry by name for the first time, wielding authority with a Slytherin's calculated mix of sternness and support. (This is a prefect…) Harry admired him—strict but not cruel, with a Slytherin edge.
"Yes! Thank you!" Harry replied eagerly, bowing deeply before leaving. Gaffgarion, ignoring his exit, studied with fellow prefect Gemma Farley.
"You're soft on Potter, Garfeel," Gemma teased. "Taken with him? He's a clumsy endangered species in our House—quite the spectacle."
"A prefect treating a junior like a sideshow? Disgusting," Gaffgarion retorted. Their banter was light; as first-year Slytherin accomplices, they got along.
"You and Potter suit each other. Didn't you envy Weasley running after his twins? Your dream came true," Gemma giggled.
Gaffgarion didn't smile. "As if. I shed that sentimentality a week into being prefect. Just doing my job."
"Really? You're easily swayed," Gemma said, levitating a stack of books. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Sighing, Gaffgarion replied, "I never wanted to understand Percy, but I get how tough handling reckless juniors is. I'll give him stomach medicine next time."
"You, talking to a Gryffindor? Rare," Gemma said.
"He approached me. That stubborn glasses-wearer wants to stop his brother and their star witch from hanging with our troublemaker."
Gemma's quill paused, annoyed. "That pompous rockhead. Needs more bullying?"
"He's a good brother, Gemma. Don't touch Percy. If he breaks, who'll control the Weasley twins? You want that job? I won't stop you."
"Tch. Fine," Gemma grumbled, conceding.
Gaffgarion trusted Percy as a fellow prefect—rigid but capable. He didn't want to ruin House negotiations.
"Potter's guest period is over. He'll be seen as just another Slytherin now."
"Like us?" Gemma dropped her book. "He's a hero! Exposed Peter, saved a Muggle-born at Halloween, stopped Quirrell. Unreal for a first-year."
Gaffgarion shook his head. "It's not about ability. He's too conspicuous—too Gryffindor-like for Slytherin. He killed Quirrell. It's not public yet, but it will be. To the world, a dangerous Slytherin used dark magic to kill him. A dark wizard in training."
"Wait. I heard Quirrell was sent to St. Mungo's, not dead…" Gemma's eyes accused Gaffgarion. She hated Slytherin's dark stigma, even if she used it strategically.
"My cousin at St. Mungo's owled me. A Hogwarts patient died, face too burned for medical magic."
Gemma swallowed hard. "A first-year can't use dark magic."
"Of course. Dumbledore or a professor did it," Gaffgarion said.
"Stop saying creepy stuff," Gemma snapped.
"Sorry." He offered sweets as an apology; she declined, citing the late hour.
"Quirrell was a decent Muggle Studies teacher. You took his class, right?" Gaffgarion asked.
"Yeah. Easy tests, full marks," Gemma admitted. "But he became incompetent as DADA professor."
"A good guy vanished with Potter, who survived. Most will think Potter got lucky against a mad Quirrell, but…"
Gaffgarion switched to Transfiguration problems. "Slytherin's reputation is heavy. Some, as cunning and malicious as me, will say Potter used dark magic to kill him."
Gemma didn't deny it. Slytherins had to be wary of malice, knowing how rumors swayed crowds.
"Cruel for Potter," she said.
"He should've gone to Gryffindor. No bad rep, and I wouldn't get chewed out by Snape."
"Maybe…" Gemma didn't deny Harry's choice. "But his actions are boosting Slytherin's praise. Good for us, tough for him."
"Yeah. Glory to Slytherin," Gaffgarion agreed. Only their quills' scratches filled the common room.
In his first class back, Harry was targeted by Snape, who "accidentally" ruined his potion, earning him a zero. Visiting Snape's office to thank him, Harry faced a fierce rebuke.
"Bold to show your face, Potter. Stealing more of my time? Think I'm idle?" Snape sneered.
"No, sir. Dumbledore said you saved me. I wanted to thank you…"
"I'm not free, Potter. Catch up on your studies. Write a report on Strengthening Solution."
Snape dismissed Harry's gratitude, assigning extra work. Harry left dejectedly.
Slytherin life was peaceful. Fourth-year McGillis Calo beat Gryffindor's Gaelio Ain Juris in the dueling club, while Ricardo Marthenas got pummeled by Hufflepuff's Banagher Bist. Harry cherished the mundane routine.
That Saturday, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Draco resumed their Forbidden Forest detention, cut short before. No unicorn corpses or monsters this time.
At a centaur-guarded sacred site, Firenze awaited, mane flowing. Two trolls sat nearby, making Harry and Hermione exchange glances.
"Greetings, Firenze. How are you?" Harry asked.
"Well, Harry, Hagrid, Fang, and young wizards. I'm healthy," Firenze replied, noting the ominous stars had cleared.
"But stay vigilant," he warned, hesitation in his voice. "Dark stars sink deeper as light grows. When light fades, darkness will rise again."
"Will you guide us then?" Hermione asked.
"I cannot say. We're bound by unseen fate. I was chosen this time, but next? We can only wait and prepare."
"Firenze says boring stuff," Ron muttered.
"Ron, hush," Hermione snapped.
"I promise," Firenze said, "to aid children for my clan and the forest's peace."
"You're a trouble," Hagrid said fondly. Firenze seemed to smile.
"Thank you, Firenze. Those trolls…?" Harry asked awkwardly. They looked healthy but familiar. Neville and Draco stayed behind Hagrid. Hermione's guilt eased but lingered.
"They were dismissed from guarding the Stone. They have a request for the children who defeated them," Firenze said.
"A request?" Hermione's voice trembled.
(Another fight?) Harry worried.
"They were competing to swat a beautiful butterfly before dismissal. Sound familiar?"
"That was mine," Harry admitted.
"Make another. They want to settle the score."
Harry transfigured grass into a blue butterfly. The trolls chased it into the forest. Harry hoped they'd stay healthy.
"Look, the stars shine tonight," Firenze said, pointing to the sky.
"Sirius," Harry murmured, gazing at the star, wondering if his actions were Gryffindor-brave or Slytherin-cunning. (I hope Sirius doesn't hate me…)
The six watched the stars, Harry lost in thought, Draco watching him.
After detention, Harry and Draco headed to the Slytherin common room. Harry spoke up. "Just us now."
No Ron, Hermione, Zabini, Crabbe, or Goyle. Harry hoped for honesty, regretting ignoring Draco's warnings but craving connection.
"Shut up, Potter. Do you know what you've done? My father interceded with the Dark Lord, and you always waste my efforts!" Draco snapped.
Harry faced his anger. "I wanted to protect this school… my place."
"If he returns, he'd treat me as Slytherin's child. I couldn't stand that."
Harry didn't apologize, fueling Draco's rage. "You should've joined him! He'd have praised you, spared Granger and the others!"
Harry shook his head. "You're wrong about him, Draco. He killed Quirrell, who served him."
Draco groaned, looking away.
"He'd use anyone, then kill them. Hermione, Ron, Zabini—lives mean nothing to him."
"But you're different," Harry continued. "Azrael said you let me go ahead. You know life matters most. You're kinder than anyone…"
"You die if you defy him!" Draco grabbed Harry's robe. "My parents warned me—anyone, any wizard, is done for! Father served him to survive! What else could we do? You call that wrong?"
Draco feared Voldemort would kill his parents, Harry. Harry's heart burned with rage.
"No!" Harry declared. "Voldemort's the evil one! He manipulates people, forces them into evil, makes Slytherin the villain!"
Draco froze, shocked Harry named him. Harry met his eyes. "I'll defeat Voldemort. I swear. Or Slytherin will always be mocked."
"You can't," Draco said weakly, stumbling to his room.
"I will!" Harry vowed, to himself as much as Draco.
---------------------------------------------------------
🚀 Want more?
📖 Unlock 10+ early chapters on my Patreon!
💖 Support me here: patreon.com/DaoistRoeoNQ
🔓 Get ahead of the story today!