The story of the "Corridor Six" became Hogwarts legend before lunch was even served. The details, pieced together from the terrified whispers of the culprits and the grim satisfaction of Professor McGonagall, spread through the castle like Fiendfyre.
Six students had ambushed Ariana Dumbledore.
They had all drawn their wands on her.
She hadn't even drawn her own.
She had defeated all six of their spells with a snap of her fingers.
And then McGonagall had descended upon them like an avenging angel.
The reaction from the student body was not what Zacharias Smith and his cohort might have hoped for. There was no sympathy. There was no debate. There was only a mixture of awe-for Ariana and utter contempt for them. They had not been seen as rebels fighting for a cause; they were seen as a pack of cowardly bullies who had ganged up on a single girl and had been effortlessly, humiliatingly, defeated. Their social standing plummeted into nonexistence. They were pariahs, shunned by their own houses, their pathetic attempt at rebellion having backfired in the most spectacular way possible.
The staff's reaction was even more severe. The teachers, already impressed by Ariana's intellect and contributions, were now fiercely protective of her. Any of the "Corridor Six" who so much as looked sullen in class found themselves the target of icy glares and pointedly difficult questions. Professor Flitwick was heard muttering about a lack of "moral fiber," and even Professor Sprout seemed to disapprove, assigning them the most pungent fertilizer to handle in Herbology.
The most terrifying reaction, however, was the one that was unspoken. Albus Dumbledore did not address the incident publicly. He did not need to. But at breakfast the next morning, he looked out over the Great Hall, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze, usually twinkling with benign amusement, settled on the table where the disgraced students were huddled. The twinkle was gone. In its place was a look of such cold, profound, and absolute disappointment that it seemed to lower the temperature of the entire hall. It was a silent, damning judgment from the most powerful wizard in the world, and it was far more terrifying than any punishment could ever be.
The owls that had been sent home by McGonagall had their intended effect. The very next morning, during breakfast, the Great Hall doors swung open. A procession of angry, mortified looking parents—the Smiths, the Edgecombes, and others—marched into the hall. They did not look at Dumbledore. They did not dare to look at Ariana. Their faces set in grim, furious lines, they marched directly to their respective children, grabbed them by the ear, and dragged them from the Great Hall without a single word to anyone. The message was clear: they were there to handle their own family's shame, and they wanted no part of any further conflict with the powers that now unofficially governed the school.
Amidst this drama, the reactions of Ariana's own circle were telling.
Draco Malfoy, who had been watching the social dynamics with the keen eye of a political analyst, saw the entire event as a final, definitive data point. He had once seen Ariana as a powerful but manageable rival. He now understood she was something else entirely. She was a force of nature operating on a level he couldn't touch. He saw the way the students revered her, the way the teachers protected her, the way Dumbledore himself looked at her with something akin to awe. He realized that antagonizing Harry Potter was one thing; it was a schoolboy rivalry. But making an enemy of Ariana Dumbledore was strategic suicide. From that day on, his taunts towards Harry became less frequent, less venomous, and he made a point of giving Ariana and her friends a wide, almost respectful, berth in the corridors.
Hermione had been furious, her loyalty blazing. She had wanted to hex the "Corridor Six" into oblivion. But watching the aftermath, seeing how completely and effortlessly the situation had been resolved in Ariana's favor, she felt a different emotion: a profound sense of security. She realized that being Ariana's friend meant being part of an alliance so powerful that their enemies would, inevitably, defeat themselves.
Daphne Greengrass had a similar, but distinctly Slytherin, reaction. She watched the parents drag their children from the hall with a look of cool, satisfied vindication. This was power. Not the brutish power of curses and threats that Malfoy favored, but the true power of reputation, influence, and unassailable competence. She had allied herself with the right side, and her decision was paying dividends. Her loyalty to Ariana, already strong, now became absolute.
Astoria, who heard the story from her sister, simply began to look at Ariana with an even greater degree of hero-worship, her belief in her savior's invincibility now total.
And Ariana's own reaction was the most telling of all.
She sat at the Gryffindor table, calmly eating her porridge as if nothing had happened. She watched the disgraced students get dragged out by their parents with the same detached curiosity she might watch a particularly interesting weather pattern. She had predicted their actions, she had controlled the environment of the confrontation, and she had allowed the logical consequences to unfold. The problem had been identified, analyzed, and resolved. It was over.
Her mind had already moved on. The petty squabbles of Hogwarts were a solved equation. She was now focused on the more complex, more interesting problems that lay ahead: the Horcruxes and the quiet, ambitious project of designing an engine that could one day take her to the stars. The drama of the school was just noise. Her work, the real work, was just beginning.