Hermione rolled her eyes. "What would you know? I won't relax until I see those grades straight away!"
Harry hesitated. "But there's no real suspense, is there? Just like you won't beat Mr. Erwin for first place, no average student is topping you."
Hermione fell silent.
No one had beaten her?
It looked that way—for now.
Her eyes drifted to the second name on the list.
Pansy Parkinson.
Pansy's marks aligned eerily with Erwin's and Hermione's. Only History of Magic showed an E; everything else was an O.
Our resident know-it-all felt a sudden twinge of unease.
Last term, Pansy had two E's. This semester, she'd closed the gap. At this pace, next year there might be a three-way tie at the top.
Right on cue, Pansy sauntered over to check her results.
Draco lit up at the sight of her and waved. "Pansy! Over here!"
She lifted her chin with a haughty sniff and breezed right past him.
Draco blinked in confusion, turning to Harry and Hermione. "What did I do?"
Harry shrugged. "Probably because we've been hanging about together. In her eyes, I'm just another daft Gryffindor. She never gives us lot the time of day."
Draco nodded. "Fair point—that's Pansy all over. But Harry, didn't you mention wanting to switch to Slytherin? Have you spoken to a professor yet?"
Harry shook his head. "Not yet. I've been caught up chasing leads on the Chamber of Secrets and haven't found the moment to tell Professor McGonagall. Truth be told, I'm dreading it a bit. She's always been dead good to me—I'd feel rotten letting her down."
Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, McGonagall's strict as anything, but she treats everyone fair and square. The Head Boy says all professors deserve our respect; they pour everything into teaching us, and out in the wizarding world, they're the ones who rise to the top."
Hermione chimed in. "Mr. Erwin's right—we should make the most of every day at Hogwarts. The professors we see daily might be the most powerful wizards we'll ever know."
Harry agreed. "That's exactly why I'm dragging my feet on telling McGonagall. There's no precedent for switching houses here, especially from Gryffindor to Slytherin."
Draco snorted. "But let's face it—Gryffindor can't hold a candle to Slytherin without a proper Head Boy."
Harry nodded, his dilemma clear. As one of the first outsiders to join Slytherin classes, he knew firsthand how much Erwin had guided him—and how much he'd gained from it. Slytherin sharpened skills like nothing else. He carried a heavy burden; Voldemort would return one day, gunning for him. He needed every edge to get stronger.
Only Slytherin could provide that.
Hermione tilted her head. "I reckon Professor McGonagall would be thrilled if you transferred."
Draco and Harry turned to her, expectant.
She sighed. "It's obvious, isn't it? She adores you, Harry, and as Head of Gryffindor, she only wants her students to thrive. No ulterior motives—just pure support. If switching makes you stronger, she'd be chuffed."
Draco and Harry exchanged glances, nodding vigorously.
"Spot on, as usual," Draco said.
"Classic Hermione," Harry added with a grin.
"Right, then," Harry said, resolve hardening. "I'll nip off and chat with McGonagall now, see if I can make the switch."
Draco beamed. "Brilliant! We've got a bed waiting in the dorm—saved it just for you."
Hermione smirked. "With those two numpties of yours? I doubt Harry fancies bunking with them."
Draco's enthusiasm deflated. His roommates were a perpetual headache.
"The Head Boy reckons they're prime Gryffindor material," he muttered. "That's why he doesn't trust the Sorting Hat much."
The trio headed toward the castle doors, chatting as they went.
Harry remained blissfully unaware of the real roadblock to his transfer: it had nothing to do with McGonagall.
They didn't spot the dark figure lurking in the shadows nearby, arms folded, eavesdropping on every word.
Snape sneered inwardly.
Slytherin? That boy?
With a face like James Potter's? If not for those telltale green eyes, Snape would have made his school days a nightmare.
Up in the Head Boy's quarters atop the Slytherin tower, Erwin lounged at his desk, idly flipping through a notebook.
A spectral figure hovered in the air—Rowena Ravenclaw's portrait.
"Erwin, results are out today. Not curious?"
He shrugged without looking up. "Doesn't matter if I check or not—the results are a foregone conclusion. I know my own capabilities."
She chuckled. "True enough. You're always so self-assured, and rightly so—your talents outshine the rest by miles."
Erwin turned a page. "I only got O's because that's the ceiling. For everyone else, it's because that's all they've got."
Rowena tsk'ed. "On anyone else, that'd smack of arrogance."
He snapped the notebook shut. "Arrogance needs proof; confidence earns it through results. Now, to business, Her Majesty. Does this notebook tie into Hufflepuff's legacy?"
Rowena shook her head. "No idea. Helga was an enigma—her methods were nothing if not whimsical. 'Unpredictable' is the word I'd use. You could never tell when some wild notion would strike her. I'm not even certain she left a legacy at all. But you mentioned sensing Hufflepuff privileges in the Forbidden Forest, didn't you?"
...
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