“In every year, there will be a Year Chief—someone responsible for communicating between the prefects and the ordinary students, assisting in managing year affairs, and representing the year group when necessary.
As for the first-year Chief, you will elect them yourselves.”
This news was like a stone dropped into a calm lake, creating subtle ripples among the new students.
Alvin noticed several eyes shift instantly—some eager to try, some calculating in secret, others watching cautiously.
“As for how you choose them, that is entirely up to you.
So long as it doesn’t violate school rules or cause irreversible harm, the house generally will not interfere.
Consider this your first step in learning to handle internal affairs.”
Jemma’s tone carried a cold, almost indifferent businesslike quality.
“I will return in fifteen minutes to confirm the final result.”
With a slight nod to the group, she turned cleanly on her heel and departed through another door, leaving the dozen or so first-years staring at each other in the dim green light.
Silence flooded the room like icy lake water.
The expressions on the young wizards and witches varied wildly:
Pansy Parkinson tilted her chin high, her eyes scanning a few boys of noble lineage;
Vincent Crabbe and Goyle—Draco’s two cronies—looked around blankly;
Theodore Nott stood alone in the shadows, his expression unreadable;
Blaise Zabini wore an amused smirk, as if anticipating a fine show about to unfold.
Alvin Vance himself had little interest in the title of Year Chief.
It was akin to being the “chief outer disciple” or “lead inner disciple” in a martial sect—usually meaning more responsibility and trivial chores.
He preferred to focus his energy on adapting to this new environment and his own cultivation.
He stood quietly in place, content to observe how things developed.
Ultimately, it was Draco Malfoy who broke the silence.
He stepped forward and straightened his spine, his platinum-blonde hair looking strangely eerie under the dim green glow.
Clearing his throat, he spoke with a deliberately raised tone imbued with inherent superiority:
“Obviously, we need a Chief who can represent the standard of Slytherin first-years and understands how to uphold the house’s traditions and honor.”
His grey eyes swept over the crowd, lingering deliberately on the faces of a few non-pure-bloods or those from less prominent backgrounds.
“I am Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy family.
I assume everyone here understands the Malfoy family’s standing in the wizarding world.”
He paused, seemingly waiting for applause or agreement, but only Crabbe and Goyle nodded clumsily.
Taking this as implicit support, Draco raised his chin even higher and posed the decisive question with condescending arrogance:
“So, does anyone object?
If not, I shall serve as the First-Year Chief.”
Draco’s arrogant gaze, full of entitlement, swept the room.
Watching this display, Alvin could not help but shake his head inwardly.
The young master’s behavior was painfully similar to the wealthy children he had seen at the market below the mountain, showing off new toys—except here, the toys were family names and bloodlines.
Thirty seconds passed quickly.
Unsurprisingly, no one raised a single voice of doubt or objection. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
After all, no one wanted to publicly challenge the heir of the Malfoy family on their first day of school, competing for a troublesome position that was bound to offend people.
In a situation like this, silence was interpreted as consent.
A satisfied flush rose on Draco’s pale face.
He took the silence as a unanimous vote.
“Very well,” he said, triumph practically brimming from his voice.
“Then the First-Year Chief shall be—”
“—Malfoy.”
Jemma Farley’s voice rang out right on cue.
She had returned to the common room at some point and now stood at the archway leading to the dormitories.
Her face was devoid of expression, as though she had witnessed the entire process yet could not be bothered to comment.
She cut straight through any potential awkwardness and settled the matter.
“Good.
Since the Chief is decided, Malfoy, come with me for a moment.
There are year affairs and guidelines I need to brief you on.
The rest of you, wait here.”
Draco immediately squared his shoulders, trying his best to make his posture look solemn and authoritative as he followed Jemma to the side.
The remaining first-years dispersed around the common room, the atmosphere relaxing slightly as low chatter started up.
About fifteen minutes later, Draco returned.
His chin was held even higher than before, his robes looked crisply pressed, and his face bore a look of calculated composure mixed with unhideable smugness—the classic posture of a newly appointed official.
Jemma followed behind him and addressed the crowd:
“Next, girls follow me.
Boys, Chief Malfoy will lead you to your respective dormitories.
The rooms are already assigned, two to a room.
There are name tags on the doors.
Remember the common room lights-out time, and keep quiet.”
Draco cleared his throat, trying hard to mimic Jemma’s authoritative tone:
“Form two lines and follow me.
No noise.”
The group moved through an archway into a deeper, damper stone corridor.
On either side were heavy wooden doors fitted with brass nameplates.
Walking in the line, Alvin felt a slight sense of relief.
Ron had exaggeratedly described Gryffindor’s tower dorms as “as noisy as the Weasley kitchen” and “five people squeezed together.” In comparison, Slytherin’s two-person rooms sounded almost luxurious.
It meant he would have more private space and a quiet environment, making things far easier whether for reading, thinking, or doing his daily mandatory breathing exercises. The source of this chapter is NovelPing.
He didn’t demand much from his living conditions, but peace and quiet were definitely a top priority.
The line moved slowly forward.
Pairs of young wizards found their names on the doorplates, pushed open their doors with expressions of curiosity, excitement, or reserved pride, and disappeared inside.
Theodore Nott was paired with Blaise Zabini; Crabbe and Goyle were naturally inseparable…
Fewer and fewer people remained beside him, and the echoes in the corridor grew clearer.
Alvin’s eyes swept over the names on door after door, searching for “Alvin Selwyn.”
As the minutes ticked by, the empty corridor unexpectedly held only Alvin, Draco, and the final dormitory at the end of the hall waiting for its occupants.
Draco naturally reached out to push open the door engraved with his name, stepping aside to gesture for Alvin to enter with an offhand air of ownership.
Alvin’s gaze, however, landed on the two brass nameplate frames mounted beside the door.
Time seemed to freeze.
The expression on Alvin’s face—which had remained placid ever since entering Hogwarts, through the Sorting Hat’s trial, the Slytherin environment, and Draco’s arrogance—cracked perceptibly in that single instant.
His pupils dilated almost imperceptibly, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, and a wave of mixed shock, absurdity, and “why did it have to be him” resignation rippled through the deep, usually calm depths of his eyes.
*Patriarchs above…
Oh no, when in Rome…
Merlin’s beard!
Why am I paired with this…
this peacock of a guy who looks impossibly hard to get along with, filled with blood prejudice, and preening around like a proud bird?!*
Images of the future flashed through his mind: Draco talking endlessly about pure-blood family glory, nitpicking his “Eastern habits,” or judging his meditative stance as “bizarre behavior”…
Peace and quiet?
Private space?
Huge question marks hung over both.
His disdain and annoyance were too obvious, and he had forgotten to put up his usual mask of composure.
Draco, just about to step through the doorway, happened to turn around and caught the fleeting, unhidden storm of complex emotions on Alvin’s face.
It was definitely not delight or honor; it looked more like…
disgust?
Resistance?
Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the Malfoy family, pamper-bred since childhood, used to flattery and sycophancy—when had he ever been looked at like that?
Especially right after he had been “gloriously appointed” Chief, feeling his status even more exalted.
An offended rage instantly rushed to his face, flushing his pale skin red.
His grey-blue eyes narrowed dangerously, and his voice turned sharp with displeasure:
“Hey!
Selwyn!” He glared at Alvin, his tone rigid.
“Got a problem living with me?”