Your votes keep this climbing.
Thanks!
The headmaster’s office was warm and bright, filled with the distinctive scent of old books and parchment.
Fawkes was preening on his perch, letting out soft, melodic trills.
The portraits of past headmasters lining the walls were all staring in open astonishment at the office, now packed well beyond capacity.
Professor McGonagall had escorted in a group of thoroughly dejected little lions.
There were so many of them that she’d had to cast a Space-Extension Charm just to fit everyone inside.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his broad desk, the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles glimmering with gentle warmth.
His long silver beard quivered slightly with his cheerful smile.
“Minerva, and dear children.” Dumbledore’s voice was rich and warm as honey, seemingly oblivious to the faint smell of scorched air still clinging to everyone in the room.
“It seems the air in Hogwarts’ corridors was particularly lively today, wasn’t it?
Would any of you care for a lemon sherbet, children?
Or perhaps a cockroach cluster?” He chuckled and nudged the candy dish a little further across the desk.
Jiang Fengyue could have sworn he saw Professor McGonagall glare at Dumbledore.
“Albus, what took place in that corridor was absolutely appalling — a house-wide conflict the likes of which I have never witnessed in all my years at this school.
Every participant is present.”
“Oh, children.
That is not very good at all.” Dumbledore blinked.
“So — which of you would like to tell me exactly what turned the corridor into the final match of the Quidditch World Cup?”
The students immediately erupted, all of them talking at once, the room dissolving into pure noise.
“Quiet!” Professor McGonagall bit down on her anger.
“One at a time!”
James shoved his way to the front.
“Headmaster!
It was Malfoy!
He attacked me and Sirius!
He rallied the Slytherins to threaten us!”
Sirius backed him up, speaking through gritted teeth.
“That’s right.
Malfoy is a complete lunatic.”
The other Gryffindors piled on.
“Malfoy gathered the Slytherin students first!
We only stepped in after!”
Then Snape let out a sharp, cold snort.
It was the first time this boy of so few words had spoken up in front of so many people.
He raised his head and spoke with open contempt.
“It was Potter and Black who attacked me first.
I was walking along the corridor when they rushed over and hit me with several offensive spells without warning.
Prefect Malfoy was protecting me.
That is why the conflict started.”
Lily nodded firmly from beside him.
“Yes.
Potter and Black struck first.
I’ll attest to that.”
“Lily!” James’s voice cracked.
There was real hurt in his eyes, but he refused to let it show, so he turned it into a complaint instead, staring at her.
“How could you side with this sniv, with Snape!”
“I only side with whoever’s innocent,” Lily said, her voice flat as ice.
Dumbledore looked at Snape.
Then at Lily beside him.
“It seems the cause of all this is quite clear already.
Young Mr.
Malfoy, do you have anything to add?”
“I merely corrected an error,” Jiang Fengyue said, utterly calm.
“And the rest of the Slytherin students?
Why are they not here?”
“They cast no offensive spells whatsoever.
They only used defensive charms to protect their housemates.
This confrontation has nothing to do with them.
The fault was mine, entirely, I acted of my own will.”
The little lions grumbled, but none of them argued.
Because what he’d said was the truth.
The only one who’d actually attacked them was Malfoy.
“And mine as well,” Snape said quietly.
“I’m the reason any of this happened.”
“Alright, children.” Dumbledore’s voice was unhurried, but it carried something that settled the room.
“Minerva, thank you for bringing them all here.
Fawkes seems rather astonished by everyone’s energy today.” Fawkes answered with a low, rippling trill.
Professor McGonagall’s face remained carved from stone.
“Albus.
The facts are clear.
Potter and Black openly used offensive spells in the corridor, an attempt to humiliate and harm a fellow student.
Young Mr.
Malfoy…” Her gaze moved to Jiang Fengyue.
“Responded with powerful silent, wandless magic, and then gathered the Slytherin students, escalating this into a house-wide confrontation.
Potter and Black assaulted a classmate.
Mr.
Malfoy ignited a house conflict.
Everyone here deserves appropriate consequences.”
Dumbledore nodded, thoughtful.
His attention returned to Jiang Fengyue.
“Silent and wandless, and executed flawlessly at that, and you managed defensive magic capable of holding off multiple attackers simultaneously.
Your magical ability is exceptional, young Mr.
Malfoy.
It exceeds that of some professors.”
“My entire body still hurts,” Sirius muttered.
“He nearly killed me.”
“I trust you will feel better once you’ve been treated, Mr.
Black.
However, ‘intent’ and ‘outcome’ are two separate matters.” There was a quiet gleam in Dumbledore’s eyes.
“Young Mr.
Malfoy, the spells you used were, for the most part, non-destructive: Disarming Charms, Binding Curses, that sort of thing.
I believe you were exercising restraint throughout, were you not?”
Jiang Fengyue’s gaze finally met Dumbledore’s, those steady, deep blue eyes behind the half-moon glass.
“I only wanted to drive them back and protect the Slytherin students, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore smiled.
He turned to face the room, his voice still warm, but carrying a weight that left no room for argument.
“Very well.
Let us settle this.
Mr.
Potter, Mr.
The subsequent large-scale attack on Mr.
Malfoy by Gryffindor students only compounds this.
One hundred points from Gryffindor.
Mr.
Potter and Mr.
Black will report to Mr.
Filch every evening for one month and complete whatever cleaning work he assigns.
They will also submit a formal written apology to Mr.
Snape, and I expect to see that letter on my desk tomorrow.” He looked across the remaining Gryffindors.
“The rest of you will serve three days of detention assisting Professor Sprout with the magical plants in the greenhouses.”
He turned.
“As for young Mr.
Malfoy, there were extenuating circumstances, but the force of your response and the gathering of Slytherin students caused considerable disruption.
Twenty points from Slytherin.
One week of detention.
You will be responsible for cleaning the Trophy Room.” Dumbledore held his gaze steadily as he said it.
“Finally, I hope today leaves a lasting impression on all of you.” He looked around the room, and something in his voice sharpened.
“Hogwarts is not a battlefield for settling personal scores.
Competition between houses should be open, honest, and conducted in a spirit of friendship.
Bullying, violence, and humiliation in any form will not be tolerated here.”
Every student in the room nodded.
Professor McGonagall let out a heavy sound through her nose and swept her gaze across them all like a magistrate delivering a final verdict.
“Is that understood?
Detention begins today.
Go find your professors — now.”
The little lions bolted, streaming out the door like fish released into open water.
Lily lingered a moment, watching James and Sirius support each other as they walked away, then turned and waved goodbye to Snape before following the rest.
Jiang Fengyue was last.
Before he left, he glanced back at Dumbledore.
The old man winked at him.
Snape was waiting just outside the door.
The boy looked up at him with barely concealed guilt, head low.
Jiang Fengyue patted him once on the back, told him to go let everyone know he was all right, and then walked to the Trophy Room alone.
The air inside was thick with drifting dust, years’ worth of it, catching the shafts of light and hanging there like smoke.
Jiang Fengyue rinsed out the cloth without comment and got to work, wiping down every trophy, every cabinet, working a brush into the engravings to lift out the deep-seated grime that had settled into the grooves over decades.
Sweat began to bead slowly along his forehead.
He’d tied his platinum hair back with a ribbon, though a few strands had worked themselves loose and hung against his cheeks.
Near the end, he found the plaque, “Special Award for Services to the School.” He polished the name engraved on it clean, stared at it for a long moment, and set it on one of the higher shelves.
Only once the last cabinet gleamed did he finally straighten up.
His back ached.
His arms ached.
The hours of bending and reaching had pulled something out of him.
He looked around the room, rinsed the cloth and brush thoroughly, wrung them dry, returned them to their places, and left.
By the time he crossed back into the dungeons, the moon was high and the castle was long asleep.
He pushed open the door to the Prefect’s dormitory with tired hands and stopped.
The wax lamp was lit.
He blinked his eyes open properly and found the Dark Lord sitting in the armchair by the window, long legs crossed at the knee with effortless elegance, pale fingers idly turning the corner of a page.
The black tea on the table had a Warming Charm on it; thin wisps of steam curled from the cup.
Nagini lay curled at his feet, and at the sound of the door she raised her head and looked toward the entrance.
Those scarlet eyes found him across the room.
➤ Next: Blood Lotus