— — — — — —
Astoria had been about to slip away the moment she heard Dumbledore speak, but Tom grabbed her wrist and held her firmly in place.
He was curious too. What could possibly have escalated things to a full-blown fight?
So leaving now wasn't an option.
...
Once most of the onlookers and unrelated students had cleared out, Dumbledore, as the host, stepped forward and gently asked what had happened.
The ones he called on were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
Draco still looked relatively composed. Aside from a bit of dust on the hem of his robe, which he brushed off almost reflexively, he held himself together.
Harry, however, was in far worse shape.
His glasses were shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, his hair clung messily to his forehead, and his arm was scraped raw. Moments ago, he'd taken a curse head-on while shielding Ron behind him. After being knocked down, someone had taken the opportunity to stomp on him a few times. His uniform was covered in shoeprints, layered dark and light.
Without his glasses, the Boy Who Lived could barely see. He stumbled over his words, incoherent and all over the place, as if his IQ had suddenly dropped by half.
With a quiet sigh, Dumbledore lifted his wand and tapped the frame of Harry's glasses. The cracks vanished instantly.
Harry blinked a few times, adjusting to the light, then launched into an explanation alongside Draco.
They both tried hard to distance themselves from the incident, pushing most of the blame onto the Ilvermorny students. Still, with so many witnesses around at the time, neither dared to outright lie.
As they spoke, Fontaine swept a sharp gaze over his own students. No one stepped forward to contradict them. Only two students hesitantly repeated the insults that had been thrown at Harry and Draco.
That was enough. Fontaine could already tell they were telling the truth.
When the two boys finished, they both lowered their heads, nerves twisting in their chests.
How many points would they lose this time? If you wanted to be serious about it, this could be considered an international incident. Would it go as far as calling their parents?
Silence settled over the corridor.
Fontaine frowned deeply. Dumbledore said nothing. Okeye couldn't stop sighing.
As for the other headmasters, they stood off to the side like it had nothing to do with them, openly enjoying the spectacle.
"Tch."
Tom clicked his tongue, breaking the awkward quiet.
"All this over a room? And it blew up into this?" He glanced at Fontaine. "Professor, did your students come here to learn or to fight?"
"And Professor Okeye—your students…" He paused, then went on, tone mild but pointed. "Your school might want to put more emphasis on cultural education. Can't have them jumping at a couple of instigating words and becoming someone else's weapon. Don't you agree?"
Okeye's old face flushed red.
"You—!" The old man spun on his students, his voice low and sharp. "When we get back, every single one of you will do his punishment as voluntary work! Until it's done, no classes, no graduation!"
Voluntary? What part of this could possibly be called voluntary?
The Uagadou students instantly wilted, heads drooping like they'd just been handed a death sentence.
"My apologies. This is my oversight."
Dumbledore stepped in at just the right moment, smoothing things over with his usual warmth. "I underestimated everyone's eagerness to experience something new and failed to make proper arrangements."
"Professor Fontaine, Professor Okeye—these are young people. It's natural for tempers to flare."
He paused, then continued, "That said, the impact is undeniably poor. In that case, why don't we each discipline our own students and put this matter to rest?"
"I agree," Okeye said quickly, nodding in relief.
After all, his students hadn't even been involved at first. They'd just followed the crowd and gotten dragged into it. By any fair measure, they were in the weakest position.
Fontaine had no objections either. He cast a cold glance over his students, already considering how to deal with them once they returned.
But not everyone was satisfied.
"Hold on."
Tom raised a hand and pointed out the three students who had started the taunting earlier.
"This whole mess started because of them. Professor Fontaine, you don't disagree, do you?"
Fontaine fell silent for a moment. Seeing the guilty, evasive looks on his three students' faces, he gave a reluctant nod.
"Everyone else might have just followed along," Tom said, his tone cooling, "but the ringleaders shouldn't get off lightly."
The three students went pale on the spot, their legs nearly giving out beneath them.
"And what exactly are you proposing?" Fontaine asked, voice low, a hint of caution creeping in.
The boy smiled, suddenly looking modest, almost shy.
"I'm just a student. I can make suggestions, but I don't have the authority to punish anyone directly." Tom tilted his head slightly. "So… how about this? Have them clean every bathroom in Hogwarts."
He paused, then added innocently, "That's not too much, is it?"
Fontaine: "..."
You've already said it out loud. What could possibly be more excessive than that?
But Dumbledore was already looking his way, and those three students had indeed embarrassed him. In the end, Fontaine swallowed it, waved a hand to lift Dumbledore's binding spell, and stormed off with his students, visibly seething.
Okeye gave Dumbledore a polite nod and smile, then immediately changed expression the moment he turned to his own students.
"Minerva, why don't you take everyone to the hospital wing first," Dumbledore said considerately. "And have Poppy prescribe something for you as well."
"Thank you, Albus." McGonagall's expression finally softened, no longer quite as thunderous as before.
Watching her leave, Tom cursed Dumbledore under his breath.
On the surface, it sounded like concern. In reality, the old man just didn't want to go himself and get an earful from Madam Pomfrey, the kind where you couldn't even argue back.
As Dumbledore chatted with the other headmasters and saw them off, Tom quietly raised his guard. The old man was getting craftier by the day. Same as ever, he'd trick you into helping him and still expect a thank-you afterward.
Even so, Tom walked over. He hadn't collected his reward yet.
"Professor, I got the people for you. How are you planning to thank me?"
If Dumbledore hadn't signaled him earlier, Tom wouldn't have bothered sticking his nose in. But, well, he was the headmaster after all, and a little "good cop, bad cop" act couldn't hurt.
"I have two bottles of cognac from fifty years ago. You're welcome to come by and try them when you have time."
"???"
Tom's expression immediately went flat. "Professor, I'm still underage…"
"The origins of prohibition are rather special, you know," Dumbledore said with a mild smile, smoothly changing the subject. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes. "At its core, it was a wartime necessity due to grain shortages. Personally, I've always believed that whether someone can drink should depend on their self-control, not simply their age."
"Headmaster, I helped too," Astoria suddenly spoke up, seeing Tom's dissatisfaction. She gathered her courage and stepped forward. "What about my reward?"
"Oh?" Dumbledore looked at her with interest. "My apologies, Miss Greengrass. I did overlook you. What would you like?"
In his impression, Astoria had always been well-regarded. The professors all liked the well-behaved, gentle girl.
She pretended to think it over for a moment before answering, "Hmm… Tom gets two bottles of wine, so I won't ask for more than that. Just… dragon blood."
Dumbledore's smile froze.
In the end, he still agreed to her request.
With Tom, he could shamelessly dodge a little. After all, the boy had tricked him often enough. Turning the tables once in a while was only fair.
But Astoria was asking for the first time. No matter what, he couldn't quite bring himself to refuse her.
Watching the old man leave with a rare hint of awkwardness, Tom broke into a grin. He pulled the girl into his arms and kissed her as a reward.
"Nicely done, Astoria."
Her cheeks flushed faintly. She said nothing, just smiled softly and leaned against him. She didn't care about dragon blood at all. As long as Tom was happy, that was enough.
— — —
Meanwhile, in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was, as expected, furious.
She worked with practiced efficiency, treating injuries and clearing away lingering curse effects, all while scolding nonstop. From Dumbledore to Fontaine, down to every single student involved in the fight, no one escaped her wrath.
McGonagall, now caught in the crossfire, deeply regretted coming at all. She quickly made up an excuse about having a class to teach and hurried out of the hospital wing like she was fleeing a battlefield.
To be fair, it was about time for class.
But after such a major international incident, neither students nor professors were in the mood to teach or learn.
The cause of the conflict had been simple enough. Yet in the span of a single morning, the enthusiastic young witches and wizards had already spun countless versions of the story.
Some claimed Harry had been fighting an Ilvermorny student over a girlfriend.
Others said Draco and an Ilvermorny student were competing over Harry himself.
With each retelling, the rumors grew more outrageous.
...
Taking advantage of the lunch break, Dumbledore gathered the four Heads of House in a small room behind the Great Hall to discuss how to handle the students involved.
Doing nothing wasn't an option. Too many schools were watching.
But punishing them too harshly would hurt the children. After all, they had been defending their school's honor.
For a moment, even the Heads of House found themselves at a loss.
.
.
.