The Slytherin common room had settled into an unusual calm by the time the first years returned.
Green light from the lake filtered softly through the tall windows, casting slow-moving shadows across the stone walls. Only a handful of seventh years were present—lounging near the fireplace, voices low, laughter unguarded. They were savoring what they all knew would be their last stretch of peace before classes, politics, and expectations closed in again.
The sound of the entrance opening drew attention.
One by one, the first years stepped inside.
They didn't burst in.
They didn't chatter.
They looked… tired. Focused. Different.
That alone was enough to draw notice.
Matthew Fawley, Slytherin Head Boy, straightened from where he'd been speaking with two other seventh years. His gaze sharpened as he watched the group cross the common room together—robes rumpled, expressions serious, posture unconsciously disciplined.
Interesting.
He pushed himself to his feet and intercepted them before they could disperse.
"You're late," Fawley said evenly. Not accusatory. Curious. "Where have you been training?"
The word was deliberate.
The first years slowed, then stopped.
For a brief moment, they exchanged glances—silent, instinctive communication passing between them. There was hesitation there. Not fear.
Uncertainty.
Was the dueling hall meant to be a secret?
Nyx Calder stepped forward before anyone else could speak.
Her posture was composed, chin level, eyes steady.
"We practiced basic spells," she said calmly. "Lumos, mostly."
That was true.
Just not the whole truth.
"And the training location?" Fawley asked, gaze flicking from face to face.
Nyx didn't flinch.
"For that," she replied, "you'll have to ask Professor Snape. Or our representative."
A faint shift rippled through the common room.
Fawley raised an eyebrow.
"You're aware," he said mildly, "that you're speaking to the Head Boy?"
Nyx met his eyes without hesitation.
"Yes," she said evenly. "Head Boy Fawley."
Adrian Pucey stepped in smoothly beside her.
"And it was you," he added, "who appointed Alastair as our representative."
There it was.
Not defiance.
Not disrespect.
Alignment.
Fawley studied them more carefully now.
"Where is he?" he asked.
A beat.
"We don't know," Adrian replied honestly.
That, too, was true.
For a long moment, Fawley said nothing. His gaze lingered on them—on their restraint, their cohesion, the way none of them tried to talk over the others or deflect responsibility.
Finally, he nodded once.
"Very well," he said. "To your dormitories. All of you."
No reprimand.
No interrogation.
Just an order.
The tension eased immediately.
"Yes, Head Boy," Nyx said, inclining her head slightly.
The group split off, heading toward their respective staircases—quiet, orderly, united in a way that hadn't been there that morning.
Fawley watched them go.
Then he glanced toward the corridor Alastair usually favored.
Training.
All day.
Under Snape's approval.
A slow, thoughtful expression crossed his face.
Something was moving in Slytherin.
And whatever it was—
It had started without asking permission.
Alastair's POV
The fourth floor was quieter than the rest of the castle at night—too quiet, in fact. The sort of silence that made even Fred and George Weasley lower their voices… briefly.
Barely a minute after we regrouped, they were already circling me like impatient Kneazles.
"So," Fred whispered loudly.
"About those secret pathways to Hogsmeade," George added, whispering just as loudly.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"Shhh. Quiet down, will you?" I hissed. "Do you want to alert Filch?"
That did it.
Both of them froze, eyes darting instinctively toward the corridor.
Fred leaned closer. "Right. Silent. Stealthy. Very Slytherin of you."
George nodded solemnly. "Now tell us."
"Where the pathways are," Fred finished.
I sighed, then allowed myself a small smile.
"Alright," I said. "But you'll owe me one."
Both of them grinned in perfect sync.
"Oh, that's dangerous," Cedric muttered from behind them, amused but wary. "Never let twins owe you a favor."
I ignored him and stepped toward a seemingly ordinary stretch of wall—an old, tall mirror mounted in a stone alcove. Its surface was slightly dulled with age, frame etched with faint runes most students would never notice.
"This one," I said quietly.
Fred squinted. "That's a mirror."
"For now," I replied.
I moved closer, fingers brushing the edge of the frame as I checked the corridor once more. Empty. Safe.
As I did, Blake fell into step beside me.
Her arms were crossed.
That was never a good sign.
"Where were you today?" she asked quietly.
I didn't answer immediately.
"And why," she continued, tone sharpening, "weren't you at dinner?"
There it was.
Accusation wrapped in concern.
"I've already put the training plan in motion," I said simply, still facing the mirror.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"…What?"
"I couldn't delay," I added. "Momentum matters."
She stared at me for a moment, then lowered her voice further.
"Then why didn't you call me?"
I turned to face her then.
"Because," I said honestly, "I need the other Slytherins to trust me first. To accept me as their representative before I open anything to all houses."
Her expression softened just a little—but the tension didn't fully leave.
"But you'll join me," I continued. "Tomorrow. Badeea and the others will probably keep you busy most of the day anyway. Come during dinner."
She studied my face, searching for anything I wasn't saying.
Finally, she nodded.
"Alright," she said. "I'll see you then."
I leaned closer and lowered my voice, just for her.
"Dueling hall," I said. "Portrait of duelists. Password is Ad duellum adsumus."
Her eyebrows lifted.
"A dueling hall," she murmured.
I smiled. "I told you I was serious."
Before she could respond, Fred cleared his throat exaggeratedly.
"Ahem. Still here. Still waiting. Still very interested in illegal Hogsmeade access."
George nodded. "Preferably before we die of suspense."
I turned back to the mirror, raised my wand, and tapped the lower corner twice in a precise rhythm.
The glass rippled.
Slowly, silently, the mirror swung inward—revealing a narrow passage descending into darkness beyond.
Fred's eyes lit up like it was Christmas.
"Oh this," he breathed, "is beautiful."
George clutched his chest. "I think I'm in love."
Cedric shook his head, smiling despite himself.
I stepped aside and gestured them forward.
"Remember," I said quietly, "you owe me."
Fred grinned over his shoulder. "Oh, we'll pay."
George added cheerfully, "With interest."
Somehow, I doubted that was reassuring.
But as we slipped into the passage, the mirror sealing shut behind us without a sound, I couldn't help thinking—
Whatever chaos the twins caused next—
At least this time, it would be on my terms.