Warm golden afternoon light spilled across the high windows of Ethan's office, catching the dust motes and turning them into slow-moving sparks. The room held the quiet scent of parchment, ink, and tea that had gone cold long ago. Ethan sat behind his desk, sleeves casually rolled, a neat pile of documents spread out before him. Across from him, Aria nestled deep in a chair far too big for her, relaxed and open. Nina rested happily in her lap, purring softly, watching Ethan with bright, attentive eyes as though she understood every sentence.
Ethan continued, turning over the last page, his tone steady and reflective, the way someone might recite an old, familiar history instead of a bedtime tale.
"And so," he said, setting the parchment aside and looking up at Aria, "that is how the princess died. In the end, she chose to give her life so that the kingdom could finally be free."
For a heartbeat, Aria simply stared at him. Then she hissed softly in protest, clutching Nina a little closer.
"Oh, poor princess," she said, her voice indignant. "Poor Aria. Listening to such a horrible story."
Ethan blinked, clearly surprised. "Horrible?" he repeated, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Why is it horrible? It is a great story."
Aria sat up straighter, dark greenish eyes flashing. "Why should the princess die at the end?" she demanded. "She helped rebuild the kingdom. She freed her people. She did everything right, and she still dies. Shouldn't she have a happy ending?"
Ethan leaned back in his chair, folding his hands loosely together. "Unfortunately," he said gently, "not every story has a happy ending. Her death shows the depth of her sacrifice. She rebelled against a tyrant, freed her people, and saved her kingdom. But in doing so, she gave her life. That is the price she chose to pay."
Aria rolled her eyes dramatically. "That's stupid," she said flatly. "Achieving something only to die for it. What's the point?"
Ethan laughed, the sound warm and unforced. "If you listened carefully, you would know that ruling the kingdom was never her goal," he replied. "Her purpose was to free her people and ensure the kingdom's future. She wanted her brother to become king and rule wisely. She succeeded in that."
Aria sighed deeply, stroking Nina's fur as if seeking comfort. "I don't like it," she muttered. "I don't like the story at all."
"Well," Ethan said, still smiling, "I can tell you another one if you like."
"No," Aria said at once. "I don't want another story. Especially not one with a sad ending. And besides, what kind of adult reads a story like that to a child?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So now you are a child?"
Aria sniffed. "If I weren't a young girl, I would be crying right now and asking why the princess's story was so bad."
Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the door to his office burst open.
A student stood there, breathless and wide eyed. "Professor," he said urgently. "Professor Thorne. There are students fighting outside."
Ethan was on his feet at once. "Where?" he asked. "Show me."
"Near the back corridors," the student replied, already turning to lead the way.
Ethan followed without hesitation, unaware that Aria had slipped from her chair and was padding after him, Nina still nestled in her arms. As they moved through the corridor, Ethan questioned the student.
"How many?"
"There are a lot of students watching," the boy said. "But it's Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. They're fighting."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "I see. Lead on."
The corridor ahead was crowded with students, voices raised in excitement and alarm. As Ethan pushed his way forward, the scene came sharply into focus. Wands were drawn, tempers flaring. Draco Malfoy was pressed against the stone wall, suspended awkwardly, his nose bleeding and one side of his mouth swollen. Broken teeth littered the floor beneath him as he cried out in pain and rage.
Across from him loomed Oberon Black, wand held high, his expression carved with a focus that belonged to someone much older. Harry Potter stood close, no less battered: his face warped by fading spellwork into comical, swollen distortions, though the blood streaking his right hand told a grimmer story. On the ground nearby, several Slytherins lay curled and groaning, casualties of wild magic and stray curses.
"That's enough, Mr Black," Ethan said sharply.
Oberon immediately lowered his wand and stepped back, his posture straightening as he looked at Ethan with cool composure.
Before Ethan could speak again, Hermione hurried forward, positioning herself squarely in front of him.
"Professor," she said breathlessly. "It was Malfoy's fault. He started it. He was mocking Gryffindor, mocking Harry and Ron, and he insulted Harry's mother. He used a spell first. That's why Oberon attacked."
Ethan raised a hand. "That will be enough, Miss Granger. I will inform Professor McGonagall and Professor Crave. As heads of house, they will judge this matter."
He moved past the students and flicked his wand with smooth accuracy. Draco Malfoy was gently lowered to the ground. Ethan knelt beside him, checking his injuries.
"They attacked me," Malfoy whimpered through sobs. "I'll tell my father. I'll tell him every single thing they did—he'll make sure they're expelled before the night's over."
"We are going to the hospital wing," Ethan said calmly. "Now."
He helped Malfoy to his feet and then turned to Harry. "You as well, Mr Potter."
Ethan glanced at a nearby prefect. "Have the professors been informed?"
"Yes, Professor," the prefect replied. "They're on their way."
"Good," Ethan said. "Tell them to meet us at the hospital wing."
He glanced at the few remaining Slytherins sprawled on the floor, then looked to the prefects. "Take the injured to the hospital wing."
The prefects gave quick nods. "Yes, Professor," they replied, already stepping forward to lift the groaning students and guide them toward the hospital wing following him.
Ethan was halfway down the corridor when a sharp, anxious voice cut through the low hum of the castle.
"Oh no. Brother Harry what happened to you?"
He stopped immediately.
Aria's voice carried panic and disbelief, echoing faintly off the stone walls. Ethan turned just in time to see her rushing toward Harry, her small hands clenched into fists as she stared at his bruised face and bloodied hand.
Harry looked away at once.
"It is nothing," he said quickly, too quickly. "Nothing at all. It does not concern you."
Aria did not look convinced in the slightest.
Ethan stepped forward before she could argue further. His expression was calm but firm as he looked down at her.
"Aria," he said, lowering his voice. "Go back to the office. Go to my office and wait there. I will come to you once this is dealt with."
She crossed her arms and lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with stubborn resolve.
"No," she said. "I will follow you."
Ethan studied her in silence for a moment. These recent days had taught him this little girl's expressions well enough to know that the stubborn set of her face meant argument was futile.
"…Fine," he said at last. "But stay close and do not interfere."
Her expression softened instantly, relief replacing defiance, and she nodded eagerly.
Together they turned and began walking toward the hospital wing.
An unusual quiet filled the corridors, the normal buzz of students swapped for low whispers that drifted in from hidden staircases. Harry went ahead, his posture stiff with tension, and Malfoy matched his stride beside him—pale-faced, jaw clenched, every line of his expression a storm of rage and wounded pride.
They reached the hospital wing at last. Ethan raised his hand and pushed the door open.
The familiar scent of potions and sterilized linens filled the air.
Madam Pomfrey stood near one of the beds, bending over a student whose face was hidden beneath a curtain of dark hair. She looked up sharply the moment the door opened.
"What is happening now?" she demanded. "Is someone hurt again?"
Ethan stepped inside, guiding the group forward.
"Unfortunately yes," he said evenly. "These couple of students had an altercation and managed to injure each other in the process."
Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"Every year it is the same," she muttered. "They never learn. Never."
She gestured sharply toward the empty beds.
"You two. Come here. Lie down right now. I'll check the others first."
She turned her attention to the groaning Slytherins nearby.
Harry gave only a moment's pause before following the order. He swung onto the bed and sat rigid at the very edge. Malfoy, by contrast, made every movement a performance—hissing through his teeth as he gingerly lowered himself onto the mattress.
Madam Pomfrey set to work without delay. After checking the Slytherin students and discovering most had only theatrical complaints, she gave them potions for show and confirmed no real damage. Only then did she turn to the pair on the beds.
She approached Harry first, carefully raising his chin to inspect the bruise forming along his cheekbone.
"Hold still," she said briskly.
She waved her wand, murmuring a soft incantation. The discoloration faded almost instantly, leaving only faint redness behind. She then turned her attention to his hand, which was wrapped in a makeshift cloth already soaked through with blood.
She removed it gently.
Harry winced in pain.
"How did you manage this?" she asked.
Harry sighed, the sound barely audible. His eyes lifted toward Draco for a fleeting instant, then fell back to the blood still seeping from his hand.
"My glasses fell when the curse struck them," he said quietly. "They broke into pieces. I cut myself picking up the shards."
Madam Pomfrey hummed, unconvinced but uninterested in pressing further.
"Well. That was foolish," she said. "But manageable."
She poured a silvery potion over the wound. The blood vanished almost immediately, the skin knitting itself back together beneath her watchful gaze.
"Exactly like James," she muttered, so low it was almost to herself.
Ethan heard.
Someone else did too.
A quiet chuckle came from the doorway behind him.
Ethan turned.
Oberon Black stood there, dark eyes glinting with an unplaceable spark. The barest hint of a smile curved his lips—then disappeared as soon as he saw Ethan watching. His features locked into cool neutrality, edged with boredom.
No feeling surfaced after that.
At that moment, raised voices echoed from the corridor outside. Hermione's unmistakable tone rang out, rapid and anxious, overlapping with several others.
Ethan stepped toward the door, intending to disperse the gathering crowd, when it opened again.
Professor McGonagall entered first, her expression sharp and controlled. Behind her came Professor Amalai Crave, tall and severe, his green trimmed robes marking him unmistakably as the head of Slytherin. And trailing just behind them was a red haired woman whose presence immediately changed the atmosphere of the room.
Lily.
She did not hesitate. The moment her eyes landed on Harry, she moved straight to his bedside.
"Harry," she said softly, cupping his face and turning it gently to inspect him. "Are you hurt?"
"I am fine," Harry muttered.
Her eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face, worry unmistakable.
Madam Pomfrey snorted.
"He will live," she said. "Barely scratched."
McGonagall turned her attention to Ethan.
"What happened, Professor Thorne?"
Ethan straightened.
"There was a confrontation," he explained. "I was informed by a prefect and arrived shortly after it began. Mr Malfoy was suspended against the wall by a spell. Mr Potter was involved, as was Mr Black."
Professor Crave's expression darkened immediately at the mention of Malfoy.
"And my student's injuries?" he asked coldly.
Madam Pomfrey turned toward Malfoy, who was now clutching his arm and making a great show of his pain.
"Broken hand," she said. "Nothing permanent if he behaves."
Malfoy chose that moment to speak.
"Are you going to fix my teeth?" he demanded. "If you do not I will tell my father you refused to help me and he will have you fired."
The room went very still.
Madam Pomfrey turned slowly.
"Shut up, boy," she snapped. "If you did not fight, you would not be here. Now drink this."
She shoved a potion into his hands without ceremony.
Malfoy glared but obeyed, grimacing as he swallowed.
Madam Pomfrey then turned sharply toward the gathered students who had begun to creep closer.
"What are you all doing here?" she barked. "Out. All of you. Out now."
They scattered immediately.
Ethan remained where he was, as did Aria, who stood just behind him, peeking around his arm with wide worried eyes fixed on Harry.
Lily noticed her then and offered a small reassuring smile before returning her attention to Harry.
Professor Crave moved closer to Malfoy's bed, his posture rigid.
"This incident is serious," he said. "A broken bone is not a trivial matter. I will inform Mr and Mrs Malfoy immediately. As head of Slytherin, it is my responsibility."
He looked toward McGonagall.
"And I assume the parents of those responsible will also be informed."
Before McGonagall could respond, a small voice spoke up.
"I do not think that is necessary," Professor Flitwick said, having entered quietly during the exchange. "This is a school, not a courtroom. Children misbehave. Detention and point deductions should suffice."
Professor Crave scoffed.
"My student was attacked."
"And others were endangered," Flitwick replied calmly. "Escalation helps no one."
Throughout it all, Lily remained by Harry's side. She brushed his hair back gently, her touch firm but affectionate.
Harry, for his part, glanced occasionally toward Oberon Black, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Each time he did, Lily tapped him lightly on the head and shot him a warning look.
Aria leaned closer, scolding him in a hushed whisper.
"You should not fight," she said sternly. "I will tell brother Harris."
Harry smirked.
"You will do no such thing," he said. "If you do, I will punish you and never talk to you ever."
She stuck her tongue out at him.
McGonagall watched the scene unfold with a tight expression.
"I will speak with Dumbledore," she said at last. "This matter is not concluded."
She turned and left the hospital wing.
Lily remained behind, as did Aria.
Ethan stepped outside a few minutes later. The corridor beyond was filled with anxious faces.
"Professor," Hermione asked immediately. "Is Harry and Oberon all right?"
"They're all right," Ethan assured her. "They'll be discharged from the hospital wing, though they'll face the punishment they've brought on themselves."
"And the house points?" Hermione asked quickly, nerves edging her voice. "How many were deducted from Gryffindor?"
Before Ethan could answer, Flitwick clapped his hands.
"Off you go," he said brightly. "Back to class. Let the professors handle this."
Reluctantly, the students began to scatter. The story had raced ahead of them: Harry Potter, facing down the whole of Slytherin and coming out victorious, leaving the green-robed house in tatters. They'd hurried to witness the aftermath, but Professor Flitwick moved steadily through the group, guiding them away until the corridor fell quiet once more.
Ethan moved down the empty corridor, thoughts heavy on his shoulders.
It would be written off as a childish spat, nothing serious.
Still, he couldn't forget Oberon Black standing steady amid the disorder—his magic clean, powerful, far beyond what an eleven-year-old should manage. The boy had real strength. As someone just beginning his role as an educator, Ethan felt compelled to see more: to test whether this was true talent, a wizard of rare promise waiting to be shaped.