"Right, right. Today, the Prefects will hold an internal academy meeting. Everyone, quickly line up. Yes, fall in." Louis clapped his hands, attempting to take charge.
However, he wasn't entirely sure what 'lining up' actually entailed, and having never organized a house-wide event, his voice was thin and lacked authority. He seemed incredibly weak.
The surrounding students understood the instruction, but they were uneasy. This was supposed to be a meeting, yet the exits were barricaded. Under the command of the three Prefects, they began to move with a sluggish, lazy indifference.
Among them, it was actually the older pure-blood wizards who reacted the fastest. While most students had little contact with Alan and weren't sensitive to his presence, these upperclassmen had spent the last two years with a sharp sword hanging over their heads. They lived in a state of constant, low-level dread regarding Alan, so their movements were significantly more urgent than the others. Friends like Vivian and William, though baffled, were also quick to cooperate.
Alan watched the dawdling crowd and realized he had to take over personally. The three Prefects lacked the presence to command respect; even the younger students treated them like children.
"Now, everyone listen to my command. Using my right-hand side as the baseline, the outermost edge will be the First Year. Moving to the left, the years will go from lowest to highest. Face me and arrange yourselves vertically from shortest to tallest. I am giving you twenty seconds. If you are not in position by then, you will bear the consequences. Twenty, nineteen..."
Alan kept his voice at a reasonable level for the indoor space, but as he spoke, he subtly wove a trace of the Fear Curse into his tone. While he wasn't shouting, his voice carried a heavy, inexplicable sense of oppression. The countdown forced the indifferent students into a sudden state of urgency.
Used to being undisciplined, the sudden demand for collective action threw them into chaos. It looked like a frantic street market. Students crowded together, and some were so flustered they just spun in place, unable to find their proper year.
Alan watched the noisy scene and nodded. This was what he wanted. He wasn't afraid of them being nervous or making mistakes—those could be corrected. He was only afraid of apathy. A simple lineup served a simple purpose: it allowed him to observe their sense of direction and their ability to follow a directive.
He let them struggle for a few moments, intentionally slowing his countdown to allow them to experience the pressure of finding their own place. When the count finished, a complete formation had emerged. It was crooked, with uneven spacing and mismatched heights, but they were in lines.
"You, you, and those two—you're in the wrong line. You're Third Years; why are you in the Fourth Year block? And those two in the front, you're Second Years; why have you squeezed into the First Year line?"
Alan moved through the ranks, calling out names and shifting students until the formation was orderly. Finally, he scanned the room. In their eyes, he saw confusion, curiosity, fear, and nervousness—but the heavy shroud of apathy had lifted. He took out a clipboard and called out, "Now, from the upper years to the lower, we begin roll call. If your name is called, answer 'Here!' William Higgs..."
William started, then immediately straightened his back. Having trained under Alan for a long time, he was accustomed to this level of discipline. "Here!" he shouted.
With William setting the tone, the others followed suit. Even with the occasional slow response, the process went smoothly. To Alan, this wasn't just about attendance; it was about the habit of interaction. A simple response established boundaries and cultivated a sense of obedience. Once obedience was established, rules and discipline could follow. Furthermore, the act of answering allowed the students a moment to settle their nerves.
"Very good. All of Slytherin is present. Now, we officially begin today's academy meeting." Alan closed his clipboard and stowed his pen. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood ramrod straight, his eyes sharp.
"I know many of you have questions. You don't understand why this display was necessary, and you're curious about my intentions. I ask for silence, and I will answer those questions one by one."
The students relaxed slightly; at least the immediate tension had broken. They watched the solemn young wizard on the stairs.
"Since there are many new faces, I will start by introducing myself. I am a Fifth Year, Alan Wilson. This year, I have been appointed Prefect by the Head of House and the Headmaster. I am aware that I have many nicknames in this school—the Ghost of Slytherin, the Ministry's Battle Hero, and others. For our purposes, you will call me Prefect Wilson, or simply Prefect."
"Most of you do not know me. Even though we have shared this space for years, I have rarely spoken, and many of you likely didn't even know my full name until tonight. That no longer matters. While I serve as Prefect, you will be facing me frequently."
Alan scanned the crowd again. "Now, to the main subject. Do you know why I arranged this meeting, and why I have taken up the mantle of Slytherin's Prefect?"