The Slytherins were clearly divided.
At one end of the long table sat Draco Malfoy—freshly praised and awarded 200 House Points—along with his loyal followers. At the other end, sat those who loathed him, staring daggers from their proud Slytherin eyes.
George and Fred pulled out a bottle of Dragonblood Whiskey.
The profits from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had reached heights high enough to support unnecessary indulgence—besides, this was a graduation celebration, and with Harry footing the tab, they had no fear.
The Ravenclaws remained reserved at first.
But after George and Fred's fireworks mercilessly swept across their table, the Eagles lost control.
Seven years!
Could these two never quit their pranks?
Professor McGonagall frowned. "Albus, you spoil the students far too much."
"Isn't it wonderful? So youthful, so harmonious," Dumbledore replied, pushing his glasses up, as if ready to shed tears at the sight.
McGonagall looked.
George had been tackled into a pool of butterbeer and conjured goo by a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff working together. Fred, meanwhile, was being flown like a kite—screaming in joy all the while.
Neville stripped off his shirt, drawing a square in the dirt, ready to box.
"Harmony"—starting with the same "H", but McGonagall didn't think it should be spelled like this.
The Slytherins finished eating and hurried out.
Outside the Great Hall.
Draco was blocked.
"What's your deal, Malfoy?" A sixth-year Slytherin squinted, his voice sharp, aggressive. "You really going to betray Slytherin?"
"Betray?" Draco sneered. "Who's betraying Slytherin here?"
He straightened his chest, Prefect badge gleaming.
"I am the recognized Slytherin Prefect of Hogwarts."
His voice carried a note of cheerful defiance.
"That recognition came from that idiot Dumble—" the Slytherin spat.
Draco cut him off. "No. It's not about Dumbledore."
"It's Hogwarts. Shall I spell it out for you? Dumbledore may be headmaster, but he doesn't speak for the castle itself."
The Slytherin drew his wand, slicing the air. "We're the majority."
"Majority doesn't always mean right," Malfoy shot back, also drawing his wand.
Protego!
He cast quickly.
Confringo!
At the same moment, a spell exploded. With a loud blast and a cloud of smoke, Draco was blown back, rolling onto the floor, flicking out a Transfiguration curse in response.
The duel began.
Inside the Hall was noisy and lively. Outside—also noisy and lively.
Another explosion spell burst open the Great Hall doors. Half a door hurtled through, grazing Dumbledore's hat and slamming into the wall behind him.
McGonagall froze.
George and Fred's chaos had been so distracting, she hadn't noticed the fight outside.
"Albus!" she sprang up in panic, staring at the Headmaster.
A brawl—on the last day of the school year.
Dumbledore waved a hand. "Let them make their choice, Minerva." His expression was calm, unsurprised.
There was little at Hogwarts that could be hidden from Dumbledore—especially not a door's-width away. He had likely been expecting this.
Just then—
Malfoy flew back into the Hall, crashing onto the Hufflepuff table, food scattering.
Draco had improved greatly, especially under Professor Longbottom's dueling lessons—but even with skill, he was outnumbered, and fists can't beat a dozen wands.
Cedric stood immediately, casting a charm to stop Draco's fall. He narrowed his eyes at those at the door. "Attacking a Prefect—you've gone too far."
"We don't recognize him as a Slytherin Prefect," one of the Slytherins replied. "And, Diggory, this is a House matter."
He looked up.
At the staff table, McGonagall was arguing heatedly with Dumbledore.
"He is a recognized Prefect," Cedric said calmly, echoing Draco's own words.
Only a Hogwarts-recognized Prefect could unite the four Houses' magic to form the great crest.
The Slytherin scoffed. "You're just a Hufflepuff."
"I'm also Head Boy," Cedric pointed to his badge, which had remained proudly pinned to his robes since fifth year. "Protecting every student is my duty."
Draco climbed up from the table. "Diggory, I don't need your help."
"Draco, I'm upholding Hogwarts," Cedric said, drawing his wand.
The Hufflepuffs dropped everything—juice, food, George, Fred—and raised their wands.
"Anthony," Cedric turned back to the Ravenclaw Prefect. "Take the younger students—fourth years and below—back."
Anthony nodded, coordinating with the female Prefects.
Draco looked at Cedric, reiterating, "I didn't ask for your help, Diggory."
"I'm protecting Hogwarts," Cedric replied, again.
Ron turned to Harry. "You're a Gryffindor Prefect."
Harry nudged him. "Your call, Ron."
"I don't like Malfoy," Ron frowned, "but he's still fighting for Hogwarts. So…"
"You're a Prefect, Ron," Harry said gently. "Trust your instincts."
Ron turned and said to Parvati Patil, "Take the younger years back."
"To the rest of you—let's teach the Slytherins a lesson. Fifth year deserves a proper finale."
George and Fred, groaning from their injuries, scrambled up.
"Little Ronnikins, you finally look like a real Prefect," George grinned.
"No, no, don't call him that anymore," Fred shook his head. "He's grown."
"Indeed! Prefect Weasley—Fred and George, your loyal followers, await your command!"
The Gryffindors raised their wands.
Neville wiped sweat from his brow, raised a fist, wand in hand, and charged.
"Why aren't the professors stopping this?" Hermione looked up—McGonagall was still arguing.
"Hogwarts doesn't get many chances to unite," Harry replied.
"Dumbledore wants them to realize—it's not just disagreement. It's about stance."
Stance?
Hermione blinked, thoughtful.
The Ravenclaws didn't hesitate long either. They joined in quickly. Being clever, they understood Dumbledore's intent—and knew the only right response.
The hostile Slytherins had beaten Draco by numbers.
Now, they were outnumbered—and outmatched.
They were quickly taken down, lying sprawled across the floor.
The Gryffindors and a few bullied Slytherins seized the moment for payback.
McGonagall finally stood, waving her wand to transform tables and benches. She levitated the injured students and sent them to the infirmary.
"I'm very disappointed!"
"A brawl to end the school year?"
"Just look at you!"
"Mr. Diggory! Professor Dumbledore just praised you!"
Cedric bowed his head in shame.
"And Mr. Weasley—you're a Prefect of Gryffindor. What kind of example is this?! Gryffindor loses 100 points!"
Ron opened his mouth but thought better of it. In this situation, staying silent was safest.
"That's next year's 100 points, deducted in advance!" McGonagall clarified. "You'll also serve one week's detention after the start of term. As your Head of House, I must teach you what being a proper Prefect means."
"Percy would never behave like this."
Ron nodded obediently.
"Also—extra holiday homework. A one-foot essay of reflection. With spacing, font size, and formatting exactly like the textbook!"
Ron looked up, eyes wide in disbelief.
One foot long!
And with tiny handwriting!
"Any objections, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall asked coldly.
"No, ma'am," Ron muttered.
"And all the other Prefects too," McGonagall declared, pointing one by one. "You're all writing the same over summer."
"Mr. Malfoy—you're not exempt either."
Draco nodded.
McGonagall glared at Dumbledore and stormed off toward the infirmary.
"Malfoy, you look pathetic now," Ron spat, fists clenched.
Helping someone you despise—and getting punished hardest for it.
"You brought this on yourself," Draco shrugged arrogantly. He glanced at the Prefects. "I never asked for your help."
"I could've handled those guys."
Ron growled. "We helped you—even if you didn't ask. A 'thank you' wouldn't kill you!"
"If I helped you without asking," Draco retorted, "would you thank me, Weasley?"
Ron inhaled deeply.
No, he wouldn't. He'd think Malfoy had gone insane.
"Learn from Potter," Draco sneered. "He's smart. Stayed out of it."
"No action, no punishment."
Neville cut in. "You should be grateful Harry didn't get involved."
"Or you'd be in the infirmary right now."
"And frankly, I kinda want to punch you myself."
Cedric chuckled unexpectedly.
Malfoy's smirk stiffened. He looked at them all and said, still arrogantly:
"Really? Longbottom, you better be careful next term—
Because I'll be challenging you to a duel."
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Powerstones?
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