A Dormitory Brawl
Alexander Bay
Alexander lunged and caught the Quaffle in his outstretched hand, the impact knocking back his arm and stinging his fingers. Lavanya, true to her cavalier disregard for the safety of all other players, including those in her own team, simply continued on her previous path barrelled past him so close that his hair was whipped around. He turned around in his broom, just in time to see how fellow teammates made a sharp turn, and then returned to him at a far slower pace.
"What did you do wrong?" he asked lightly. The weather was too good to get seriously annoyed.
Halting her broom, Lavanya shrugged. "Not throw hard enough?"
"No," he said. "You are telegraphing your shots again. It's your right arm. There is no need to point exactly where you are going to chuck the ball. Now, try again! Frederick your turn!"
Alexander tossed Lavanya her Quaffel back and moved back to his usual position a few meters in front of the hoops, at the height of the centre hoops' lower rim. And as Lavanya made her way off, Frederick began to accelerate up the field, his own Quaffel tucked under his arm. His chaser streaked across the midfield towards the goalposts. Unlike Lavanya, who for some reason, always seemed to always be coming straight at you, Frederick gained altitude to throw from a slightly raised elevation. He threw from slightly over ten meters away, using his broom's velocity to good effect. His posture also offered little warning to where Quaffle would be going, and despite Alexander lunging for the left hoop, his arm outstretched, he failed to stop it.
"Just like that," he yelled at Frederick, who braked sharply before diving to catch the Quaffle before it could descend too far.
"Hector, you next!" Alexander yelled over at their team's newest bombed, who launched himself up the length of the pitch to have his own go at the goal and send the Quaffle sailing right by the centre hoop, missing it by half a broom's length.
Alexander sighed deeply as his new chaser sped after the slowly descending ball. While Lavanya got herself into position for her next throw, he spared the rest of his team a glance. His two beaters were hovering far above them, knocking the Bludger back and forth. There was a hollow echoing bang every time one of the clubs struck the heavy iron ball.
Fiona, his seeker, was circling high above them in search of her own quarry.
Lavanya accelerated up the length of the pitch, once again coming straight at him. He sighed, and braced himself, before leaning down on his broom and speeding up forward to close the distance to close the distance and angle. She was going to break off any moment now. He was sure of that. Those amber eyes, he thought. They were quite beautiful. He made a mental note to tell her that sometimes. He did not have the time to register the steel in them, nor consider that he had never seen Lavanya back down from anything, ever. No, he was truly certain she would turn away any moment now and botch her throw.
Realisation struck him too late. With a jarring crash, their bodies collided in mid-air. A bright flash enveloped his senses, followed by nothingness.
He woke up again what felt like only a heartbeat later and found his head resting on a comfortable pillow.
His head throbbed as consciousness seeped back in, the world slowly coming into focus. The first thing Alexander noticed was the sterile, antiseptic smell of the hospital wing. The ceiling above him was a familiar sight, though one he'd hoped to avoid this year. The curtains around his bed were drawn, offering him a measure of privacy, but the low murmur of voices nearby told him he wasn't alone.
"Ah, back with us at last," a voice said, drawing his attention. Madam Fenwick, the school nurse, stood at his bedside, a practiced expression of concern on her face. "You've had quite the knock. How are you feeling?"
Alexander groaned slightly as he tried to sit up, wincing at the dull ache that pulsed through his skull. "Like I got run over by a dragon," he muttered, gingerly touching the side of his head where a bandage was wrapped. "What happened?"
"Ms Rao once again decided to play Quidditch as if it were a full-contact sport," Madam Fenwick replied with a wry smile, gently pushing him back onto the pillows. "She collided with you during practice. You've been out for a few hours, but you should be fine by tomorrow morning."
Alexander groaned again, this time in frustration. "Of course she did. Did we at least manage to get through the rest of the practice?"
Mrs Fenwick chuckled softly. "You're quite the dedicated captain, aren't you? No, practice was called off after your little incident. Your team seemed more concerned about you than getting in more drills, which is a good thing. You could use the rest."
"Sorry, Captain," a familiar voice said sheepishly, and he looked over to spot Lavanya, with a bandaged head, lying on the bed next to him. Alexander turned his head to find Lavanya watching him with an expression that was equal parts guilt and defiance. Her dark hair was pulled back, though a few loose strands had escaped and now framed her face, accentuating the bandage wrapped around her head.
"Lavanya," he said in exasperation. "I know I at one point said 'Fight like you train and train like you fight' but in the future, please reserve your enthusiasm for the other team."
"I will," she promised, flashing him a grin.
"Good, good," Alexander said. His lids suddenly felt very heavy all of the sudden, so he closed them for a moment. When he opened them again, warm golden light was flooding the room. When he sat up, blinking, he spotted Maxwell sitting next to him, reading a book.
"What time is it?" Alexander groaned.
Maxwell closed the book he was reading and looked up. "Just before dinner time," his brother replied and snapped his book shut. "Is my broom okay?" he asked the next thing that came to his mind.
Maxwell chuckled and shook his head in a rare open display of amusement. "You get knocked out cold, and the first thing you ask about is your broom? You're hopeless, Alex." He set his book aside, leaning forward slightly. "Your broom's fine, though. Fiona made sure it was taken care of."
Alexander let out a sigh of relief, easing back against the pillows. "At least that is something,... hey where is Amalia?" he asked, surprised she was not there.
"She was here earlier for quite a bit. Mrs Fenwick forbade her under pain of death from trying to wake you up," Maxwell explained. "I insisted she go to the duelling club's first meeting, where I assume she is now."
"And she went," Alexander asked doubtfully.
"After a bit of convincing, yes," Maxwell confirmed. "She was reluctant to leave, but I promised her I'd stay here and keep an eye on you, seeing as I am not welcome at Professor Merrythought's little club."
"Throwing a wobbly," Alexander asked mildly, eyeing his brother.
"Hardly," Maxwell assured him. "I doubt I would find any good sport there, anyway."
"Glad to know my well-being is in such capable hands," Alexander replied, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.
Maxwell shrugged, "If it makes you feel better, I am fairly certain Amalia will not be able resisting coming by before turning in."
In the end, Alexander had to wait for the following morning to finally be released from the hospital. He barely slept at all, and the school was still quiet as he made his way through the dark hallways.
Alexander moved through the darkened hallways with a slight limp, the aftereffects of his collision with Lavanya still lingering in his muscles. Broken bones had been mended long before he had even woken up. However, the sheer ferocity of the collision still demanded its toll.
As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with a shadowy figure bustling in the opposite direction. He stopped just in time to avoid another painful encounter and was surprised to see Amalia standing before him, her eyes wide with concern.
"Alexander! You're up!" she exclaimed, her voice a hushed whisper as she glanced around to make sure they were alone.
"Amalia," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the dull throb in his head. "I didn't expect to see you this early."
She waved off his concern with a flick of her hand, her expression serious. "I couldn't, anyway. Here, brought you something from my stores."
His curiosity peaked, Alexander unwrapped the package to reveal a small vial of a bright, amber-coloured liquid. The familiar scent of ginger and honey wafted up to his nose, bringing back memories of cold winter days.
"A strengthening draft," she said. "I know how much Fenwick hates using potions."
"She does," he agreed. "And thank you."
She gave him her sweetest smile and nodded encouragingly.
He accepted the flask and uncorked it.
Alexander took a tentative sip of the strengthening draft, feeling the warmth of the liquid spread through his body. The dull ache in his head lessened, and the stiffness in his muscles began to ease as warmth spread all the way to his body's periphery. "Is that mint?" he asked and rolled his shoulders, enjoying the easing of their stiffness.
"Yes," Amalia admitted.
"Nice touch, Ms Malfoy," Alexander said with a grin, feeling the last remnants of his weariness melt away.
Amalia shrugged modestly, "I thought you might like it."
Alexander felt a renewed surge of energy coursing through him, the minty aftertaste lingering pleasantly in his mouth. He glanced at Amalia, who was watching him with a mixture of concern and a healthy dose of self satisfaction. She raised a hand to cup his face and stroked his cheek with her thumb. "Well, now that you are up, how about you get freshened up and them meet me for an early breakfast?"
She rose to the tips of her toes and pecked him on the lips before and then crossed her arms. "And brush your teeth while you are at it. Let us make the best of this Sunday."
He did as he was told and rushed back to the Ravenclaw common room. When he swept into the room, two seventh years looked up from the books and essays they had been prosecuting through the late hours of the night.
Alexander acknowledged the seventh years with a nod, noticing their tired eyes briefly glance up from their textbooks. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and amusement, probably surprised to see him up so early after the previous day's mishap. He was too energised to mind the attention and quickly made his way to his dormitory, eager to freshen up and meet Amalia for breakfast, but staggered to a halt in front of his brother's dormitory when he heard loud crashing and yelling.
The two combatants in the centre of the room were locked in a fierce grapple, their faces flushed with exertion and adrenaline. One of them, a tall, lanky boy with unruly brown hair, was trying to pin his opponent, a portly boy with sandy blond hair and chubby cheeks, to the floor. Both were wearing blue and white Ravenclaw scarves tied around their heads like makeshift bandanas, the ends trailing dramatically behind them as they moved.
Alexander stood in the doorway, momentarily stunned by the chaotic scene unfolding before him. The fifth-year dormitory had transformed into a makeshift arena, the usual scholarly atmosphere of Ravenclaw completely absent. Books and parchment were scattered across the floor, and the walls echoed with the enthusiastic shouts and laughter of the young wizards. He spotted his brother sitting up against the back of his bed in his plain grey PJs, a book open on his lap, watching the goings-on in mild annoyance.
"Come on, Noah! You can take him!" one bystander shouted, clapping his hands in encouragement.
"Don't let him get you, Mike!" another yelled, pounding his fists on a bed frame.
He spotted his brother sitting up against the back of his bed, a book open on his lap, watching the goings-on with mild annoyance.
The portly kid, he presumed Mike, kicked Noah in the chest, sending him smacking against one of the beds, making the entire frame shutter. "You fucking mud-blood," he roared, clambering to his feet and waddled over to the other.
The tall skinny one also jumped to his feet, his face flushing in range, also began close the distance. Deciding that enough is enough, Alexander fully stepped into the room.
"Cut it out," he said and strolled into the room too, to position himself between the two contenders.
The bariatric one had the great idea of trying to shove his way past Alexander. Now, he was a head shorter, and in the grand scheme of things, probably did not weigh much more than him. So Alexander maintained his posture, returning the shove smoothly, and sending him staggering onto one of the beds. "Sit down," Alexander snarled, rolling his shoulders to loosen them, only to have the other chap round on him behind his back.
Perhaps it was due to the skinny one simply weighing so much less than him, but the blow to the back of his head hurt a less than it he thought it would. It was enough to ring his bell properly though, and Alexander staggered forward, catching himself on one of the bed stands.
He rounded on the skinny little git, blood roaring in his ears, only to find the other already having his fist raised for another blow. Before he could raise his own fists in defence, a jet of glistening red light send him flying with an ear-splitting crack. Noah crashed through one of the beds posts, letting the entire construct collapse in on him, leaving Noah in a smoking quite motionless beneath the wreckage.
Silence instantly fell throughout the room, and Alexander looked around just in time to see his brother lowering his own wand while climbing out of bed. "Are you okay, brother?" Maxwell asked, no trace of anger in his voice.
"Shit, what did you do?" one of his dorm mates exclaimed.
"Only stunned him," Maxwell replied calmly. "Does anyone have a problem with that? You, Mike?"
No one raised an objection, not even Mike, who seemed to realise things had really gotten out of hand. Or, he simply was disinclined to argue with a duelling champion, while the latter still had his wand out.
"Sorry Alexander," Mike muttered awkwardly, looking at Noah's motionless form.
Alexander only nodded at him in appreciation, feeling that any words would undermine their position. "Madam Fenwick is going to be thrilled," he said under his breath before sending his best number two glare Mike's way.
"Be sorry later, run to the teacher's office and fetch whomever is in charge right-now," Alexander snapped at the fifth year.
Mike hesitated for a moment, glancing nervously between Alexander and the prone form of Noah beneath the wreckage of the bed over to Maxwell. The weight of the situation seemed to crash down on him all at once, his bravado evaporating under the intensity of Alexander's glare. Without another word, he turned on his heel and bolted from the dormitory, his footsteps echoing loudly in the corridor as he sprinted for the teacher's office.
The room was eerily quiet in the aftermath of the scuffle. The other boys, who had been cheering and shouting moments ago, now were frozen. Alexander turned to him. "You are all a disgrace," he announced, looking around, fully aware of his own hypocrisy. He himself had been in more than one fistfight, though his last one had been in his fifth year. "All of you out, now!" he then snapped. When they hesitated, he added, "I am a bloody prefect. You have ten seconds to leave this dorm, or it is detention for the lot of you!" That seemed to do the trick because he watched them scuffle out without argument, probably hoping to evade the round of detentions bound to be handed out.
Maxwell moved over to the collapsed bed and knelt beside Noah, carefully checking his pulse. Satisfied his classmate was still alive and breathing, he flicked his wand to carefully levitate the debris off him.
"You could have been a bit gentler," Alexander mused. "Not that I am complaining."
Alexander watched as Maxwell methodically cleared the debris off Noah, his movements precise and controlled, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. Maxwell's expression remained impassive, his eyes focused on the task at hand, though there was a tension in his posture that Alexander recognised as his brother's version of anger-cold, calculated, and dangerous.
"You know, for someone who's usually so composed, you do have a bit of a temper when it comes down to it," Alexander remarked, trying to inject some levity into the situation. "Stunning spells don't usually send people flying through rooms."
"What in the name of Merlin's thrice twisted knickers is going on here," Simon announced, entering the room with Gregor on his heels.
"Oh, Noah is taking a nap," Alexander explained lightly, and glared at Noah's unconscious form. "Don't worry, already sent for a teacher."
"Burns, Macmillan, out now!" a seventh year growled in his Irish drawl, sweeping into his room. It was Oliver Squire, an average built young wizard with brown hair and blue eyes. "Come on, hurry up. Nothing to see!"
Once they were out, he closed the dorm's door, block out the crowd of students beginning to gather in the staircase outside.
"What happened?" he asked, his gaze sweeping from Alexander to Noah, and then far more wearily to Maxwell, who had finally put away his wand.
"Mike and Noah got in a bit of a scuffle. When I stepped in, Noah took a swing at me from behind and then Maxwell stunned him," Alexander summed up.
Oliver Squire's expression darkened as he listened to Alexander's explanation. His eyes flicked to Noah's unconscious form on the floor, then back to Maxwell, who was calmly standing by, seemingly unfazed by the chaos he had just subdued.
"That so?" Oliver muttered, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Ah bugger, this is a mess. Madison is going to lose it too, someone taking a swing at a Prefect."
He privately agreed, even with Tommy not personally being involved in any way or form, they would not hear the end of this. Fortunately they had to wait only a few more minutes before the door flew open and Professor Kinley swept in, her blond hair opened and dishevelled. Dumbledore followed a moment later in her wake, his gaze sweeping the room before coming to rest on Noah's motionless form.
"Mr Taylor said there was something of a disagreement," Dumbledore asked lightly while Professor Kinley stepped over to Noah and pulled out her wand.
"I take it you stunned him?" she asked Maxwell.
"I did, Professor," Maxwell replied calmly.
"My, my, I hate to say it, Mr Bay, but your stunner packs a mean punch," she said and pulled out her own wand. "Rennervate!" she declared and waved her wand.
Noah's eyes fluttered open, and he groaned, disoriented and sluggish. He blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before realising where he was, his face flushing as the memories of the fight came rushing back. Professor Kinley was kneeling beside him, her expression stern but not unkind.
"Welcome back, Noah," she said dryly, helping him to sit up. "You took quite the tumble. No, stay seated for a moment and gather your whits."
Noah rubbed the back of his head, wincing as he touched the spot where Maxwell's spell had hit. "I'm sorry, Professor," he muttered, his voice thick with embarrassment as looked around. "I lost my temper."
"Clearly," Dumbledore said, his tone deceptively mild as he stepped forward, his long fingers resting lightly on the top of his cane. His blue eyes twinkled, but there was a note of reproach in his voice. "Mr Bay," he said, though Alexander was not quite sure who was being addressed. "Why don't you and your brother head down to breakfast?"
He was still not sure who was exactly being addressed, but decided that the matter was redundant in any case. It was a sentiment that Maxwell clearly shared, because he was on his heels when Alexander hurried out. When they entered the common room, dozens of other Ravenclaws had gathered and were talking in hushed tones. All eyes fell on them when they stepped out.
"Scram folks, nothing to see," Fiona barked, but her popularity as the house seeker did not reach far enough to triumph in their curiosity.
"Everyone, head to breakfast! Now!" he snapped at them. "Or we will find out how many people I can put in detention at the same time."
He really hoped he wasn't overplaying his hand because if they didn't budge, and he had to wait for a teacher to clear them out, both his authority as a prefect and his popularity would take a considerable fit. To his immense relief, the crowd began to head to the common-room door and filter out.
"Half the school will know about this before lunch," Alexander muttered under his breath.
"It could be far worse," Maxwell reasoned.
Alexander couldn't argue with that. They joined their Seeker and followed the crowd towards the doors in silence for a moment, the steady hum of student chatter filling the air as they made their way toward the Great Hall. The familiar scent of breakfast—freshly baked bread, sausages, and the sweet tang of pumpkin juice—greeted them as they entered.
The long tables were already filled with students, most of them still half-asleep as they shovelled food into their mouths. Alexander glanced over at the Slytherin table, immediately spotting Amalia, who was already seated and looking around expectantly. When she spotted him, waved over at him, mouthing a question.
"Later," he mouthed back.
Alexander made his way over to the Ravenclaw table, Maxwell and Fiona trailing close behind. The usual early morning clatter of breakfast surrounded them, but Alexander felt a strange weight pressing down on him after the events of the morning. He sat down with a sigh, grabbing a plate and automatically serving himself a helping of eggs and toast. His mind, however, was elsewhere—focused on the escalating tensions in the dorms, Noah's outburst, and the knowledge that soon enough, word of the altercation would spread like wildfire through the school.
Maxwell, ever composed, sat across from him, already eating quietly. Fiona, meanwhile, glanced between them before speaking up.
"You two going to explain what happened back there?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Alexander looked up, his fork paused mid-air. "Nothing major, just a fight in the dorms that got out of hand. Maxwell handled it."
Fiona's eyes flicked over to Maxwell, who offered a noncommittal shrug as he chewed his food. "Half the tower heard that crash. Sure sounded more than 'nothing major.'"
"Fight in Dormitory. I tried to break it up. Noah took a swing at me, and Maxwell stunned him, Alexander explained, and then after a moment of hesitation added; "Now that I think about it, it was actually kind of funny. Send the wanker flying straight through one of the four posted beds. Was out cold until Kinley revived him."
Fiona and some of the Ravenclaws that were close enough. Simon, who was sitting on Maxwell's other side, even clapped him on the shoulder, something Alexander was sure Maxwell just loved, though his brother had the good sense not to voice his displeasure. Finally Professor Kinely and Professor Dumbledore returned and rejoined the teachers' table. Dumbledore and Kinley were conversing with Professor Dippet in hushed voices. Then Professor Dippet's bespectacled gaze came to bare on him and Maxwell for a long moment before returning to his two fellow teachers.
"It was a pleasure knowing you," Alexander muttered under his breath and jokingly held out his hand. His brother, meeting his joke straight faced, took the offered hand. "The pleasure was mine."
"Come on!" Lavanya exclaimed far too loudly for Alexander's taste. "There is no way they could hang you guys over this! You are literally a world champion duelist. If there is anyone who knows what they are doing, it is you! So safety is hardly an issue."
"And," Fiona added, indignantly. "What were they expecting? Taking a swing while your back was turned? Cowardly, I must say."
Alexander knew it wouldn't take long for the story to spread beyond their house, especially with Fiona's loud interjections. He couldn't help but smirk a little. His brother had handled the entire affair with his customary cold efficiency. Of course, Maxwell would have preferred to go unnoticed, but that was rarely an option when you were the duelling champion.
Lavanya, with her usual exuberance, was already embellishing the story to nearby students. "So, like I was saying—Maxwell totally disarmed that Noah like—bam!—and he was out! One hit!"
Alexander rolled his eyes but kept eating. He wasn't in the mood to correct the exaggerated retelling, especially since it might just add to Maxwell's growing reputation. Before long, he knew that half the school would be left in the impression that Maxwell stood down the entire fifth year boys' dormitory single-handedly. It was the most exciting thing that had happened that year so far, and as such, would draw attention, especially from the younger students. He was also attuned enough to Hogwarts' special brand of politics to know that this would make the faculty feel they needed to do something about it. That Tommy Madison would undoubtedly find an excuse to turn this into his personal crusade at that evenings prefect's meeting. To be honest, he did not know which.
Amalia caught up with him half an hour later in the library later while he was trying to focus on his Transfiguration essay. Maxwell sat opposite of him, working on his divination homework, undoubtedly exercising his creative side rather than his analytical one.
"Alexander," Amalia whispered, her hand lightly touching his shoulder. He turned to see her with a playful but concerned look in her eyes. "You're a tough one to track down today."
He smiled, setting aside his quill. "Sorry about this morning. Everything's been a bit... chaotic."
Amalia slid into the chair next to him, leaning in. "Chaotic? I'd say heroic. Word on the street is that Maxwell here saved the day."
Alexander groaned, leaning back in his chair. "Don't remind me. By dinner, someone will say I was laid out unconscious, and Maxwell had to fend off three angry werewolves."
She chuckled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "But seriously, are you okay? I heard what happened in the dorms. You got hit?"
He nodded, rubbing the back of his head where the blow had landed. "Yeah, but I'm fine. It wasn't much of a punch, to be honest. Just caught me off guard. The Teachers are going to be all over this."
Amalia paused, her fussing over his head for a moment. "We should count ourselves lucky if that's all that happens," she said, her voice heavy with concern. When both he and Maxwell looked at her expectantly, she sighed deeply before continuing. "The Prophet has finally grown tired of Maxwell, and of condemning the dangers they say duelling leads to. Now, just imagine how they'll react when they find out that the infamous duelling champion barely lasted three months at Hogwarts before hexing someone in a dormitory brawl. You think the teachers will be upset? Just wait until everyone's parents hear about it and the flood of owls starts arriving."
She met their gazes firmly. "Can you really blame them? How would you react if it were our children, and you heard of this? This isn't just about Maxwell—it's about the Ministry's vendetta against duelling. For weeks, the Prophet has been publishing articles that paint you as a loose broomstick and declare duelling the worst thing ever to happen to the wizarding world. Now here you are, stunning people."
"Maxwell," Alexander cut in, feeling an urge to defend his brother, "Maxwell, is not some loose broomstick? He defended me!"
"You know that," Amalia said, her cheeks turning a dangerous pink. "I know that. Anyone who has known Maxwell for more than five minutes knows that. That is also entirely irrelevant." She turned to Maxwell and pointed a finger at him. "So, for Merlin's sake! Keep your bloody head down if you want to have a future in England!"
Maxwell raised an eyebrow but didn't respond immediately. He appeared deep in thought, his fingers lightly tapping the scroll he'd been scribbling on. After a moment, he looked at Amalia, his expression oddly blank as he pondered the matter.
Amalia's words hung in the air, her frustration evident as she tried to impress upon Maxwell the seriousness of the situation. Alexander shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sensing the tension between the two, even though he agreed with Amalia's point. Maxwell, for all his talents, had never been particularly good at navigating the social currents. Though for Alexander, it was hard to tell how much indifference was to blame on that front.
Maxwell finally looked up from his scroll, meeting Amalia's gaze directly. "A point well made, Amalia," he said evenly and Alexander privately agreed, though decided that the memory of Noah getting stunned would remain in his head rent free. She even glanced over at Alexander as if expecting him to offer some additional words of wisdom, but when he remained silent, sighed and folded her arms.
"You're both impossible," she muttered. "Maxwell, I just don't want to see you walk right into a mess that could have been avoided. And Alexander—" She turned, her expression softening slightly, "—keep an eye on your brother.
Maxwell's hard grey eyes snapped back up to her in his version or an expressionless glare.
"Here you guys are," an impatient voice addressed them from behind. They looked around to see a brunette from Gryffindor approaching them from behind. "Oh, Minerva," Amalia greeted her Gryffindor counterpart surprisingly warmly, if one considered the inter house rivalry.
"Amalia," the witch replied and straightened her glasses before turning her attention to him and Max.
"Professor Dippet wants to see you two in his office at your earliest convince," she said.
Maxwell's eyes flickered briefly to Alexander, who met his gaze with a nod. They both knew what was coming. Alexander gathered up his things, feeling a knot tightening in his stomach. In general, being called to the Headmaster was generally not a good idea.
"Well, let's get this over with," Alexander muttered under his breath, standing up. After he and Maxwell packed up their things and after Alexander kissed Amalia on the forehead, they followed the Gryffindor. Minerva led the way through the labyrinthine corridors of Hogwarts with a brisk, purposeful stride. The hallways were relatively quiet, with most students still occupied with morning classes. Alexander couldn't help but feel a rising tension in his chest, glancing at Maxwell, who walked calmly beside him, as if he were merely on his way to yet another lesson.
Finally, they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dippet's office. Minerva muttered the password softly—"Dragon Scales"—and the gargoyle sprang to life, sliding aside to reveal a spiral staircase that led upward. Minerva gave them a curt nod and waited as they ascended.
Inside the office, Headmaster Dippet was seated behind his massive oak desk, with Dumbledore and Professor Kinley standing nearby. The chamber was a large, circular tower room lined by bookshelves and small projects. The walls were plastered with the portraits of dozens of pictures of senior and distinguished looking mages, gazing down upon them with judgmental gazes. The headmaster's face was unreadable, his fingers steepled as he watched them approach.
"Mr Bay, Mr Bay," Dippet began, his voice calm but serious, "I've been made aware of an... altercation in the Ravenclaw dormitory this morning. You are aware, of course, that Hogwarts does not tolerate duelling, or throwing hands like some muggle and expects exemplary behaviour from all its students."
Alexander glanced at Maxwell, who remained composed, his expression unreadable. They both knew this was not a moment for excuses or arguments, so he nodded, accepting Dippet's words with silent contrition.
"Yes, Headmaster," Alexander replied respectfully. "I apologise for any disturbance this may have caused. I tried to break up the fight... but it got out of hand."
Alexander glanced at Maxwell, who remained composed, his expression unreadable. They both knew this was not a moment for excuses or arguments, so he nodded, accepting Dippet's words with silent contrition.
"Yes, Headmaster," Alexander replied respectfully. "I apologise for any disturbance this may have caused. I tried to break up the fight... but it got out of hand."
Headmaster Dippet's gaze lingered on Alexander, his eyes both stern and searching, before shifting to Maxwell. "Mr Bay," he said to Maxwell, "I understand you intervened rather forcefully. While it's commendable to see a brother come to another's aid, you may find that a discipline like magic must be wielded carefully—otherwise, it can easily become destructive."
He was quite certain that Maxwell considered the execution of his spell to have been both careful and restrained, but he had the good sense to accept that there was very little point in arguing the point. Sometimes, simply being right was inconsequential.
"I understand, Professor," Maxwell said, his face its usual inexpressive mask.
Professor Dippet leaned back in his throne-like chair and gazed with them with what he supposed was meant to be a stern expression, though a persistent twitch in his lower left eye ruined the effort. Not it just like he had something stuck in his eye.
"Now, I talked to Noah," Professor Dippet said. "And it seems that you Alexander did everything as you should. However, you, Maxwell, will be joining Noah for the first week of his one month detention with Professor Kinley every evening straight after dinner. While your actions were certainly understandable, we can't have students, especially duelling champions, throwing around spells in the Dormitories. Mr Bay, no duelling in Hogwarts what so ever. Can we at least all agree on that?"
When no one dissented, Dippet exhaled deeply. "You two may go. Mr Bay?" he then addressed Alexander. "Mr Madison has already been informed of what happened. I am given to understand that the matter of an attack on a Prefect will be discussed during your meeting tomorrow."
As they stepped out of Dippet's office, Alexander let out a low sigh of relief, casting a sidelong glance at his brother.
"Well, could've been worse," Alexander muttered. "At least it's only a week of detention."
Maxwell nodded, his face impassive as usual. "A fair outcome, given the circumstances," he agreed quietly. "Good luck during your prefects meeting, though."
"Don't I know it?" Alexander agreed, rolling his eyes. "If there's one thing Madison lives for, it's making a spectacle out of minor infractions. I'll bet he's already rehearsing his lecture about 'responsibility' and 'discipline.' By the way, isn't this your first detention ever?"
"It is," Maxwell confirmed and grimaced when Alexander slapped him on the back in a congratulating manner.
"A dubious premier, but a first nonetheless," Alexander congratulated him. "My perfect little brother, run afoul by school rules."
Once they were safely out of earshot from the office, he glanced over at Maxwell and punched his shoulder. "Thanks for having my back, by the way."
"I have no regrets," Maxwell replied, not returning his gaze. "And I would do it again."