Actions And Consiquences
Alexander Bay
"We had an incident involving physical altercation and spell-work, in the sixth-year boys' dormitory," Madison continued, his tone grave and with far more importance than necessary. "As prefects, we are expected to set an example of restraint and maturity, not to endorse a culture of conflict, however tempting that may be."
The other prefects shifted uncomfortably, most of them glancing either at Alexander or Amalia, who remained stoically silent. Alexander, for his part, kept his expression neutral, unwilling to give Madison the satisfaction of any visible reaction. Amalia sat beside him with arms folded, her face a picture of barely concealed disdain.
"Alexander," Madison said, turning to him now with a pointed look. "Would you care to explain why a Ravenclaw prefect was caught in the middle of a dormitory brawl?"
Alexander smiled and made a small show of easing back into his chair and sighing deeply. "I attempted to break up a fight between two younger students," he began, speaking slowly and keeping his voice pleasant." Noah and Mike. I did what I could to de-escalate. Noah took a swing at me when my back was turned, and my little brother stunned him."
"Seems straightforward enough," Minerva said, looking over from her table. "This is not the first time a prefect is involved in a brawl, and I dare say it shall not be the last."
"Yes, McGonagall," Madison said, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink. Clearly he was not happy that the rest of the prefects weren't taking the matter quite as seriously as he was.
"But this time we had spells thrown around, and a fellow student that could have gotten seriously hurt," Madison hissed, glaring at the Gryffindor. "Clearly, your little brother has a track record. Murdering that other chap at the tournament and now hexing house mates. Next time-"
"Mind your tone," Alexander cut him off, letting the humour drain from his voice. He was going to be cordial with Tommy, but there was a limit. "You are out of line."
"Besides," Minerva snapped, cutting anything else he might have said, which in hindsight was probably for the best. "What do you exactly suggest we do the next time a duelling champion goes off the rails?"
"Yes, Tommy," Amalia added, her voice as sickly sweet as honey. "Next time Maxwell starts chucking spells around, I will be sure to call upon you to stop him."
Tommy's face turned an even darker shade of purple, but Oliver cleared his voice before the argument could escalate into profanity. "We are making a bigger deal out of this than we have to. The matter and hand is that Alexander got assaulted by another student. That his brother stood by him, well, that much is to be expected. Besides, he already got detention from what I heard, and Noah and Maxwell had already made up. I know Maxwell a bit by now, and he does not seem like the type to pick fights, and few would be stupid enough to start something with him."
Oliver looked around, his eyes lingering on Cerilla, a seventh year redhead from Slytherin, who served as the head girl, as if waiting for someone to object. "Don't we have more important matters? We have a Quidditch game to start planning for, and we need to figure out how to handle the tournament. Not sure if Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have prefects, but we'll have hundreds of additional students running around and I am not sure they'll give a damn about what we have to say."
"Yes, that," Tommy said, only reluctantly leaving behind a topic he had probably spent half the previous night rehearsing for in bed.
Amalia caught his eye and winked, while the rest of the prefects only watched in resigned silence. Clearly, they had the good sense not to get involved.
"As Oliver said, we're going to have a lot on our plates with the tournament," Cerilla added, nodding thoughtfully. "These extra students won't be familiar with our rules, and I expect there will be some differences in behaviour and attitudes. We'll need to coordinate and set clear expectations from the start."
Oliver leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "We should probably start by assigning some additional patrol duties once the other schools arrive, at least in the evenings and on weekends, when things are likely to get rowdy. Maybe pair up more often than usual and bump up any arising issues straight up to the professors."
It occurred to Alexander that if Tommy had a problem with Maxwell, he would probably blow a potion bottle when he found out that both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had competitive duelling programs of their own.
The prefects around the table murmured their agreement with Oliver's proposal, nodding at the mention of extra patrol duties. It was clear that Hogwarts' usual routines would need some adjustment with the arrival of the international students. Tommy, however, looked far from satisfied, his jaw set in a stubborn line as he glared down at his notes.
Amalia leaned in, her voice low but with an edge of mischief. "Perhaps we should ask if Durmstrang and Beauxbatons' duelling teams if they would like to attend Professor Merrythought's duelling club. It might be... instructive for the likes of us." She smirked at Tommy, her suggestion landing somewhere between jest and challenge.
Tommy's expression soured even further. "Not all of us need to obsess over hexes and curses. A culture of—of violence is the last thing we need to encourage at Hogwarts, Amalia," he spat, looking pointedly at Alexander and then to Maxwell, who was absent but still clearly on his mind.
"Not encouraging anything, Tommy," she replied sweetly, batting her lashes. "Just suggesting that a little cross-cultural exchange might be enlightening for everyone involved."
Before he could respond, Oliver tapped his quill on the parchment in front of him. "Let's stay focused. We'll sort out patrols first and circle back to the Triwizard planning." He looked pointedly at Tommy, and the meeting continued with practicalities: shifts for patrols, strategies for overseeing the influx of new students, and preparations for the upcoming Triwizard events. Alexander noted, though, that Madison's sour mood lingered like a storm cloud.
As they wrapped up, Cerilla added a closing note. "We'll meet again next week to finalise plans. Let's try to show the other schools a united front and make a good impression. We can conclude this meeting....."
The prefects gathered their things, and Alexander stood, catching Amalia's amused smile as she rose beside him. Madison muttered something to himself and hurriedly left the room, which improved his mood even more.
"Seems like you have yourself a fan, Alexander," Amalia teased, threading her arm through his as they made their way toward the door.
"Oh, he's my biggest fan," Alexander replied dryly, shaking his head. "We'll have to watch him once Durmstrang and Beauxbatons arrive. He's going to see hexes behind every corner."
"Let's hope he doesn't try to throw one himself," Amalia laughed, glancing over her shoulder as they exited the room.
"I still can't see why they made him Head Boy. Oliver would have been a better fit," Alexander said once they were out of earshot.
"Any of the other seventh year Prefects would have been a better fit," Amalia corrected him. They soon parted ways after a last kiss, and with his girlfriends taste around her mouth, he made his way back to the dormitory where the house was slowly getting ready to call it a night. Maxwell was playing chess with Peter in a corner, with Evelyn and a few others watching. Most were catching up on homework.
He approached Maxwell from behind, clapping him on the shoulders. "How was detention?" he asked.
"It was okay," Maxwell replied without looking up from the board. "Professor Kinley wanted us to do inventory on her stores and Noah is anathema to structured work."
Alexander smirked, taking a seat beside Maxwell and watched the game unfold.
"Anathema to structured work, huh?" Alexander repeated. "Noah doesn't strike me as the organised type."
"That's putting it mildly," Maxwell said, moving his knight and capturing one of Peter's rooks. He leaned back, arms crossed, as Peter groaned in exasperation. "He spent half the detention trying to alphabetise the potion ingredients by colour."
Evelyn, standing nearby, stifled a laugh. "You're joking."
Maxwell shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Not at all. He genuinely thought it was a good idea. Professor Kinley was less than impressed."
Peter let out an exaggerated sigh, staring at the chessboard. "The things that happen when you get distracted, Maxwell," Peter announced and sent one his figures forward to knock off one of Maxwell's pawns and then looked back at his little brother. "Checkmate in five moves."
Maxwell returned his gaze too the chessboard and sighed before offering Peter his hand. "Good game," Maxwell said.
"Very good," Peter replied before accepting the handshake. Evelyn lingered a moment longer, giving Maxwell a shy smile before retreating to her own corner of the common room.
"Another round," Peter asked.
"Sure," Maxwell agreed, and they turned around the chessboard and began resetting it.
Maxwell turned his attention back to Alexander, who was leaning casually against the armrest of the couch. "Anything important from the prefects' meeting?" he asked, his tone neutral but curious.
"Nothing earth-shattering," Alexander replied with a shrug. "Madison made a fuss about the dormitory incident, tried to make it sound like the end of the world. But Oliver and Minerva shut him down pretty quickly. Most of the discussion was about the Triwizard Tournament and the extra students we'll be hosting."
Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "That should not come as a surprise."
"That's one way to put it," Alexander said with a chuckle. "Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are coming with their own brand of order—or lack thereof. And you, my dear brother, might want to keep your head down. The last thing we need is you entertaining certain rivalries."
Maxwell smirked faintly. "Diplomatic restraint, noted."
Maxwell moved his knight with a thoughtful flick of his fingers, setting it down with deliberate precision. He glanced at Alexander, his smirk lingering. "You seem worried I'll invite Durmstrang's best duelist to a duel on the Astronomy Tower at midnight. Rest assured, brother, my priorities are elsewhere."
"Good to hear," Alexander replied, leaning back and stretching his legs. "But don't think I won't keep an eye on you. Durmstrang's lot is notoriously competitive, and I wager some of them might want payback after you offed Vasilis."
Maxwell's smirk faded into a more serious expression as he considered Alexander's words. His grey eyes flicked to the chessboard, where Peter was calculating his next move, before returning to his older brother. "If they're smart, they'll focus on the tournament and not me. Revenge is a poor motivator in duelling—it clouds judgment."
"True," Alexander said, resting his elbows on his knees. "But this is personal. He had a girl, a younger sister, and a bunch of friends over there."
Alexander's words hung in the air like a weight between them, prompting a rare flicker of emotion across Maxwell's usually stoic face. His lips pressed into a thin line as he studied the chessboard, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
Peter, oblivious or the tension, or at least having the good scenes to keep his council to himself, beckoned for Maxwell to make the opening move.
Maxwell reached out and moved a pawn forward, his fingers steady despite the tension in the air. He glanced at Alexander, his grey eyes thoughtful. "I don't expect forgiveness," he said quietly, his voice low enough that only Alexander could hear. "But I didn't go to Svalbard to make friends."
Alexander leaned back, crossing his arms. "No one's asking you to apologise for winning, Max. As far as I am concerned, Vasilis had it coming, and better him than you. But this is not the League. You're at Hogwarts. This isn't a tournament; it's a school. These people aren't just opponents—they'll be classmates. If someone comes after you, it's not about the duel. It's about everything else."
Maxwell nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Noted," he said after a pause, his tone carefully neutral.
Peter's voice broke through the heavy moment. "You know, some of us are here to play chess, not meditate on life's grand tragedies," he quipped, and moved his knight forward. Maxwell sighed and left them too their game. He had enough home work to do.
Amalia's predictions, unfortunately, came to pass more swiftly than he could have ever anticipated. The following morning, the castle buzzed with whispers and speculation as news of the altercation in the Ravenclaw dormitory spread like Fiendfyre through the school. At least, they seemed to have all agreed on a version of a tale that was at least reasonably close to what happened. The following morning however, Alexander actually started getting concerned that they might have a problem.
The Great Hall was alive with the flutter of wings as hundreds of owls swooped in, delivering the day's mail. Alexander sat at the Ravenclaw table, pushing his breakfast around his plate without much appetite. Beside him, Maxwell sipped his tea calmly, seemingly unbothered by the hushed conversations and sideways glances directed their way.
As the flurry of owls circled above, Alexander couldn't shake the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He watched as envelopes and packages were dropped into eager hands all around the hall. Suddenly, a large, tawny owl swooped down and deposited a rolled copy of the Daily Prophet right beside his plate.
Maxwell glanced at the newspaper but made no move to pick it up. Alexander hesitated before unrolling it, a sense of dread creeping over him, and sighed in relief when the front paged hosted some fire in the Colombian ministry of magic. Scanning over the pages he turned to the second page. "Chudley Cannons beat Newcastle," he announced brightly and Fiona on the other side of the table pumped her arm in victory.
His revived mood, however, took a sharp downturn when he reached the third page and read the headline.
DUELLING CHAMPION CAUSES CHAOS AT HOGWARTS—STUDENTS IN DANGER?
Below the headline was a moving photograph of Maxwell, taken during the international duelling tournament. His expression was stoic, wand in hand, as sparks flew around him.
Alexander's grip tightened on the paper as he read the article.
"Maxwell Bay, the young duelling prodigy who made headlines this summer, is at the centre of controversy once again. Reports from inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry indicate that Bay was involved in a violent altercation with fellow students, raising concerns about safety within the school's walls. Parents are questioning Headmaster Dippet's ability to maintain order, especially with the upcoming Triwizard Tournament bringing international attention to the institution..."
Alexander stopped reading, his jaw clenched. "They've blown it completely out of proportion," he muttered. "An entire thrice damned page."
Maxwell took a calm sip of his tea. "Only made the third page. My, my, looks like I am losing my touch," Maxwell commented drily and Evelyn, who had clearly been listening in on their conversation, snorted into her pumpkin juice.
"Oh Merlin's beard, listen to this," Alexander said, his eyes scanning the next paragraph. "An unnamed Ministry official from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement expressed grave concern that Maxwell Bay's continued presence at Hogwarts poses a significant threat to the safety of other students, given his history and recent actions," Alexander read aloud. "He is quoted saying: 'Chap like that could give most in my department a run for their money, much less the staff at the school. There is just no excuse for a wizard that young to have such dangerous skills without proper oversight. It's a disaster waiting to happen.'"
Alexander glanced over at the Slytherin table where he spotted Amalia half concealed behind her own copy of the Prophet with a bunch of her housemates. As if sensing his gaze, she lowered the paper, and fixed him and Alexander with a glare as if this was entirely their idea.
"I take great offense to that," Maxwell commented, seemingly unbothered.
"That you are a disaster waiting to happen?" Fiona asked.
"No," Alexander replied for his brother. "That he thinks folks in his department could hold a candle to Maxwell."
Fiona snorted into her pumpkin juice. "Right? As if any of those desk jockeys could duel their way out of a paper bag. They aren't exactly Aurors. If they had to take you down, they'd certainly send Aurors."
He glanced up at the teachers' table, to where their head of their house, Professor Merrythought was regarding them with mild concern.
"Well," Maxwell finally said and rose to his feet and shouldered his school bag. "I've got Arithmancy in the East wing, better get going."
"We can't just pretend this didn't happen," Alexander remarked. "Now father might get called in over this and we hardly need his involvement. At best, he'll make everything worse."
"I'm not," Maxwell replied, already walking off. "Let them write what they please, it matters little to me."
After a few minutes, Amalia headed over to him. "Morning," she greeted him and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. "I told you so," she said and pointed at the picture of Maxwell in the prophet. "By tomorrow parents will be writing the headmaster, demanding to know what will be done to protect their poor little."
"Hey look," she said and nodded over at the doors, where Noah had intercepted Maxwell at the doors. Considering all the Drama, he looked remarkably fine, and as they watched him hold out his hand to Maxwell who accepted it, before the two fifth years headed off to their class together.
"All this fuss over two fifth years who are already back to getting along," Alexander agreed.
"Well, it certainly is uncalled for," Amalia agreed. "Regardless, I will be sending Grandfather an owl," she then declared. "He is old dorm mates with the Minister for Magic."
Alexander sighed, folding the newspaper and pushing it aside. "Well, let's hope your grandfather can smooth things over," he said, taking care not to sound to doubtful. Though he generally liked the old fellow, he doubted Mephias Malfoy would have much taste to intercede in what he would consider children's squabble. Especially seeing as he was quite sure that Mephias had gotten the proper measure of their father.
She returned the smile, but her eyes remained serious. "I'll write to him straight after breakfast. In the meantime, we need to make sure Maxwell doesn't do anything else that could be misconstrued."
Alexander nodded, glancing over at the doors where Maxwell had disappeared. "You know he is not one to cause trouble. Usually... ."
Amalia sighed, her gaze lingering on the doorway through which Maxwell had disappeared. "I know he's not one to cause trouble," she agreed softly. "But with everything that's happened, people are quick to judge."
"Relax, guys. In a few days, everything will have blown over," Fiona cut in, offering a reassuring smile. "Remember last year when that Hufflepuff set off those enchanted fireworks in the Great Hall during breakfast? Everyone forgot about it within a week."
Alexander chuckled at the memory. "True, but this feels different. Maxwell's already in the spotlight after the tournament, and now the Prophet's painting him as some sort of rogue wizard in training. It's not the same as a few harmless fireworks."
Amalia tapped her fingers thoughtfully on the table. "He's right. This isn't just gossip; it's political. The Ministry's already been critical of duelling, and Maxwell's success has made him their poster boy for what's wrong with it. They're using this to push their agenda, and Maxwell's the perfect target."
Fiona waved a hand dismissively. "He'll be fine. Maxwell's got a thick skin, and everyone who knows him knows this is rubbish. You should put some more faith in your little brother. He is a smart biscuit. He is right, let the Ministry and the Prophet spin their tales. It won't stick. Unlike you, I actually can look at this from the outside. Your brother is fairly popular here in Hogwarts. From where we are standing, he seems mature, is polite, and soft-spoken. He also isn't goofing around like the other idiots in his year. Noah getting sent through some furniture does not change that. Tell me, does that seem like the fellow described by the prophet? The consensus is that he had it coming. Noah himself says so and is making jokes about bringing fists to a wizards duel."
She looked at them appraisingly. "So sit back and relax. Both of you! He's a big boy."
Alexander quietly hoped she was right. With Quidditch and the Triwizard Tournament coming up, they did not need any more trouble.