Tha Aftermath

The next morning, the winter sun shone over the castle grounds, lighting up the blanket of fresh snow that covered everything in white. But despite the peaceful view, Hogwarts was buzzing with another shocking rumor.

They said a Slytherin prefect had been found hanging upside down from one of the trees early that morning.

"I heard someone's targeting Hogwarts students," whispered a Hufflepuff girl at breakfast.

"Yeah, first it was that Gryffindor boy," another student added. "Now a Slytherin."

A younger boy nearby said, wide-eyed, "I'm writing to my mum. They're kidnapping people and hanging them from trees!"

A Slytherin snorted, "Maybe it's Dumbledore losing his mind. He's old, you know… maybe he's picking students off one by one."

Some students giggled at that ridiculous thought, others rolled their eyes.

At the Slytherin table, Cassandra sat quietly, her eyes drifting across the room until they landed on the Gryffindor table — more specifically, on the dark-haired, blue-eyed boy laughing with his friends. Cael.

As if feeling her stare, Cael looked up. His lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. Cassandra's gaze snapped away, and she muttered under her breath, "Annoying idiot… so that's why you didn't tell the professors who did it. You want to deal with it yourself."

Before she could think more, the doors to the Great Hall opened with a sharp creak. Professor McGonagall entered, her expression unreadable.

"Mr. Vale, Mr. Jordan, Weasley twins — come with me," she said simply, already turning back toward the door.

The hall filled with whispers as the boys stood. Percy Weasley rushed over, his face flushed with suspicion.

"What did you do now?" Percy demanded, eyes narrowing. "Why is she calling you? Don't tell me you had something to do with last night's mess."

Fred smirked. "None of your business, Pompous Percival."

The hall burst into quiet snickers. Percy's ears turned red with embarrassment.

"You better pray you're innocent!" Percy hissed. "You know I'm next in line for the prefect badge. I won't let you ruin my reputation!"

For once, George's playful grin vanished. His voice was cool, sharp. "So that's all you care about? Your 'good boy' reputation? Figures."

He brushed past Percy, bumping his shoulder against him as he went. The crowd buzzed with new gossip.

"See? The Gryffindor troublemakers did it," a Ravenclaw whispered.

Another student disagreed, "Come on, their own friend was the first victim. Why would they do the same to someone else?"

A Slytherin shrugged, "Maybe they wanted revenge."

Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office, the mood was tense.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, calm but focused. Professor McGonagall stood nearby, arms crossed, while Snape loomed in the corner like a shadow. Sitting before them was Frey — the Slytherin prefect who had been strung up that morning, looking pale and shaken.

His eyes stared at the floor as he mumbled to himself. "It was them… it was them…"

The door creaked open. Fred, George, Lee Jordan, and Cael entered under McGonagall's sharp gaze.

Dumbledore's voice was quiet but firm. "Tell me, boys… was it you who did this to him?"

The twins exchanged a glance, playing innocent.

"Professor, what are you talking about?" Fred asked with wide eyes.

McGonagall's lips twitched, not quite amused. Her voice was stricter. "Answer properly. Did you do this?"

Lee Jordan looked at Frey, unimpressed. "So this is the Slytherin prefect who got smoked last night?"

The twins chuckled under their breath, Cael hiding a small smile.

Snape's voice cracked across the room, sharp as ice. "You think this is funny? Is it Gryffindor tradition to mock everything?"

The boys' laughter died quickly under his glare. Snape turned to Frey.

"Was it them?" Snape asked coldly. "Was it him?" He motioned toward Cael.

Frey's eyes darted up, his body shaking. "It—It was them. Him… it was him who did it to me."

Dumbledore leaned forward, his gaze steady. "You're certain? You saw them?"

Frey's face twitched with panic. His mind raced. If I say yes… they'll ask why. If I tell them, they'll know I was the one who cursed Cael before…

His voice faltered. His mind spun. But I used Obliviate… how does he still remember? Does he? Maybe… maybe some magic protected him…

The room fell silent, the professors watching closely.

Dumbledore's voice broke the tension. "Look at me, all of you. Did you do this?"

The boys shook their heads. Fred spoke first. "Of course not. Why would we? You know what happened to Cael… we wouldn't stoop that low."

Snape sneered. "Or perhaps you framed a Slytherin so everyone would believe it."

Lee Jordan stood his ground. "We still trust the professors to find the real culprit, sir."

McGonagall, clearly losing patience, straightened her robe. "I'll be keeping my eyes on you lot. One wrong move—"

"We understand, Professor," Cael interrupted, nodding politely.

The boys were dismissed, and they left under the watchful gaze of the teachers.

Dumbledore's voice dropped as the door closed behind them. "Severus, take Mr. Frey to Madam Pomfrey. Ensure there's nothing wrong beyond the itching spell."

Snape obeyed, guiding Frey out, though his expression was unreadable.

Left alone, Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples. From one of the wall portraits, Headmaster Black scowled down.

"It was them, I tell you," Black declared. "The Gryffindor boys — always reckless, always trouble. In my time, they wouldn't have dared to touch the noble blood."

Another portrait of a former Gryffindor head growled, storming into Black's frame and giving him a good smack. The paintings erupted in shouting and bickering.

With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore lowered the curtain over the portraits, silencing them. His eyes drifted to the phoenix perched nearby, glowing faintly in its cycle of rebirth.

"What do you think, Fawkes?" he asked softly.

The phoenix chirped once, and Dumbledore sat back, deep in thought, the weight of unfinished questions heavy in the room.