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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄-𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍;

𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝚂𝙴𝙴 𝙼𝙴 𝙸𝙽 𝙰 𝙲𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙽

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒. That sound was enough to make every student glance over their shoulder. I've become a sort of cautionary tale since becoming Head Boy. My presence alone is usually enough to restore order—straightened ties, adjusted posture, contraband sweets vanished into robe pockets.

I've become quite the terror ever since I was named Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not because I hex people if they don't follow the rules.

I don't shout. I don't slam doors. My natural intimidating look was enough for people to get their ties straightened, forbidden objects hidden, decibel levels drop. No need for threats. I'm efficient.

SWOOSH~

Someone dashed into my shoulders, not even bothering to apologise he continued his sprint. And of course it was Julius Rhode— A CASE OF HIT AND RUN—Disrespectful. But above all that, running in the school corridors was against the RULES.

I caught him halfway through the second-floor corridor, running full speed, scarf trailing behind him like a Gryffindor banner in a storm. He slid—actually slid—around a corner and nearly bowled over a third-year carrying a teetering stack of spell books.

"RHODE"

He froze. Mid-skid. Like a Niffler caught red-handed.

"Lysander!" he said brightly. "I wasn't running. I was urgency walking. My legs just interpreted the wrong vibe."

"You were sprinting."

"It's a cultural thing," he offered immediately. "In America, we believe in expressive locomotion."

"That's not real."

"Not here," he admitted. "But it could be. Vision starts with belief."

I stared at him with my voided eyes. It was stupid of him to think I would actually buy it.

"No running in the corridors. You'll get detention if you do it again." I shot deadpanned.

He pouted slightly. "Okay. What if I power-walk, but with emotionally intense music playing in my head?"

"No."

"Short hops?"

"No."

"Moonwalking? You know the Micheal Jackson. Hee-hee"

"NO."

He saluted. "Got it. Absolutely. I respect your authority. I'll find a loophole elsewhere."

Arrogant, stupid and a complete waste of space.

He turned and strode away—dramatically, arms slightly out, head tilted toward some imaginary camera.

The moment he disappeared around the corner, I heard it:

"HEAD BOY SCAMANDER STOPS HIGH-SPEED CULTURAL EXPRESSION—MORE AT ELEVEN DURING LUNCH—"

Lunch is at twelve dumbass, who's gonna tell him? Not me. I wouldn't mind him missing Transfiguration and getting marinated by Mongrel in front of the whole class.

I sighed looking down at the floor. It was going to be a very, very long term with Mr. I Think I'm A Cutesy Lil Smol Bean.

*************

I was patrolling around the Black Lake. It was a beautiful evening—the calm breeze, the sky dimming into shades of lilac, and a few trees already stripped bare by autumn. I kicked a rock lying in my path; it skipped across the lake's surface a few times before sinking into the dark water with a quiet plop.

Overhead, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team was practicing, flying low over the lake in tight formations. They looked more determined than ever—clearly aiming to finally snatch the Cup this year.

I sat on a cold bench by the shore and checked my watch. 6:00 PM. Time for Lily to meet me. I waited, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve.

Five minutes later, I saw her sprinting toward me, robes flying behind her like some chaotic banner.

"Don't fall. And no running," I called out, watching her feet slide slightly on the gravel. "Pretty sure that violates at least three lines of the school discipline code, Head Girl."

She crashed into me before I could finish, arms wrapping tightly around my chest. I caught her easily.

"Sorry I couldn't meet you at lunch," she muttered, breathless as she slid onto the bench beside me and laid her head in my lap. "I was with Julius the whole day—showing him around the school. I hope you got the sticky note I left in our secret spot."

I ran my fingers through her hair. She smiled and reached up to brush the fringe off my forehead.

"I don't like being Head Girl," she said after a while, voice low. "It's annoying. Everyone stares at you like you're supposed to be the standard for how to exist. I seriously don't understand why they picked us. We break rules all the time. There are at least five Ravenclaws who lecture other students for not double-knotting their shoelaces, for Merlin's sake. Why not one of them?"

She sighed deeply. "Honestly, it feels more like a punishment. For both of us."

I think she's right. Maybe Mongrel's ultimate hatred for me was the reason she insisted I be Head Boy. She hates both me and Lily. Maybe this is her final revenge—to shove responsibility down our throats until we choke on it. Maybe she just wanted to burn us out and be done with us. That evil old witch.

Lily was napping on my lap while I was anxiously watching the surrounding making sure we were alone and there was no one spying on us. 

Sure enough, less than a minute later, I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. I didn't look up, but Lily stiffened slightly in my lap. She knew before I did. She immediately got up and sat next to me and yelled, "YOUR SCHEMES ARE ABSOLUTELY MENACING TO THE STUDENTS MR.SCAMANDER!"

"Lily!" came the unmistakably cheery voice, too loud, too close. "There you are!"

I sighed through my nose. Julius stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his smile a little too perfect to be sincere. His Ravenclaw scarf was draped over his shoulders like he'd seen it in a fashion magazine and decided it was his entire personality. 

"May I join your little discussion?" he asked Before either of us could answer, he wedged himself onto the bench beside me, forcing an awkward squeeze. I shifted, resisting the urge to hex his knees into another dimension.

"I was just walking back from the library" Julius said, like he wanted us to know he was capable of reading entire tomes on the properties of dragon bile for fun. "Saw the Hufflepuffs flying and figured I'd circle around. Didn't know you'd be here."

His eyes flicked to me. He smiled again. "Oh. You too."

DID HE JUST REALISE MY PRESENCE?!

"Unfortunately," I said flatly, crossing my arms.

"Headmistress Mongrel was looking for you, actually," Julius continued, now clearly speaking only to Lily. "She said something about the Gryffindor fifth-years hexing and vandalising the portraits again? I told her you were probably busy, but, well... you know how she gets."

Lily groaned, "Ugh, not again. The prefects were supposed to be on patrol."

"Well, some people just can't follow instructions," Julius said smoothly, his eyes glinting. "Unlike you. Always so responsible. I told Mongrel I'd keep an eye out for you, but I didn't mention you were already out here looking... this stunning."

Lily blinked, surprised. "Oh," she said, a bit awkwardly. "Um... thanks."

I watched the exchange, my jaw tightening.

Julius smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "Honestly, I don't know how you manage it all—being Head Girl, staying on top of classes, still making time to brighten everyone's evening."

EXCUSE ME- I'M THE ONE WHO IS IN TOP OF ALL CLASSES- SHE'S SECOND-

"I brighten everyone's evening?" Lily echoed, now laughing a little. "That's dramatic."

"I meant mine," Julius said, softer now. His voice dropped just enough to feel intentional.

That's it. Your name has been written in 'THE LIST OF NAMES' and its in red underlined.

"I'm sure she also brightens Mongrel's evenings when she's hauling cursed graffiti off a portrait's face," I cut in, my voice dry as bone. "Very romantic."

Lily gave me a sideways look, somewhere between amused and exasperated. Julius just chuckled.

"Well," he said, standing up a little too slowly, "Don't let me keep you two from your... nightly patrols."

He paused, then leaned slightly closer to Lily, brushing an invisible leaf from her shoulder. "Let me know if you want company walking back. Just in case you get ambushed by rebellious portraits."

"Thanks, Julius," she said, smiling politely. "But I'll manage."

"I'm sure you will," he replied, his tone warm. "See you around."

With one last nod—pointedly in her direction, not mine—he turned and walked off toward the castle, his steps unhurried.

Lily sighed, leaning against me again like nothing had happened. 

"I just don't like the way he looks at you. Like you're a shiny object he's already decided belongs on his shelf."

She snorted. "He's harmless."

"He's an opportunist who flexes his great dental care"

Lily laughed, low and warm. "Are you jealous?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation.

She blinked, then smiled—soft, almost pleased. "Good. Now I think we both have to go handle a situation. Don't we?"

"Killing Julius?" I asked getting up as we started walking.

"What? I meant the first years situation-"

"Then when are we going to assassinate Julius?"

"Come on, you don't want a lowly peasant like Julius getting murdered by the great Lysander."

"I'm not convinced"

*************

I was getting ready for my 10:00 PM Head Boy rounds. Right now, I was in my private room—the one every Head Boy is offered. Obviously, I didn't move in permanently; I wanted to stay with my roommates. I swear, the day the house-elf handed me the keys, they acted like I was moving to another country and they'd never see me again.

II mainly use the room for homework, research on poisons, dangerous spells, obscure magical artifacts—and, of course, slogging through the mountain of weekly and daily reports I'm expected to submit to the Headmistress. Lucky me.

I slipped into my plain black robes and locked the door behind me. Before starting rounds, I figured I'd stop by the dorm and check on my... beloved doggies.

I opened the door and walked straight into the middle of chaos.

Val and Lorcan were engaged in a brutal pillow war, feathers flying everywhere like snow in a storm. Hugo had the radio blasting some weird, warbly old lady music—probably from the 1800s—and was somehow managing to sip beer while scribbling in his Charms essay at the same time. 

And then there was Jared.

He sat in the far corner, wrapped head to toe in a white blanket like some kind of depressed house ghost. His eyes were hollow, and he didn't even blink when a pillow hit the wall next to him.

"What in Merlin's name is happening here?" I asked, closing the door behind me.

Lorcan ducked a flying pillow and looked over. "Oh, hey! We're releasing tension. It's a healthy coping mechanism."

"Tell that to the furniture," I muttered, stepping over an upturned chair.

Val grinned, mid-swing. "You're just mad because you missed the first round. Jared even got a hit in before he ghosted himself."

"Jared?" I said, my attention shifting. I walked over slowly a bit concerned.

No response. He was staring straight ahead, unmoving, like he'd left his body an hour ago.

I crouched beside him. "What's going on?"

He blinked. Slowly. "Lorcan gave me a root beer. I thought it was normal. It wasn't."

I turned to glare at Lorcan. "What the hell did you put in it?"

"It was just a bit of vodka, who can't handle vodka? Plus I forgot that I mixed that in" Lorcan said defensively, hands raised. 

"He looks like he saw the afterlife and decided not to come back. I've been gone for thirty minutes and you guys just- nevermind-"

"Welcome back," Hugo said over the haunting wail of some 1830s ghost singer. "You were missed, no actually, your charms essay was missed. Hand it over." Hugo said grabbing the parchment from my hand. 

"That isn't the essay, that's the daily report-" I sighed.

Hugo gave a little giggle reading it. I wonder what is so funny in that. The funniest thing I wrote in that essay was- 'Georgie Spencer's pants were hexed by an unknown student (Who will be discovered and punished). The pants kept falling off his waist every 3 seconds he put it on, this situation was handled by Ravenclaw prefect, Ravi Agarwal.'

He cleared his throat dramatically, stood up on the bed, and raised the parchment like it was Shakespeare.

"If they touch her skin, I'll break their bones,
leave a trail of teeth and shattered thrones."

He grinned at me. "Mate, what the hell is this?"

My heart stopped. FUCK.

"Put that down."

But Hugo kept going, ignoring my outstretched hand.

"She's not a prize, she's a loaded gun
She is a blade dressed in velvet.
She is ruin dressed as reverie—
and I'd burn down kingdoms, every one."

My explanation for all this is: Julius running after Lily and trying trap her in his love cage really got into my head and I didn't know how to express that so I wrote it down-

EITHER WAYS- MY LIFE IS OVER- HE'S NOT GOING TO GIVE IT BACK! THAT IS ONE THING I KNOW FOR SURE.

Val had dropped his pillow. Lorcan was grinning like a devil, already knew who it was about anyways but yet he got so excited. Jared had even stirred from his soupy daze.

"Read the next bit!" Lorcan said eagerly, already hooting.

"No. Give it back," I said, lunging toward Hugo as I tried snatching the paper back but he ran to the other corner of the room and kept reading further.

"She laughs in silk, I bleed in black,
I'd slit the moon just to bring her back."

I'm so dead. I can hear the drums of hell.

Val's jaw dropped. Lorcan looked thrilled. Jared blinked out from his blanket burrito.

Hugo's eyes widened. "...Wait. Wait, wait—this gets worse."

"Say it's love—no, it's pure obsession,
red-stained hands, a cursed confession."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Ok why do I sound like an absolute maniac? I should have re-wrote the poem in a more subtle manner.

Then Val wheezed. "WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL."

"I told you to give it back," I growled, lunging again as Hugo ran around, waving the parchment like a cursed torch.

"YOU'RE A SOCIOPATH IN LOVE!" Lorcan screamed, laughing so hard he was crying.

Hugo went on to complete the poem:

They want her light? Let them try.
I'll devour their souls before they pry.
She's not a rose, she's blood and flame—
and I'd kill the world to let her have my last name.

The room exploded.

Ok maybe I did go a bit over the hook with the 'last name' thing.

BAAAAAAAHHHHH!!! WHAT WAS I THINKING WHEN WRITING THIS? I USUALLY WOULD HAVE HIDDEN THIS IN MY, 'NEVER EVER TO BE OPENED BY SOMEONE EXCEPT ME' BOX WHICH HAS A TORTURE CHARM IF TOUCHED BY ANYONE ELSE THE SECOND I FINISHED WRITING THIS- WHY DID I LEAVE IT ON MY TABLE-

"WHAT IS THIS," Val gasped, choking with laughter. "WHAT IS THIS?"

"It's a death threat wrapped in a love letter," Lorcan shouted, pointing at me. "You are insane."

"Was this written with red ink?" Hugo asked, examining the page. "Oh my God—it's not ink. That's dragon blood, isn't it?! THE BLOOD IS STILL SO FRESH! LOOKS LIKE YOU JUST WROTE IT! HOT AND FRESH DELIVERY HUH?"

Val narrowed his eyes, grinning like a shark smelling blood. "Come on, Lysander. You can't just drop something that intense and expect us to guess. Who is she? Spill it. Who is the recipient of this cursed relic"

Lorcan leaned back, arms crossed, smirking. "Is she the fellow Head Girl? A Gryffindor? Maybe a red head? Green eyes? Quite short but hell hot?"

How dare Val calls Lily hot- Ok that should be the least of my problems right now...

Hugo chimed in, eyes gleaming. "Or is it someone who doesn't even know you exist yet? A secret crush? A forbidden flame?"

I kept my voice flat, deliberately boring. "None of your business."

"Oh, come on," Val pressed, swinging a pillow lazily in the air. "We're your friends."

Lorcan smirked wider. "You're always so serious. This poem? It's practically a public announcement. Why keep it a secret?"

"Maybe because it's none of your business." LORCAN IF YOU UTTER A WORD ABOUT LILY YOU ARE DEAD. DON'T DARE EVEN GIVE THEM HINTS.

Hugo laughed. "But seriously—blood, fire, kingdoms burning, cursed confessions—this isn't just 'none of your business.' This is the stuff of legends. Who is she? Spill."

"Maybe it's about some dark artifact he's obsessed with trust me if that's about a real girl, I would probably feel sorry for her birth" Jared offered weakly, still wrapped in his blanket cocoon.

I let out a dry sigh. "It's a poem. A stupid poem. I just wrote it for fun. There is no truth or reality. Let's just say I was reading a hot burning dark romance novel and wrote this with inspiration. It's like a fanfiction or to be precise, fanpoem"

Lorcan's grin turned sly. "You read romance? Since when?"

"Let us assume that I do, it's the only way to solve this problem"

"This isn't a math problem, this is a life problem" Jared the wise owl cooed.

Val laughed, nudging me. "Tell us at least one thing. Is she real or imaginary?"

I folded my arms, unamused. "I'm not up for this conversation anymore"

Val grinned wider. "COME ON! Who is she? Don't make us write our own revenge sonnets."

I shook my head slowly. "You're all hopeless, the best poetry you guys can do is, 'A cat named mat ate a rat'. I don't believe you're going to be writing revenge sonnets."

"Well, stop changing the topic" Val said with mock seriousness, "We'll keep pressing until we crack this mystery wide open. You don't get to write something like that and keep us in the dark. So how many more do you have Lysander Shakespeare?"

"Guys we all know it's Lily- Come on! This ain't even a big deal" Lorcan announced. OH YEAH HE'S DEAD.

"It can't be Lily though" Hugo said, I don't know why but his tone sounded a bit disappointed. "How? Why?" Jared asked suddenly interested.  Ok that was a good save? I don't know.

"Bro, literally the whole schools knows Julius and her are a thing now- Roxanne told me Lily keeps talking about him and likes him. Julius openly flirts with her and Lily is charmed. I heard a rumour Julius tried kissing her in the library but Lily was too flustered so she moved away from him but then after a while they were seen holding hands and Lily was acting all shy."

This kind of shit really boils my blood. I HAVE TO FIND IF ANYTHING WHAT HUGO SAID HAS SOME REALITY TO IT SO I CAN MAKE A PART TWO FOR MY, 'RED STAINED DEVOTION'. 

"WHO IS THIS SWEET LOVELY GIRL WHO STOLE 'THE LYSANDER'S' HEART?!" Val yelled out of the window looking at the moon hoping for a reply.

I glanced at the clock. "Enough for tonight. My rounds start soon."

"You can't run away from the truth forever." Hugo said dramatically.

Lorcan grinned wickedly. "We're sending this to the daily prophet to publish it in the 'This week's Talbott Winger'.

"You'll lose your fingers."

"Worth it."

"I'll be back soon and THIS stays here, THIS poem and that GIRL."

"So she's real?"

I could suddenly feel time slow down. I could hear my heart thumping loudly. I don't know what got into me but then I gave a small smirk barely visible over my bored expression and muttered-

"Sadly, yes"

They'll probably just think I'm messing with them right?

*************

I was stalking the dark, empty corridors of Hogwarts, my wand aloft—ready to hang any student out of bed upside down from the ceiling like a chandelier. I wasn't in the mood for games tonight.

"Shh, the sigma is here," whispered the unmistakably anxious voice of a pubescent boy.

Sigma? I narrowed my eyes.

A cheap invisibility cloak did a pitiful job of hiding a cluster of feet—muddy, scuffed shoes sticking out like weeds on marble. I sighed.

"When you do something wrong..." I began, gripping the edge of the cloak and yanking it back with one swift motion.

Four boys froze, faces pale as if they'd just seen death himself. My face, evidently, had that effect.

"You do it with elegance," I continued calmly, "and precision. In a way that you don't get caught."

They gaped, too stunned to breathe.

"I won't say you need to follow the rules—Merlin knows I never did—but at the very least, don't let your idiocy fall under my radar."

"Y-yes, sir—I mean, roger that, Head Boy!"

"Good," I said, with the kind of smile that meant trouble. "Now then, for your punishment, choose your fate: one hundred diamond push-ups, twelve hours hanging upside down from the Astronomy Tower, or you could volunteer as a test subject for a poison I'm developing. It's only mildly paralytic."

One of them muttered, "Might as well toss us into the Forbidden Forest and let the wolves eat us."

I turned to him slowly, eyes gleaming. "Interesting idea. So brave of you to volunteer."

His face fell.

"Your wish is granted," I added coolly. "I'll inform Filch. He'll meet you by Hagrid's hut in ten. Try not to die—it's such a paperwork mess."

They all tutted and murmured under their breath.

I raised an eyebrow. "Shall I add another hundred push-ups?"

They bolted. Didn't even look back.

"FIVE POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN FOR RUNNING IN THE CORRIDORS!" I bellowed after them. Ergh, kids.

"Hogwarts has lost its legacy because of students like you. Is this a cow slaughter shed or a school?" came a familiar, oily drawl from the nearby portrait. Snape, arms folded, eyes narrowed, as if the very air offended him.

I sighed. "Says the one who lost his girl to an idiot like James Potter."

His eyes darkened, the shadows in the portrait deepening around him. "And yet I still managed to be remembered more than the Quidditch-flailing flea circus that was the Marauders."

"Oh, definitely," I said dryly. "You're the blueprint for repressed rage and unresolved trauma. We study you in Advanced Psychology of Pining." I chuckled.

"Disrespect," he snapped. "Typical of your generation. Loud, lazy, and in love with your own mediocrity."

"I take that as a compliment, coming from a man who kept a school record of teenage grudges longer than his hair," I said, beginning to walk again.

"I upheld standards" he hissed.

"My ass"

He looked like he wanted to leap out of the frame and throttle me.

"Have a good night, Professor, also if Lily passes by don't eye her too much you're like three times her age, practically a grandfather" I called sweetly over my shoulder. "Tell the Bloody Baron I said hi."

"MR. SCAMANDER!"

I just walked away as he kept fumbling. I swear I can understand why Lily's grandfather loves bullying Snape, it's his expressions. 

As I turned the corner, I caught Peeves hovering mid-air, grinning like he'd just found his next victim.

"Lovely speech, Head Boy," he said, doing a backflip midair. "Mind if I quote it in my Ballad of Bad Decisions?"

"Do it and I'll turn you into a wind chime and hang you above the library entrance," I muttered.

"Skipping classes again aren't you? You can't turn me into a wind chime" He cackled. 

"Wanna bet?" 

Then he floated off somewhere else in search of chaos.

And then somewhere in the distance, I was sure a fourth year just set something on fire. Again.

I followed the faint smell of smoke, wand at the ready. Sure enough, near the Charms corridor, a gaggle of fourth years stood huddled around a cauldron that was absolutely not supposed to be there. One of them had a singed eyebrow. Another was holding a spoon like it was Excalibur.

The bench beneath the cauldron was half-melted, dripping goop, and the potion itself was bubbling like some medieval stew from a horror movie with green flames crackling under the cauldron.

"I was just trying to brew a love potion!" one of the girls squeaked.

I blinked. "Congratulations," I said flatly, waving at the scorched wall behind them. "You've successfully brewed ARSON. Who do you think you are—Hermione Granger and Harry Potter trying to save us from Voldemort?" I asked losing my patience.

"But we followed the instructions!" the other one whined.

"Sure. You added powdered firecrab shell to rose thorns and peppermint." I pointed at the recipe book on the ground. "What did you think was going to happen? Passionate hugs? Flaming devotion? A slow dance in the middle of a house fire?"

They looked like they were deciding whether to cry or try to disappear through the floor.

With a flick of my wand, I extinguished the flames. The bench gave a pathetic hiss as smoke rose from its charred remains.

Both girls stood in awkward silence. Then, very quietly, one of them muttered:

"...I did all this for you."

I froze. "What?"

"For you," she repeated, a little louder. "I brewed it because I—I wanted you to notice me."

I stared at her. "I don't remember asking a fourth-year Hufflepuff to whip up illegal, highly volatile chemical warfare on my behalf."

She looked determined. "But you looked so pretty when you were angry and your eyes- It's just something about the diamonds in your eyes. I've loved you for three years now... Lysander"

My brain paused. Rebooted. Considered jumping out of my own skull and running away.

"I'm going to say this exactly once," I said, enunciating every syllable like I was defusing a bomb. "I am flattered. FALSELY. But if anyone ever tells you that cooking up a love potion that can double as napalm is a good way to someone's heart, they are lying and should be escorted directly to St. Mungo's."

"But—"

"Nope. Don't even finish that sentence." I raised a hand. "I am two minutes away from dragging you to Professor Mongrel myself and making you explain how you tried to emotionally manipulate a Head Boy with a Molotov cocktail."

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Smart.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff for the attempted magical arson. And another ten for using school equipment unsupervised. And five for making me question the future of wizardkind. And you are banned from brewing anything except tea until further notice. Also two hours kitchen clean up duty."

As they trudged away, one of them whispered to the other, "I still think he's cute."

I spun around. "Another word and I'm throwing you in the Black Lake and I'll feed you to the giant squid"

They squeaked and fled down the corridor.

Silence returned. Briefly. Until Peeves reappeared above my head, holding what looked suspiciously like a dungbomb and singing, "Lyyyysander's got a girlfrieeeend, and she's twelve, and makes potiooons—"

"Peeves."

"Okay okay!" he cackled, vanishing through a wall.

I'm just exhausted. I took a stroll by the library where I was met by Nearly Headless Nick, we had a chat about how he had become a ghost until-

Then came the screaming.

Great. Second floor girls' bathroom.

I arrived to find Moaning Myrtle laughing maniacally as water sprayed everywhere and the sinks spun in synchronised demonic ballet. The toilet lid was flapping like a bloody bird.

"She tried to exorcise me with garlic powder!" Myrtle wailed, pointing at a girl with a trembling wand.

"I thought it worked on spirits!" the girl cried.

"That's vampires, not plumbing ghosts!"

With another flick of my wand, I silenced the shrieking pipes and gave Myrtle a stern look. "You're already dead. Try being less dramatic."

"I'm heartbroken!" she sobbed, voice echoing off the damp walls.

I handed the student a mop, who looked like she wanted to run but knew better. "And you," I added, "have three hours of ghost etiquette lessons added to your detention. And that's only because it's criminal to shove someone down the toilet bowls, flush them into the sewers, and watch them climb out of the sewage tank."

Myrtle sniffled dramatically, then suddenly floated closer, eyes wide and shimmering. "You know, Lysander, you're awfully brave to wander the dark corridors at night and get attracted to my screams."

I raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe I'm just used to ghosts who can't stop crying."

She twirled a ghostly curl around her finger. "Or maybe I just like the company. You're not like the others. You listen."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "You're flirting with me. In a bathroom. At midnight."

She giggled—a watery, eerie sound. "Well, you are rather handsome for a living boy. And so very mysterious." She said trying to touch my shoulders as she crept behind me.

I glanced at the dripping walls. "I think the moisture is getting to you."

She floated closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Maybe I should haunt you more often. Who knows, maybe you'd start to like it."

"Trust me," I muttered, stepping back a pace, "I already have enough women haunting me on a daily basis. No need to add a spectral one to the list."

She giggled again, a sound like someone wringing out a wet towel. "Oh, Lysander... always so guarded. That's what makes you interesting."

This was, without question, the most horrendous forty-five minutes of my life.

Escaping Myrtle's love confession felt like surviving a brush with the Underworld. I made a mental note to start carrying a garlic necklace—not for vampires, but for overly affectionate bathroom ghosts.

As I trudged back toward my patrol route, something caught my eye: the heavy wooden door to the viaduct courtyard, slightly ajar.

Odd.

It was curfew. That door should've been sealed tighter than Filch's expression at a joke.

Cautiously, I stepped through the threshold—and immediately gagged.

Smoke. Cheap, awful, herbal smoke.

And there, lounging like it was a Parisian café and not a freezing stone corridor in Scotland, were two students. Not just any students. Of course not. No, the universe loved me.

My brother.

And Valentino Anderson, who I can only describe as my pet monkey if the monkey was inexplicably charming and also allergic to responsibility.

They were both sitting on the ledge, passing something back and forth like they were philosophers in the middle of an existential breakthrough.

I crept up behind them, as silently as a vengeful spirit.

And then—

"WELL, WELL, IF IT ISN'T HOGWARTS' FINEST DIPLOMATS TO THE KINGDOM OF IDIOCY," I shouted, grabbing them both by the hair.

"AAAAARGH—Lysander!" Lorcan screeched.

"WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS APPEARING LIKE A DEMENTOR ON TAX SEASON?" Valentino yelled, nearly dropping his cigarette. What fuck is he talking about is he also drunk?

I pulled them both back by the scruffs of their necks, dragging them inside like misbehaving kittens. "First of all, it's curfew. Second, you smell like a dragon's armpit. Third—and most importantly—you're smoking, in a castle that catches fire once a week."

"We were stress testing the airflow," Valentino wheezed.

"Yeah," Lorcan added helpfully, "For ventilation integrity! It's academic."

"Brilliant," I deadpanned. 

I dragged them a few more steps before releasing my hold on their hair. They flopped against the wall, groaning like they'd just completed a marathon made of shame and bad decisions.

"You guys are so lucky. I'm feeling creative tonight. So what kind of punishment can I give you guys?" I said, smiling like a well-dressed executioner. 

They both flinched.

"You will each write a ten-foot essay, single-spaced, on the flame-toxicity levels of magical herbs and their impact on castle ventilation systems. Include diagrams. Annotate them. I want citations from at least three Arithmancy journals. And Miranda Goshwak help you if you even think of using the word 'vibes' in your writing."

Lorcan opened his mouth.

"I'm not done," I added quickly.

They froze.

"You will also assist Filch in polishing the entire trophy room. Without magic. While wearing matching pink aprons that say, 'Smoke Responsibly, Not at All.' I'll even do the embroidery myself. In glitter thread."

Valentino made a choked noise. "But—I'm your friend."

"And I'm your twin!" Lorcan added, thoroughly scandalized.

"Exactly why," I said sweetly, "I didn't go with my original idea—which involved stranding the both of you in a cave for three days and filming a knock-off episode of Survival Island: Detention Edition. You'd get one half-eaten chocolate frog and an aggressive Acromantula for company."

Val's eyes widened in horror. "You're bluffing."

"Oh?" I arched a brow. "Ask Annis Fennel from Hufflepuff. She still flinches at the sight of cave moss. She was one of my early... test cases. Also," I turned to Lorcan, voice saccharine, "I'm telling Mum."

"Mate—" Val began, but I cut him off.

"Would you like to write a second essay, or will you kindly take yourselves to the trophy room?"

Without another word, they turned and started walking.

"Oh, also!" I called after them cheerfully. "I'll be evaluating your essays. Every mistake equals one minute hanging upside down from the ceiling in the Great Hall—so wear tight pants that day! You have three days. Love you! XOXO, Lysander!"

Their groans echoed down the corridor like music to my ears.

Honestly, I was starting to think I was getting the hang of this. Give it two more weeks, and most of these troublemakers would be too exhausted to challenge me. Sure, there'll always be a few chronic cases—kids who treat bothering me like a part-time job—but at least we can weed out the budding delinquents and amateur wannabe-feral students before they evolve into full-time chaos gremlins.

I walked back into the castle, practically frolicking through the hallways. Midnight always gave me this weird energy burst—maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the freedom that came after patrol. I glanced at my watch.

11:48 PM.

Twelve minutes to go. Just twelve more minutes. Nothing else could possibly happen now, right? I turned sharply at the end of the corridor. Too quiet.

Which meant either Peeves was planning an opera, or some idiot was out of bed.

Then—footsteps.

Steady. Light. Too light for Filch. Too smooth for Peeves. I didn't hesitate. I spun, grabbed the hand reaching for my shoulder, twisted it behind their back, and slammed them against the cold stone wall.

A soft gasp.

"Lysander!"

My eyes widened. "Lily?"

She blinked up at me, pinned between my arm and the wall, her brow raised and lips twitching with amusement. "Well. That was unnecessarily hot."

I immediately released her, taking a step back like I'd touched a cursed artifact. "I thought you were a Slytherin with a death wish."

"You treat all suspicious Slytherins like that?"

Ran a hand through my hair. "Look, I thought you were a threat."

"I am," she teased. "To your self-control."

She took a step closer. "You know, you're not the only one who gets energized near midnight."

I raised a brow. "Is this your subtle way of asking me to join you ditching patrol?"

"No," she said, brushing past me with a sly smile. "It's my subtle way of asking if you want to do absolutely nothing school-appropriate." 

I couldn't help but crack a weak smile

We turned a corner—and bam. A crash. A curse.

Then—Julius stumbled out of a dark classroom, arms full of contraband snacks and what I could only pray wasn't Firewhisky.

"Oh," he said, like he was surprised we existed. "Hey, Lily. Lysander. Fancy meeting you two here." he said trying to fake a British accent.

Lily folded her arms. "You're out past curfew."

Julius grinned. "Am I? I was just... doing some light cardio. Thought I'd take the stairs a few times. Build calves. You know how it is."

"You're holding three chocolate frogs and a bottle of illegal butterbeer."

"Gotta fuel the gains."

"Ten points from Ravenclaw," she snapped. "And I should report you."

"But you won't," he said smoothly, flashing her a grin. "Because I know you're merciful. And have a soft spot for underfed, charming boys with great hair."

My eye twitched.

Lily just blinked. "What."

"I mean, you look like you haven't had a single bad hair day since you were born. And those alluring eyes—absolutely criminal. Should be illegal to look that good at midnight."

She narrowed her eyes, caught between laughing and hexing him.

I, however, was beginning to contemplate manslaughter.

"Stop talking," I muttered.

But Julius had locked in. "Y'know, you and I should do patrol together sometime. Without, uh... third wheels."

He actually jerked his thumb at me.

At me.

Lily's face went blank. "Third—?"

"You know, just you and me. Bit more fun. Bit more... chemistry" he said in a flirtful voice.

I stepped forward.

"Julius."

He turned, all innocence. "Yeah, mate?" again faking a British accent.

"Touch her hair again and I'll break your wrist."

His hand—which had been hovering suspiciously close to Lily's hair—froze mid-air. 

"Stop controlling her, she doesn't mind it-"

"Actually I do" Lily said moving back and closer to me. I WON! FOR THE FIRST TIME THE FEELING DOESN'T FEEL SO SATURATED.

"Noted."

Lily quickly stepped between us. "Alright, both of you—cool it."

Julius, either stupid or fearless, winked at her. "Don't worry. I like a bit of competition."

Oh. He did not just say that.

Lily cleared her throat. "Maybe you should go back to your dorm."

"But I've got snacks! Come on, I'll share. We can sit somewhere, watch the stars... Maybe talk about our tragic backstories."

"She doesn't have a tragic backstory," I growled.

"Oh," Julius said, tilting his head. "And you'd know?"

Lily sighed. "He would. He's... very observant."

"I bet he is," Julius muttered.

I stepped closer. "You really want to keep pushing this?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll go. No need to get murderous. Just wanted to shoot my shot."

"You missed."

As he walked away, he called back, "Love you, Lily!"

She blinked. 

"He's either clueless or suicidal."

She looked up at me, her eyes flicking between mine, something unreadable brewing behind them—sharp and soft all at once. "Jealous?"

"No," I said.

"...Liar."

I didn't answer.

Instead, I reached for her—one arm slipping around her waist, the other threading gently into her hair like it belonged there. She didn't pull away. Didn't blink. Just stared up at me, chest rising and falling a little too fast, like her heart had just remembered how to race.

"If he flirts with you again," I murmured, voice low, "I'm breaking his wrist."

Her breath hitched—barely—and then she smiled, slow and searing. "Noted," she whispered, stepping closer until not even the air dared separate us. "I'll bring the ice pack."

That did it.

Her fingers skimmed my jaw, cupped the side of my face, deepening the kiss until my thoughts scattered like startled owls. My spine lit up. My chest was a bonfire. Beautiful, sharp, aggravating Lily. 

She kissed me like she didn't care we were technically on patrol, or in public, or breaking at least five school rules. I didn't care either. I just returned back the passion of my love.

When we finally pulled apart—barely—she rested her forehead against my chest. "So," she whispered, still breathless, "Are you gonna log this as an official patrol infraction?"

I swallowed, dazed. "Yeah. Under Section Twelve-B."

"What's that one say?"

I looked her dead in the eye. "Detention for stealing my heart."

She laughed. Bright and loud, I held her hand and pulled her to my chest as she wrapped her arms around me.

"Maybe your punishment can be spending a night with me..." I whispered into her ears.

"Teach me how to break all the rules in the section to earn such a punishment" she asked motivated and excited lifting her head from my chest to look at me. I suck myself in those green emerald sea eyes of hers and smiled.

"Keep dreaming Potts" I said patting her little red head as we walked towards Gryffindor towers, holding hands.

*************

Another morning, another batch of students wandering around with untied shoelaces. What is so hard in following the rules? Don't you understand english? How is not following the instruction gonna make you any cool? I don't get the logic. Humans are weird.

 I stood in the corridor just outside the Great Hall, half-asleep and clutching my tea like it was the last Horcrux keeping me alive. Hair? Messy—but that was my official hairstyle. Robe? Barely buttoned. My only joy? Hoping someone showed up in mismatched socks so I could dock points and feel something.

Technically, I was supposed to be monitoring dress code violations. Realistically, I was weighing whether collapsing theatrically would get me out of my duties or just earn me another prefect meeting.

A first year skipped by in flip-flops.

In September.

"I give up," I muttered into my mug.

"Already?" a voice drawled beside me.

I didn't have to look. That voice had a lease in my ribcage.

Lily appeared, chipper and criminally awake—clipboard in one hand, croissant in the other. Hair perfect. Eyes too bright for this ungodly hour.

"I've been up since six," she chirped. "Ran laps, updated the rota, filed two PDA reports."

"Good for you," I grunted, raising my tea like a white flag. "I almost hexed a fourth year for blinking too loudly."

She laughed—warm, unfairly energizing. "You're adorable when homicidal."

I glared. "You'd feel differently if you had to chase a third year who thinks the school uniform is a suggestion."

She took a bite of her croissant, then leaned in. "Tell you what. Survive until lunch without hexing anyone, and I'll sneak you one of those caramel tarts from the kitchen."

I narrowed my eyes. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," she said sweetly. 

Just as I allowed myself a rare smile, chaos returned. A student—definitely Julius—ran past us in a full banana costume, yelling about "potions enlightenment."

Probably about to tell me that Wednesdays at Ilvermorny were costume-themed.

"OI! YOU! TIE YOUR SHOELACES OR I'LL FEED YOUR SHOES TO THE WEREWOLVES—AND THOSE LOOK EXPENSIVE!"

*************

Lunch break meant one thing: a temporary escape from this cursed plane of existence, which I hoped would vanish sooner rather than later.

I slumped down at the lunch table with my roommates and greeted them with all the life of a funeral bell. "Good afternoon."

"So, how's your girl, Lysander? She doing well?" Val teased, giggling with Lorcan like hyenas.

"My Head Boy duties are looking real appealing right now. Maybe I should leave," I muttered, exhausted.

"Cut our baby some slack," Jared chimed in. "He's been working day and night without rest. Give him some credit."

I leaned against his shoulder, closed my eyes, and took a ten-second power nap while he casually stroked my hair.

"Finally... some credit," I mumbled.

"GAY," Hugo announced cheerfully, mid-sandwich, smiling at the scene like it was a rom-com.

"Did Lorcan tell you about the howler he got this morning?" Val grinned. "The entire school heard your mum screaming in the Great Hall. I didn't even think she could get angry—she looks so calm."

"Raising two sons is hard," I said flatly.

"It was humiliating," Lorcan groaned. "Bloody goody two-shoes—"

"WAIT. WAIT. WAIT." I sat up. "Whatever happened to the whole Amelia-Lorcan drama? Didn't you both have some massive fight?"

"Oh, I was mad at him for two days," Val said with a dramatic sigh, "but he bribed me with butterbeer. And, well, it was kind of my sister's fault too... But I'll never forgive Lorcan for what he did. Absolute pedophile."

"The age gap isn't even that bad," Jared reasoned. "One of my cousins married someone twelve years older."

"This isn't a sugar daddy thing, Jared. Lorcan is broke and probably nine months away from being jobless and homeless."

"He's getting on my nerves," Hugo muttered suddenly.

"Who?" Lorcan asked.

"Ajax." Hugo stabbed his fork into his salad. "Look at him. Flirting with that American bitch—what was his name again? Julius? Yeah. Julius. I swear—"

"I ship Julius and Lily," Lorcan said, too casually. "They're both so sunny, it's perfect. That American–London combo? Ugh. Adorable."

He looked at me when he said that. Oh, you bastard. You know. He knows about me and Lily and he's trying to break me like a flimsy quill.

"Speak of the devils," Hugo muttered.

I turned.

There she was. Lily. Laughing with Julius, all radiant sunshine and easy charm. And him—leaning in, eyes crinkling, like he'd never heard anything so funny. The flames of jealousy roared in my chest. I'm getting tired even for a phoenix. 

Then, as if summoned by Satan himself, Julius skipped over to our table. "Hello!"

He wedged himself—completely uninvited—between Val and Lorcan and sat directly across from me.

"Joules!" Lorcan greeted with fake delight. "Love the energy. We really needed some."

"Lorcannnn," Julius beamed, "You've got to teach me Quidditch, man. It sounds so cool. I heard you're amazing. Also, you look totally ripped. Can I see those muscles? What's your workout routine?"

"Oh my god!" Julius gasped, spinning to Val. "THE Valentino Anderson?! I'm a huge fan. You're a legend among pranksters. We should totally be friends. I'm basically the fun version of the Head Boy. I'll get you past any creepy corridor without that rule freak catching you."

I cleared my throat. Loudly.

Julius turned as if I'd just materialised from the shadows.

"LYSANDER!" he gasped, clutching his chest like a Victorian widow. "Did your lashes always look that lush? And your skin—oh my god—are you on K-beauty? You're glowing like a moisturised moonbeam."

I blinked. Twice.

Val nearly spat juice all over the table.

"You're being too loud," Hugo grumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.

But Julius had already zeroed in on him. "Wait—you're the son of the Minister for Magic, right? That's so cool! You must be, like, super smart. Wanna tutor me sometime?"

Lorcan choked on his drink, coughing with laughter, and Hugo smacked his back like he was trying to beat the shit out of him.

Then Julius turned to Jared with a spark of recognition. "And you—weren't you the one who fainted when you saw me on the Hogwarts Express? Are you gay, or do I just look that good?"

Jared stiffened. "You just triggered some of my worst memories."

Oh.

So that's what it was.

Jared must've thought Julius was André when they first met. The resemblance really was uncanny—same eyes, same jawline, even the same obnoxiously charming smile. No wonder Jared had panicked.

The table went awkwardly silent for a heartbeat.

Julius, blissfully unaware, picked up an apple and inspected it like it owed him money. "Man, British food is so... brown. Do they even sell kale here?"

"Go back to Ilvermorny," Hugo muttered under his breath.

"Oh, but I love it here!" Julius chirped. "I mean, everyone's so dramatic and broody. It's like living in a live-action soap opera. There's sexual tension literally everywhere."

I sipped my pumpkin juice very slowly, very deliberately.

"Are you done trash-talking Hogwarts" I said flatly, glaring at him over the rim of my goblet.

Julius blinked. "Oopsie-daisy! That's not why I came, actually. I needed to talk to you about something important." he said as he crossed his fingers and rested his elbows on the table dramatically. 

"I won't loan you any money," I said flatly, without looking at him.

Julius raised a brow and chuckled. "Money? Please. My parents are multimillionaires—I'm not here to beg."

The air around the table shifted. Suddenly tense. Expectant. Like everyone knew something was about to happen.

Julius leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice calm. Too calm.

"Do you like Lily?"

My mind split in half. I'm going to crash out.

"What the fuck is wrong with everyone?!" I snapped, my voice rising. "Do you want me to tattoo it on my face or maybe a post-it stuck to my forehead? Write a goddamn Hogwarts newsletter about it? I don't see Lily that way, she's not a romantic interest. SEVEN. YEARS. And you're all still poking the same nerve!"

Julius didn't flinch. His smile was gone. His blue eyes were locked on mine—steady, level, and terrifyingly earnest.

"Then do me a favour," he said, tone cutting through the noise like a blade. "Stop following her around like a puppy. Stop acting like her guard dog."

I barked out a laugh—humourless, cold. "How low do you think I am? You think I've got nothing better to do than trail after her like some sad, obsessed mutt? I'm not protecting her."

He tilted his head slightly, voice sharp now. "Then what are you doing, Lysander? Because every time someone talks to her, you tense up like it's a threat. You hover. You watch her like she's your territory—"

"She's like a sister—" I started.

Val groaned. Hugo rolled his eyes. Even Jared gave a defeated sigh.

"Oh, spare us," Lorcan muttered.

I gestured wildly to them. "Can you not? Seriously. She's like a sister to all of us, right? We've grown up together, we know her. That's all there is to it."

"No," Julius said firmly. "No, I'm not buying that. I don't care if she's your sister, your childhood friend, your emotional support pixie—whatever. What I see is a girl who's completely blinded by you."

He leaned in closer, voice low and precise. "She loves you, Lysander. Anyone with half a brain can see it. But here's the thing—"

"HEY! I have half a brain! At least I hope I do!" Val chimed in.

"Bad timing, Val," Hugo muttered as both Julius and I turned and hit him with matching death glares.

Then Julius turned back to me, and his tone shifted. No more theatrics. No jokes. Just cold fury.

"You are incapable of loving her the way she deserves."

The room fell silent. That kind of silence that presses against your ribs, claws at your throat. The kind that feels like a stab through your back. Even thought not even one word of that was true or applicable.

"Stay out of her life," Julius continued, eyes never leaving mine. "Let her move on. Let her heal. Because what you're doing? This thing where you linger, where you stay just close enough to keep her hoping—it's not devotion. It's cruelty. You're not protecting her. You're controlling her. You're manipulating her emotions like strings on a puppet. And the worst part?"

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"You're proud of it. You have no sense of guilt for mentally torturing her for your benefit. But here's a little wake-up call, Lysander Scamander—you're an absolute psychopath."

"You won't let her date anyone. You don't let her breathe around someone else without making her feel guilty. You don't want her, but you want her trapped. You want her watching you. Waiting. Hurting. The moment she tries to move on, you cut the cord, pull her back like some twisted puppeteer. What kind of monster are you?"

The table had gone silent. No one breathed.

"I talked to Keres," Julius went on. "He told me everything. Told me how you ruined his relationship with Lily. You didn't like him, so you destroyed him. You manipulated him into chasing another girl just so Lily would walk in and see it herself. So she'd be heartbroken enough to swear off dating for a year and a half. You didn't just break them up, Lysander—you orchestrated it."

A collective gasp moved around the table like a ripple. Even Lorcan blinked.

I must give Julius credit. The narration? Spot on. For a moment, I got swept up in the drama. I almost thought—oh wow, did I really do all that?

It's ironic how I still don't feel guilty. If anything, I'm pretty proud of myself.

Julius shook his head, like the words in his own mouth tasted wrong. "What kind of deranged fifteen-year-old even thinks of something like that?"

I didn't blink. Didn't flinch. A slow grin unfurled across my face—dark, amused.

"I wouldn't call it psychopathy," I said quietly. "I'd call it art."

Julius looked like he might vomit.

I tilted my head slightly, tone maddeningly calm. "And I'd be lying if I said I didn't stir the pot between Lily and Keres because I didn't like him. Cue the dramatic gasp."

My roommates—bless them—gasped right on time.

Julius stared at me like I'd just confessed to murder. 

"Do you hear yourself?" he hissed. "You used people. You shattered her trust in relationships—on purpose—and you're standing there smiling about it."

"I never said I was proud," I replied, and the grin slipped away. "But I don't regret it either."

"You don't love her, Julius," I said, voice flat. "You love the idea of loving her. Of saving her. But Lily isn't some damsel in distress for you to rescue. And she sure as hell doesn't need someone like you telling her she's broken."

"She is broken!" Julius snapped. "And you're the one who broke her!"

I couldn't help it—I laughed. It was the kind of laugh that sent goosebumps crawling over everyone's skin. Jared wiped sweat off his forehead. Val's eyes widened. Hugo's heart was practically audible. And Lorcan? He watched like he was binging a K-drama. Unbothered. Entertained. Definitely used to this.

"See, this is the problem with people like you and Keres," I said through laughter. "You've got full-blown main character syndrome. 'Oh no, my Cinderella is dying inside, I must save her from the dark prince!'" I batted my lashes mockingly. 

I felt it—the pressure, the storm about to break, the crackle of lightning in the bones.

"Stay. Away. From her."

I met his stare with eerie calm. "Do I really have that intimidating a face?" I asked softly. "Do I give off that classic villain vibe? People act like I'm some budget Light Yagami." 

Julius flinched like he was physically restraining himself from throwing something at me.

"So you agree?" he spat. "You admit it—you're caging her. Like some animal."

I didn't respond right away.

Because the truth?

No, Julius. I didn't do any of that to cage her. I didn't isolate her or hurt her just to keep her tied to me. Everything up to the Keres incident? Sure, I'll take credit. But the rest? That's just your theory. Because I can't tell you the truth.

That she chose me.

But I can't say that. Not here. Not now.

So I did what I do best. Manipulating the situation to justify myself with my twist of words and lies.

"You're so dramatic," I said, voice light, almost bored. "Half of what you're spewing is just a theory you stitched together like it's some school project. No proof. No facts. Just vibes and righteous fury. Honestly, I'm just a nerd trying to graduate, get a decent job, and live a normal life."

I gave a half-shrug.

"Trust me, I've never even touched a girl in my life. Love? Waste of time. Energy. Completely inefficient. I'm not out here meddling with the life of some petty girl I don't care about."

I leaned against the table, tone calm but sharp.

"Now, the Keres thing? Fine. Not proud of it. But don't act like you were there, Julius. You didn't see anything. You're building castles out of rumors."

"And for the record," I added, voice hardening, "I don't care if you're dating Lily. What I do care about is when you touch her without noticing how uncomfortable she is. That's what bothers me. I'd react the same way with any girl. You think it's some personal obsession? No. It's basic decency. Call it a sense of duty."

"I'm Head Boy. It's literally my job to look out for people. That includes her. I'm not following her around for fun, Julius. Believe me—I don't enjoy staring at her face or keeping up with her hyperactive chaos. She's given me the 'ick' since I met her."

I leaned closer, voice dropping to a dry whisper.

"So maybe, before you start crafting some K-drama monologue about me being the cruel villain trying to steal the protagonist's girl, you take a step back and stop projecting your own insecurities onto me."

I straightened again.

"And maybe—just maybe—you start asking her what she wants."

Julius exhaled, forcing a tight smile. "Well played, Lysander. Really. Give yourself some credit. You're different. I guess I underestimated you."

He folded his arms, nodding slowly.

"I thought you'd crack. Thought you'd panic like any normal person would under pressure. That's usually when I strike. But you? You flipped the whole game. I'll admit—it'd be pathetic if I threw a tantrum now. So fine. You win this round. Congrats. I'll step up my game."

He straightened, voice cool and sharp.

"So here's my final statement: I love Lily. And I'm not going anywhere. If you think you can scare me off—manipulate things, pull strings, or play your little tricks—I'll catch you. Every time."

"I'm confident you'll fail. Miserably."

"...What?"

I turned away from him entirely and focused on Jared, as if Julius had vanished into thin air.

"Miserable day, isn't it, JJ?" I sighed dramatically. "Wasted my time arguing with some loser about a duffer like Lily. Honestly, I'm talking to Potter today—she's been actively ruining my life for years. And now she's managed to waste my time without even being in the room. Impressive."

"She actually thinks tossing Julius at me will distract me from topping the midterms. Shameful, really."

Jared blinked, clearly too terrified to speak. I didn't blame him—the tension in the room could've cracked stone.

Julius stood there, seething, ears red, jaw clenched. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed off, confused and humiliated.

"Also! You're going to be bathing all the hippogriffs and helping Professor Barlow acquire some unicorn blood. I forgot to punish you for loitering in the corridors at night yesterday, hence."

He shot a glare and proceeded his march.

My roomies clapped. Val cheered. Hugo was faking tears of sentimental touch. 

"That was so inspiring" Lorcan said.

"Lysander, if you don't date Lily now. All this drama tension and plot will be a complete waste" Val said.

It's always the same. Every year some new guy shows up like, "I'm better than you." And every year, I casually shatter their ego without lifting a finger.

They last maybe five chapters—

I don't know who ever is writing down my boring life, note to you for introducing some antagonists who are worth wasting time on... I feel like I'm always the Villain of my own story...

SHIT IT'S LATE I HAVE TO MEET LILY NOW-

I could probably expose Julius and this whole drama, then have a good laugh about it with her. Chances are, my roommates will connect the poem to all this—the similarity is just too uncanny. They'll come up with wild theories, some of which might even be partly true. So, I'll probably be stuck brainstorming ways to shut them up about why Lily and I are definitely not dating. This is exhausting... ugh. I'm honestly scared to go to the dorm and talk about this.

*************

YOU LIKE RUNNING DON'T YOU? WANT TO PRACTISE THIS WITH THE WEREWOLVES AND CENTAURS IN THE FORBIDDEN FOREST?!" I shouted after a few third years tearing down the corridor like they were training for the Triwizard Tournament.

A puff of robes flared behind me, and a girl huffed as she stomped toward me with her hands on her hips. Probably a fifth-year Hufflepuff—earnest, stubborn, and tragically overconfident.

"Don't you have anything better to do than nag students all day? You're seriously annoying, you know?" she snapped.

I turned to face her slowly, blinking once with the force of a glacier.

"I don't need a half-witted girl with a hero complex telling me how to do my job," I replied in a tone so flat it was practically horizontal. "How much did you score on your Transfiguration midterm? Can't say it out loud, can you? Go revise for your O.W.L.s instead of wasting my time with your D-grade courage."

Her face turned redder than a Gryffindor banner. I didn't even give her the satisfaction of a reaction—I was already walking off when I heard a voice that made my teeth itch.

"You're too harsh, Mr. Scamander," said a sultry, drawling voice.

Great.

I turned.

There she was, sitting like a goddess of prosthetics and makeup on a branch, her long, glossy black hair tumbling down like some shampoo commercial filmed by demons. 

She dropped from the tree branch like she'd rehearsed it, hair flowing, wand tucked elegantly behind one ear. Her two backup dancers—sorry, friends—flanked her like bodyguards hired by Witch Weekly.

"Avery," I muttered, rolling my eyes so hard they nearly dislodged from their sockets.

This girl had done absolutely nothing to me personally, and yet she was still a pain in my ass. Val ranted about her every time we studied together. He used to be in love with her—asked her out, got shot down in flames, and now she lived rent-free in his hate-monologue. She'd gone and dated some other guy a week later, and Val had declared her the incarnation of modern evil. Honestly, I couldn't care less. But she was one of those people—famous, pretty, always performing. Like Julius. And I hated people who performed.

She was a teen model for Witch Weekly, a year below me, and famous for her straight black hair and dark blue eyes with violet flecks that made insecure girls swoon. It would be a lie to say she wasn't pretty. But she was also not my type. 

"Head Boy," she said sweetly, stepping forward with mock innocence. "Is it true Roseanné asked you out? That's wild."

I didn't blink. "What's your new profession, Avery? Monkey? Then why were you perched on a tree?"

Her friends let out soft gasps like it was some televised scandal. Avery, predictably, didn't flinch. She was too trained for that.

"Let's forget the tree for a minute," she said, her voice low and liquid. She stepped closer, arms stretched out as if about to embrace me—or possibly hex me. 

"You know," she said, her breath annoyingly close to my collar, "You're kind of famous too. You've got this whole tortured genius, cold-blooded, head-boy aura. Very mysterious. Bet the first-years have a betting pool about your love life."

I tilted my head. "And I bet you've got one going about which guy's next on your rotation. What is this—scouting? You want me to sign up?"

Her smile sharpened, like she enjoyed the burn more than she should've. "Ouch. That tongue of yours should be illegal but I bet that mouth is even better when it's not snapping at some poor fifth year. Tell me—" she leaned in close. I took a step back.

Another day, another Julius. Just that this one is obsessed with me and not my girlfriend.

"—do you ever use that tone when you're in bed? You know, don't do that! BE PERFECT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" she said mocking my voice and partially giggling. Some students who were watching the scene giggled too. 

Oh, I just know this is gonna end bad.

"I like it when you're mean" she muttered trying to touch my chin.

There were actual gasps from the students around us. Someone muttered, "Bloody hell."

"I haven't even talked to you in my life-" I shot deadpanned with my eyes voided.

"All I knew that the Head Boy was a absolute cruel monster destroying and burdening the life of many students till today. Who knew he turned out to be a tall and gorgeous cruel prince? It's just something about your eyes and those lashes which I'm jealous of-" she said gasping. 

I stood still, not even flinching. Let her perform.

"You're a legend, Lysander," she continued, raising her voice now for the gathering audience. "Top marks. Head Boy. Unattainable. But I could change that. I could make you feel things that would leave your brain scrambled like a bad Divination chart. Want me to prove it?"

Her arms reached out to touch me but I stepped back, calmly brushing off my robes like her touch left grime. I'm just too faithful and loyal to my girlfriend don't you think?

"I love you"

"I love you, so much Lysander"

"Oh yeah, fuck yourself" I muttered in a calm and dreamy tone, kind of how my mom would swear.

I turned toward the gathering crowd of students and raised my voice just enough. "Miss Avery Nightshade, as Head Boy, I'm officially assigning you a week-long disciplinary protocol for misconduct, breach of decorum, and, frankly, emotional terrorism."

The hallway fell silent.

I pulled a small scroll from my robe. "You will be required to report daily to Professor Flitwick's office for a strict regimen in Spell Theory—without magical assistance. You will additionally serve in the owlery from four to seven p.m., cleaning out cages by hand."

She stiffened.

"And since you've demonstrated such confusion between personal identity and presentation..." I paused for effect. "...a full temporary ban on beauty and enhancement charms. That includes Glamskin potions, hair-texture spells, whitening gloss, and your custom iris-tone illusion. You will attend classes as you are. No enchantments. No cosmetics. No curated version of yourself."

The silence turned brittle.

Avery stood frozen, jaw twitching. She looked like a statue—one carved out of vanity and now cracking at the seams.

"You can't—"

"Yes, I can, you can verify with any professor."

The whispers spread like wildfire.

"Avery's gonna go natural—"

"She's going to be seen—"

"That's social suicide—"

Avery looked like I'd ripped out her spine and handed it back to her as a party favour. Then she laughed, high and hollow, the sound of someone already breaking.

"You know what?" she said, voice louder now, defiant. "Love really is war with you, Scamander."

"Love?" said a voice behind me. That voice.

Oh no.

I turned slowly, like a man walking into his own funeral, and there she was—Lily. Gorgeous, deadly, ponytail swinging like a guillotine. That smug little frown on her face could've launched a thousand disciplinary reports.

And Merlin help me, she looked breathtaking.

Focus, Scamander. You're not off duty. Do not get distracted by cheekbones. Not now.

"Nightshade," she said, cold and crisp as sleet, "Must you always gather a crowd like it's some low-budget dating show? This is a school, not your personal runway."

Then she turned, her voice booming. "AND ALL OF YOU—DISPERSE. NOW."

The crowd scattered like pigeons, suddenly very invested in their textbooks.

Avery, not to be outdone, strutted up to Lily, leaned in, and whispered something I wasn't supposed to hear—but absolutely did.

"Don't burden me with your insecurities, Lily. Not my fault your hair's red," she purred with a mischievous giggle, then flounced off with her two backup dancers—er, friends.

Nightshade then turned to me and blew a flying kiss. Lily probably expected me to dodge it, but honestly, that would've been way too weird. So I just stood there, like a hundred-year-old oak, glaring at her as she sauntered closer and whispered,

"Maybe I'll see you later at the library. Perhaps you can tutor me. Love you, babe. Until next time"

Lily's ears turned crimson. Cartoon-level steam practically puffed from her nose.

I inched closer. "Are you okay?"

She spun around and leveled me with a glare that could've melted cauldrons. "Do you think I should dye my hair blonde like yours?"

Oh. Oh, we were in that kind of mood.

I blinked. "That dark blood-red hair isn't just color—it's a statement. It's every fierce, wild thing about you distilled into strands. Blonde would never hold that kind of power. It's your signature. Plus red hair in a black dress, that's so snatched"

She narrowed her eyes. "Flattery won't save you."

"Wasn't flattery," I said, placing a hand dramatically over my heart. "It was pure, panicked honesty."

She folded her arms. "You didn't even defend me. You just stood there like a broomstick with great hair—and basically gave her the green light."

"I was frozen by your sheer power," I shrugged. "And, honestly? She's loony. I'm not dumb. I mean, who leaves this Elmo for that slutty Barbie doll?"

Her face went bright red. "DID YOU JUST CALL ME ELMO AND HER A FUCKING BARBIE DOLL?"

"We can all agree Elmo's way cooler, come on!"

Lily looked away, arms crossed and clearly mad.

"If it helps," I murmured, "I love your hair. It looks like it could burn down kingdoms. Which, honestly, suits you perfectly."

A twitch. The corner of her mouth nearly twitched into a smile. Progress.

She poked me lightly in the chest. "You're still in trouble."

"I'd expect nothing less," I said, gently catching her fingers in mine. "But if you let me walk you to Arithmancy, I'll let you scowl at me the whole way. Maybe even buy you one of those violently pink pastries you pretend to hate."

She exhaled through her nose. Still mad. Still mine.

"Fine," she muttered. "But I'm not holding hands."

We were absolutely holding hands two minutes later.

*************

Hogwarts has a queen—a fierce, beautiful blaze of fire and fury who can slip into the quiet shadow of a sly orange cat without warning. And me? A sleep-deprived king with eyes like dark liquor, a soul bruised but unbroken. What a disaster we are—unstoppable, unpredictable... and utterly, painfully in love.

I walked through the silent corridors of Hogwarts. Not a single student caught—or even close. Impressive.

I've outdone myself. Finally proved what true power looks like when you wear the crown among a sea of adolescents. I've redefined what it means to be Head Boy—not some pushover cleaning up messes, but a dictator who could end you without a second thought.

Being Head Boy? It was never about the pretty titles, the hollow applause, or empty crowns. No. It was about control. Command. Walking the razor's edge between chaos and order, in a place where rules are carved in stone but shattered in whispers behind closed doors.

I used to be a ghost here—just a shadow swallowed by the crowd. But now? I've stepped out from darkness into a cold, sharp light. And it's my time to burn.

Power isn't always a roaring fire. Sometimes it's ice—slow, deadly, relentless. A secret kept beneath calm skin, crystallizing quietly until it snaps everything in its path.

If you think this crown is just metal... just a symbol to bow before... you don't understand.

The throne doesn't make the ruler. The ruler carves the throne from shadows and silence.

But—power alone? It's meaningless.

What good is all this, if you don't use it? If you don't take what you want?

What use is it if you don't learn to bend the rules? To twist the game until it serves you?

It's easy to play the good boy, follow the path laid out for you. But sometimes—sometimes—you have to rewrite the rules ONLY FOR YOU.

The game hasn't even started yet.

This is only the beginning.

You should see me in a crown.

Perhaps I am over doing it? Who cares-

XX~𝐿𝓎𝓈𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇~XX