The morning began… perfectly.
That alone was enough to put Alastair on edge.
There were no whispers trailing him as he entered the Slytherin common room. No subtle glances, no quiet testing of hierarchy, no undercurrents of ambition brushing against one another like drawn blades.
Instead—
"Good morning, Alastair!"
Selene Rosier greeted him with a bright smile that was entirely too open to be anything but suspicious.
Lyanna Wynthrope was helping organize books into neat little stacks.
Celia Morcan was humming.
Nyx Calder was—Merlin help them all—braiding someone's hair.
Alastair paused near the entrance, his gaze sweeping across the room slowly, methodically, as if expecting the illusion to shatter at any second.
"…Explain," he said at last.
Selene tilted her head. "Explain what?"
"This," he gestured vaguely at the room, "collective lapse in judgment."
Nyx beamed. "We just thought we'd have a positive day!"
"…A what?"
"A positive day," Celia repeated, as though that clarified anything. "No scheming, no rivalries, no tension."
Alastair stared at them.
Long.
Hard.
"…I see," he said finally, voice carefully neutral. "And whose idea was this?"
All four of them pointed—simultaneously—toward the far corner.
A small group of second-year Slytherins immediately froze.
One of them tried to step back.
Too late.
Alastair smiled.
It was not a comforting expression.
—
The Great Hall was worse.
Far worse.
The usual invisible boundaries between houses had… blurred.
Not broken, not erased—but softened in a way that felt profoundly unnatural.
A Ravenclaw was explaining something animatedly to a Hufflepuff.
A pair of Gryffindors sat at the edge of the Slytherin table, laughing.
Laughing.
Alastair took his seat slowly, every movement deliberate.
"This is intolerable," he murmured.
Selene sat beside him, entirely unbothered. "It's peaceful."
"It's incorrect."
"That's a strong word."
"It's an accurate one."
Across the hall, a Hufflepuff tripped.
Three different students rushed to help him.
No one laughed.
No one mocked.
No one even smirked.
Alastair closed his eyes briefly.
"…We are living in a fabricated reality."
—
By midday, his patience had worn thin.
Hogwarts functioned on balance—on ambition, rivalry, pride.
Remove those, and what remained was not harmony.
It was instability.
And Alastair Salvius did not tolerate instability.
"Selene," he said quietly, "with me."
She rose without question.
Lyanna, Celia, and Nyx followed shortly after, their earlier cheerfulness dimming slightly under the weight of his tone.
They found the source in an abandoned classroom.
A circle etched faintly into the stone floor.
Residual magic clung to the air, subtle but unmistakable.
Alastair crouched, fingers hovering just above the runes.
"…Not a charm," he murmured. "A field."
Selene frowned. "Someone cast this intentionally?"
"No," he said after a moment, eyes narrowing. "This was… triggered."
"Triggered by what?"
Alastair straightened slowly.
"…That is the question."
—
The answer arrived sooner than expected.
And in the most ridiculous form possible.
It started with a sound.
A soft pop.
Then another.
And another.
The corridor outside filled—suddenly—with objects.
Not dangerous ones.
Not cursed ones.
Just… objects.
Brightly colored.
Utterly absurd.
Rubber ducks.
Hundreds of them.
They poured into the hallway like a flood, squeaking faintly as they bounced and rolled across the stone floor.
Nyx stared.
Celia blinked.
Lyanna covered her mouth, very carefully not laughing.
Selene simply looked at Alastair.
"…I assume," she said slowly, "this is related."
Alastair said nothing.
He walked forward.
Stepped into the corridor.
A rubber duck squeaked under his shoe.
He stopped.
Looked down.
Then up.
More ducks.
Everywhere.
"…Of course," he said softly.
Because why wouldn't it be.
—
The castle descended into chaos shortly after.
Controlled chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
Ducks in classrooms.
Ducks in corridors.
Ducks somehow floating in midair.
Even the Great Hall was not spared.
Students slipped.
Professors paused mid-lecture.
And through it all—
That same unnatural lightness lingered.
As though the castle itself refused to take anything seriously.
Alastair stood at the center of it, utterly still.
Then—
He exhaled.
"…Fine."
If this was the game being played—
He would end it.
—
It took less than an hour.
Tracing the magic.
Following its threads.
Until—
"Here."
A storage room.
Door slightly ajar.
Inside—
A single enchanted object sat on a pedestal.
A small, innocuous-looking device, still humming faintly with residual magic.
Selene raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"What does it do?"
Alastair studied it for a long moment.
Then—
"It amplifies intent," he said. "Takes something minor… and makes it pervasive."
Lyanna frowned. "So someone… what, wanted a lighter atmosphere?"
"Yes."
Nyx tilted her head. "And the ducks?"
Alastair paused.
"…Someone," he said carefully, "also thought that would be amusing."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Celia snorted.
Selene coughed to hide a smile.
Nyx failed entirely and started laughing.
Alastair pinched the bridge of his nose.
"…We are surrounded by incompetence."
—
Disabling it was simple.
A precise counter.
A controlled disruption.
The hum faded.
The air shifted.
And just like that—
The weight returned.
The structure.
The sharp edges of Hogwarts reasserting themselves.
Students blinked.
Expressions changed.
The world corrected.
Alastair nodded once.
"Better."
He turned—
Took one step forward—
And slipped.
On a rubber duck.
The squeak echoed.
Loud.
Clear.
Unavoidable.
There was silence.
A long, fragile silence.
Then—
Laughter.
Real this time.
Unrestrained.
Unforgiving.
Alastair remained on the floor for exactly three seconds.
Then he stood.
Adjusted his robes.
And spoke, voice perfectly calm—
"I will be implementing stricter standards."
The laughter did not stop.
—
Author's Note (April Fools)
Yes, this chapter is completely cursed.
No, rubber ducks are not becoming a core magical artifact in the story.
And no, Alastair will not be slipping on anything ever again (probably).
The real chapter will be posted tomorrow.