I went to my dormitory and didn't waste time overthinking it.
Two letters.
One—formal, measured, and meticulous—went to the Board of Governors, outlining the incident, eyewitness accounts, and the disproportionate punishment. No emotion. Just facts, timelines, and signatures.
The second was… different.
Shorter. Sharper. Addressed to Rita Skeeter.
I sealed both, sent them by owl, and went to sleep with a strangely clear mind.
The next morning, the Slytherin common room felt off.
Not quiet.
Charged.
Clusters of students stood around, heads bent together, green light from the lake shimmering across pale faces. Almost every single one of them held a copy of the Daily Prophet.
I had just stepped fully inside when Celia spotted me.
Her eyes widened.
She grabbed a paper from the nearest table and rushed over, nearly shoving it into my chest.
"Alastair—look!" she hissed, half-excited, half-terrified. "We're on the front page."
I took the paper.
The headline screamed up at me in bold, dramatic ink:
CRACKS IN THE GREAT HALL: STUDENT-LED PROTEST ROCKS DUMBLEDORE'S HOGWARTS
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Below it, a moving photograph of the shattered Gryffindor hourglass—rubies scattered across the stone like spilled blood, with us standing amid them, unflinching.
'HOGWARTS SCHOOL of Witchcraft and Wizardry—long hailed as a beacon of unity and enlightenment under the venerable Albus Dumbledore—was shaken this week by an unprecedented act of student protest that has sent shockwaves through Britain's oldest magical institution.
In a dramatic display that unfolded before dozens of witnesses, a group of first-year Slytherin students openly challenged what they describe as "systemic favoritism" by the Headmaster after a lunchtime altercation resulted in Slytherin alone losing fifty house points, despite multiple accounts confirming that the conflict was not initiated by them.
The protest culminated in the destruction of Gryffindor's hourglass—an act many initially decried as reckless, but which parents, governors, and even several senior students are now calling a symbolic stand against selective justice.
"They didn't shout. They didn't run," said one seventh-year prefect, speaking on condition of anonymity. "They stood there. Together. That scared people far more than a fight ever could."
According to multiple eyewitnesses, the altercation that sparked the incident began with verbal provocation from Gryffindor students, escalating when spells were fired—by Gryffindor. Yet only Slytherin faced immediate and severe punishment, while Gryffindor students reportedly received detention with no point deduction.
This disparity has reignited a long-simmering debate: Is Slytherin judged by actions—or by reputation?
Parents of several students have already begun writing to the Hogwarts Board of Governors, questioning whether house prejudice has been quietly normalized under the guise of "maintaining harmony." Others point out that Headmaster Dumbledore has historically emphasized unity, yet continues to allow one house to bear the moral weight of wizarding Britain's darkest history.
Notably, sources confirm that the student who led the protest has also proposed an all-house study club aimed at cooperation and peer learning—an initiative reportedly dismissed earlier by the Headmaster himself.
"You cannot preach unity while punishing only one side," remarked a Ministry educational consultant. "Children notice hypocrisy faster than adults expect."
Hogwarts has declined to issue an official statement beyond confirming that disciplinary measures are "under review."
But one thing is certain:For the first time in decades, it is not dark wizards, dangerous creatures, or external threats shaking Hogwarts.
It is its students.
And they are asking questions no one can ignore.'
I scanned the article once.
Then twice.
Rita Skeeter hadn't just reported it.
She'd framed it.
The piece questioned selective justice, highlighted eyewitness testimony, praised student unity, and—most damning of all—asked whether Hogwarts had mistaken control for fairness.
I folded the paper calmly.
"Forget all of this for now," I said quietly to Celia and the others. "We focus on our studies."
They nodded, some reluctantly, some with relief, and we headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
The atmosphere was… strained.
The professors' faces were tight, polite smiles stretched thin over obvious displeasure. Gryffindor, on the other hand, looked worse—glares sharp enough to cut, whispers heavy with resentment. No one said anything openly, but the hostility hung in the air like an unshed storm.
The next few days passed in an uneasy calm.
Outwardly, things were quiet. In practice, they were not.
Slytherin students performed better in class—consistently, measurably so—but points were scarce. Where we might once have earned praise or a handful of points, we now received the bare minimum. Correct answers were acknowledged without enthusiasm, excellent work met with curt nods. No favoritism—just resistance.
Detention filled the gaps in our schedule.
With Professor McGonagall, we graded essays—meticulous work that sharpened our understanding of structure, clarity, and argument far better than writing alone ever could. With Professor Snape, we brewed. Again and again. Different potions, different techniques, different mistakes corrected with ruthless precision.
Neither detention felt like punishment.
Both were, in their own way, lessons.
While we kept our heads down and our focus sharp, the wider castle did not share our restraint.
The rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin escalated rapidly.
Pranks turned cruel.
Arguments turned physical.
Corridors echoed with raised voices and hurried footsteps.
The infirmary filled—first with older students, then with names that appeared again and again on Madam Pomfrey's lists. Detentions were handed out. Points shifted. Tension mounted.
And yet—
The first years remained untouched.
Not because we were protected.
But because we were disciplined.
We trained.
We studied.
We waited.
And in the silence between classes and conflicts, it became increasingly clear to anyone paying attention—
This wasn't over.