Library — Saturday Morning (Before the Black Lake)
The corner table near the East Window felt somewhat more intimidating than usual.
Hermione Granger sat with A History of Modern Magic open in front of her, yet she hadn't read a single word. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on her with varying degrees of intensity, but with a single shared purpose: interrogation.
Daphne Greengrass sat directly across from her, hands folded on the table, posture perfectly straight. To Daphne's right, Cho Chang rested her chin in her hand with a knowing smile, while Marietta Edgecombe tapped the end of her quill against the table with rhythmic impatience.
"So," said Daphne, breaking the silence with a voice that was smooth and entirely uncompromising. "Last night at dinner. You came back to the Gryffindor table looking as if you'd just won the House Cup single-handedly. You didn't even flinch when Weasley's magic made someone's goblet explode. Explain."
Hermione blinked. A flush of pink began spreading at her neck. "I — I don't know what you're talking about, Daphne. I was simply in a good mood."
"No you weren't," Marietta cut in immediately. "We saw you in the seventh-floor corridor. Terry and Michael came out of the Room of Requirement looking half-dead. Then Otsutsuki came out — and you stopped him. What did you say to him?"
Realising she had no realistic chance of winning an argument against a combination of Slytherin cunning and Ravenclaw curiosity, Hermione let out a long breath and closed her book.
"I asked him to train me," Hermione said, quietly but firmly. "I asked to join his physical combat sessions alongside Terry and Michael."
Cho's eyes widened slightly. "You? Training under Kenzo Otsutsuki's methods? I've heard he throws Terry into stone walls repeatedly."
"I don't care," said Hermione, her tone hardened by conviction. "The troll incident made me realise something. All my perfect marks in Charms mean absolutely nothing if I freeze when it actually matters. I want to be strong. And Kenzo — he said yes."
Daphne's eyes narrowed. Her political instincts caught something deeper at work. Granger isn't simply learning magic. She's pledging something closer to absolute loyalty. Otsutsuki is building his front line.
"That explains the enthusiasm," said Daphne coolly. "But it doesn't explain the colour in your face for the entire rest of the evening, Granger. What else did he do?"
Hermione bit her lower lip. Without quite meaning to, her hand rose — her fingertips touching her own forehead in a movement that was very slow and very deliberate. The flush on her cheeks was now entirely beyond her control.
"He — he just tapped my forehead," Hermione said, barely above a whisper. "Two fingers. Very gently. He said, just prove it tomorrow, Granger."
Cho pressed her hand over her mouth to contain a sound that was dangerously close to a squeal, while Marietta rolled her eyes with a wide smile.
Daphne, however, didn't smile.
Behind her perfectly composed expression, her thoughts moved at considerable speed.
A tiny physical gesture that dismantled every wall of rationality in a girl as intelligent as Granger, Daphne noted inwardly. The Otsutsuki heir's charm is every bit as dangerous as his magic. Kenzo isn't building a study group — he's building his own small kingdom inside Hogwarts. Granger will be his blade. Terry and Michael will be his shield.
And where did that leave Daphne?
She understood now that if she limited herself to contributing intelligence in a library, she would never stand as an equal alongside Kenzo. She needed to offer something far more substantial. Something worthy of a king.
I'll give him a regiment from my own house, Daphne decided.
It was that decision which drove her footsteps the following morning — through the cold autumn wind, along the Black Lake — to find Kenzo Otsutsuki and make an agreement that would rearrange the hierarchy of Hogwarts permanently.
The Dungeon Corridor — Saturday Afternoon
Having concluded his somewhat emotionally taxing business with Severus Snape, Kenzo stepped out into the corridor and walked in the direction of the Great Hall for lunch. His quiet footsteps carried the faintest echo against the cold stone. As he passed the junction leading to the main staircase, he happened upon Daphne Greengrass, who was just emerging from the direction of her dormitory.
Daphne stopped for a brief moment, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of Kenzo coming from the direction of her Head of House's office. She collected herself quickly and fell into step beside him.
"It's unusual to see you down here, Kenzo. Were you just with Professor Snape?" asked Daphne. She kept her voice carefully flat — the Ice Queen register she wore so consistently — though she couldn't entirely suppress the way her heart had begun to beat faster simply from being this close to him.
Kenzo glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a faint and not entirely decipherable smile on his face. "Yes. Only a small business discussion, Greengrass."
Daphne asked nothing further, but warmth rose quietly into her face despite herself. Even over something as brief as this exchange, being in close proximity to Kenzo produced a feeling that was simultaneously steadying and unsettling — nothing like anything she'd felt in the company of any other person her age. They continued walking side by side in a silence that felt oddly private all the way to the great doors of the Great Hall.
Great Hall — Lunchtime
When the doors opened and they stepped inside together, the usual noise of the Hall suspended itself for just a moment.
At the Gryffindor table, the fork in Hermione Granger's hand stopped moving mid-air. Her eyes locked on the sight of them. Something unfamiliar tightened in her chest — a warm and disorienting pressure she didn't immediately have a name for.
Why is Daphne Greengrass walking that close to him? What could they possibly have been talking about to put that kind of colour in the Ice Queen's face? Without noticing she was doing it, Hermione bit her lower lip, pushing against a feeling that was beginning to interfere with her logic in ways she found entirely inconvenient.
At the junction of the table routes, Kenzo and Daphne stopped briefly. Without any apparent concern for the hundreds of curious eyes now trained on them, Daphne turned to Kenzo. She gave a single small nod — precise and composed, carrying the weight of something implicit. Kenzo returned it with the slightest smile, and then both of them went their separate ways.
Daphne walked to the Slytherin table. Something in her stride had shifted — quieter, more certain, carrying an authority that hadn't been quite as visible that morning. The moment she sat down she dismissed the questioning looks of her housemates entirely and turned her attention to her lunch with the composure of someone who has already decided exactly where they stand.
Meanwhile, Kenzo didn't go directly to his own seat. Instead he moved along the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables — his soundless footsteps bringing him to a stop precisely behind the chair where Hermione was still sitting motionless, staring at nothing.
"If you keep biting your lip like that, Lion, you won't be able to taste the dessert later."
Kenzo's low, unhurried voice arrived just beside Hermione's ear.
She startled so completely she nearly dropped her fork. Colour flooded her face all at once. Kenzo smiled — the kind of smile that has no difficulty at all with composure and a significant amount of difficulty leaving the person on the receiving end in possession of theirs.
"Come and have lunch with me today. There's a theory I'd like to discuss with you before your training session this afternoon," said Kenzo.
Hermione's eyes went wide for a moment — but the uncomfortable feeling from seconds ago evaporated entirely, replaced by a heartbeat that was now being considerably less cooperative than usual. She was aware that sitting at another house's table was unusual, though not a violation of anything.
"A — all right," said Hermione, in a voice that was doing its best. Without a glance at Ron Weasley, who was sitting beside her with the frozen expression of someone who has just witnessed something his brain hasn't caught up with yet, Hermione gathered her books and stood to follow Kenzo to the Ravenclaw table.
At the Ravenclaw table, Terry Boot and Michael Corner immediately shifted along to make space directly to Kenzo's right. Across from them, Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe watched with expressions they were making a reasonable effort to keep neutral, and not entirely succeeding. It had become completely clear to both of them that Kenzo Otsutsuki was not merely dangerous — he possessed a quality of presence that was, for practical purposes, impossible to refuse.
Slytherin Table — At the Same Moment
Pansy Parkinson's spoon hit the table with a sharp clatter. Her expression was one of pure and absolute outrage.
"Draco, are you seeing this?!" she hissed, her voice climbing. "Otsutsuki just brought that Mudblood Granger to his table! It's revolting — he's degrading all of us, treating blood status like it means nothing—"
"Shut up, Pansy!" Draco's voice came out shaking.
Pansy stared at him. Draco had gone the colour of old parchment. The fork in his hand was vibrating against his golden plate.
"Don't look at him. Don't talk about him," Draco whispered, his voice low and very tight, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him. The warning his father had given him — how a single decision by the Otsutsuki family could dissolve every asset the Malfoys had built over generations — was the only thing in his head. "Just let him do whatever he wants. As long as your mouth doesn't get all of us killed, Pansy, keep it closed."
Pansy sat very still, staring at Draco with an expression she'd never worn in his presence before.
She'd never seen a Malfoy afraid of a single name.
Slytherin Common Room — Saturday Afternoon
[Daphne Greengrass — POV]
The air in the Slytherin common room was always colder and damper than the rest of the castle. The dim green light from the windows overlooking the depths of the Black Lake moved across the stone walls and the dark leather furniture in shifting patterns.
I stood still in the entrance for a moment. My hands were trembling very slightly inside my robe pockets.
The agreement at the lake's edge kept turning over in my mind. I could still feel the residue of that spiritual pressure — the weight of nine-Tomoe red eyes that could dismantle the composure of any grown man who looked into them directly for too long.
And yet what was running through my veins wasn't fear. It was something far less controlled.
Pure ambition.
"Prove it, Daphne Greengrass. Show me what you're worth..."
Kenzo's voice was still resonating somewhere just behind my sternum. I drew a slow breath, let the cold dungeon air fill my lungs, closed off everything beneath the surface, rebuilt the Ice Queen mask until it sat perfectly, and stepped inside.
The common room was quieter than usual — but the quiet had a quality to it that wasn't peace. It was the quiet of held tension. Near the fireplace, Draco Malfoy was slumped on one of the leather sofas, his face — normally just pale — now practically translucent. His foot was moving in an agitated rhythm. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him looking uncertain, while Pansy Parkinson stood nearby with her brow furrowed, studying Draco with an expression somewhere between worry and frustration.
"Draco, you're not actually going to keep letting Otsutsuki get away with this, are you?" Pansy pressed, her voice carrying its characteristic climb. "Sitting with that Granger girl in the Great Hall, right in front of everyone — your father should know. The Ministry should—"
Draco lurched to his feet and knocked Pansy's hand away sharply.
"Close your mouth, Pansy!" The shake in his voice left no room for the usual arrogance. What was left in his face was something considerably simpler. Raw fear. "You have no idea what you're talking about. You think I can write to my father? My father would curse me if I was stupid enough to start something with him!"
Pansy took a step back. "But — he's just a new student—"
"He is not just a new student! His family are—" Draco's voice dropped to something that was almost a hiss, his eyes wide. "My father told me before I left for Hogwarts. The Otsutsuki family seized almost every significant Malfoy asset once before, because our family chose the wrong side. My father said one gesture from any of them could erase the Malfoy name from the wizarding world entirely. You want me to pick a fight with him? You want me to what, Pansy?"
The room had gone very still. Every first-year in earshot felt it move through them — the particular cold that arrives when someone you thought was above fear turns out not to be.
My boots made a quiet, deliberate sound against the stone as I walked through the crowd. I looked at Draco with an expression that gave him nothing.
"At the very least, Lucius Malfoy had the sense to pass something useful on to his son," I said, evenly, my voice clear throughout the room.
Draco spun toward me. "What do you want, Greengrass? Come to laugh?"
I stopped two steps in front of him. My gaze moved from his eyes down to his shoes and back in a way that communicated precisely what it was intended to communicate.
"Laugh at you? No. You've already managed that part perfectly well on your own, Draco," I replied, my voice precise. "You call yourself a Slytherin — and the moment you're standing in front of a real predator, you fold like wet parchment. You're not a dragon. You never were."
Draco's face went scarlet. His hands tightened into fists at his sides. But the fear of that name was stronger than the shame, and his wand stayed where it was.
In a single movement that was entirely composed and entirely final, my own wand came out from beneath my robe and pressed with quiet certainty beneath Draco's jaw — not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to matter, tilting his chin up until he was looking at me.
The common room became completely silent. Even the sound of the water outside the windows seemed to pause.
"Listen carefully, Malfoy. All of you," I said, shifting my gaze across the room — to Pansy, to Crabbe and Goyle, to every first-year watching. "Slytherin house will not be represented by someone who curls up in a corner the moment something with actual power walks into the room. Since your family has already forfeited its standing with the Otsutsuki, and since you are clearly too frightened to do anything about it — the order of things in this common room changes now."
I pressed my wand a fraction further and held it there.
"From this point forward, I speak for this house in any matter involving Kenzo Otsutsuki. I am the point of contact between this dormitory and him. Every person in this room will learn when they are permitted to make noise, and when they will be quiet." I let that settle for a moment. "Anyone who ignores this and creates a problem that reaches Otsutsuki — that threatens my position — answers to me directly."
I withdrew my wand in one clean motion. Draco stumbled back a step, breathing hard, swallowing with visible difficulty. No one spoke. No objection came. They all understood what the alternative was — to stand against me was to stand against the name they were all afraid to say aloud.
Without looking back at any of them, I turned and walked toward the single high-backed armchair positioned in front of the fireplace — the seat that no first-year had ever occupied. I sat, crossed one leg over the other with unhurried precision, and looked into the green flames.
This house was mine now.