Slytherin Supremacy

After Dumbledore's departure, the atmosphere at Hogwarts went from bad to worse. It had been comforting for both students and faculty members to know that the strongest Wizard in the world had been there for them. But now he was gone, and people felt like there was nothing they could do to stop the Heir of Slytherin and his creature. Not even the hot summer sun could warm up people's hearts and bring colour back to their sullen faces. 

However, not all people were displeased with the changes brought about by the headmaster's expulsion. Most Slytherins went about their everyday business unconcerned by the veneer of terror that had coated the entire school, and none were happier than Draco, who strutted around telling anyone within earshot how Dumbledore had been the worst headmaster in Hogwarts's history and how it had been his father that kicked him out of his post.

As for Oleandra, people had gone from outright despising her to fleeing before her, not even daring to look her in the eye. Oleandra didn't know what she found worse; being hated, or being ignored. At least her friends and family still spoke to her, especially Draco; he had managed to convince himself that Oleandra had been the Heir all along. If that had truly been the case, then that would have meant that she had been lying to his face since this business started at the beginning of the year, but he didn't seem to mind. Rather, he admired her even more for it!

Two weeks after the fact, he was still trying to get her to outright admit it, even during Potions class.

"I have to admit, Oleandra, I wish I had been there to see Granger's face when it went down," Draco said fawningly. "Bring me along next time you do it, please?"

"For the last time," said Oleandra, exasperated, "I'm not the Heir of Slytherin. I just happened to be there."

"Right, plausible deniability and all that," beamed Draco. He lowered his voice. "But seriously, who's your next target?"

At that moment, Professor Snape came to inspect Draco's potion.

"Sir, why don't you apply for the headmaster's job?" Draco announced loudly, switching his focus to the teacher. "I'm sure Father would endorse you if you applied."

"Now, now, Malfoy," said Professor Snape, the corners of his mouth rising slightly, "Professor Dumbledore has merely been suspended. I'm sure he will return soon enough."

What was it with the plausible deniability from the two of them, Draco wondered. They had basically already won, why were they still hiding their claws? In truth, Snape was completely loyal to the headmaster, and Oleandra wasn't even the Heir of her own family, let alone Heir of Slytherin. If she ever had children, then she would create a branch family to Daphne's main family. Daphne would maintain control over the family business and its fortune.

At the end of the lesson, feeling brave since he thought he had the support of the Heir, Draco went up to Potter and Weasley.

"Better pack up your bags," Draco said with a smirk. "After the Mudbloods are gone, it'll be the Muggle lovers' turns. Now that the senile geezer's gone, the Heir will probably return to finish the job with Granger and the others, don't you thi—"

Draco didn't have the time to finish his sentence. Unfortunately for him, he had made the mistake of approaching within Weasley's punching distance, and thus the red-headed boy had socked him on the nose. And unfortunately for Weasley, that also landed him in detention.

"It was bloody worth it," he said to Potter afterwards, shaking the pain out of his hand.

"You're holding up the class," said Professor Snape menacingly. "I have to take you all to Herbology."

Ever since Hermione and Penelope Clearwater had been attacked two weeks ago, a stricter curfew had been enforced and teachers escorted their students to their next class after their own lesson was over. Slytherins didn't have Herbology with the Gryffindors, but they still had to make the detour. How tedious.

After a long and painful session of Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall escorted her class to Professor Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. She seemed reluctant to abandon the children to such a pompous buffoon, but she had her own class to teach afterwards.

Professor Lockhart was like a ray of sunshine piercing through a thundercloud. The man was either incapable of reading the atmosphere, or he deliberately chose not to.

"Come now," Professor Lockhart said enthusiastically. "Why all these long faces?"

Seeing that he was losing the crowd from all the exasperated looks he received, he quickly explained his point of view.

"Don't you see?" he said condescendingly. "The Ministry's come and taken Hagrid, the culprit, away. There's no more danger! I only regret not realizing it had been him earlier; I didn't get the chance to face off against that monster of his! And just when I had figured out where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was. Such a shame, isn't it? I would go and finish off the beast, but I would be endangering your lives."

Oleandra raised her hand.

"Sir, I was there. The Minister only took Hagrid away as a precaution. The real Heir might still be out there." Oleandra explained. Without waiting for his answer, she asked, "so, where is the Chamber, anyhow?"

She had some ideas, but it couldn't hurt to get a second opinion.

"Well, obviously I can't tell you!" Professor Lockhart spluttered. "If I told any of you and you lost your lives as a result, I would be held liable— er, I would feel responsible for your deaths. And as an educator, I have a duty to protect you. Leave the heroics to the adults, all right?"

                                       _

After the lesson, the Slytherins were escorted back to their common room. It's not as if they needed the teachers' protection, though.

"I daresay we could let the matter lie," sniffed Daphne. "Things are getting rather dangerous, and I'd rather not get caught in the crossfire. If the creature really is a Cockatrice, then simply looking at the wrong thing would get us killed."

Towards the end of her sentence, Daphne had lowered her voice to a whisper. Mafalda was passing by, looking somewhat absentminded. She hadn't heard them talk about the creature, had she? Once she was out of earshot, they resumed their conversation.

"Speaking of which," said Oleandra. "I did some digging around, and I found that all of Hagrid's roosters had been butchered earlier in the year. That pretty much confirms that our culprit's creature is a Cockatrice."

"What an odd restriction for such a fearsome creature," said Daphne.

"I suppose there's balance in all things," explained Oleandra. "Nothing's unbeatable in this world. Dark magic's got a lot of drawbacks to compensate for the increased lethality."

Daphne took out the crystal phial containing the green potion they had brewed and held it up to a lit candle, examining it with one eye.

"You don't suppose the Bloodline Atavism Potion has such drawbacks, do you?"

"Better not to ask than to sacrifice too much," Oleandra answered cryptically.