A good chair

Chapter 12: A good chair

Once the Sorting Feast ended, Heather and Daphne, along with the other first-year Slytherins, followed the prefects to the dungeons. The corridors were cold and dimly lit, but the Slytherins seemed unfazed, chatting among themselves. Draco Malfoy and his cronies were laughing loudly, their voices echoing off the stone walls.

"Did you see the look on Longbottom's face?" Draco said. "The Boy Who Lived, sorted into Hufflepuff! What an absolute doofus!" He laughed, and the nearby Slytherins joined in.

Heather rolled her eyes but kept walking. She didn't know much about Neville Longbottom beyond him being a dumb prat, but that didn't mean she liked hearing other kids openly talking trash about him. It reminded her too much of how mean kids were back in muggle schools. 

The prefect stopped in front of a wall with snakes carved on both sides. "Bloodlines," he said, and the wall faded away to reveal a passageway leading to the common room. The prefect turned back to address them. "Remember the password, or you'll be locked out at night. It changes every week, and the new password is written on the blackboard in the common room."

Heather followed the group inside and looked around. The Slytherin common room was large and dimly lit, with green lamps casting a faint glow over the stone walls. The room was crowded, with all the Slytherins piled into one space. Heather estimated there were about a hundred students. A fire crackled in the massive fireplace, and the chairs and sofas were plush and inviting.

A tall, older boy stepped forward. He looked like he was in his seventh year and exuded authority. "Listen up," he said, drawing the attention of the first-years. "My name is Evan Rosier, and I'm the king of Slytherin House this year. In the common room, my word is law. You'll do as I say."

Heather felt Daphne grab her hand again. "That's Evan Rosier," Daphne whispered. "His father was one of the Dark Lord's top lieutenants."

Heather frowned. The name sounded familiar, she was pretty sure his family gave her reparation money but it wasn't much. They were pretty broke…

Evan's sneer deepened as he looked over the group of first-years. "Slytherin is the best house," Evan continued. "The house of the pure and powerful. Half-bloods might have been accepted over the past few decades, but let me make one thing clear: the purebloods are in charge."

Heather clenched her jaw. She hated bullies, and Evan Rosier was clearly one. 

He pointed to a large, comfortable-looking chair by the fireplace. "Do you see that chair?" Evan asked.

Heather did. It looked incredibly comfy and was positioned perfectly for reading. She could imagine herself sitting there with a good book.

"That's my throne," Evan declared. "Only the king or queen of Slytherin is allowed to sit in that chair. It's been that way for decades. This year, it's mine. Do you all understand?"

A lot of the younger students flinched at his aggressive tone and nodded quickly. Heather, however, scowled. She let go of Daphne's hand and started walking across the room, heading straight for the throne.

"What the hell are you doing, firsty?" Evan shouted.

Heather ignored him and plopped herself down in the chair. It was as comfortable as it looked.

Evan stormed over, glaring at her furiously. "Who the hell do you think you are, firsty?" He reached for his wand.

Heather met his glare with one of her own. "My name is Heather Potter, and I don't like bullies. I won't tolerate any in my house."

Evan narrowed his eyes. "I was going to give you a pass despite being a half-blood because you called the Boy Who Lived a fraud. It's obvious a great man like the Dark Lord could never have been beaten by a baby."

A murmur ran through the room. Evan had just admitted he was a fan of the Dark Lord. Heather rolled her eyes.

"I called him a liar because he is a liar. He never killed anyone," Heather said. She let her gaze sharpen, and her eyes seemed to glow as she looked at Evan. "You, on the other hand…" She paused. Evan's soul revealed the truth. He had taken lives, and his aura was dark and tainted. "You're a murderer."

The room went silent.

"Murderer?" someone whispered. The murmurs grew louder as the other Slytherins exchanged nervous glances.

Evan's face twisted with anger. "I don't care if you're an archmage. You're just a pathetic little firsty who needs to learn her place."

He raised his wand and started casting spells at her. Heather didn't move from the chair. She conjured her black and green sword, its edges gleaming ominously, and deflected his spells with ease.

"Pathetic," Heather said.

"I'll show you pathetic, you half-blood bitch!" Evan shouted. "Crucio!"

The sickly red spell flew through the air. The other students gasped as they recognized the Unforgivable Curse. Heather's brows furrowed as she sensed the darkness in the spell. She swung her sword, and the spell collided with the blade. To her surprise, it felt incredibly heavy, much harder to slice through than the other spells. Gritting her teeth, Heather channeled more magical power into her body. She pushed through and sliced the curse apart.

The room erupted into shocked whispers. Blocking an Unforgivable Curse was supposed to be impossible.

Evan's shock was evident, but he quickly recovered and raised his wand again. Before he could cast another spell, Daphne stepped forward and pointed her wand at him.

"Stupefy!" she shouted.

The red spell hit Evan in the back, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. Heather let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair.

"Does anyone have an owl I can borrow?" she asked. "I need to send a message to Amelia Bones. Someone just used an Unforgivable Curse against me."

The room stayed silent for a moment before someone hesitantly raised their hand. Heather nodded and stood, ready to handle the situation further. The throne was hers now, and she wasn't going to let anyone forget it.

…

The Hogwarts staff meeting room was filled with the hum of quiet chatter as the professors assembled, as they always did after the Sorting Feast. It was a long-standing tradition to hold the first meeting of the term immediately after the feast, though tonight, the atmosphere was unusually tense. Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, stroking his beard in thought. His piercing blue eyes seemed clouded with worry, though he masked it with his usual calm demeanor.

Dumbledore had much on his mind, and most of it revolved around Heather Potter. A girl he had, admittedly, forgotten about until very recently. He couldn't believe how far she had come, nor was he pleased about how quickly she was throwing off his carefully laid plans. Neville Longbottom's placement in Hufflepuff had been an unexpected twist. The Boy Who Lived was meant to be in Gryffindor, where Dumbledore could guide him more closely. Though Ron Weasley's sorting into Hufflepuff alongside Neville softened the blow—Dumbledore still had influence over the Weasley family—it was a significant disruption to his strategy.

As the murmurs of conversation swirled around him, the door creaked open. Severus Snape stepped into the room, his robes billowing behind him. He was a full hour late, and his arrival prompted irritated grumbles from the other professors.

"What took you, Severus?" Flitwick asked, peering up from his seat with a frown.

"It's rude to keep us waiting," McGonagall added, placing her empty glass of Scotch back on the table. She reached for the bottle to pour another. Dumbledore briefly considered suggesting she slow down but thought better of it. He had learned long ago not to tell a Scottish woman how much she should drink.

Severus's frown deepened as he addressed the room. "I was delayed by the aurors who are currently in the castle."

The room fell silent. Several professors exchanged puzzled looks, and Dumbledore straightened in his chair, his eyes narrowing.

"Aurors?" Dumbledore asked. "What aurors? I wasn't informed of any visit. That's highly irregular."

"Evan Rosier," Snape said simply, his voice cold. "The son of *that* Rosier. He's on his way to join his father in Azkaban. He cast the Cruciatus Curse on a first-year in the Slytherin common room."

Gasps of shock rippled through the room. Even McGonagall paused mid-pour, her hand trembling slightly.

Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up. "Has Slytherin House truly fallen so far?"

"Is the student all right?" Sprout asked, her concern evident as she leaned forward in her chair.

"She is fine," Snape replied, his tone carefully neutral. "Rosier attempted to cast the spell on Heather Potter. She blocked it with a sword she conjured wandlessly."

The room fell silent again, this time with astonishment. Flitwick's eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Truly?" Flitwick said. "Heather Potter blocked the Cruciatus Curse wandlessly? Remarkable. I always wondered how talented Lily's daughter would be with magic. Oh, how I miss that girl. My most brilliant student…"

Snape's jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Though he said nothing, Dumbledore noticed the way his posture stiffened at the mention of Lily Potter. After all these years, Severus still hadn't moved on from her death. Dumbledore sighed internally. It was a shame, but there were more pressing matters to address.

"This incident must be handled delicately," Dumbledore said, folding his hands on the table. "Hogwarts cannot afford the negative publicity of a student being sent to Azkaban on the very first day of term."

"He cast an Unforgivable Curse on another student," McGonagall said sharply. "If that doesn't merit Azkaban, I don't know what does."

"Agreed," Snape said, though his tone lacked enthusiasm. "But the Ministry will need to hear the full story, and quickly, if we are to prevent this from spiraling out of control."

Dumbledore nodded, though inwardly, he was already calculating how to manage the Ministry's response. Publicly, he would present the facts, but behind the scenes, he would ensure the story was suppressed. Hogwarts' reputation had to be protected at all costs.

"Once again, Heather Potter proves to be an… inconvenience," Dumbledore said, more to himself than the others. "I will need to have a private meeting with her soon."

He stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "I'm afraid we must cut this meeting short. I need to floo to the Ministry immediately to ensure the situation is handled appropriately."

The professors murmured their assent, though McGonagall muttered something under her breath about "political nonsense."

Dumbledore left the room, his mind was racing. He couldn't let this incident derail his plans for the school. Damage control was his top priority now.