"And finally, Draco Malfoy—who discovered the fire on the fourth floor and put it out in time, preventing further damage to the school. For that, I award Slytherin twenty points."
Harry glanced at Dumbledore. The fourth-floor fire? Don't tell me that was the result of his duel with Voldemort…
Dumbledore sensed Harry's look and gave a couple of awkward coughs.
How could I forget to put out the flames?
Harry then glanced over at Malfoy. Wait, why was he even on the fourth floor?
It was a long story…
Actually, when Harry had gone to the fourth floor that day, Malfoy had seen him. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to sneakily follow.
He was thrilled to find Harry heading somewhere off-limits. The fourth floor was strictly forbidden to students! He thought he had Harry now—if he told Dumbledore, who knew what punishment Potter would face? Maybe expulsion? Hmm… that might be too much. Cleaning toilets for a month would do.
So Malfoy hid on the fifth-floor staircase, peeking down from above.
Then…
When Harry reappeared—Malfoy was about to jump out laughing, ready to threaten to report him to Dumbledore and enjoy watching Harry panic—but then he saw… Dumbledore was with Harry.
Malfoy's world instantly turned to ash.
He sat down on the stairs in a daze. After a few dozen minutes, he suddenly realized the temperature had risen sharply.
He looked around and noticed smoke seeping from the door on the fourth floor.
For a moment, Malfoy froze. Then it clicked.
Panicked, he fumbled his wand and tried Aguamenti, but all he managed was a weak stream of water—like the trickle you'd get on the twentieth floor of a run-down building. Completely useless.
Malfoy really started to freak out. What now?! Then he had a bright idea—Snape! I'll go find Snape!
So Malfoy rushed off in a panic to get his Head of House.
...
And thus was born the tale of "Malfoy, the Fire-Fighting Hero."
In the end, Slytherin still won the House Cup.
A collective groan rose from Gryffindor.
So frustrating! It felt like something rightfully theirs had been snatched away.
Harry, however, was actually quite satisfied with the result.
What's the point of the House Cup, really? Honestly, without Harry's involvement, Gryffindor would've been crushed by Slytherin this year.
In the original timeline, Dumbledore had forcefully awarded Gryffindor a few hundred points just to boost Harry's reputation—which was totally unfair, especially to Snape.
This time, even though Dumbledore still handed out bonus points, the Cup ultimately went to Slytherin. And that… felt fair.
Seven consecutive House Cups.
Snape's face still looked like he had facial paralysis, but Harry had no doubt the man was ecstatic.
As for the rest of Gryffindor? Ha.
When Harry had cost the house points, everyone was self-righteously furious. But now that he'd earned them a full hundred, suddenly they were full of praise.
Sure enough, several waves of students had already approached him:
"Okay, what you did a couple of weeks ago wasn't great, but we know you didn't mean it. We forgive you..."
"Next term, let's work together to win the Cup!"
"If only you hadn't lost us those twenty points earlier, we might've won this year..."
Etcetera, etcetera.
Harry's only response was a deadpan, "Heh."
He'd had enough of this two-faced nonsense. They were all a bunch of phonies.
Even though he already knew that many Gryffindors were the kind of people who could suffer together but couldn't share success, who didn't trust those around them and even got jealous of their own friends—like Ron—it still disgusted him to experience it firsthand.
Harry was actually starting to regret not choosing Slytherin.
Not that Slytherin was much better—if Harry had joined, it wasn't like he'd suddenly become their boss and have the younger kids worshipping him. Most of them were proud pure-bloods, obsessed with status and bloodlines. They were like a human pyramid.
Harry wasn't their kind.
But he believed that if he gave them a proper beating or two, they'd eventually understand he wasn't to be messed with. After that, he could study in peace without anyone bothering him.
Gryffindors, on the other hand, always wore this fake "we're your friends, we're just looking out for you" face, constantly lecturing him. It made it nearly impossible for Harry to even argue back without looking like the bad guy.
Thankfully, there were still a few Gryffindors he could get along with—like the carefree Weasley twins and the Pettier sisters…
Speaking of Slytherin, their cheering and applause finally quieted down. Harry noticed several older students patting Malfoy on the back and praising him.
Malfoy was flushed with excitement. His usually pale face was now bright red, like someone was choking him.
He turned and spotted Harry. Then raised his chin smugly in a proud little huff.
Harry just smiled faintly. You really think I'm going to engage with you when you're this pleased with yourself?
He opened his mouth and said, "The bet."
([From Chapter 13: they had made a bet on the Hogwarts Express about who would earn more house points—the winner would be 'the boss.'])
Harry had quietly cast a Muffliato charm so no one else could hear.
Malfoy's expression instantly drained of color. From flushed red to ghostly pale—like a corpse whose neck had just been wrung.
Harry leaned over to whisper to Hermione. She glanced at Malfoy's face, then gave Harry a playful punch to the chest.
"You're so mean! If Malfoy heard you say that, he'd die of rage!"
Malfoy turned away sheepishly and stared down at his plate.
Harry left it at that. The bet had always been a lesson for Malfoy—to teach him humility. If Harry really forced him to come up on stage and announce to the entire school that he was Harry's underling, the poor boy would probably go home with a broken leg courtesy of Lucius Malfoy.
...
Tonight's feast was abundant and lively.
A truly delightful evening — Harry's Journal.
The next morning, just before the students left for the holidays, final grades were posted.
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