The Great Hall still quivered from the echo of revelation.
Hogwarts itself seemed to breathe again — old stones flexing, dust motes trembling in candlelight that suddenly burned brighter, like the castle was listening for the first time in a thousand years.
Lady Guinevere Draconis stood before them all, radiant and calm amid the waves of disbelief.
Her presence was no longer cold or distant — it was commanding.
Every professor, every student, every ghost had fallen into a hush so profound that the soft creak of the ancient timbers above could be heard.
Her silver eyes gleamed faintly as she gazed over the gathered students.
"Ask," she said at last. "You may ask your questions, young ones. It has been long since I've spoken with anyone and understand there is much you'd like to know."
The first to stand was a bold Gryffindor girl — a red-haired second-year whose voice trembled despite her courage.
"If… if there's a fifth house now — how does that work? The House Cup — does it still count?"
The Lady's smile was patient, her tone that of a queen addressing her court.
"The House Cup remains, child. However, House Draconis does not compete for it as the others do. My heir's worth cannot be measured in the same manner."
Her eyes flicked toward the towering hourglasses behind the staff table.
The newest one — the former horizontal canister above all others — shimmered faintly with black stones that glinted in the light.
"The points you collect," she continued, tapping Cassius's shoulder as she did "are multiplied fivefold when granted to the Draconis hourglass. But they are not meant for my house's glory. They are a challenge. For the four Houses of my children may rise higher than ever before… if they dare."
Her words hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown.
A Ravenclaw boy stood up next, his ink-stained fingers trembling around his quill.
"A challenge? What do you mean by that, Lady Draconis?"
Her smile widened, but it was a knowing, dangerous curve.
"It means that my heir, or those he deems worthy to act in his stead, may be challenged by the other houses. In wit, in strength, in art, in magic — by duel, by riddle, or by any contest agreed upon. The wagered stakes must be equal in value — whether pride, knowledge, or treasure — and if my heir is bested, his points, or agreed upon thing shall be forfeit. But if he triumphs…"
She glanced toward the massive fifth canister, and a single black stone dropped, glimmering as it fell.
"…then those who challenged him shall learn humility, as they will have to give up something equal to what they had asked of him if he lost."
A ripple of murmurs spread across the hall.
Excitement mingled with fear.
Gryffindors looked suddenly eager; Slytherins, calculating.
A method of gaining housepoints easily, challenging a first year when his points are worth 5x their own.
It would be like taking candy from a baby if they were the one to strike first.
It was Neville Longbottom who blurted next, surprising even himself.
"So — you mean — the other houses have to beat Draconis to win?"
The ghost inclined her head, faintly amused.
"If they dare to dream of greatness, yes. For what is ambition without challenge?"
A low hum followed her words.
Somewhere in the hall, even Dumbledore's eyes gleamed faintly — not with pleasure, but with unease.
A Hufflepuff near the front hesitated before raising his hand.
"And… Quidditch, my Lady? How can a house with one student even play?"
A ripple of laughter followed, nervous but real — a human crack in the solemn air.
Lady Draconis's eyes softened just slightly.
"There is nothing in your book of rules," she said, "that forbids a house from fielding fewer than seven players. The number may be lesser — so long as all houses agree at season's start. Should the others vote in favor, my heir will play."
"And if we don't agree?" a Slytherin called boldly.
The ghost's smile turned sharp as moonlight on steel.
"Then you shall be remembered as those who were to cowardly to face off against one single Draconis rather than fight to the last. Fear is its own forfeiture afterall."
A few Slytherins shifted uncomfortably, but others smirked.
Draco Malfoy — recently sorted, and among the first-years at the slytherins table— watched with fascination, his silver eyes narrowed as if learning a new rule of the world.
Dumbledore, who had thus far remained silent, finally stood.
His voice was calm, but the magic behind it was deliberate, anchoring the chaos that wanted to bloom again.
"Lady Draconis," he said respectfully, "your presence has… changed much this night. Hogwarts welcomes its mother home, though our understanding of history must clearly be rewritten. But if I may — this school is, above all, a place of learning. It is my duty to ensure that no student, whether of your house or another, is burdened beyond what they can bear."
The ghost turned to him.
For a moment, her expression softened, almost pitying.
"Oh, Headmaster. You have done well to tend this flame for so long. But the child who sits at my table is not a burdened boy. His house is simply him, so he can just attend the lessons alongside another house like you've done in the past, no revisting of the curriculum schedule is needed."
Cassius himself raised his head, much to the shock of the professors not looking awed or even bothered by the goings on, almost as if he had expecting this result as soon as it happened to him.
Instead he looked like a fire had been lit beneath him, a fierce gaze in his eye like he was prepared to take on all comers, ready for the challenges they presented to him.
To hell with being the only quidditch player, it mattered little if he caught the snitch before the other team scored 150 points or more.
As for the house cup?
What a joke, it meant literally nothing just a single day at the year end feast where the halls colors would be done up in their houses colours.
But even if he won, to have the hall decked out in black and silver... well that would look like the school was in mourning like it had during the eulogy for Cedric diggory in the movies.