"You seem to carry some real weight in Slytherin."
Charlie could still feel the pressure Rex had brought into the corridor earlier—sharp, cutting, the kind that only made sense inside Slytherin's particular brand of power games.
"Not that dramatic," Rex said. "Just top tier."
Charlie blinked. He'd expected at least a little false modesty. Then again, Slytherin didn't do false modesty.
"Don't look so surprised. I hear Ravenclaw's full of oddballs who stay up all night chasing their own obsessions. That's your house culture. Slytherin's got its own."
"Win or lose?" Charlie remembered the phrase from earlier.
Rex nodded. "Win or lose. We respect victory. And I'm usually the one winning."
Charlie nodded back, then asked the question that had been nagging at him. "You were staring at Malfoy like you had something to say. Why'd you swallow it?"
Rex studied him for a second, clearly surprised Charlie had noticed. Then he gave a small nod.
"I was going to warn him. Or maybe lecture him. Tell him the magical world doesn't run on name and money alone. He's not his father. Not everyone's going to kiss his ass forever. But I let it go. If a kid needs that spelled out for him, he's not worth the breath."
Rex's gaze drifted to the painting of the shepherdess on the wall. His mind seemed to wander.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Interesting things happening inside Slytherin. Right now the big names in the middle years are Cedric Diggory and the Weasley twins—well, three brothers if you count Percy. He's fifth year now. Lower years? If I'm reading it right, you, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter are the ones standing out."
He sighed. "The funny part is what happens after we graduate. I hate to admit it, but Malfoy's the flashiest thing Slytherin's got going right now. Everyone else is just… background noise."
Charlie gave him a weird look. "Hold on. Why do you even know about Granger? Why do you care about any of this—top students, rankings, whatever?"
"Not rankings," Rex said. "Just habit. I notice excellent people. That's normal, isn't it?"
"Can I take that as a compliment?" Charlie asked, half-smiling.
Rex tilted his head. "Odd way to spin it. You don't want to go deeper on this, do you? Or maybe you just don't care. Ravenclaws only want to tend their own little gardens, right?"
Charlie snapped his fingers. "Got it in one. Though I can't speak for every Ravenclaw. Some probably care about grades, being first in the school. Some just like hanging around sharp people. And some…" He paused. "Like spotting talent early and making connections. Investing ahead of time."
Rex turned to look at him properly.
"Didn't expect you to think that far ahead. But calling it 'investing' makes it sound cold. Like friendship's just a transaction. I don't like that."
Rex's mind flicked back to the family banquets—adults smiling with their mouths while their eyes stayed flat, trading polite words like currency. He understood it. That was how you kept face in their world. But understanding it didn't mean he liked it. Friends. Brothers. Even family.
The thought brought his parents' faces up like ghosts. Same house. Different worlds. He remembered the screaming matches when he was small, how he used to curl up in the corner. The fights had stopped years ago. He'd thought they'd made peace. Turned out they'd just stopped pretending the marriage existed. They wore the masks, kept the name clean, because in their circles a broken home was the first thing people noticed. A man who couldn't hold his own family together wasn't trusted. Glossy on the outside. Rotting underneath. That was the house he grew up in.
"Charlie—" Rex's voice cut through the quiet corridor. "Do you believe people can actually feel that kind of raw, pure, honest emotion for each other?"
Charlie gave a soft laugh, warm and easy. "Same way I helped Longbottom and you stepped up to shut Farley down. Yeah. What reason would I have not to believe it?"
Rex smiled despite himself. "I knew you'd say that."
"So that's why you cycle through girlfriends so fast? Hunting for the real thing?"
"Charlie," Rex said, amused, "saying it out loud like that isn't very classy."
He turned, back to Charlie, and lifted a hand in farewell.
"See you."
"See you."
Rex walked off, and the whole ugly scene finally felt like it was over.
The aftershocks, though, were just getting started.
By dinner Charlie was wiped from practicing spells. He dragged himself into the Great Hall and the second he sat down, half of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor who knew him swarmed the table.
"Is it true?"
"Neville said you helped him out."
"I can't believe you actually went after a prefect," Hermione said, horrified. She grabbed his sleeve and started checking him over. "Are you hurt? What if a professor finds out?"
"Hermione, he won," Ron said loudly. "That's the part that matters."
Ron's voice carried. Angry, confused, and flat-out disbelieving stares came flying from the Slytherin table.
"Just lucky," Charlie kept saying, trying to brush it off.
"Oh, don't be modest."
"Tell us exactly what happened."
Harry's group walked in then, fresh off Quidditch. Wood had lost his mind—January meant early dark, so he'd dragged everyone out to train in pitch black for reaction speed. Harry had spent the whole session flying blind while the others hid and flashed quick lights from their wands. He was exhausted, but he felt sharper than he ever had. Next match, the second that golden glint appeared, he was sure he'd be the first one on it.
They heard the story in under thirty seconds and joined the crowd around Charlie. Fred and George showed up loudest of all, clearly enjoying themselves and making sure the Slytherins heard every word.
"Charlie, you absolute legend. You challenged a Slytherin prefect and won?"
"Was it mental? Did you use anything nasty?"
Charlie was drowning in questions. Then he saw his opening.
"Actually, you should ask Neville. He was there for the whole thing. And he had a hell of a day himself—he dropped Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. All three."
"Seriously?!"
The whole knot of people pivoted toward the Gryffindor table like a flock of birds.
"Of course," Charlie said quickly. "Would I lie? Go bother him if you want details. He knows everything."
It took some work, but he finally managed to peel the crowd off himself and send them Neville's way.
Neville's face went bright red. His mouth opened and closed. Nothing came out. The quiet, round-faced kid looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
Charlie watched from across the Hall and could only send a silent thought his way.
You earned this, Neville. You won today. Let them see it. You're welcome.