Gryffindor.
The bustling common room was filled with laughter and cheers. Ginny had just chased after Harry, a moment that might have gone unnoticed by most people. However, Hermione had witnessed it all.
A smile of genuine relief and happiness surfaced on her face. She understood her friends well, and when it came to Ginny, she knew the feelings were sincere. Unlike others who admired Harry because of his fame as the Boy Who Lived, Ginny's affection was genuine.
Perhaps, at the beginning, his fame had played a part. But in the past couple of years, as the public's fascination with Harry faded, Ginny's feelings had never wavered.
Unfortunately, boys often failed to read the signs. Hermione shook her head with a knowing look. Harry had always been particularly clueless when it came to girls. But now, seeing Ginny chase after him, Hermione silently wished her friend success.
After all, it took great courage for a girl to pursue the one she loved. Hermione understood this far too well.
Wanting to witness her friend's happiness firsthand, Hermione curled up on a corner sofa. She crossed her legs, holding a bottle of butterbeer in her hands. Every so often, she glanced at the portrait hole, waiting.
The rest of the common room remained lively. The victory celebration still roared on. House banners and enchanted sparks of crimson and gold filled the air. It had been a night of triumph, and everyone wanted to savor it.
After about half an hour, the Fat Lady's portrait swung open. All eyes instinctively turned towards the entrance.
Harry and Ginny entered, hand in hand.
It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. This time, they weren't walking side by side like mere friends. Their fingers were intertwined, and there was an undeniable warmth between them.
Hermione smiled once more. She felt genuinely happy for them. Yet, a faint hint of envy flickered in her chest.
"I haven't even held hands like that..." she mused, biting her lower lip.
Her thoughts wandered back to that moment in the Room of Requirement. Maybe she shouldn't have hesitated so much. Perhaps, if she had followed her heart instead of overthinking, things would have turned out differently.
Sighing, Hermione took another small sip of butterbeer. The warmth of the drink did little to quell the lingering thoughts in her mind.
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin Common Room.
Unlike Gryffindor, the Slytherin common room was unusually quiet. The greenish glow from the lake outside cast a tranquil ambiance. Everyone was aware of the upcoming first task of the Triwizard Tournament in the morning.
They also knew that it was unlikely they'd see their champion before then. If anyone wanted to offer encouragement or a final word of support, tonight would be their only chance.
Despite the passage of time, the dormitory door remained closed. No one disturbed the silence.
Slytherins were not known for outward displays of warmth, nor did they cheer as boisterously as Gryffindors. They weren't as detached as Ravenclaws or as steady as Hufflepuffs. Instead, their loyalty ran deep, unspoken but resolute.
And tonight, that loyalty was on full display.
Even though more than an hour had passed, not a single person left.
"Do you think he fell asleep? Someone saw him return earlier, didn't they?" Daphne asked in a hushed tone.
Despite her soft voice, the stillness of the room carried her words to many ears, stirring a subtle ripple of curiosity.
"What do you think?" Pansy responded with a smirk, her eyes fixed on the dormitory entrance.
"There are people you can trust," she continued. "And then, there are people like him. Not only can you trust him, but you can also rely on him completely."
She spoke plainly, without any flourish. Yet her words resonated deeply with those around her.
Slytherins valued strength, ambition, and cunning. But beyond those traits, they respected loyalty. And time and time again, their champion had earned that respect.
Harper Vick, a half-blood Slytherin who had once struggled to find acceptance, knew this better than anyone. During last year's Malfoy Manor gathering, he had risked everything to invest his meager savings into a venture led by their champion.
Two Galleons. That was all Harper had.
Now, through dividends and returns, that humble investment had multiplied threefold. It wasn't merely about wealth — it was the principle. Their champion had made a promise and fulfilled it.
In a house often criticized for its cunning and self-serving nature, keeping one's word held a significance few outsiders could comprehend.
And so, despite the hour, Harper remained seated. Even if he had to wait for another hour — or two — he would.
The hushed murmurs dissipated as Pansy's words sank in. The common room returned to a calm silence.
Just then, faint footsteps echoed from the boys' dormitory corridor.
"I'm sorry for keeping you all waiting," a familiar voice rang out. "There were some things I had to take care of. I didn't expect everyone to still be here."
All eyes turned toward the source. Their champion, standing tall, scanned the room with mild surprise. The common room, once spacious, now seemed crowded as every seat was taken. Some younger girls had even squeezed into single armchairs together.
Evidently, even Salazar Slytherin himself hadn't anticipated his house to be so united over a thousand years later.
Raising his right hand slightly, their champion spoke once more, his voice calm and unwavering.
"Thank you for your support. Glory to Hogwarts."
There was no dramatic flourish. No excessive emotion. Just a simple declaration. Yet, that was precisely what made it so powerful.
"Glory to Hogwarts!"
The words rippled through the room. Each voice joined in, steady and resolute. It wasn't a cheer of empty enthusiasm — it was a statement of belief.
And in that moment, Slytherin stood together, not as cunning schemers, but as steadfast comrades.
Back in the Dormitory.
Leaning against his chair, Ino let out a slow breath. His mind replayed the scene in the common room.
For a fleeting moment, he thought he understood why Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort. The attention, the admiration — they could be intoxicating.
A young boy, abandoned and starved for validation, might have easily succumbed to such temptation. The line between pride and arrogance was thin, and the weight of expectations could distort even the strongest of hearts.
But that was not Slytherin's fault.
It was never about the house. It was about the individual. The strength to carry the burden of admiration, without letting it consume you.