The afternoon lessons concluded, leaving Vale feeling oddly energized.
The flying lesson had been particularly satisfying — Malfoy's humiliation still fresh in everyone's minds as students filtered toward the Great Hall for dinner.
Vale walked alone, maintaining a calculated distance from his housemates, observing their dynamics with detached interest.
Ahead, Malfoy's platinum hair stood out among the crowd. His shoulders were rigid, his steps forceful as he spoke in hushed, angry tones to Crabbe and Goyle. Occasionally, he'd glance back, catching Vale's eye before quickly turning away.
"Quite the show today, Windrow," Nott fell into step beside Vale. "Though I wonder if you realize what you've started."
Vale raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Started? I was merely attending class."
"Right." Nott's knowing smirk suggested otherwise. "Just know that Malfoy doesn't take humiliation lightly. His father's position at the Ministry means more than just galleons in their vault."
The Great Hall buzzed with activity as they entered. The enchanted ceiling reflected the deepening twilight outside, stars beginning to emerge against a darkening blue canvas. As usual, hundreds of candles floated overhead, casting a warm glow over the four long house tables.
Vale took his seat at the Slytherin table, deliberately choosing a spot that would force Malfoy to either sit near him or obviously avoid him. The blond boy noticed this tactical placement and visibly bristled, whispering something to Parkinson that made her glance at Vale with narrowed eyes.
"He's planning something," Nott murmured, serving himself roast potatoes. "Tonight, most likely. Common room. After hours."
Vale nodded slightly, reaching for a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Let him."
The tension between them hung in the air, palpable even amid the clatter of silverware and the cheerful conversation filling the hall. Several older Slytherins had begun to take notice, watching the silent exchange of glares between the first-years with interest.
This wasn't merely about a broom incident anymore. This was about hierarchy, about who would establish dominance in Slytherin's complex social structure.
Vale understood the stakes perfectly — it was a natural course of life. If he couldn't avoid it, he was going to exploit it beyond measure.
'Just two days in, and life has been so bright.'
His recent mask was easier to maintain given its proximity to his original self. In fact, a part of it was therapeutic.
Things he couldn't do or say as a mature adult, he could enjoy now.
He was, in a sense, healing his inner child, making up for the trouble he never bothered to cause in his past life.
Vale savored a bite of shepherd's pie, analyzing the Slytherin table's social arrangements and seeing if there was anything fun to exploit.
Draco sat surrounded by his entourage—Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like sentries as usual, Pansy leaning in too close, hanging on his every bitter word.
The boy's bruised ego practically radiated across the table.
"You've made quite the impression," Nott commented, following his gaze while cutting his roast beef into bite-sized portions.
"I've heard that first years rarely command this much attention."
Vale shrugged, maintaining his carefully cultivated air of indifference. "Originally, I didn't want to stand out... However, I was sorted into Slytherin. Now, I don't have the leisure of being invisible."
Using Harry Potter and his main character charisma would've allowed Vale to avoid attention. He could've been completely unknown to the people of Hogwarts, mingling only with a select few people.
Now, however, although Potter still diffused much of the attention, there was still a significant amount of Slytherin wizards keeping tabs on him.
"Clearly." Nott's eyes flicked toward Malfoy. "Though there are smarter ways to navigate Slytherin than direct confrontation."
A ghost of a smile crossed Vale's face.
"Who said anything about confrontation? I'm simply existing."
Parkinson, apparently tired of being excluded, leaned across the table. "Where exactly are you from, Windrow? Nobody seems to know anything about your family."
The question hung in the air. Several nearby Slytherins paused their conversations, awaiting his response.
"Curious about my bloodline, Parkinson?" Vale took a deliberate sip of pumpkin juice. "Or just looking for something to report back to Malfoy?"
Pansy's cheeks flushed pink. "I was only making conversation."
"Of course you were." Vale's voice remained pleasant, but his eyes hardened slightly. "My background is... complicated. But I assure you, my magic speaks for itself."
As if responding to his words, the candles above their section of the table briefly flared brighter before settling back to their normal glow. No one commented on the phenomenon, but several students shifted uncomfortably.
"We'll see about that," Pansy muttered, retreating back to Malfoy's side.
Vale turned his attention to his plate, but remained acutely aware of the whispered conversations, the sideways glances.
He caught snippets about "that flying lesson" and "Malfoy's face when he fell." The confrontation was inevitable, but Vale wasn't concerned. He'd faced worse than a spoiled heir with wounded pride.
"I'm sure of it now. They'll be waiting in the common room tonight," Nott said quietly, confirming Vale's suspicions. "Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle. Probably after the prefects go to bed."
Vale nodded, cutting yet another piece of pie. "Then I shouldn't disappoint them."
As dinner concluded, Vale noticed the shifting dynamics at the Slytherin table. Students were positioning themselves—not just physically, but politically.
Blaise Zabini, a tall boy with high cheekbones and an air of detached superiority, had been watching the exchange between Vale and Pansy with undisguised interest. When Vale caught his eye, Zabini offered the slightest of nods before turning away.
Millicent Bulstrode, the stocky girl with a square jaw, deliberately moved to sit beside Pansy, whispering something that made both girls look at Vale with renewed interest.
But it was the reaction of Adrian Pucey, a third-year Slytherin Chaser, that caught Vale's attention. The older boy had been observing Vale throughout dinner, and now leaned over to Marcus Flint, another Quidditch player, pointing subtly in Vale's direction.
"The older students are taking notice," Nott murmured. "That's unusual for first-year politics."
Vale nodded slightly, watching as Daphne Greengrass, a blonde first-year who had previously kept to herself, deliberately chose to sit near him rather than with Pansy's group.
The message wasn't subtle: lines were being drawn.
As dessert appeared on the golden plates, Vale noticed Tracey Davis, a half-blood Slytherin who typically hovered at the edges of conversations, watching him with calculated interest.
When their eyes met, she didn't look away, instead raising her goblet slightly in what might have been acknowledgment.
"Interesting," Vale murmured, more to himself than to Nott.
The Great Hall gradually emptied as students finished their meals. Vale took his time, allowing Malfoy's group to leave first. As he finally rose from the table, he noticed several other Slytherins timing their departures to coincide with his.
The walk back to the dungeons was quiet, the tension building with each step. By the time they reached the entrance to the common room, Vale could feel the anticipation radiating from his housemates.
Some hurried ahead, eager to secure good positions for the coming confrontation. Others lingered behind, not wanting to appear too invested but unwilling to miss the spectacle.
"Serpent's tooth," someone murmured, and the stone wall slid open to reveal the Slytherin common room, where Malfoy and his cronies were already waiting.