After that, there was buzzing among the first-years for a few days. Half-true stories spread fast, each retelling slightly different, but none of them close to the full truth.
Then the exam dates were posted.
Almost instantly, everything changed.
Whispers about hidden chambers were replaced by frantic revision. The library filled. Students hurried through corridors with stacks of parchment under their arms.
Even the bravest first-years stopped speculating and started memorizing.
Gradually, the incident was pushed aside.
At Hogwarts, exams were more immediate than legends.
And so the End-of-Year Exams arrived—and just as quickly, they were over. The final parchment had been handed in, the last practical spell cast, and now the castle felt strangely lighter.
Most students looked exhausted.
"I'm going to fail," Ron groaned, slumping back on the bench. "Snape was staring at me the entire Potions exam. I swear he was hoping my cauldron would explode."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're not going to fail. Even if you didn't do brilliantly in one subject, you'll still be promoted to second year."
She's right, Victor thought calmly. This isn't O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s. First-year exams aren't designed to ruin futures.
Otherwise Neville wouldn't have passed first year.
Unlike the major exams taken later, these were more about fundamentals. Do poorly in one subject, and you weren't doomed—you just tried harder next year.
Ron still looked miserable.
"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You probably got full marks."
Hermione didn't deny it.
With the exams over, the students were on break, waiting for their results and the End-of-Term Feast at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where the House Cup would be awarded.
In the Slytherin dormitory, trunks lay open across the floor as students hurriedly packed for the journey home.
"Brother, we're definitely winning the House Cup this year," Draco said confidently, folding his robes with far less care than he should have. "Gryffindor lost loads of points. There's no way they can catch up."
"Maybe," Victor replied mildly, fastening the clasp on his own trunk. "Or maybe not."
Draco frowned. "What d'you mean?"
Victor gave a faint shrug. "Professor Dumbledore has a habit of remembering things at the last possible moment."
Draco paused, clearly annoyed at the implication. "Even so, we're still ahead."
"We'll see when it's announced," Victor said calmly.
There was a short silence before Draco shifted closer, lowering his voice.
"By the way… what actually happened on the third floor?" he asked, curiosity shining in his eyes. "You never told me properly. Everyone's saying different things."
Victor looked at him for a moment.
"Nothing dramatic," he said at last. "Someone tried to take something that didn't belong to them. I made sure they didn't succeed."
Draco blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it."
Victor reached out and ruffled Draco's hair lightly—a rare gesture.
He would never allow Draco to grow up under the shadow of darkness like in the original timeline. Not here. Not while he was around.
Voldemort. Death Eaters. War.
None of it would touch his family if he could help it.
He would make sure of that.
A faint shimmer passed through his vision.
[Congratulations. Your resolve has strengthened your fate.]
[Reward granted: Apparition.]
***
The Great Hall glittered beneath hundreds of floating candles. Plates were piled high, goblets refilled, and the air hummed with anticipation. Above the long tables, green and silver banners hung proudly, the serpent of Slytherin gleaming in the candlelight.
The points had already been tallied.
At the High Table, Professor McGonagall tapped her glass lightly. The sound rang clear through the Hall. Conversations faded. Even the first-years fell silent.
Professor Dumbledore rose.
"Another year gone!" he said cheerfully, his voice carrying easily through the Hall. "And now, as I understand it, the House Cup must be awarded."
A ripple of excitement ran through the students.
"And the points stand thus. In fourth place—Gryffindor, with three hundred and twenty-seven points."
Polite applause followed.
"In third place—Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points."
A slightly louder round of clapping echoed across the Hall.
"In second place—Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six points."
This time there were cheers from the blue-and-bronze table.
"And in first place—with four hundred and seventy-two points—Slytherin House."
The Slytherin table erupted. Students leapt to their feet, applauding loudly. Draco clapped with sharp satisfaction. Professor Snape's thin lips curved faintly as he joined in the applause.
Harry glanced at Hermione. She tried not to look disappointed.
Dumbledore raised his hands for silence.
"Yes, yes—well done, Slytherin," he said kindly. "However… recent events must also be taken into account."
The Hall stirred. Gryffindors straightened.
"I have a few last-minute points to award."
Hope flared at the red-and-gold table.
"To Miss Hermione Granger—for the cool use of intellect when others were in grave danger—fifty points."
Gasps, then cheers, burst from Gryffindor.
"Second—to Mr. Harry Potter—for pure nerve and outstanding courage—I award Gryffindor sixty points."
The Gryffindor table roared. Harry stared at Dumbledore in disbelief.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"And finally—to Mr. Victor Malfoy—for exceptional courage, for strategic brilliance in a most challenging game of chess, and for decisive use of magic—I award seventy points to Slytherin."
The Hall buzzed in surprise.
The banners overhead shimmered—but remained green and silver.
The total stood.
Slytherin still led.
Draco's grin widened at once. The Slytherin table erupted again, louder than before, green-and-silver banners shimmering proudly overhead.
"Even with those points, we still lost," Ron muttered, folding his arms and glaring at the celebrating Slytherins. "Brilliant."
"Well… at least we didn't come last," Harry said, trying to sound optimistic, though he couldn't help glancing at the gleaming silver Cup now making its way toward the Slytherin table.
Hermione lifted her chin, determination flashing in her eyes.
"Next year," Hermione said firmly, "we are definitely winning the House Cup."
Across the Hall, Victor was already surrounded. A few Slytherin seniors nodded at him in approval, one even clapping his shoulder.
Draco looked smug beyond measure.
"Told you," he said loudly. "My brother carried us."
Victor simply inclined his head slightly, accepting the praise without boasting.
A year ended, he thought quietly.
An arranged engagement. A Horcrux destroyed. Voldemort forced to flee.
Not exactly the typical first-year experience.
His gaze drifted across the Hall—and paused. Hermione was looking in his direction, a small, genuine smile on her face.
Victor looked away after a moment.
Maybe next year will be… simpler, he mused. House rivalries. Exams. Youthful distractions.
A faint thought crossed his mind.
Youthful love, perhaps.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 65🔥
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