Later that evening;
Dumbledore's office had rarely been this full.
Ethan remained near the perimeter, hands folded behind him, studying the shelves he knew so well—the delicate enchanted instruments, the portraits feigning slumber. The room usually breathed quiet wonder, magic soft and steady, wisdom lingering in every corner. Tonight the warmth had vanished; the atmosphere felt dense, weighted with unvoiced reproaches and anger kept under strict control.
Dumbledore presided from the center, seated behind his desk with fingers loosely interlaced. His expression remained placid, almost childlike in its innocence, but his blue eyes moved with quiet precision—taking in every face, every flicker of tension, as though the entire scene were pieces on a vast chessboard.
McGonagall stood rigid beside him, lips pressed thin, her whole bearing radiating deep displeasure and weary frustration at how far the matter had gone.
Several steps away sat Lily Evans, hands knotted in her lap. The familiar softness in her expression had hardened into careful restraint. Her gaze lifted toward the door now and then, only to fall back to the floor, as if preparing herself for the storm about to break.
One person drew Ethan's eye instantly.
She cut a striking figure, her features set in an expression so severe it bordered on inscrutable. Though born into the Bones line, her union with the Black family had left its indelible mark: she carried herself with the honed edge of someone long accustomed to issuing commands and passing judgment. Her eyes fixed on her son, Oberon, standing silent near the wall with his hands loosely clasped before him.
She offered him no comfort. She offered no scolding either.
Her face remained cold, distant, and purely assessing.
The silence stretched, taut as a drawn string.
Then the door to the office opened.
Ethan noticed the new arrivals at once. A tall man entered first, imposing in stature, his platinum hair perfectly groomed, his expression cold and unyielding. His wife came next, features pale and composed, her gaze carrying the weight of cool contempt. Together they exuded an air of old-family superiority, as though gracing the office with their presence was a concession.
Ethan recognized them without hesitation: Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's parents.
The door closed softly behind them.
Dumbledore inclined his head.
"Welcome, Lucius. Narcissa," Dumbledore offered quietly. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. I trust you've had the chance to see Draco. Madam Pomfrey reports he is recovering well."
Lucius did not move to sit.
"Recovering well," he repeated slowly, each syllable precise and cold. "You consider a mangled hand and shattered teeth to be 'recovering well,' Headmaster?"
Lucius lowered himself into the chair at last, the gesture deliberate and unyielding, as though granting the room a favor rather than yielding to it.
"My son was assaulted," he said, each word precise and cold. "Set upon and beaten by a pack of undisciplined ruffians. What I find truly alarming is that Hogwarts seems perfectly willing to treat such an outrage as nothing more than a trifling annoyance."
His gaze swept across the room, lingering pointedly on Lily and Amelia Black.
Amelia Black raised her chin and shifted her gaze to the arriving pair, regarding Lucius and Narcissa with the same detached scrutiny she had given her own son moments before.
Lily straightened slightly under the scrutiny, though she did not look away.
"It would be wise to choose your words carefully, Mr Malfoy," she said coolly. "Calling children a gang of unruly attackers is an exaggeration, and a dishonest one. Yes, a fight occurred. Yes, it should not have happened. But my son was also injured. This was a conflict between children."
Narcissa's lips curved into a thin smile.
"You are a professor here," she said softly. "Before you are a mother. You should not be taking sides."
Her eyes flicked toward Lily.
"And you should not excuse the actions of your child, Mrs Potter."
The room went very still.
Then Narcissa tilted her head, mockery glinting in her eyes.
"Oh. Forgive me. You are no longer a Potter, are you. What was it again? Your muggle name. Evans."
The word lingered like poison.
Lily's hands clenched in her lap. Her expression remained composed, but the sting was unmistakable. She lifted her gaze, meeting Narcissa's without flinching.
Amelia Black spoke before she could respond.
"It seems you are far more interested in insults than solutions," she said. "I did not raise my son to be a bully. I will speak with him privately. As for punishment, I trust Headmaster Dumbledore to decide what is appropriate."
Lucius sneered.
"Of course you would," he said. "After all, he is the son of Sirius Black. A notorious bully. It stands to reason his child would follow in his footsteps. A Black and a Potter together. History repeating itself. They terrorized others, just as their fathers did."
Professor McGonagall stepped forward sharply.
"That is enough," she said, her voice tight. "Dragging the past into this serves no purpose. This was an incident between first year students, nothing more."
Lucius laughed coldly.
"Nothing more," he echoed. "My child could have been seriously harmed. And you wished to resolve this quietly. Without involving parents."
He turned to Narcissa.
"This school conceals far too many secrets," Lucius said, his tone low and deliberate. "They accept the shattered hands of children, the brutish behavior of these so-called privileged heroes, and wield them as a convenient veil for their own misdeeds."
Narcissa nodded.
"I believe the governors should be informed," she said. "They should know how Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall handle violence among children."
Lucius rose.
"I want Potter and Black expelled," he said flatly.
All eyes turned to Dumbledore.
The headmaster did not flinch.
"My dear Lucius," he said pleasantly. "Children quarrel. Competition breeds foolishness. Madam Pomfrey assures me that injuries were minor. Mr Potter was injured as well. It was Professor Thorne who intervened and ensured no further harm occurred."
Dumbledore turned his gaze to Ethan, mild and unhurried.
Ethan recognized the look at once—the calm, deliberate expectation.
In that moment, it felt very much like Dumbledore was gently shoving him forward with a quiet, wordless instruction: Go on, then. Clean up this particular disaster.
He had held his tongue so far, letting the accusations and defenses play out. But he recognized the weight of the moment: this was about more than broken hands or house rivalries; it would define lines of authority, trust, and the future for at least one boy in the room.
Ethan stepped forward.
"When I arrived," Ethan stated evenly, "the altercation had already ended. Prefects and witnesses described Mr. Malfoy directing a highly offensive racial slur at Mrs. Evans—language that should never be spoken here, and which I will not repeat. It elicited a strong response from Mr. Potter, supported by his friends as the conflict grew. In the heat of it, Mr. Black used spells that are banned in the corridors and certainly not permitted against another student."
Lucius stiffened.
"That is impossible," he snapped. "My son would never use such language."
"I can only share what the witnesses reported," Ethan said calmly. "Many students are willing to testify to what they saw, and of course we can speak with Mr. Malfoy directly to hear his side."
Silence fell once more.
Ethan continued.
"I understand your concern completely," Ethan said gently. "Any parent would be distraught seeing their child injured. But the incident does not rise to the level of expulsion. It would be disproportionate and unfair to end two students' time at Hogwarts and ruin their futures over this little conflict. Detention and appropriate consequences are the proper response. The school will see this handled justly."
Narcissa rounded on him, voice low and venomous. "A little conflict? You stand there and call my son's broken teeth and mangled hand a little conflict? My only son nearly died, and you reduce it to childish squabbling?"
Ethan inclined his head slightly. "Ma'am, they are children—children who carry wands, which are weapons. They are wizards learning to control power. We cannot expel them as though they were irredeemable criminals. They are here to learn accountability: that racial slurs cut deep, and spells used against classmates have serious repercussions."
His eyes moved to Oberon. The boy watched him with perfect composure, but the look in his eyes was far from peaceful—sharp, watchful, and quietly stormy.
Ethan went on evenly. "And let us be clear: today's fight has deeper roots. It stems from the parents, from the long-standing conflicts between families, and those are the true causes."
Lucius banged his cane on the ground, the impact ringing out. "You are implying we are to blame for what happened today?"
Ethan gave a small, calm smile. "Mr. Malfoy, I do not presume to judge how you raise your children or what values you pass on at home. That is not my place. But I do object when you insist on expelling two students over an incident your son allegedly started, simply because he was the one who got injured. The other parents have not demanded innocence or issued threats. They have not accused the Headmaster of conspiracy or the professors of favoritism. They have said only that they trust the school to decide the appropriate punishment."
Lucius turned his glare on Ethan, then on Oberon, voice low and venomous. "So this is your judgment. You blame my son for everything. You imply my wife and I failed in raising him. You insult the Malfoy name and our family honor. Well. I expected more from you, Mr. Thorne. The Daily Prophet praised you as the hero who saved our children, but it appears you have no respect for pure-blood heritage or honorable traditions. I am deeply disappointed in your character."
Amelia intervened, her tone firm and final. "Enough, Lucius. Do not make this incident into a political spectacle. It was merely a quarrel between children. Let us not complicate it further. Headmaster Dumbledore will decide how to proceed."
Dumbledore smiled faintly, the expression warm yet carrying the quiet weight of someone who had seen far greater storms pass through these walls.
"I could not have said it better myself, Mr. Thorne," he said softly, his voice carrying gentle approval. "We are here to educate and guide young minds, not to punish them beyond reason or to allow old grievances to dictate justice. Hogwarts has weathered many conflicts between families—some far older and deeper than this one—and it has always found its way back to fairness and mercy. We will proceed with measured discipline, testimony from all sides, and the certainty that every child leaves this room with the chance to grow wiser."
Lucius's glare sharpened, first on Ethan, then on Dumbledore. His voice dropped to an icy whisper. "This is not over, Headmaster. I will be filing a formal complaint with the Board of Governors. They will hear exactly how Hogwarts protects certain students while sacrificing others to appease outdated notions of equality."
Dumbledore merely inclined his head, unruffled. "You are, of course, entitled to do so, Lucius. The Board is always welcome to review our decisions."
Lucius rose smoothly, offering Narcissa his arm. Without another word, the two swept toward the door, cloaks billowing with practiced dignity.
Amelia Black turned to her son. Her voice was low and firm. "Oberon. Come. I wish to speak with you alone."
Oberon nodded once, expression still composed, and followed her out without a backward glance.
Lily rose quietly, gave Dumbledore a small, grateful nod, and slipped from the room after them.
Once the door had closed behind the last of them, Dumbledore turned to McGonagall and Ethan. His eyes twinkled faintly behind half-moon spectacles.
"Well," he said mildly, "that could have gone worse. Minerva, perhaps we might discuss the appropriate detentions and point deductions over tea tomorrow morning? Mr. Thorne, thank you for your candor tonight. It was precisely what was needed."
Ethan inclined his head in acknowledgment, then quietly stepped toward the door and left the office, the heavy silence of the room settling behind him.