The title of "Gryffindor's Queen" was just one of the nicknames floating around. Others, like "Gryffindor's Lioness," were also tossed about.
It made sense—Hermione was a Gryffindor, and the house's mascot was a lion.
But Hermione wasn't fond of the "Lioness" nickname, and neither was Dudley.
If Hermione was the lioness, what did that make him?
In a lion pride, the females did all the hunting, while the males mostly ate and guarded the territory. Even in a fight, a male lion—despite its size—might not beat a female, who was lean and battle-hardened from constant hunting. The male? Mostly lazy, except during mating season.
And, well, let's just say a male lion's performance in that department lasted about five seconds (sometimes as little as one!).
Ron elbowed Neville, grinning as the crowd cheered around them. "Oi, Neville, Hermione's stealing all the spotlight. We're basically NPCs at this point."
Neville shrugged, his voice muffled but earnest. "What's wrong with that? You know I don't care for the spotlight."
A Gryffindor who didn't crave attention? Was that even possible? Well… maybe Dumbledore was like that.
From the other side of the castle, faint cheers echoed. Draco adjusted his collar, gripping the elegant cane Dudley had given him. His mannerisms mirrored his father, Lucius, but with a distinct edge of his own.
"My father, I believe my friends are waiting for me. I'll take my leave now."
Without waiting for a response, Draco stood and strode toward the door. As he passed the seven neatly lined-up Nimbus 2001 brooms, he cast them a dismissive glance. "I don't need cheap tricks to earn glory."
"I'll achieve it with my own hands, just like the Malfoy ancestors did."
The Malfoy family's past glory would be reborn through him, Draco swore.
Lucius watched his son's retreating figure, stunned into silence. His thoughts drifted back to years ago when he, too, had spoken with such confidence. The difference? Draco had said it to his face, while Lucius had made his bold claims in front of a certain portrait—one of a Malfoy ancestor who'd succumbed to dragon pox syphilis.
---
"Thirty-two mistakes, seventy-two missing syllables, and ninety-five details completely botched," Hermione ranted.
Dudley: "…"
"That Alex guy!" Hermione's voice rose as she emphasized the name.
"Every single one of those was a chance to cast faster and more accurately. It's a shame he didn't notice a single one from start to finish."
After dealing with the bullying incident, especially after spotting Dudley in the crowd, Hermione had been barely holding it together. Now, away from prying eyes, she let loose, venting non-stop to Dudley.
She was dissecting the entire confrontation, analyzing her own performance for flaws. Well, mostly pointing out Alex's flaws—her specialty. She'd only been mimicking Dudley's approach earlier.
"Oh, my queen, have mercy on me today," Dudley groaned, dramatically digging a finger in his ear as if begging for relief.
Once or twice, he could handle it and even join in. But this was the seventh time she'd gone over it today.
It was just Hermione's nature to nitpick, though she only let this side show around Dudley. In front of others, she kept up her cool, composed facade.
Dudley's massive frame, paired with his exaggerated gestures and comically expressive face, sent Hermione into a fit of giggles.
"You're still the King of Slytherin," she teased, playfully punching his chest.
But as soon as the words left her mouth, something seemed to click in her mind. A faint blush crept across her cheeks, and she quickly changed the subject before Dudley could respond.
"What do you think the headmaster will do? Will they get expelled?"
Dudley's attention shifted, following her lead. "Bullying can be a big deal or a small one, especially if it hasn't caused serious harm yet."
"If Professor McGonagall's handling it, I'd bet those three get a warning, some points docked, a bit of detention, and maybe a few days of manual labor. That's it. She's too soft-hearted."
McGonagall might look stern, but she had a heart of gold.
"Last year was a mess—Hogwarts expelled five students. This year, Dumbledore probably won't be so quick to expel anyone."
"To them, getting kicked out of Hogwarts means settling for a lesser magical school, missing out on the best education, and never becoming a top-tier wizard. They'll avoid that unless it's absolutely necessary."
The disciplinary team was still new, not fully established. If it were more mature, they could've expelled the culprits directly for "reforming school conduct" without involving professors or the headmaster.
To Dudley, maintaining discipline and school standards was paramount.
Might as well nip potential enemies in the bud.
"So everything we did was for nothing?" Hermione's voice dipped, her mood sinking.
She thought of Luna, who'd done nothing wrong. Why should she suffer like that?
It hadn't escalated to something serious this time, but if Hermione hadn't stepped in, Luna could've hit her head on a desk corner.
If everyone was so concerned about protecting the futures of bullies, who was looking out for the victims' futures?
"How could it be for nothing?" Dudley shook his head gently. "Your actions, your effort—everyone saw it."
"You showed them the disciplinary team isn't about rivalry, or being the professors' lapdogs, or some lofty, untouchable group."
"Not everyone's out to cause trouble. Not everyone enjoys bullying. You'll gain more support, more allies. Equality, justice, rule of law, integrity, democracy, civility, harmony, freedom—aren't those what so many people crave?"
Only a rare few—those with twisted, antisocial personalities—took pleasure in tormenting others.
"Resentment comes from injustice," Dudley said. "As the great sage Swift once said, 'People don't resent scarcity—they resent inequality.'"
"And we're bringing them fairness."
Dudley reached out, ruffling Hermione's wild, wavy hair. It felt amazing.
"Even Slytherin, which outsiders see as a den of dark wizards, craves fairness, don't they?"
"Just wait. Time will prove it."
And it didn't take long.
By the next day, they were flooded with letters, each one expressing the same sentiment: a desire to join the disciplinary team.
It was quite the task to sort through them.
Not just anyone could join. Dudley had a strict principle: quality over quantity. He'd already chosen his ideal candidates from the start.
Only one rule mattered—better to have none than settle for less.