The first salute started as a joke in the castle.
A pair of first years met in the corridor outside Charms, snapped their heels together like they had seen their yearmates do, then pressed a fist to their chest.
"Mater Magica Aeterna," one of them said, too loud, too proud.
The other answered it in the same tone and hurried away before the prefect could decide whether it counted as disruption or not.
A week later, it stopped being a joke.
Michael saw it spread. First years did it to feel included. Third years picked it up to mock them, then kept it because it got a reaction. Fifth years started using it when they were serious, because it sounded like a pledge. It had become a greeting, a way to show respect to their origin. A reminder of who they are.
-
Ravenclaw common room was no different; the salute was here as it was everywhere else in the castle.
Michael sat with his back to the window, quill moving, eyes lifting every time the door opened. A couple of older students returned from breakfast late. They saluted each other without thinking.
He watched their hands, then watched their faces.
There was pride there. Not the childish kind that needed an audience. Something steadier. He felt it in his chest and thought of his father. The proud soldier, was he saluting his colleagues with the same feeling of pride?
He was doing the same as others. Each time, feeling the respect and love of Mother Magic. But there was something else, a longing. He was different, not because he was a half-blood. Hogwarts had scraped that habit off the walls, and the people who tried to cling to it had learned to keep their mouths shut. Blood talk earned detentions and even three expulsions. Blood talk earned a visit from a committee that did not care about your family name.
Michael was different because he could not ignore cruelty.
Cruelty was still here, as if the castle bred it and students carried it like a sickness. Human beings were the same Magical or not. They were cruel in their cores; justifying it one way or another did not change this fact.
Cho Chang was the kind who smiled while doing damage. Her type was the reason cruelty can be justified.
She was in her third year. Clever enough to dodge staff and prefects, stupid enough to think being cunning and cruel made her untouchable. She kept a tight little group around her, girls who laughed at the right moments and boys who mistook her wicked smile for affection.
He had warned them multiple times.
Not a threat or a lecture. A simple warning, delivered in the corridor with his wand still in its holster.
"Pick on someone your own size," he told Chang.
Cho's smile had been sweet enough to make you forget it carried teeth.
"I will," she answered. "I will make sure to keep your little oddity out of my crosshair," and walked away.
Michael could have left it there if she had kept it to her own petty games.
She did not.
She focused on Luna more.
Luna never fought back in the way bullies understood. She did not escalate. She did not cower. She ignored them and their actions, and it irritated them more than any insult.
The castle did not protect the gentle. Not unless the gentle had friends who meant it.
Michael's mornings started before most of Ravenclaw woke.
He rolled out of bed, dressed in silence, and went down to the empty corridor for his exercises. He ran the stairs until his lungs burned, then worked through a routine the classes had drilled into them. The castle watched him in its quiet way, portraits half awake, suits of armour turning their helmets a fraction as he passed.
He returned to the common room sweaty and steady, expecting nothing more than a quiet hour before breakfast.
He found Luna.
She sat in the middle of the room, legs tucked under her, bare feet on the stone, a tablecloth wrapped around her like a child's idea of armour. Her hair fell loose down her back, pale against the blue fabric. She looked up as if she had been waiting for him.
Her smile was still there, yet her eyes carried the sadness of a cemetery.
Michael froze in the doorway.
His eyes ran over her once. No visible bruises. No blood.
He stepped forward, wand already in his hand.
The tablecloth thickened, reshaped, seams forming under his intent. It became a winter coat with a high collar and cuffs that would not drag.
"Come on," he said.
Luna rose without complaint. She offered him her hand like they were walking to a lesson.
He guided her to the fire, sat her in one of the armchairs, then took the seat beside her. He kept his voice low.
"What happened?"
Luna looked down at her hands as if she were checking whether they were still hers.
"They told me the dormitory needed to be cleaned," she said. "They said I made it untidy with my things."
Michael waited. He did not fill her silence.
"They took my trunk," Luna continued. "They hide it. Then they took my clothes. They said it was fun."
Her gaze lifted to his.
"I did not want to wake anyone. I thought I could sit here until the others got up, and I would find my clothes again."
Michael felt the heat rise behind his eyes.
He kept it in.
He reached out, fingers brushing a strand of her hair back from her face.
"You should have told me. Professors or the Prefects would have put a stop," he said.
Luna's smile softened.
"You were running," she answered, as if that explained everything.
Michael turned his head toward the corner where the house elves sometimes appeared.
"Can a Hogwarts Elf come, please?" He called.
A pop.
An elf stood there with its hands clasped, eyes wide.
"Hot chocolate," Michael asked, "For Luna, please."
The elf nodded and vanished.
Michael rose.
He walked to the girls' dormitory door.
He knocked, firm enough to make the hinges tremble.
A prefect opened the door a crack.
The girl looked him up and down, smirked as if she had already decided what story this was.
"Morning, Nacht," she said. "A bit early to look for your girlfriend, no?"
Michael kept his face neutral.
"Get Cho Chang, please."
The prefect's smirk widened.
"Another spineless idiot." She murmured and closed the door.
Michael heard muffled giggles. Shuffling feet.
Cho appeared some minutes later, eyes sharp even when sleepy.
"What is it?" she asked.
Michael did not answer. He drew his wand from its holster. Cho's eyes flicked down to it, then back up.
"Are you threatening me?" she asked mockingly.
Michael's wrist snapped. Levicorpus caught her clean. Cho yelped as the invisible force lifted her and dragged her out into the common room. She flailed, hands clawing at air, hair falling over her face.
The prefect's smile vanished. Michael walked with her, guiding the levitation. He planted Cho in the centre of the room and let her hang.
Her voice went high.
"You cannot do this. You cannot."
Michael watched her spin slowly, upside down, her face flushing.
"You did it to Luna," he said.
Cho's mouth opened. Michael did not let her speak. A short sequence of charms.
Nothing lethal or maiming. It was to return the favour, enough to mark her.
Her skin took on a bruise purple tint as the colour charm sank in, uneven and ugly. Her hair crackled as a scorch charm ran through the ends, leaving it frayed and smoking. A hex tugged at her nose, stretching it into a crooked hook that belonged in a child's cruel drawing. Two small horn buds pushed up through her hairline, stinging as they formed.
Cho screamed.
The noise brought students pouring out of the dorms. They stopped when they saw her. Some laughed. The laugh died fast when they noticed Luna in the chair by the fire, wrapped in a coat that was not hers, holding a mug with both hands like she was trying to borrow warmth. IT was clear Chang was getting what she likes to dish out.
Michael's chest tightened. He turned toward the watching crowd.
"If anyone thinks this is funny," he said, "you are standing in the wrong room."
Silence.
A couple of older students looked away first.
A seventh-year prefect stepped forward, face stern.
"Nacht," she started.
Michael cut her off with a look.
"You were on duty," he said. The prefect's jaw tightened. "Try to stop me again, and I will take off the kid gloves."
She raised her wand.
A patronus burst from it, a pale bird shot through the door and vanished.
Michael kept Cho hanging. He did not add anything else.
He waited.
Filius Flitwick arrived fast enough that his hair stuck out at odd angles, robe thrown on over nightclothes. He looked smaller than most in the room, and for a heartbeat.
Then his eyes landed on Cho, Michael and Luna. The temperature in the room dropped.
Flitwick's gaze moved to Cho again, upside down and changed.
Then to Michael. Then back to the prefects. His voice snapped across the room.
"Who allowed this?"
No one answered. Flitwick's wand appeared in his hand. A sharp Finite cleared the worst of Michael's hexes. Not the lesson, though. The damage that could not be undone in an hour.
Cho dropped, landed hard on her hands and knees, then retched from the rush of blood.
Flitwick's next words came out low.
"Ravenclaw is not a kennel for animals," he said. "Sit. All of you."
Students moved. Not only because they respected his title. Because they feared his disappointment. Flitwick strode to Luna. From her wintercoat, it was clear something had happened there.
"Miss Lovegood," he said.
Luna lifted her mug.
"Good morning, Professor," she replied, as if nothing had happened.
Flitwick's fingers curled. Similar to all the faculty, he was aware of this child's mental state. Losing a mother was not something easy to deal with.
"What happened?" He asked kindly.
Luna told him. She talked in simple sentences, which made it worse.
When she finished, Flitwick's face went still as stone.
He looked at the prefects.
"Were you aware?" He asked. One of them opened his mouth. Flitwick's wand pointed at him.
"Do not," he said. "Do not attempt to explain, were any of you aware or not?" He repeated his question.
Silent nods made his blood burn. His patronus flared a second later, a bright creature of light that shot away toward the Headmistress's office.
He turned back to the room.
Michael sat. Luna's hand rested lightly on his sleeve.
Her fingers were cold.
Flitwick's shame came out as anger. That was the only thing he could afford in front of children.
The Headmistress arrived with two other professors and one of the Auror stations in the castle, who looked like they had been waiting for an excuse to report something.
Vinda's gaze cut across the room, assessing it like an Auror.
She stopped on Luna. Then on Cho. Then on Michael.
"Professor, will you be kind enough to explain?" She asked, her tone firm as ever.
Flitwick did not soften any detail. He laid it out. The systematic bullying, the stolen belongings. Until he reached the events of the morning.
Vinda listened without blinking. When he finished, she nodded once.
"Miss Lovegood,"
Luna rose. Her coat hung a little too big. Vinda's tone stayed measured.
"Did you give anyone permission to touch your trunk?"
Luna tilted her head.
"No, Headmistress," she said. "They do not like my shoes."
Rosier's eyes flicked to the prefects.
"Locate the trunk," she ordered.
Flitwick moved first. "Accio Luna Lovegood's trunk."
Nothing.
"Find it, please," she told the Auror.
The Auror stepped forward, drew a vial and a thin crystal slate. She took a thread of Luna's hair from the winter cloak.
The slate flashed. A line of light tugged toward the girls' dormitory. The Auror walked to the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside without asking permission.
The room went quiet enough to hear Cho's breathing.
A minute later, the Auror returned carrying Luna's trunk by the handle as if it weighed nothing.
She set it down in the common room.
The lid popped open.
Luna's clothes and books spilt out. Someone had tried to hide them behind a ward.
Vinda's gaze settled on Cho.
"Do you deny it?"
Cho's lips trembled. "It was a joke," she tried.
Vinda did not raise her voice.
"This is not a theatre, this is a school. The joke here is that you believed cruelty would be tolerated."
She turned to Michael.
"Why have you not contacted your Head of House?"
Michael met her eyes.
"Because Luna was sitting in our common room with a tablecloth and nothing else," he said.
Vinda held his gaze for a long moment.
"Your spells were excessive," she said.
Michael did not argue. Rosier turned back to the group.
"Cho Chang," she said, voice carrying. She named five others after the Auror identified the magical signatures "Step forward."
Five students moved. One cried before she reached the centre of the room.
Rosier lifted the first wand.
A clean snap. The rest followed. The sound hit the room like a slap on each one.
Cho flinched as her wand broke in Vinda's hand. The others followed.
"You are expelled," Rosier said. "You will be escorted to the Ministry. Your families will be contacted."
The Auror watched with cold eyes.
Flitwick's shoulders sagged a fraction. He hated that the decision was correct.
He looked at his prefects.
"Return your badges," he ordered.
One by one, they unclipped them and set them on a table.
Michael felt Luna's fingers tighten on his sleeve. Vinda turned to him.
"Michael Nacht," she called.
His stomach tightened.
"You attacked a student," she continued. "That is a fact."
Michael nodded. "Yes, Headmistress."
"You prevented a continued harm," Vinda added. "That is also a fact."
She flicked her wand.
"Minus one hundred for assault, plus two hundred for intervention."
Michael nodded and was getting ready to smile.
"Two months' detention wth your head of house," Vinda added.
Michael took the hit without moving. Vinda's gaze softened by a fraction.
"You will learn restraint," she said. "You will also learn that you are not alone. You should not have had to do this."
Flitwick closed his eyes for a heartbeat. That line landed on him. Vinda looked back at the room.
"Ravenclaw loses one thousand points," she said. "For failure of representing an honourable stance."
A gasp rippled through the students.
Flitwick nodded; he was going to do something similar.
Rosier's last instruction came out crisp.
"Every prefect will meet me in one hour," she said. "All heads of house will attend. We will ensure there is no repeat of this."
She turned on her heel and left with the Auror and the expelled students, who walked like people heading to an execution.
When the door closed, Flitwick faced his house.
His voice went quiet.
"If any of you believe intelligence makes you superior," he said, "you have misunderstood what Ravenclaw means."
He looked at the badges on the table.
"You will earn those again. You will earn them by acting as if you belong here. Until then, Ministry Aurors will take your duties."
His gaze landed on Luna.
"Miss Lovegood," he said.
Luna stood. Flitwick's hand shook once before he steadied it.
"I apologise," he said with a steady voice.
The room froze. Professors did not apologise lightly.
Luna smiled.
"It is all right," she said. "It was only cold."
Flitwick's face tightened.
"It will not happen again," he promised.
By lunch, the incident had spread through Hogwarts.
Gryffindor stared across the Great Hall with understanding in their eyes. Ravenclaw students looked like they wanted to shrink into their robes. Hufflepuff looked furious in a quieter way, eyes sharp, hands clenched around cups. Slytherin watched with a calculating calm, then the prefects met and started patrolling their corridors twice as often as before.
Michael saw it from the Ravenclaw table.
A Slytherin fifth year leaned down to a first year and murmured something that made the younger boy nod fast, face pale.
No house wanted the faculty turning its gaze on them. No house wanted to be the next example.
The castle was not a place for any kind of cruelty.
In the afternoon, Michael served his first detention in the library, copying Charms theory lines until his wrist cramped. He did not complain.
Luna appeared at the edge of his table near the end of the hour.
She placed a small folded paper beside his ink.
It was a drawing. A bluebird with horns and crooked tail feathers.
Michael blinked. Luna's eyes stayed soft.
"Thank you," she said.
Michael exhaled.
"You should have told me," he repeated.
Luna tilted her head.
"I will next time," she answered, as if agreeing to a study schedule.
Michael watched her walk away, coat gone now, trunk restored, posture unbroken.
He looked down at the drawing.
He felt something warm in his chest.
And somewhere behind the walls, Filius Flitwick sat alone for a moment before his next class, staring at the space where Ravenclaw's badges had been on his desk, and promised himself he would never again let his house become the place where a girl needed a tablecloth to survive the night.