A kind of forced unity took root in the house—not the traditional camaraderie built on friendship, but a strict, almost militaristic solidarity born out of necessity. Because if they didn’t stay united, their Prefect would make sure they learned how. Harlan was proof of that. He had become something of a walking warning—a living, breathing example of what happened when someone crossed the line.
At first, the pressure was suffocating. But as time passed, the discipline stopped feeling like a burden and started becoming second nature. The truth was, most of Alex’s rules may feel unreasonable but he learned it all in military. In the end they were just housekeeping standards, etiquette, personal discipline. The only reason it had felt unbearable at first was because everyone had been so used to their old, lazy habits. The shift had been too sudden. But now, after weeks of enforced discipline, they had adapted. And strangely, once they adjusted, many of them found themselves… enjoying it.
After all, when you’re always neatly dressed, walking with purpose, and carrying yourself with composure, it’s hard not to feel a sense of pride. The collective punishment also push them all to realize they’re really one house. It’s easy to say unison At first, other houses mocked them, calling them overly rigid and uptight. But as time passed, something unexpected happened.
While other houses continued their usual routines, Slytherin students remained composed, collected, and eerily synchronized in everything they did. At meals, they ate in silence, displaying perfect table manners. In the corridors, they moved with purpose, never loitering or causing disruptions. And the contrast was glaring. It didn’t take long before students from other houses started noticing the difference.
The gap between Slytherin and the other houses wasn’t just in academics—it was now evident in everyday life. It was hard not to feel self-conscious when you were laughing loudly at breakfast while the entire Slytherin table remained poised and disciplined. It was awkward to slouch and mumble when standing next to a Slytherin who spoke clearly and carried themselves with confidence.
Soon, even students from other houses started unconsciously adjusting their behavior. By the second month of the term, the professors noticed the shift. The entire student body seemed… different. Uniforms were worn properly. Mealtime noise had reduced. Even casual interactions among students seemed more polite. The shift was so dramatic that even Filch, who was used to chasing after misbehaving students, found himself at a loss. For the first time, there was almost nothing for him to clean up after meals. No prank disasters. No chaotic scuffles in the hallways. Something was missing.
Slytherin House, however, took immense pride in the change. They had become different. They were Slytherin. And as their discipline turned into habit, it became a source of identity. But not everyone was pleased with the transformation. Fang, the usual enforcer of discipline, found himself growing increasingly frustrated. With no one to punish, his role was practically obsolete.
However, Alex had little time to concern himself with Fang’s problems. At the moment, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Standing outside Hagrid’s hut, Alex casually stroked a purring cat while overseeing a training session for the top-performing students of the past two months. Victor and Bill had been sent on an errand—to test a batch of new tactical equipment he had developed.
Lately, he had been focused on improving his alchemy business, working on cost-effective magical tools. The goal was simple: reduce production costs while maintaining functionality. He was currently in the process of stress-testing these products, ensuring they were durable enough for practical use. If all went well, he expected to have a prototype of his magical lathe ready by the end of the year. If he could pull that off, his alchemy workshop might open as early as next year. But for now, his focus was on something—or rather, someone—else.
A young witch stood beside him, her vibrant green hair standing out against the dull backdrop of Hagrid’s hut. She was sitting casually on the fence, swinging her short legs in an unconcerned manner. She looked at Alex with curiosity, "So, what’s this about?" she asked, tilting her head. "You’re a Slytherin prefect, right? Why’d you have Charlie track me down? What does a Hufflepuff like me have to do with you?"
Alex, still scratching the cat absentmindedly, frowned. "Tonks," he said, staring at her hair with mild irritation. "Why in Merlin’s name do you insist on keeping your hair that color? It looks awful."
This particular young witch was none other than Nymphadora Tonks, someone who had left a strong impression on Alex since the beginning of the school year. He had always been intrigued by her Metamorphmagus abilities—the way she could change her appearance at will. It was a rare gift, and one that fascinated him. Charlie, having been roped into training with Bill after joining Hogwarts, had been the perfect messenger to arrange this meeting. Alex wanted to observe Tonks up close, study her abilities, and—if possible—figure out whether they could be replicated or analyzed for alchemical applications.
"I can look however I want—why do you care?" Tonks rolled her eyes at him, her tone carrying the kind of casual defiance she wore like a second skin. "Besides, I’ve got no interest in you Slytherins. Your lot are the reason my mum got kicked out of her family."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "That’s the Black family’s grudge, not Slytherin’s. You can’t hate an entire house just because some of its members were born into it." His tone was light, but pointed. "Besides, I’m good friends with your house prefect, Marin McMillan. Surely that counts for something?"
Tonks scoffed. "And what’s that got to do with me? The Black family, the Lestranges—you Slytherins are all the same." Her expression darkened slightly, her dislike for pure-blood supremacists evident. "I still remember how my mum was treated. Her own sister, Bella, used to insult her for marrying my dad—said he was beneath her just because he was a Muggle-born wizard. Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing your house believes in?"
Alex let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Then maybe you should be thanking me. I’m the one who sent the Lestrange family to Azkaban." He leaned back slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "And in case you weren’t aware, I’m Muggle-born too. You do realize your own prejudices are no different from the ones you claim to hate, right?"
Tonks blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Wait—you’re serious?" She studied him suspiciously, as if trying to gauge whether he was just trying to mess with her. When he didn’t waver, she frowned. "Then why the hell does your house act the way it does? Everyone in Slytherin walks around like they’ve got broomsticks stuck up their—" she caught herself, then huffed. "You lot act like noble aristocrats. It’s stuffy. Makes my skin crawl."
"They weren’t always like this, self-discipline and etiquette don’t equal nobility. I just asked them to hold themselves to a higher standard."