The three of us — myself, Avery, and Cassius — were already waiting for everyone in our room. Soon, the other members of the council arrived. Pfft, it's even funny how seriously I take all this.
The room wasn't exactly spacious, but that was the point: limited space meant everyone felt they were inside something closed and 'their own.' A place not everyone had access to — a closed community. And teenagers love that.
A closed group that only the 'chosen' can join — isn't that the perfect way to bind others to you, giving them a chance to express themselves and show their individuality, their specialness? Teenagers strive for independence and often challenge norms and values, and I'll use that. Perhaps this trait played a part in me too, since I took all this on with long-term prospects, but if everything goes well, I can firmly establish my leadership not only in our Slytherin year but in the subsequent ones as well.
Before our "council" meeting, we, of course, prepared. So we didn't sit on beds and trunks, but like civilized people — at tables and chairs. Well, except for Avery: he immediately plopped down on a bed, though under my gaze he looked a bit downcast, but still got up and sat at the table.
The table and chairs were transfigured by me. Consequently, such large items required a lot of power, and in half an hour, when the spells invested in them ran out, they would return to their original form.
Amanda sat a chair away from me, demonstratively crossing her arms. Apparently, since she sat next to me last time, she considered that spot hers, and Cassius, who had taken her place, felt rather uncomfortable under the gaze of the true Rosier.
Nox settled down next to Amanda, strangely enough, and that in itself was a result of my work. Two cats who, just a month ago, were ready to scratch each other's eyes out, now sat side by side — yes, with strained smiles, but silently! Before, they couldn't stop the mutual flow of barbs even during a simple greeting.
I flicked my wand — the door clanged shut. Colloportus worked as intended, and now the room was locked. Nox habitually cast her warning charm, and a thin, almost invisible weave flared in the air — if anyone tried to break open the door, she would know first. I raised my wand and, tracing a complex gesture in the air, created a Dome of Silence. The heavy, echo-less air immediately made the space more intimate. Now, no one outside would hear a word.
I don't even know why we went to such trouble, but my paranoia was pleased.
"So then," I began. "I declare our next meeting open. And today, we have things to discuss."
Avery leaned back lazily in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head, and smiled. He liked all this — he loved the feeling of belonging to something important. Cassius, on the contrary, was serious, slightly slouched, looking now at Amanda, then directly at me, as if we were about to sort out a geopolitical situation. Blackmore placed his hands on his knees and was grim, while Amanda smiled wickedly, looking at Cassius with cold malice, and Nox, with a sweet angelic smile, was pleased with this picture.
I leaned back in my armchair and tapped my fingers on the armrest — once, twice, thrice.
"Well then, ladies and gentlemen," I began, looking around at everyone. "Time for the first results. Who'll start?"
Avery, true to form, stretched a smile:
"I'll start. I talked to our mutual acquaintances from Ravenclaw, and they promised to talk to their first-years, so there shouldn't be any more problems."
"That's good, because the last thing we need is for the ever-neutral 'smart ones' to clash with ours. Oh, those first-years…"
Amanda narrowed her eyes and leaned forward slightly:
"And I got acquainted with Marcella Travers. The girl is proud but susceptible to compliments. I praised her a couple of times for her successes in Potions and helped a bit with one assignment — and that's it, now she's following me with her 'little circle.' They're, of course, still playing at independence, but if nudged correctly, that group could become an equivalent to mine among the Slytherin first-year girls."
"So, you'll be her anchor," I noted. "Keep it up, just don't overdo it. After all, the Travers are one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Who else has gotten closer to the first-years?"
Nox took the floor:
"Tina Davies and Eliza Croft. The first is useful for connections — her father is in the Department, and she never shuts up about it. Eliza, however, is insignificant. Her magic is poor, and her father only runs a shop for second-hand books and stationery."
"Excellent," I said, interlacing my fingers. They took turns telling me everything that was needed, though I already knew most of it during the week. But this way, everyone learned the details, and there were no ambiguities among us.
First, everyone talked about successes with the first-years, resolved conflicts. In general, everything we had planned at the meeting. There were failures, and there were successful solutions, and we were glad that the spent effort and nerves were yielding results, even if not too substantial yet.
I felt the corner of my mouth lift on its own.
"Excellent work."
Overall, over the week, we managed to settle a couple of conflicts between the second and first years. Although interfering in first-year affairs was a bit of a taboo, I decided to take advantage of the fact that it was an unwritten taboo.
When it all just began, it didn't even remotely resemble today's meeting. Fortunately, the conversation with Amanda, after which I talked to Isabella Nox about the conflict — a stupid, childish one, but poisoning the unity of the Slytherin second year — led to us now gathering once a week in this room. Back then, I decided to test: could I intervene and make her obey?
"You might think this is a 'personal matter,' but believe me, in the second year, personal matters no longer exist."
I talked about the older students, how they didn't expect unity from us, how all of Slytherin thought only of themselves, and every Slytherin wanted their own good, but achieving it alone was difficult. I explained that pressure would come not only from Gryffindors but also from older Slytherins themselves. Nox understood where I was going. I slightly showed my hand: mentioned my plans and emphasized that with the entire year acting together, no one would be a match for us.
I don't know how convincing I was then, but thanks to good relations with Isabella Nox, who from day one tried to be at least neutral, I managed to establish relations between them. They no longer feuded, though the tension between them didn't disappear — no, they still needled each other with words, like pins — but now it was under my control.
However, Warrington and Blackmore initially didn't quite appreciate the value of uniting with the girls' group. And I understood that with just a couple of conversations, I managed to steer not only Nox and Amanda but also their friends in a common direction, especially concerning Nox's best friend — Vivienne Crawford. And when the newspaper recently wrote about the promotion of her senior relative to head of some Ministry department, the situation became absolutely ideal.
Amanda, after that conversation, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Now no one tried to snatch authority from her in their female collective. In fact, she and Nox simply switched to my side, meaning they no longer tried to prove themselves among the older girls to join their circle.
Through long conversations, I more or less convinced them that it was all pointless — it's better for others to want to join them, not the other way around.
With Blackmore, things were simpler: firstly, he was drawn to me himself, understanding that with me, it would be easier for him to fight against Riddle, Burke, or others. And he had become attached to me and our group. Through him, I had access to Flint and others who weren't shining with intellect but were a decent strike force for errands.
I also had "tools" in direct access, for example, Kayden Fletcher, who easily succumbed to control: first with anonymous letters, then blackmail and revealing myself, which ultimately led to the guy switching sides irrevocably and becoming my pawn.
Of course, the power of blackmail by letter would quickly lose its effect, but in an environment like a closed school society at that age, there were different types of people. Briefly: Kayden wanted to be close to the most respected guy his age to get crumbs of influence. A typical pawn, but for me — a perfect tool: a piece that could be sent for a snack or to call someone, and in return — merely the right to walk beside me, to communicate with me and other 'cool' people in his mind. Very stupid for a smart person, but for him, it was the peak of the social ladder.
Back then, it was unpleasant for me when I had to constantly win over such pawns, because I did it consciously, unlike Blackmore, who did it unconsciously.
Now, although I constantly thought about all the gaps in our year and our "fry," I was also building a system where I wouldn't take open part in my own plans.
Meetings usually started with results, then moved on to news exchange: who heard what, who noticed what — gossip about the older students, complaints from first-years, teachers' nitpicking. Then came pressing questions: who to support, who to rein in, what to say, to whom, and where to hint.
When a decision with a multi-step plan was made, each participant would then tell their immediate circle: "Now, it's like this." Thanks to this, almost every Slytherin second-year, if needed, carried out what I said, but it also worked in reverse. That is, a chain started where any question, any problem — be it a clash between our second-years and Gryffindors or a dig from older students — flowed to me. I became the arbiter. If the Slytherins were right — I put the outsiders in their place; if not — I smoothed things over and deflected the blow.
So, in a month and a half, I turned into the one who "decides," and others execute the decisions. All this worked because in case of problems, they could turn to me.
We had been working towards this for almost a month, changing classrooms, the behavior of our interest group, the general direction of our year's movement, etc. If before we looked at this with doubt, standing in a deserted classroom, now, by mid-October, our meetings had become regular and were yielding results.
They looked at me. Even Amanda with her ever-condescending smirk. Even Nox, who tried not to show that she liked this game. And I saw — she did. They all liked that someone had gathered them and now they were secretly deciding something.
And with each such meeting, they became more entangled in my web. Each time, our decision turned more into my decision. When I say "we," it means it was seemingly discussed collectively, but the final decision was made by me, leaving the last word to myself. I deliberately left a contentious point in the discussion to see who would latch onto it. Then, I carefully flipped the discourse, slipping in a wording for which evidence had already been lined up.
Ultimately, a plan was formed, which we could change during the week, as well as the general direction of movement, but thanks to weekly meetings, everything was brought to a common denominator, and everyone felt their participation in something closed and purposeful.
Gradually, we discussed all the issues resolved during the week. Now everyone was aware of what we had managed and what was left for later.
"Let's continue, now — news," I said, looking at each in turn. "What has accumulated over the week?"
Amanda leaned back on her elbows and spoke with an air of expertise:
"Rumors have started among the girls. Emily Slater and Chloe Randall from the sixth year were discussing that 'the second-years have gotten completely out of hand.' They don't like that we don't hang on their every word, and that the first-years are drawn to us, not to the older ones. The same was discussed in our club, though they changed the topic in my presence."
Nox supported Amanda's words; she was particularly annoyed by these two, and after our meetings, everyone — from the girls to the boys — had started to dislike the older students more and more, seeing only the bad in them, whereas before, everyone tried to fit in with them. Of course, that's exactly what I was counting on: when you point a finger at others' faults (even future ones), everyone starts looking more closely in that direction and twisting everything so that what was said perfectly fits their worldview.
However, this only worked thanks to my almost impeccable reputation and, perhaps, a bit of charm, which was composed of several important aspects — starting with good looks and ending with confidence.
And this wasn't self-praise; I simply understood the value of such traits as good looks, behavior, a prominent surname, and money behind one's back.
Avery squinted and lazily added:
"An acquaintance from Hufflepuff, in Astronomy, heard Farmus, the Gryffindor prefect, say it would be nice to 'cut Malfoy's tongue out.' Word for word."
"Screw Farmus," Blackmore growled.
"These aren't just words. If the Gryffindor prefect has me in his sights, it means he didn't swallow what I said."
Amanda smirked:
"So, we should expect a response from the Gryffs? Wonderful," she added sarcastically, waiting for my reaction.
"They've butted in before," Cassius remarked. "Remember Riddle or Burke, for example. Now their prefect will get involved."
I smirked.
"It's all because of our 'brave' prefect, who's in conflict with Farmus. He decided that since Unsworth can't handle him, it's fine to insult the house in front of second-years."
"I'll shove Burke's face in the dirt sooner or later," Blackmore said sharply.
"Already did," Avery reminded him. "At the club meeting two weeks ago. Everyone saw."
"Once isn't enough," Blackmore grumbled.
I raised a palm:
"We'll discuss Burke later. Right now, I'll tell you what we'll do about Farmus."
The Gryffindor prefect is a prominent figure, and since he declared he wants to cut my tongue, let him pay for his words. He has one vulnerability: he's a prefect. And if he's too emotional, his reputation will collapse. He's already shown his lack of restraint twice — we'll simply use that and…
Everyone listened to my small plan, which would protect me and simultaneously damage the Gryffindor prefect's reputation. After the small plan, questions started pouring in.
"So, you're proposing to simply spread a rumor throughout the school that Farmus is planning to humiliate some second-year from Slytherin?" Cassius asked for clarification, to which I nodded affirmatively, as the essence of the plan was simple.
"This will be a preemptive strike: if someone attacks me suddenly, everyone will think the Gryffindor prefect decided to attack an underclassman, and if not — everyone will still remember his threat."
"He dug his own grave with his words. Now such a rumor will fall on prepared soil," Avery said, rubbing his chin.
"If needed, we could even stage an attack," Nox said.
"You've devised an interesting game…" Amanda noted and began to ponder what I had actually planned.
"No, it's just fooling around, but I've thought of something more interesting. I'll tell you after we finish discussing the news."
Then we discussed everything happening at school.
Avery, trying to lighten the mood, interjected:
"By the way, about the teachers. Did you hear that in DADA, the professor berated some Gryff so badly he walked around red-faced for a week?"
"Those are just flowers," Nox chimed in. "McGonagall almost lost it when the Weasley twins got a broom and flew down the corridor."
We laughed. The atmosphere became lighter, but not for long.
I steered the conversation back on track:
"Alright. The summary is this: we help the first-years and draw them to us, but not too conspicuously. Regarding the older ones… they are our main threat. We make Farmus a target through rumors. No problems from Burke for now, but if anything — I'm counting on you, Dexter. Riddle and the other Gryffs from our year aren't a threat without Burke and his friend."
Blackmore couldn't resist:
"But the older ones won't just stand aside, that's clear. Many are already hinting that 'second-years have too much initiative.' You remember the unspoken rule — don't interfere in first-year affairs."
"That's exactly why all this is needed," I said, once again today, pointing at everything around. "So that we are a single voice. The older ones can pressure us individually, but not when we stand together."
We lingered for another ten minutes, went over details, chuckled, and exchanged news; then I laid out the plan in detail: first — planting rumors about supposed threats from Farmus, next — a carefully (not really) planned scheme that, if executed flawlessly, should seriously undermine his reputation and not only his. After the meeting, I only regretted the missed chance to laugh villainously. But then again, nothing's stopping me from having a good laugh during magic practice.
"Mwahahaha!"