Filius Flitwick was a master of charms, a champion duelist, and half goblin. Given the power of his magical mother and the fury of his goblin father, he could have easily become a monster, a dark lord to rival Voldemort. He chose instead to embrace the wonder of magic, the joy that it brought to him. A childhood of being attacked for being different, and an adolescence of becoming powerful enough to make all his own years give way before him, and tear down those who thought they were above him, was balanced only by a core of Ravenclaws, and a few of other houses who had stood with him, beside, or sometimes even in front of him when he was too weak to defend himself or he might have gone down a very dark path indeed when the true potential of his power became manifest.
He made a mask. The cheerful bumbling slightly clownish figure he modelled off the even greater monster, Albus Dumbledore, who offered him a place to be a teacher, and step back from the path of blood and fury. Filius Flitwick had lived his mask so long he had almost come to believe he was what he pretended to be, and not the son of a blood soaked goblin warrior and a witch who walked out of the Grindelwald battlefield too lost to battle for any wizard to dare. Now his Ravenclaw Tower, the family he had run to when the goblins would not have a witch born, and his mother's family would not have a subhuman, was in danger.
The mask was off.
Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall stood before the mirrors created by the finest spell crafters of the Ministry of Magic's Unspeakables, with security woven into it by the finest of the Ministries security wizards and by one of Voldemort's own apprentices in Barty Crouch.
Filius Flitwick slashed his palms with his wand and ropes of his blood formed runes upon the mirrors, working the magic of the Gringotts curse breaker to subvert the mirror, and take it for his own.
Dumbledore cried out. "Blood magic is forbidden Filius, the Ministry will see you in Azkaban for this!"
Spells that took months to forge, and that drew power from the entire network of mirror's lashed out in chains of hell wrought iron, wrapped in the flames of Fiendfire and bound in the iron of Acheron that was made to bind witches.
Minerva McGonagall met them. Where Dumbledore had been the power that everyone knew and feared, his apprentice of fifty years was Minerva McGonagall. The finest Mistress of Transfiguration in living memory, she had never sought political power, nor had she ever been drawn to competition and duelling as those who sought glory were. She was content to raise, protect, teach, and mentor generations of witches and wizards learning to become decent people in a land where magic offered both wonders and horrors limited only by imagination.
Transfiguration took the power of the unreal and drove it into matter that was real, and then through the power of the simplest of spells simply opened it to the possibility of change. How much of that unreality you could control was a matter of innate talent, but what you could do with it was a matter of will and imagination.
Masters of Transfiguration were either completely humble or the very worst of monsters because they understood that the truth of their magic was that they usurped the gods and chose to rewrite reality to their whim. Few witches or wizards had much capacity for the unreal, few of them had enough raw power to make the power intensive magics of enough use to ever train up, and fewer of them had the mental discipline and vision to truly hold the comprehension of what something was on an atomic level, and what it you would will it to become with such perfect clarity that they could drive it to completion with such force that the object would hold the change for even an instant. Those with enough power could rewrite reality so deeply that it was not transfigured, but transmuted, forever becoming what the mage had willed it to become in truth.
Minerva had always chosen to be humble, patterning herself off who she thought Dumbledore was. When it turned out the Headmaster was not the man she thought he was, someone had to be.
"They are our student's Albus!" Minerva said, witch's hat on her head, wand in her hand lightly as if it might break if she held it too hard. It seemed to dance upon her fingers, and reality firmed up around it's length as Minerva McGonagall reminded Dumbledore why she was named for the Roman goddess of wisdom, craft, and war.
Minerva McGonagall woke up and chose violence.
Fiendfire raged forward and met a will that hated its existence more than Fiendfire hated life itself. She warped its flames into a different form of its own entropy, soul and flesh devouring flames became a corrosive acid that ate into the Acheron iron like centuries of decay in every second. The chains meant to bind even Voldemort or Dumbledore scattered over McGonagall's long skirts as so much dust in the wind.
Lightning lashed out from the mirror to be caught in nets of copper spun from the air itself and bled harmlessly into the earth as McGonagall, and did the only thing she could do; bought him time.
Flilius Flitwich was bound to the very stones of Ravenclaw's tower. Those who took up the post of Head of Ravenclaw seldom became Headmaster, not because of lack of ability, but because Rowena Ravenclaw was jealous, and those who served as her proxies were bound to her tower and its charges so deeply that other bonds found little soul left free to bind.
Flitwick loved his House as the only home he had, his wards as his children in magic and soul, and he loved with all the green and unreasoning fury of the goblin he was born. He sank his blood into those mirrors, and with it the bonds that Flitwick had never once struggled against, but embraced. Flitwick drove those bonds into the mirror with his blood and magic, and with a Mastery of Charms that showed the dangers of that most basic and least understood arts, wove his will and his bonds into the very enchantments of the mirror, binding it no longer to the tasks of the Triwizard tournament, but to the internal wards of Ravenclaw Tower through the bonds of its master.
The Mirror showed the hellscape of Ravenclaw's tower, the Inverted Tower.
Harry, Neville, Milicent, Hermione, Fred and George had piled into the tower, drawn by the power of the runes that connected them to Draco and Luna, with Noodle reaching out with his own mind magic through the bonds woven in each of those bound through him to Speaker/Harry's gift of Parseltongue.
Noodle opened for them a connection to Draco Malfoy as he soared his broom down a spiral of twisting space and time that seemed to separate the tower from Hogwarts and the rest of the world in ways the many wizards and witches of the staff could not seem to breach from without. Blood flowed from Malfoy in a stream that should have already at least rendered him unconscious, but it led him like ribbon through the madness maze woven by fairy magic run wild with the power of the Yuletide magnified by Ravenclaw's diadem and Lord Voldemort's will and rage.
As Harry, Neville, Milicent, and Hermione began forming their circle, Milicent ordered Fred and George into the middle. Their runes were Gebo and Wunjo, the runes of gift and joy were also the runes that bound everyone together, the runes of harmony and unity. With them as the focus and Noodle wrapped around both, they could call the power of their own runes and elements and pour them into Draco and Luna.
Luna's mind had always been open to the Unreal, a power that had reached out and swallowed her mother when the spell she had been crafting asked more from her than she could give and survive, Luna had always hidden from her own power in the wonder of the Unreal, of the beauty that magic made possible. She had hidden from the darkness of it, she had hidden from what her own rage and grief could make possible. She had hidden from her own power so deeply and so reflexively that she was unable to process the petty spite of her housemates and the bullies of other houses who chose to target her. She could not understand why they lashed out at her, but she could indeed understand what would happen if she lashed out at them, for the Unreal answered to her call, and was forever whispering of what it could do if she only reached out her hand and ordered it to become.
Ravenclaw's Diadem was a mental amplifier, the strongest mental amplifier ever made, and in it was a fraction of the darkest and most violent of all the Dark Lords in living History, driven far beyond any hope of control by an amplifier that had been magnifying his own rage and horror at being torn apart from his parent soul in the moment of Horcrux creation. In a reflexive self-protection measure, the Diadem of Ravenclaw had protected itself from Voldemort's control by magnifying the already psychopathic and sadistic soul's internal pain and rage beyond all hope if its own mind's control. Trapped for decades in an internal loop of trauma, Ravenclaw's diadem had made sure it was a weapon Voldemort dared not ever take up, for fear it would consume and destroy him.
As it was consuming and destroying Luna. Given a mind to free it from the endless loop of its own severing, the mind of Lord Voldemort flowed into Luna with all of its rage and pain, seeking out Luna's rage and pain, but after so long in torment, not retaining enough awareness to shape a coherent thought of its own. Instead, it placed a sword of pure intent in the hands of a hurt child, while unleashing all the rage of two lifetimes into a mind that had been offered control of the wild magic of fairy, the wellspring of the unreal, and set loose in a tower of her tormentors.
We all have thoughts we never let pass our lips. Thoughts we aren't proud of. Thoughts we like to believe were not really ours. Luna had never given her pain access to her power, because the memory of her mother's death was written in her soul. The unreal given the power of a witch's magic could reshape reality, and the flesh of the living as easy as a child playing with playdough.
Voldemort's rage, and Luna's trauma, turned the dreams of fairy into a nightmare of warping flesh as Luna painted the truth of the souls around her in their own flesh and magic. Far from everyone suffered, for the tower housed some truly beautiful souls, and in the dreams of Luna those souls shone like stars. Unicorns frolicked, nymphs and dryads sported as satyrs played pipes for the wild dances as girls and boys reshaped into beings of transcendent beauty danced in joy as the magic roared through them, alive and awake to work their will and slightest whim. The Inner court was bright and beautiful, all who looked upon Luna and loved her where transformed by that love into beauty and grace beyond measure.
Beyond them raged the horror. The male prefect who had never seen what went on in his own house would be blind no more, as he was a single floating eye the size of wolf. From that eye rose half a dozen lesser eyes on stalks, and below the eye was a gaping shark like maw. He was a beholder, a monster whose eyes could not simply see, but kill.
The female prefect who had always seen, but chosen not to act to keep the peace with the rest of her house had paid for her lack of spine, with the loss of all bones. She was now a shambling mass of blob, endlessly spouting and consuming tentacles as it moved hungrily to take and consume anything living in its path.
Twited creatures of fairy, some truly fairies and some former students reshaped by the dark and ugly emotions that blossomed in them when they looked upon Luna chittered and howled through the tower, fangs, claws and rage tearing at each other in the simple uncomplicated joy of pain given and received, their inner nature written in their own flesh, and the wild magic of the darkest hours of the year dragging the worst darkness from every soul to make true.
On her throne, Luna clapped and laughed a smile upon her face, and tears of blood streaming down her face. Wonder and horror, punishment and victim, a goddess of beauty and torment whose own innocence burned as fuel for nightmare made flesh.
McGonagall and Flitwick froze in horror as the mirror showed what Ravenclaw Tower and its students had been transformed into, but with the mirror as a conduit, Harry and his ritual circle could reach Draco and Luna at last, and funnel power into them.
Noodle flinched back from the mind of Luna, for the dreamer was lost to the dream, but Draco he could still find, and he rode the connection woven so strongly through Fred and George as their own runes of sharing and binding worked with the Othala of family to connect all of those bound to Clan and Coven into one whole. The mind of Drac opened to Noodle, and while Noodle lost himself in the power he strove not to resist as it drove into young Draco Malfoy, to allow him to wield the power of all the circle as if it was his own, he had little choice but to share with everyone connected to the circle everything Draco saw and felt.
Harry and Hermione witnessed Luna's coronation through Draco's memory and frowned. Hermione finally muttered. "That speech, I swear I know that speech, but not from Hogwarts..."
Neville coughed. "Yeah, well, when we got the whole fairy elf thing going on here, I gave Luna my copies of Lord of the Rings to read. I'm pretty sure that is Galadriel's speech when Frodo offered her the evil ring thingy."
Harry said musingly. "I thought Galadriel didn't take it?"
Milicent laughed. "Galadriel already had a tiara on. Every princess wants a tiara. Rings are kind of a low tier accessory but everyone knows the girl with the tiara is the princess. It's like offering a boy a magic sword, its just not something you can say no to."
Neville attempted to defend his choice. "Look, its a muggle book that deals with elves as being completely normal. I mean even their witches and wizards are kind of muggly and don't really do much besides stroke their beard and mutter Dumbledorish Hippogriff shit. I thought it would help keep her from getting wierded out by all the fairy stuff going on inside Hogwarts."
Hermione asked. "How is that working out?"
Neville watched Luna turn an attacking fire blast into a cloud of butterflies, and then with a flick of her wand turn the attacking female Prefect into what looked like a large blob with an endless supply of tentacles.
"Not well." Neville muttered.
They watched Draco soar through what looked like some bad hallucination like you get coming slowly awake after a bludger to the head, when the saw a strange scene.
An empty black dress was dancing to ballroom dancing music of dark and haunting majesty. There was no one in the gown, but it danced anyway. Its partner was a beautifully crafted suit in green and silver with a blood red half cloak, equally empty.
"Oh, bugger." Said Hermione softly.
"What is it Hermione, what do you see?" Asked Harry, knowing there was something going on he was missing.
Hermione blushed and began babbling. "Look, I wanted Luna to be able to get more grounded. I wanted her to see how you can see fantastic things, and still focus on what is real around you. I took her to a few muggle movies."
Harry, already suspecting a trap, asked the question. "Which movies?"
Hermione sighed. "Legend and Labyrinth. I'm pretty sure the dancing gown thing is from Legend, where their version of a Dark Lord was trying to tempt the Princess into turning evil, only she has made a dancing partner of roughly Draco size, in Draco colours, so I guess she is trying to tempt Draco to turn evil."
Fred and George started snickering, because on the edge of the abyss, with enough power flowing through them to burn out their minds with a moments loss of focus, a joke was worth more than the risk of death.
"Short trip." Said Fred
"And familiar!" Said George
Harry shook his head. "And Labyrinth is the one where David Bowie in tights is trying to seduce the goth girl by screwing with space, making up down, and sometimes sideways, making her fight through a huge maze to get to him, kind of like task three so I guess this counts as Tri-Wizards prep."
Hermione sighed. "It seemed like a good idea at the time?"
Milicent screamed out "Tally-ho!" As the on screen Draco Malfoy tipped his broom, and dove into the green costume, a flare of magic passing him through the final Ravenclaw outer defenses and into the dream.
It almost ended as quickly as it began, a half dozen Ravenclaw lower years whose faced and bodies had been twisted by fairy magic into the Formorians of celtic mythology, the misshapen humanoids all bearing features of monsters, but still able to wield wand and magic as they cast their spells to punish the intruder.
At the lowest edge of Ravenclaw tower, they were first and second years, and with his Seeker reflexes and his training as a duelist, Draco was able to dodge or deflect most of the spells, while his own madly wove the strongest shield he could muster.
A hulking third year girl, turned into a cyclops wielded a wand the size of a spear and called out to him in a voice that sounded like a chorus of a dozen voices not quite in harmony.
"Turn back. You cannot have her. She is our now." The cyclops said, then fired a powerful "Reducto" that just about drained Draco's shield.
This was stupid, he could no more fight all of Ravenclaw's tower than his father's peacocks could fly to the moon. He wasn't a hero.
But Luna wasn't theirs.
Rage, not heroism welled up in Draco. He felt power burning into his runes, as if he had so much power he would burn out if he didn't use it. Spite, not heroism drove him forward, his spells flowing in chains.
"Flippendo, Stupify, Expelliurmis" He wove the knockback, stunner, and disarming jinx into a single flowing motion and the Third year cyclops was disarmed having blocked and dodged the first two spells with ease.
"Luna is mine!" Draco roared, unable to block and strike, he abandoned defense for full on attack. He would last as long as he lasted, but he would die charging forward. Luna was his; they could not have her.
With a flash of fire a phoenix flashed into existence, and the worlds least clean and least attractive wizards hat dropped from its claws to land on Draco's head like so much dragon dung.
"HOGWARTS HAS FOUND ITS HERO!" The sorting hat roared.
"Get off my head, you are ruining my hair!" Shouted Draco, somehow finding time to worry about his hair as the smelly interfering old had landed on his head. The damned thing left his hair alone when he was sorted, why was it gripping his head so hard he could feel the hat literally ruffling his hair just to annoy him.
"A Hero needs only three things, a stout heart, a good sword, and a sound track!" The Sorting Hat cheered.
"Sod off you barmy beany. I'm trying to survive here!" Shouted Draco as he dove to the ground, rolling beneath two cutting curses and a blasting curse to Flippendo another charging student into the path of two spells he didn't bother identifying and wondered briefly if they were survivable. These were the people who tormented Luna, he really could give a toss.
Draco shot to his feet, and found himself facing two fourth year, with a dozen lesser years charging behind them. He felt the magic soar in his blood, like he could cast as fast as he could chant and never run out of power, but there were simply too many spells coming at him to dodge.
"Bleargh!" The sorting hat made a puking noise and the Sword of Gryffindor landed in Draco's left hand.
Draco had been taught fencing by his father, forever curse his name, and drilled in foil, rapier, epee and saber until he could fight competitively in the Muggle under 17 circuit even when vastly underage.
Without thought, he parried the spells with the blade, his brain understanding how futile it was to block a cutting curse with a blade. Fully expecting to die, he watched as the spell flashed out of existence as it met the legendary Sword of Gryffindor, and was consumed.
Draco's moment of elation was crushed when the Sorting Hat opened its mouth and a female voice and instrumentals started booming out.
"Where have all the good men gone
And where are all the gods?
Where's the streetwise Gryffindor
To fight the rising odds?
Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery broom?
Late at night, I toss and I turn
And I dream of what I need!"
Draco fought forward, wand and blade moving in a web of power and steel that turned the area around him into a dangerous and chaotic space where shattered magics tore away at those unprotected souls that dared to close within reach. Not all the things in Ravenclaw tower had been left enough sense to fight with wand and spell, some were reduced to fang and claw.
Blood and viscera made the ground slick and dangerous under Draco's feet, but he could not spare a moment to worry if those were fairy creature or transformed students he cut through. There was only Luna, and enemies.
Including the bloody hat.
"I am not a sodding Gryffindor you senile slouch cap, I'm a Slytherin."
The sorting hat just boomed out its music as Draco pushed foward through a wave of transfigured furnitrue turned into golems seeking to smash him to blood and goo. The sword dealt with the golems, proving its edge could cut stone and wood as easy as it cut flesh, while Draco hammered a stupify through the defense of the witch doing the transfiguration.
"I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight"
Draco whipped the Sword of Gryffindor down to meet the jinx of a first year who should have been about as dangerous to him as a fart in an open hallway, but the Sorting Hat's point caught his sleeve and delayed his counter long enough for the first year's spell to hit.
"Tarantellegra!" The first year's insectoid voice called, but the dancing jinx hit. Draco swore at the Sorting Hat as he felt the jink take over his legs, and Draco began dancing, still weaving sword and wand in his all out attack.
"Why the hell did you do that? Are you trying to get me killed?" Draco roared.
"This is a musical number, idiot. You need to dance!" Shouted back the Sorting Hat unhelpfully.
Draco had been learning the wild Cossack dances from the Durmstrang students, and they did include many saber dances, so Draco did not have to stop fighting to dance. He gave himself to the music of steel and spell, wand and will, and danced through the Ravenclaw students as the magic of his entire circle roared through his veins.
"I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life
Larger than life "
Spells howled off him, and things that he chose to beleive were never students came apart under his blade and his spells. The only thing that lived in his mind, in his heart, in his soul was Luna. He would pay whatever price he had to, but he would get her out of this.
No matter who it killed.
Luna rose from her throne, and stepped into her own dancing court, the bright beautiful people without the darkness she bore inside parted for their queen as if her movement had always been part of her dance, but the Luna who wept in the middle of her nightmare and the Luna that raged in the middle of her revenge were united in their fixation on Draco who cut his way towards her.
"Somewhere after midnight
In my wildest fantasy
Somewhere, just beyond my reach
There's someone reaching back for me
Racing on the thunder
And rising with the heat
It's gonna take a Superman to sweep me off my feet, yeah"
Luna lashed out with her wand. "Incendio"
The explosion of fire consumed the mad knot of figured trying to make a wave of flesh to bring down the chargin Slytherin, his own floppy hatted body being the target of the explosion of fire that belonged in some Hollywood movie open field, and not in the confined corridors of Ravenclaw Tower.
"I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night "
Draco spun on his knees out of the flame, shooting back to his feet, then raising a wall of stone behind his back to trap half the defenders behind him and resume his charge towards Luna.
Two witches with faces that bore too many eyes and teeth and little else wove nets of conjured water and ice to trap and slow him, but now it was his turn to wield fire and steel to shatter the barriers of ice and water.
"He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight "
Draco was lost in a cloud of fog as fire and ice anhilated each other in a storm of fog in which nothing could be seen but flashes of steel, and the cries of pain as Draco kept charging forward. Luna strode forward to meet him.
"I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning light
He's gotta be sure, and it's gotta be soon
And he's gotta be larger than life "
Luna called forth life from the stones, and in her madness, the stones gave forth vines of green with black dripping thorns and flowers of blood red as she brought forth a wall of thorns to drag him down, bind him, and keep him safe. Safe from what she had become.
"I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
Up where the mountains meet the heavens above
Out where the lightning splits the sea
I could swear there is someone, somewhere, watching me
Through the wind and the chill and the rain
And the storm and the flood
I can feel his approach like a fire in my blood
(Like a fire in my blood, like a fire in my blood)
(Like a fire in my blood, like a fire in my blood, blood)"
Draco pulled so much magic through him that his wand was burning his hand. Dragon heartstrings called for powerful wielders and lent themselves well to those who dared to walk the razor's edge of power and control. Draco was not walking it, he was dancing it.
Thorns lashed at him like whips, but he wrapped himself in fire. He was not Hermione so he was not safe, he felt himself burn, but channeled the pain into the sword, moving forward, every forward. The one thing on his mind was not survival, it was Luna.
She saw him burst forth from the hedge, his flesh bubbling and blistering under the fire he wrapped himself in, as his blade flashed to cut the last of the withering vines that kept them apart.
Luna smiled, even in her madness, she could not strike at him. Her dragon. They would fall together in fire. She stepped forward, her wand held to the side.
"Strike me down, and you can save them all." Luna smiled that soft wounded smile.
The Sorting Hat shouted "Time to be a hero, boy!"
Draco staggered, only one eye still open, but enough left to see his target. The Sword of Griffindor rose, and Draco struck.
Ravenclaw's diadem rang like a bell as Draco struck it. As it spun through the air Draco used the last of his strength to turn his sword, and catch the diadem on its point. As Draco fell, he drove the sword down, and with all his weight, drove the Sword of Gryffindor down into the stone, pinning Ravenclaw's diadem to the stone of her own tower.
Luna fell upon the ground beside Draco, stunned from the blow that struck her crown, not her neck, and found herself facing Draco's only remaining eye.
"Why?" She asked.
Draco smiled, for a horrible burned value of smile. "I am not a hero. I don't save innocents. I am a dragon. I save wicked witches."
She reached out to take his hand, and when their blood met, the magics that had woven them together since her coronation reached through Draco to reconnect to Clan and Coven. She no longer had the power of Voldemort and the tiara, but she was the dreamer of this dream, and the wild magic of fairy had been given her this night. She reached out for Hogwarts, and her friends.
The Inverted Tower reached out for Hogwarts, and the Hogwarts reached back. The castle rang like the deepest bell in the world, as the whole of the world trembled. Wards as far away as the Celestial Palace in Bejing and the Rainbow Rock in Australia chimed as sundered Hogwarts was made whole, and that which fairy had torn away was returned.
The Madame Pomfrey led all the staff with any power to heal to deal with the wounded of the tower. The release of the unreal had returned all the transformed to their former state, but not all had been intact when returned, in body or mind.
Not all the things that died had been fairy, and not all those that had been human could cope with the memories of what they had been when they returned. The Tower of Wisdom learned a lot about itself that night, and many of its lessons were bitter. The gifts of fairy are always double edged; truth being the most terrible of those gifts.
For once, the circle to cleanse Ravenclaw's diadem was not the most potent or even the most terrible of that night. When the fragment of Voldemort was ripped from the diadem where Ravenclaw's magic had protected itself from Voldemort's soul by driving it mad, it barely resisted its destruction. Harry looked haunted as for the first time he had to face a Voldemort soul fragment whose suffering had been so terrible it rushed to embrace the death Harry offered.
For the first time, he was forced to remember Voldemort had once been a person. In the end, Harry Potter would be killing a man. Not his body, but his soul. Harry looked upon the joy the tortured bit of Voldemort had at its utter anhiliation and wondered how much it would take for Harry to slip and become something as mad and dangerous as this. After all, the Tom of the Diary was more reasonable and arguably more ethical than half the officials of the Ministry Harry had dealt with over his few years.
Luna took the Diadem of Ravenclaw, and offered it to Filius Flitwick, master of House Ravenclaw.
Flitwick closed her hands around it, and shook his head.
"No child. I had been blind too long to what was going on in my tower. I knew what was going on, but saw no path to stopping it without becoming a worse danger myself. I have not earned that diadem, and do not trust myself with it. You will wear it, until the time comes you think it is not needed anymore." Flitwick said softly.
Luna smiled, and the sound of a sharp CLANG drew their attention behind them.
"Draco, stop this immediately. That is a priceless Hogwarts relic." Snape shouted, chasing a half healed Draco who was chasing the Sorting Hat with the sword of Gryffindor.
"That is the sickest most manipulative mind violating music making life endagering moldy moth eaten stinking HAIR MUSSING fashion crime in existence, and I WILL END IT" Draco screamed and slashed at the hat who jumped over it.
"I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight!" The Sorting Hat sang happily as Draco continued to attack it like the worlds angriest swordsman facing the worlds fastest toad.
Severus Snape glared at Professor Flitwick who smiled happily at his fellow House Master as the Slytherin Head of House chased his godson down, and tried to stop him murdering one priceless Gryffindor artifact with another one.
Fred grinned at George. "So Draco Malofy"
"Is Gryffindor's champion" George continued.
"Dumbledore will lay an egg." Fred cheered.
"Snape will have kittens." George snickered.
"His mum will go spare!" They both cheered.
Any other House, or honestly, more mentally stable members of their own house would be deeply offended that Draco Malfoy had been chosen by the Sorting Hat to wield the Sword of Gryffindor.
Fred and George on the other hand, were the truest of Gryffindors. The House of Lions, the house of the brave, the bold, the not always bright, but always for the right. They understood. Heroes all belonged to Gryffindor. Even, or especially the poncy sneaky slithering kind.
Oh, they were going to tease him until his blond hair turned red and they could finally call him the Slytherin Weasley. He was a Gryffindor now, even if he was Slytherin and that made him family. As any Weasley could tell you, that meant that a certain amount of Fred and George was simply the cost of being family.
Time to dig out that hair charm. He would be wary about it before, but if they couldn't turn a paranoid Slytherin's hair red to show they had adopted him against his will, then what kind of prankster were they? Ron might explode of course, but that just made it funnier.