Damn Slytherin

"Quirinus Quirrell, haha, he's not the right answer for Hogwarts."

Draco Malfoy sat on the table, surrounded by little snakes. "I saw him before school started, at the entrance of Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. He was very rude."

"What did he do, Draco? Tell us," Pansy Parkinson asked.

"Hmph, he wanted to lecture me, in front of my father."

Malfoy proudly raised his head, scanned the surroundings, and said, "He couldn't succeed. My father just glared at him, and he didn't dare say anything else."

"Wow, is he really that timid?" a little girl asked in surprise.

"Of course. He can't even use the Repairing Charm properly, what else can he do?" Malfoy said disdainfully. "Besides, my father is a school governor. Do you understand what a governor is?"

A group of students collectively shook their heads, but Pansy proudly tilted her head up. She knew the answer and was about to say it loudly, but...

"I happen to understand a little, Draco. Would you like me to explain it to you?"

A voice with a smile came, and Malfoy flinched in fright.

He turned his head and saw Voldemort with a smile on his face, followed by Percy Weasley, who was glaring fiercely at him – he hated that red-haired kid.

"No need, Professor. I think I can explain it to them," the little fellow said, puffing out his chest, trying to maintain the authority he had just established among his classmates.

"Very good. It seems you've adapted to your life," Voldemort said with a smile. "You can continue; there are still twenty minutes before class."

After he finished speaking, he took Percy to the back of the podium.

"He's lying, isn't he, Professor?" Percy asked impatiently.

"Of course. I'm not afraid of Malfoy, neither of them," Voldemort said with a smile.

Hearing this answer, Percy's expression improved significantly, but he still asked, "Then why didn't you expose him, Professor? He's ruining your reputation."

"Reputation is earned. You have to learn to let your enemies be arrogant and triumphant, and then strike them down when they are most conceited."

Percy pondered Voldemort's words. He didn't quite understand, yet he vaguely grasped something.

"Learn from Malfoy, even though he's younger than you."

Voldemort spoke again. "Look, it's only been three days since school started, and he's already established authority among the first-year Slytherins by using his family background and a few close companions."

Percy glanced in Malfoy's direction and saw the boy still boasting, but at least he wasn't sitting on the table anymore.

"I can't do that, Professor," Percy shook his head. "At least it's hard to lie so shamelessly like him."

"Then go learn, go grow."

Voldemort's expression turned serious. "Most of the time, it's not the environment that adapts to us, but we adapt to the environment. This is an inevitable process of growth."

Percy nodded, keeping these words firmly in mind.

"When you teach later, Malfoy will probably cause trouble. You need to think about how to deal with it," Voldemort said, then stopped paying attention to Percy and picked up his lesson plans to read.

Percy opened his mouth several times as if to say something, but ultimately held back.

After twenty minutes, morning class was about to begin. Percy walked to the opposite side of the classroom, and the second-year students began to gather around Voldemort.

The classroom was divided in half as usual, and Voldemort began teaching the second-year students.

The second-year students, after a year of study, were much easier to teach than the first-year novices; at least there was no need to explain everything.

Meanwhile, across the classroom, Percy was indeed being harassed by Malfoy.

No matter what Percy said, Malfoy would jump in to interject, sometimes even brazenly interrupting Percy's words.

This made Percy furious, and he blushed several times – he criticized Malfoy, but the sharp-tongued Malfoy didn't let him gain any advantage.

Voldemort glanced over at them during his lecture breaks but didn't intervene to help Percy.

Isn't it interesting to let Weasley and Malfoy fight?

As Pure-bloods themselves, they represented two extremes of the Pure-blood ideology.

Sometimes Voldemort would wonder, were the opponents of Pure-blood interests motivated by their fondness for Muggles, or by their dislike of not being able to benefit from Pure-blood status themselves?

In books, justice always prevails, but most of the time, people are driven by self-interest.

Just as Voldemort finished teaching the second-year students and was about to let them move on to practical work, intending to deal with Malfoy himself, a roar erupted from the other end of the classroom:

"Damn Slytherins, can't you learn some manners?"

Instantly, the entire classroom fell silent. Even Voldemort looked at Percy in surprise – if "Slytherins" were replaced with "Malfoy," the sentence would be acceptable, but now...

Voldemort never expected Percy to launch a group attack.

"How dare he say that about Slytherin?"

"Damn Gryffindor, how dare he."

"No one can talk about Slytherin like that, not even the Headmaster."

The students voiced their anger, especially the second-year Slytherins, who were clearly bolder than the first-year students.

And Percy Weasley, the moment he uttered those words, realized his mistake – he had said it out of annoyance at the echoing voices of the first-year Slytherin students.

He was a little scared, even panicked, but the words were already out. With his face flushed red, he really couldn't bring himself to apologize, yet deep down, he already realized the seriousness of the problem.

Just then...

"Silence."

Pointing his wand at his throat and using a Loud Voice spell, Voldemort spoke, suppressing all objections.

The students all looked at him, awaiting his judgment—in their opinion, Percy deserved to be punished.

However, there was none...

"Mr. Malfoy."

Voldemort strode over to the side of the new students, looking down at Malfoy. "Who allowed you to interrupt my class without permission?"

Malfoy, who had been looking smug moments before, was now filled with confusion.

That person said such things, and you're not dealing with him, but you're here to criticize me?

Anger instantly overcame reason, and he shot up from his seat, roaring, "Quirrell, he was insulting Slytherin, not..."

Before he could finish, Malfoy's eyes widened in terror.

"Vadiwasi."

Voldemort's face was cold as he pointed his wand at the desk and flicked it upwards.

The heavy, solid wood desk flew up and slammed into Malfoy's chest, sending the eleven-year-old Malfoy flying through the air.

"Boom, crash..."

Malfoy, sent flying backward, landed among the tables and chairs, creating a chaotic mess.

"Hiss~~"

The little snakes collectively gasped.

"Heavens, are you going to kill him?"

Pansy Parkinson asked, covering her mouth in horror.

"Professor..."

Percy took a step forward but didn't know what to say, standing frozen in place.

Voldemort ignored Percy, merely casting a cold gaze at Pansy, scaring her into silence.

"I'll kill you, damn it, no one has ever..."

Malfoy struggled to his feet, blood trickling from a cut near his eye, but he didn't care.

He roared at Voldemort and raised his wand...

"Bang."

The silent Expelliarmus spell was cast. Malfoy's wand flew from his hand, and with a flick of Voldemort's wand, it landed on the other side of the classroom.

"You..."

The Purple Sandalwood wand was pressed against Malfoy's nose. He only managed to utter one word before daring not to continue—not because of the wand, but because of Voldemort's ravenous gaze.

"Pro... Professor, please don't continue," Percy's voice came from behind. He was truly scared now.

"Playing games with my assistant in my classroom, Mr. Malfoy, who gave you the courage?" Voldemort asked in a low voice.

He was doing this intentionally. He wanted to crush Malfoy, to hurt him, to replace the pride in his heart and the impulsiveness in his personality with fear.

As for whether it would leave a scar—compared to an impulsive, arrogant, and hypocritical fellow, he would rather this child, who was destined to become a Death Eater, be more timid. At least then he wouldn't be so hateful.

Damn little snake, you've defiled the greatness of Pure-bloods... Voldemort's raging mind involuntarily conjured such thoughts.