He Absolutely Belongs in Slytherin!

"Do you know which house you'll be sorted into? I've been asking around—I hope I get Gryffindor, everyone says it's the best. I heard Dumbledore himself graduated from there, though I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad either."

In the compartment, Hermione had given up trying to discuss books with Damon and instead turned to chat with the others about different topics.

Just as she was chattering away, the compartment door suddenly slid open, and three boys entered.

One was pale-faced, with sleek, light blond hair and a sharp, delicate features. The other two were squat and stocky, exceptionally ugly, flanking the pale boy on either side like a pair of bodyguards.

"Is it true?" he asked. "Everyone on the train is buzzing that Harry Potter is in this compartment. So that's you, isn't it?"

"Yes," Harry said. He looked at the two thickset boys beside the speaker, which reminded him of his cousin Dudley, and instinctively felt a twinge of dislike—what were these three here for?

"Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," the pale boy said casually, noticing Harry's gaze. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

As he spoke, he swept his eyes over the other three students in the compartment.

Hermione gave off a familiar Muggle aura, which made him unconsciously sneer with contempt. But when his gaze shifted to Damon, he hesitated slightly.

As for Neville, Malfoy didn't even glance at him, dismissing him outright.

Everyone in the compartment immediately sensed his attitude, and Harry's brow furrowed instinctively.

Malfoy turned to Harry and said, "You'll find out soon enough that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He extended a hand for Harry to shake, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coldly.

Draco Malfoy's face didn't flush red, but a faint pink tinge crept across his pale cheeks.

"If I were you, Potter, I'd be very careful," he said slowly. "You'd better be more polite, or you'll end up going the same way as your parents. If you keep hanging around with riffraff, it'll rub off on you."

Hermione's face flushed with anger at these words, and she shot to her feet.

Harry was equally incensed and couldn't help retorting, "Say that again!"

"Oh, you want a fight, do you?" Malfoy sneered.

Beside him, Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles arrogantly, eyeing the three of them.

"Oh? I can't just let that slide."

Damon, who had been watching the conflict with a smile, stood up slowly. Hermione couldn't help shooting him a glare—how could he still be so relaxed at a time like this?

But at the same time, she hesitated. Were they really going to fight in this compartment? It was against the rules—she'd just started school, how could she leave that kind of impression? If a professor found out, wouldn't that be disastrous?

"What, you think you're tough?"

Malfoy looked at Damon, his tone laced with provocation. As his gaze drifted over Damon's handsome face, he suddenly recalled the commotion this boy had caused on the train earlier and said with a hint of envy:

"Sitting with a Muggle, I can see you're nothing noble either. Just a Mudblood—if you've got the guts to fight, go ahead!"

"Using insults whose meaning you don't even know to demean others—do you think that's glorious, Malfoy?"

Damon's lips curled slightly, his teeth clenching together, revealing a hint of menace.

Hermione and Harry stared blankly at Damon, not understanding what was happening. Only Neville flushed red, unable to utter a word.

Crabbe and Goyle snickered as they stepped past Malfoy, but then they suddenly saw a wand appear in Damon's hand. They froze on the spot, and the smile shifted to Damon's face.

"I'll remember what you said about me. But for now, you're going to pay for it."

Seeing the three of them start to flinch at the sudden appearance of the wand, Damon didn't hesitate to wave it.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Three precise, decisive shots.

"Thud, thud, thud."

The three collapsed in succession, and the sound of Damon's incantation stirred up a commotion in the corridor. Several wizards poked their heads out to see what was happening, spotting the stiff figures of Malfoy and his cronies.

Soon, some Slytherins recognized Malfoy and stepped forward with furrowed brows, calling out:

"Who's casting spells on our Slytherin students? That's despicable!"

Harry, who had just been cheering Damon on for his impressive spellcasting, suddenly froze. He instinctively exchanged a glance with Hermione—were they in trouble now?

Damon, however, stepped lightly over them, using Malfoy's body as a stepping stone to walk out of the compartment. Facing the crowd of students gathering, he said with a grin:

"Slytherin? He hasn't even been sorted yet, has he?"

"You—you're a first-year?"

Seeing Damon, who hadn't even changed into his robes yet, the older students hesitated.

"That's right, this is a first-year matter. Are you upperclassmen planning to bully the younger ones?"

"So what? Malfoy is destined for Slytherin. Insulting him is insulting us!"

While the others hesitated, a fourth-year student with ties to the Malfoy family directly aimed his wand at Damon. "You'll pay for this!"

"You can try."

Damon smiled, gripping his wand with both hands, executing a formal salute, then settling into a combat stance.

The Slytherin in front of him showed a flicker of shock, returned the salute, and braced himself.

"A wizard's duel?! A first-year against a fourth-year!"

The students on the train erupted completely, especially the Gryffindors, who had already started running around proclaiming the news!

"The shameless Slytherins are fighting a first-year! The shameless Slytherins are fighting a first-year!"

This time, it truly stirred up a hornet's nest. Even the students who had been sitting in their compartments, uninterested in the commotion, scrambled out one after another, only to hear a resounding voice and catch sight of a figure flying through the air.

"Expelliarmus!"

With that spell, the fourth-year student's wand was instantly blasted from his hand, and his body was yanked along by the immense force, slamming heavily against the side of the train car before sliding to the floor.

His face pale, he slumped on the ground, completely stunned.

No one had expected things to escalate so quickly.

The surrounding students stared in disbelief, utterly shocked that a first-year could so easily subdue a fourth-year!

And on top of that, it was a Slytherin! Though they were underhanded and dark, one had to admit they had some skill in magic—yet a first-year had just beaten a fourth-year senior!

Damon slowly walked toward the fourth-year, glanced down at the wand lying on the floor, and said with a hint of mockery in his tone:

"Is this the price you were talking about?"

"You—" The fourth-year's face flushed crimson with rage, but then, as if a thought struck him, his anger completely vanished, replaced by a strange expression.

The same shift occurred among the other little snakes present.

At first, they felt their house had been insulted and were ready to gang up and teach Damon a lesson. But then someone suddenly shouted:

"He's a first-year? Not even sorted yet?!"

The little snakes' fury was doused like cold water over their heads, replaced by a refreshing sweetness, like a summer breeze.

Strong! Confident! Elegant! And you're telling me this is an unsorted first-year?

Clearly, he was the future first-year leader of Slytherin!

"He definitely belongs to Slytherin! Stop fighting—we're all on the same side!"

They helped the fallen student to his feet, their eyes gleaming as they looked at Damon—as if they could already see the bright future after he joined Slytherin!

Just then, the crowd of watching young wizards suddenly stirred again:

"The prefect's coming!"

"What's going on here? No shouting on the train!"