Chris Nott

Silan walked slowly down the steps toward the Slytherin table.

Many complicated gazes followed him as he moved.

Professor McGonagall held the Sorting Hat in her hands, turning it over several times as she sighed repeatedly.

She had never imagined that Silan would be sorted into Slytherin.

Hermione, meanwhile, lifted her head high and looked through the gaps in the crowd at Silan's retreating figure, her expression equally complicated. She had originally thought she and Silan would be sorted into the same House.

Dumbledore withdrew his gaze, rose to his feet, and spread his arms.

"Welcome. Welcome to Hogwarts. It is another new school year, and nothing makes me happier than seeing all of you."

After speaking, Dumbledore cast a spell, and the previously empty tables were instantly piled high with steaming food.

Roast beef, roast pork chops, sausages, steaks... each one heaped into little mountains.

There were also boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, and potato chips.

One potato, three dishes...

It had to be said, England's cuisine truly lived up to its reputation.

Silan used his fork to place some steak and sausages on his plate, then slowly sliced the meat with his knife and chewed each bite at an unhurried pace.

Unlike some starving little wizards who simply grabbed food with their hands, his movements were elegant and composed, perfectly befitting a pure-blood aristocrat.

At first, he had disliked this sort of affectation.

When you were starving, why keep up appearances and eat so slowly? Who were you trying to impress? But later, he had realized that only by doing so could he make people believe in him, stand apart from others, and cultivate an air of refinement.

So even when he had been at the orphanage, dressed in ragged clothes like the other children and eating bread that tasted like cardboard—

The other children had still thought, "Silan is different."

It was precisely that "difference" that made people believe in him.

Sometimes, you had to pretend you could do it until you truly could.

Back at the orphanage, Silan had constantly trained himself.

Observing etiquette and understanding manners were also among his methods.

"Your surname is Prewett?" an unpleasant voice sounded. "I heard everyone in the Prewett family was dead. You're not some impostor, are you?"

Chris Nott had refused to bet with Silan earlier, and some little wizards had spread the matter around.

It had earned him the title of "Slytherin Coward."

He felt utterly humiliated by it.

Now that he saw Silan had been sorted into Slytherin, he assumed he was on home turf and impatiently came over, intending to regain some face.

Silan did not even glance at him. He merely cut a slice of sausage with his knife and chewed it slowly.

"You like eating that much, do you?"

Feeling ignored, Chris Nott flew into a rage. He stepped over the bench, grabbed a dinner knife from beside him, and stabbed it into the sausage on Silan's plate.

"Mr. Nott, if you want something to eat, you can sit down and eat slowly. There's plenty here," Silan said calmly after swallowing his food.

"Eat, eat, eat! Are you a pig?!"

Though Hermione was eating at the Gryffindor table, her eyes had remained fixed on Silan.

The commotion here quickly caught her attention.

Silan smiled at her, signaling that he was fine.

Chris, who had been ignored all along, noticed Silan looking at Hermione and sneered, "What, looking at your Mudblood girlfriend? That little bitch—"

Before he could finish, an intense pain suddenly shot through his foot.

Before he had time to scream, Silan shot out a hand, seized his wrist, and pinned it to the table. Then he grabbed the knife in front of him and viciously drove it down between Chris's fingers.

"You should be thankful you didn't say that word."

The smile on Silan's face vanished completely, replaced by indifference and coldness.

"Otherwise, your welcome feast would probably have become a painful memory."

Silan slowly pressed down on the knife handle, and the blade cut a gash into Chris's finger.

Chris cried out in pain, but the moment he opened his mouth, he heard Silan's warning.

"Quiet!"

"Or I'll cut off your fingers and feed them to dogs!"

The icy words made Chris's body jerk violently. Though the pain was unbearable, he did not dare make another sound.

"Miss Granger is a truly kind person. I will not allow anyone to insult her in front of me." Only when Silan spoke of Hermione did a gentle smile appear on his face.

When he spoke again, his voice smoothly shifted from gentleness back to coldness. "Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, I understand..."

Chris answered shakily, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.

The knife rested against his finger joint, and blood seeping from the wound ran down the blade onto the dining table.

He had only come over to run his mouth and regain a little face. He had never expected Silan to attack without hesitation.

He could not help glancing toward the teachers' table.

If he cried for help, perhaps Silan would immediately be given detention by the professors.

Noticing his gaze, Silan wore a faintly amused expression.

"You want to call the professors for help, don't you?"

Chris's heartbeat skipped, and horror filled his heart.

He had only looked toward the teachers' table once. How did Silan know what he was thinking?

He was a first-year. He couldn't possibly know Legilimency, could he?

"You can try calling for help. Let's see whether they arrive first, or your fingers break first."

"Want to gamble?"

"If you win, I get detention, and you get your pride back. If you lose, you'll only lose a few fingers."

"Well? Want to try?"

Silan's smile was deeply teasing.

Chris shakily withdrew his gaze and slowly lowered his head.

Calling for help might indeed work, but only after his fingers had been broken.

And judging by that faintly amused look, there might be some other trap waiting for him to walk into.

I'm not stupid.

I'll find another chance to deal with you later!

Chris did not know that Silan had not prepared any backup plan at all.

If he called for a professor now, Silan would simply let go.

Chris had only suffered a cut to his hand.

Silan could easily claim it had been an accident, or that the boy had insulted him and he had struck out in anger.

At most, he would receive detention.

Besides, Silan had correctly judged that this guy was a coward.

When he had clashed with Neville earlier, he had not dared bet against Silan. Now that he was in Silan's grasp, he would be even less likely to dare.

Sure enough, Chris immediately yielded and hurriedly apologized.

A student nearby noticed that something seemed off between the two of them and craned his neck to look over.

Silan pulled out the knife and cut a slice of sausage.

"Mr. Nott, have some. It tastes wonderful."

"Th-thank you."

When that student heard Nott actually say thank you, he thought he had misheard.

How had the arrogant and domineering Mr. Nott suddenly become so easy to talk to? Could Prewett's charm really be that great?

Seeing the smile on Silan's face, cold sweat broke out on Chris's forehead. His legs went weak, and he collapsed onto the bench.

After slicing the sausage, Silan put it into his own mouth instead.

"Since Mr. Nott doesn't like it, don't disturb my meal. The sight of you makes me sick."

Chris did not react for a moment and sat blankly on the bench.

"Why haven't you fucked off yet?"

Seeing that the boy not only refused to leave but had actually sat down, Silan kicked him again.

Only then did Nott limp away, though his eyes remained full of venom.

Silan did not care what he thought.

With Spell Inspiration's boost, his Reparo had reached perfection, while his Severing Charm and Fire-Making Charm were even more masterful.

He liked power, and power required violence.

Therefore, he had practiced every offensive spell in The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1 countless times.