The Hogwarts start-of-term feast concluded without any further eccentricities; aside from the endless eating and drinking, the students merely sang the school song.
Once the feast wrapped up, the prefects began gathering the first-years to lead them back to their respective house common rooms.
Because Silan had delivered two sharp, heavy kicks to his shins under the table, Chris Nott was limping heavily, lagging at the very back of the procession.
“What seems to be the matter, Mr.
Nott?” Professor McGonagall asked, pausing as she noticed his uneven gait.
Hearing a professor inquire about his injury, Chris instantly felt a massive surge of grievance.
He opened his mouth, fully prepared to tearfully recount Silan’s horrific brutality.
In his mind, he could already vividly picture the glorious image of Silan being dragged off to immediate detention.
Yet, before a single syllable could escape his lips, Silan materialized out of nowhere and firmly threw an arm around his shoulders to prop him up.
“There is no need to worry, Professor McGonagall,” Silan offered smoothly.
“Mr.
Nott merely twisted his ankle slightly on the stairs.” Chris felt his blood turn instantly to ice, the words dying in his throat.
Having offered the swift explanation, Silan turned his head toward Chris, donning a mask of profound, touching concern.
“Mr.
Nott, would you prefer me to escort you to the hospital wing just to be safe?” While the words sounded incredibly warm and comforting to an outside observer, Chris could feel the hand resting on his arm tightening like a heavy iron vice, biting deep into his flesh.
It was a threat–a raw, completely naked threat.
“I…
I am perfectly fine.
Thank you, Mr.
Prewett,” Chris squeezed out.
“Splendid.
Let us keep moving, then,” Silan said, not forgetting to offer a polite parting nod to the Deputy Headmistress.
“Goodbye, Professor McGonagall.” Watching Silan’s retreating back, McGonagall felt a profound mix of gratification and lingering regret.
*How on earth did such a polite, model student end up sorted into Slytherin?* Meanwhile, Nott’s chest was practically bursting with suppressed fury.
He desperately wanted to turn around and scream across the hall: “Professor!
He’s completely faking it!
Don’t believe a bloody word he says!” The absolute second they cleared McGonagall’s line of sight, Silan casually released his grip.
“Mr.
Nott, I highly advise against doing anything foolish.
Though, to be perfectly frank, I welcome it if you do,” Silan murmured, his face breaking into the innocent, radiant smile of a sweet little boy.
“It is simply that next time, my price will be considerably steeper.” Silan sauntered ahead, leaving Nott to hiss a venomous, quiet curse through his teeth.
Nott’s eyes narrowed as they shifted toward the front of the procession, locking onto the house prefect.
William Rosier happened to be a personal acquaintance of his; the Rosier and Nott families maintained highly intimate ties.
He rapidly calculated a new plan in his head: the moment they reached the dormitories, he would enlist William’s aid to thoroughly break Silan Prewett.
True Slytherins didn’t give a damn about regulations against hexing schoolmates.
And a mere first-year newborn stood absolutely zero chance against an experienced prefect!
With that comforting thought, Chris instantly felt a massive surge of confidence.
His legs stopped aching, his back straightened, and his courage flooded right back.
Unlike the lofty towers of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the Slytherin common room was nestled deep beneath the castle.
The prefects guided the first-years down a long, winding spiral staircase constructed of cold stone.
The further down they descended, the more oppressive, quiet, and brooding the atmosphere became.
Even though the corridors were lined with an increasing number of iron torches, a persistent, unyielding chill seemed to hang heavily in the air.
Silan couldn’t help but think to himself that it was a massive blessing the Scouring Charm existed.
Otherwise, given the damp climate of the Slytherin dungeons, one’s robes would probably never dry.
After navigating the seemingly endless staircase, the first-years finally came to a halt before a patch of damp, completely bare stone wall.
The prefect, William Rosier, held his head so high that the first-years could practically see nothing but his nostrils.
“Entry into the common room does not require knocking or the deployment of specific magic, but you must articulate the password flawlessly,” William announced, looking down his nose at the crowd as he barked the word: “Pureblood.” The moment the password left his lips, a concealed stone door ground open within the wall.
Following the prefect into the common room, Silan let out a quiet sigh of relief.
The Slytherin common room was not the damp, freezing crypt he had envisioned, nor was it cluttered with dripping seaweed or rotting lake mud.
Instead, it was a remarkably grand, elongated underground salon.
The walls and ceiling were crafted from rough-hewn stone, with low-hanging lamps encased in heavy iron chains casting a distinct, eerie green glow across the space.
Directly opposite the main entrance stood an exquisitely carved fireplace, where a roaring fire crackled merrily, keeping the entire common room wonderfully warm and bone-dry.
The most striking feature, however, was the massive set of observation windows.
Peering through the glass, one could look directly into the dark, churning depths of the Great Lake, watching various bizarre, twisting aquatic creatures drift past.
The dark chairs and tables scattered throughout the room were beautifully crafted, exuding an aura of old, unvarnished luxury.
This was hardly surprising; a significant portion of the Hogwarts Board of Governors hailed from Slytherin, so they certainly wouldn’t allow their own house common room to look shabby.
While the rest of the first-years were busy admiring the luxurious surroundings, Nott and William were huddled together in a corner, whispering in hushed tones.
Their eyes drifted over toward Silan periodically, mean, mocking smirks playing on their faces.
“Prewett,” William said, sauntering over to stand directly in front of Silan.
“While we all belong to established pureblood lines, I feel obligated to remind you that there is still a vast hierarchy among pureblood families.
After all, some houses have barely a soul left to their name.
I truly do hope those remaining lines manage to survive.” William leaned in, elegantly reaching out to straighten Silan’s collar with a patronizing, dominant air.
“Oh, by the way…
I’ve arranged for you and Nott to share a dormitory.
If he happens to give you any trouble, you are entirely welcome to come find me.” *Of course, I’ll simply join him in making your life an absolute living hell, you arrogant little prick,* William sneered internally.
“Prefect William, I presume?” Silan replied, casually slapping William’s hand away from his neck.
He shook his head slowly.
“I must say, I am profoundly disappointed.” “Disappointed?” William blinked, entirely caught off guard.
Noticing the sudden friction, several nearby first-years slowly began drifting over to form a loose circle.
Draco Malfoy’s interest was piqued as well; he quickly gestured for his two massive lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, to follow him over to watch the spectacle unfold.
“Slytherin has proven to be quite a letdown,” Silan remarked, his voice smooth, steady, and unbothered.
“I was under the impression this house was entirely populated by shrewd, calculating overachievers.
I never imagined I would find worthless trash smugly resting on the laurels of their accidental birth.
Things given to you by mere blood are completely unworthy of vanity; only glory and absolute power seized through cunning and force are truly worthy of admiration.” As he delivered the final line, Silan’s eyes drifted casually over Chris Nott’s face.
The implication was glaringly obvious.
“Arrogant bastard!” With the house prefect explicitly backing him, Chris’s courage swelled to unprecedented heights.
Abandoning his meek, broken act, he snatched his wand from his robes, entirely prepared to teach this insufferable upstart a violent lesson.
He was a pureblood wizard raised around magic, and he had successfully mastered a handful of basic hexes prior to arriving at school.
But Silan was vastly faster.
With a fluid, lightning-fast snap of his wand paired with a perfectly silent intent, Silan unleashed a flawless cutting spell.
“Diffindo!” An instant later, Chris Nott’s hair erupted into the air, drifting down to the stone floor like withered autumn leaves.
Within a fraction of a second, he had been rendered practically bald.
Chris froze in absolute horror, his wand arm locked mid-air.
As a coddled first-year who had only ever toyed with magic like a parlor game, facing a sequence of real, immediate violence caused his entire body to stiffen into an uncooperative block of ice, rendering him utterly incapable of mounting a counterattack.
Standing right beside him, Prefect William Rosier’s body had gone completely rigid as well.
As an upperclassman and a prefect, he possessed a decent amount of dueling experience.
He recognized almost instantly that Silan hadn’t utilized some highly advanced, obscure dark magic; it was merely a standard Severing Charm.
It was an elementary spell found right in the pages of *The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1*–practically every soul at Hogwarts knew how to cast it.
However, the efficacy of that particular spell was highly dependent on the caster’s precision and focus; it could be used for crude destruction, or it could execute incredibly fine, microscopic slices.
With a trembling hand, William slowly reached up to touch his own collar.
The pristine fabric had been cleanly sliced open at some point, and sitting right against the bare skin of his throat was a faint, shallow red line.
He didn’t harbor a single shred of doubt that if the spell had advanced a mere millimeter further, his carotid artery would have been cleanly severed.
Yet Silan had controlled the output perfectly.
To weaponize a basic, first-year charm to such a terrifying degree of precision…
just how much obsessive practice and dark dedication did that require?
William didn’t know, but he knew with absolute certainty that Silan Prewett was an apex predator disguised as a child.
Was this truly the baseline strength of a first-year?
Even if one scoured the historic student records of Hogwarts across centuries, it would be an absolute challenge to find a single prodigy capable of matching this terrifying display.
To offend an absolute monster like this over a brainless clod like Chris Nott was a catastrophic business proposition.
The surrounding crowd, seeing Nott suddenly transformed into a hairless cue ball, erupted into an absolute chorus of roaring laughter.
A few of the older students who recognized the sheer technical genius behind that Diffindo felt a cold sweat break out across their backs.
Advanced magic relied heavily on raw talent, but mastering basic magic to this degree required an unshakeable, terrifying foundation of fundamental mastery.
Even Malfoy was forced to begrudgingly admit in his head that this Prewett fellow was perhaps only a tiny fraction weaker than himself.
The mocking laughter of the crowd paired with the humiliating loss of his hair caused Nott to entirely lose his remaining sanity.
He turned to the prefect and bellowed, “Let’s take him together!
Hex him!” William’s hand shot into his robes, instantly whipping his wand out.
“Expelliarmus!” *BANG!* Chris soared backward through the air in a clean arc, crashing violently into a heavy wooden chair as his wand went flying from his grip.
A profound wave of vertigo washed over him, leaving his vision swimming.
“P-Prefect…
what the hell are you doing?!” Nott wheezed.
William was screaming curses inside his own head.
*You utter imbecile!
You brainless, suicidal subhuman!
Can’t you see the bloke deliberately spared our lives?
And you bloody well tried to drag me down to the grave with you!
An unmitigated, absolute idiot.* “Mr.
Prewett, I believe there has been a massive, unfortunate misunderstanding here,” William said, his face instantly twisting into a strained, trembling smile as his voice shook slightly.
“Slytherin house formally welcomes you.” “The prefect is entirely correct.
It was merely a misunderstanding,” Silan agreed smoothly.
Glancing indifferently at the crumpled Chris, Silan stepped up directly to William.
Standing slightly on his tiptoes, he elegantly reached up to smooth out the older boy’s mangled collar.
“Oh dear, look at that…
my hand slipped a bit and I accidentally ruined your lovely collar, senior.
After all, I am merely an inexperienced first-year; I still struggle to control the raw output of my charms.
You wouldn’t happen to hold a grudge over a minor accident, would you?” “Not at all, not at all!
Think nothing of it, a mere trifle,” William stammered, shaking his head frantically.
His pupils dilated in sheer terror as his eyes locked onto the hand resting a mere inch from his throat.
He felt as though a highly venomous viper was casually slithering across his neck; the sensation filled him with a primitive urge to scream, yet he didn’t dare flinch.
Silan offered a brilliantly radiant, blinding smile.
“Do not fret, senior.
I shall gladly fix this mess for you.” With a elegant flick of his wand, Silan executed a flawless Mending Charm.
“Reparo.” “Right then…
that will be one Galleon, please.” William’s cheek twitched violently.
*Was he serious?
Could he not cast a bloody Mending Charm himself?
To have the absolute audacity to demand a Galleon for it!* Yet, looking into Silan’s serene, smiling face, he didn’t dare voice a single objection.
With a trembling hand, he fished a gleaming gold coin from his pockets and pressed it firmly into Silan’s palm.
Having effectively paid his protection tax, William wanted nothing more than to sprint out of the room.
But before he could take two steps, Silan’s smooth voice called him to a halt once more.
“Mr.
Nott seems highly averse to the idea of sharing a dormitory with me.
I suppose I shall take on the extra burden of occupying the room myself tonight.
Let us have Mr.
Nott sleep on the common room sofa instead.” “Naturally, an excellent arrangement!” William agreed without a single second of hesitation.
Who gave a damn where that bald idiot slept?
Concluding the matter, Silan casually flicked his wand, sending Nott’s trunks flying straight out of the dormitory corridor into the common room floor.
From start to finish, neither of them granted Chris a single glance or asked for his input.
“Ah, I almost forgot.
Mr.
Nott still owes Mr.
Longbottom a formal apology,” Silan remarked, a joyful smile resting on his face as he watched Chris clumsily struggle to his feet.
“Furthermore, you still owe me twenty Galleons from our previous wager by the lake.” “I…
I never agreed to that wager…” Chris croaked out through his teeth.
“If I say you wagered, you wagered,” Silan interrupted with a serene smile, casually extending an open hand toward him.
“Be a good loser.
Deliver the coin tonight, perform the apology tomorrow.
Do we have an understanding?” “The initial wager was ten Galleons!” Chris hissed desperately.
“And as I recall, I explicitly informed you that my price would be considerably steeper next time.” Chris shot a desperate, pleading look toward William, only to find the prefect deliberately turning his head away, staring intently at a bare patch of stone wall as if completely blind.
Realizing he was entirely stranded without an ally, a wave of profound terror and defeat crushed Chris’s spirit.
Slumping his shoulders, he reluctantly produced a heavy leather coin purse.
Silan methodically counted out twenty gold Galleons before tossing the deflated purse back into Chris’s lap.
He couldn’t help but marvel internally at how remarkably loaded these pureblood families were; even a random first-year carried such a staggering amount of pocket money.
“Goodnight, Prefect William.
You may take your leave now,” Silan said pleasantly.
William’s lips pulled into a strained tight line.
Ultimately, he squeezed out a rigid “Goodnight,” hoisted his proud chin back into the air, and marched out of the room with completely stiff, mechanical strides.
Silan returned to his newly acquired private dormitory and began casually unpacking his belongings.
The Slytherin dormitories were exceptionally spacious, and since they were designed to accommodate only two students per room, having the entire space to himself made it feel incredibly palatial.
The exquisite four-poster bed was draped in heavy emerald-green silk curtains, and even the counterpane was a deep forest green, beautifully embroidered with intricate silver thread depicting twisting serpents.
Silan found himself immensely satisfied with the aesthetic.
It was a spectacular, astronomical upgrade from the bleak, crumbling orphanage.
Stretching luxuriously, Silan sauntered over to the massive observation window, pausing to admire the silhouette of the Giant Squid as it gracefully glided past through the dark lake water.
*Slytherin truly is a magnificent place,* Silan concluded with a contented sigh.
*The people here are exceptionally well-mannered, their speech is remarkably polite, and they are incredibly generous with their wealth.
I absolutely love it here.* — [Total Bonus Chapters Achieved: 0] []