Silence.
Absolute silence.
Malfoy’s face had turned an ugly shade of purple.
His lips trembled, but he could not think of a single word in response.
He had never heard anyone speak about wealth and blood in such terms before, yet the absolute certainty radiating from Morrin planted a genuine seed of fear deep within him.
Beside them, Zabini gave a low whistle.
“Wow.
Brutal.” Just then, a silvery ghost drifted towards them.
His robes were covered in silvery blood, and his blank expression was deeply unsettling.
The Bloody Baron.
Slytherin’s House ghost.
He stopped behind Morrin, hollow eyes fixed upon the first-year.
Several nearby Slytherins instinctively shrank back.
Morrin did not even turn around.
“Mr Baron, if you don’t mind, the smell of blood about you is rather affecting my appetite.” He paused.
“Or are you…
interested in me as well?” ━━━━━ 🔍 SCAN ━━━━━ Scanning target: The Bloody Baron Danger Level: 🔴 Red (Vengeful Spirit) ━━━ [Traits detected] 🔴 Red | Extreme Remorse It is also what has driven him to the edge of madness.
━━━ 🟣 Purple | Soul Intimidation ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Something seemed to twitch across the Baron’s rigid face.
He stared deeply at Morrin.
Yet instead of becoming angry, the Bloody Baron silently turned and drifted towards the opposite end of the table.
The surrounding Slytherins’ wariness of Morrin immediately climbed another level.
Even the Bloody Baron, the most terrifying ghost in the castle, had chosen to avoid him?
The feast ended beneath an increasingly peculiar atmosphere.
At last, after the entire school had sung the school song under Dumbledore’s direction in a collection of wildly different tunes, with the Weasley twins in particular dragging theirs out to the melody of a funeral march, it was finally time for the Slytherins to leave.
“First-years!
Follow me!” Gemma Farley, the Slytherin prefect, rose from her seat.
She was an older girl with a distinctly proud expression.
Morrin joined the group, his wand tapping lightly against the floor like a walking stick as they left the Great Hall.
Unlike Gryffindor, they did not climb upwards.
Instead, they descended the marble staircase and travelled deeper into the castle.
The farther they went, the colder and damper the air became.
Smooth castle walls gave way to rough hewn stone, while torchlight flickered through the gloomy corridors.
“We live beneath the lake,” Malfoy announced loudly from the front, clearly trying to recover some of his lost dignity.
“Only Slytherin could have quarters this distinctive.” “Under the lake?” Morrin felt the dense water aligned magic permeating the air.
Natural soundproofing…
and excellent concealment.
They eventually stopped in front of a bare, damp stone wall.
“Password,” Gemma Farley said.
“Glory.” The stone wall slowly slid aside, revealing the Slytherin common room.
It was a long, low underground chamber built entirely from rough stone.
Round lamps glowing green hung from the ceiling on chains.
Most striking of all were the enormous floor to ceiling windows.
Beyond them lay not sky, but the murky, dark waters of the Black Lake.
Every so often, the shadow of the giant squid, or one of the merpeople, would glide past outside.
The furnishings themselves were exceptionally luxurious: carved armchairs, thick carpets, and a crackling fireplace.
Yet the cold colour palette gave the room an oppressive, mysterious atmosphere.
“All right.
Listen carefully.” Gemma Farley took her place before the fireplace and turned towards the newly arrived first-years.
The older Slytherins had gathered around them, some sitting and others standing, regarding the ‘fresh blood’ with assessing, amused expressions.
It was something of a Slytherin tradition.
An introductory lecture.
Or, more accurately, an attempt to put the newcomers in their place.
“First of all, congratulations on being Sorted into Slytherin.” Gemma lifted her chin.
“This is the finest House at Hogwarts.
Our emblem is the serpent, the cleverest of creatures, and the one that best understands when to advance and when to wait.” “Here, we are family.
Whatever grievances you may have outside these walls, within Hogwarts, Slytherins stand together against everyone else.
If we fight amongst ourselves, we merely give those foolish Gryffindors something to laugh at.” At that, her gaze deliberately lingered on Malfoy and Morrin.
“But,” Gemma continued, her voice becoming sterner, “Slytherin respects strength.
Here, only ability and blood can earn you respect.
Do not bring shame upon our House, or else—” “Very well said.” A crisp clap interrupted the prefect’s speech.
Every eye turned towards the sound.
Morrin White stepped out from the rear of the crowd.
His heavy wand tapped rhythmically against the stone floor as he approached.
Gemma Farley frowned.
“Mr White, you have not been given permission to speak—” “It was an excellent opening, Prefect Farley.” Morrin ignored the warning and walked directly towards an armchair beside the fireplace.
A second-year was sitting in it.
One glance from Morrin’s cold black eyes was enough to make the boy rise instinctively and surrender the seat.
Morrin sat down with his legs comfortably apart, both hands folded over the top of his wand, as relaxed as though he were sitting in his own drawing room.
He surveyed the dozens of hostile, curious, and astonished faces surrounding him.
“Unity is good,” Morrin said calmly.
“But I heard another word.” “Blood.” His gaze moved slowly around the room.
“It seems quite a few people are curious about my origins.
Some even appear…
dissatisfied?” Malfoy gave a cold snort from within the crowd.
Morrin smiled faintly.
Then he abruptly drew his wand.
He did not cast a spell.
Instead, he simply brought the heavy wand down upon the thick wooden coffee table beside him.
BOOM—!!!
The sound was nothing like wood striking wood.
It sounded as though a warhammer had smashed into stone.
Under the horrified gaze of everyone present, the solid oak table exploded straight down the middle.
Splinters flew everywhere.
The entire common room fell dead silent.
Several students standing nearby jumped backwards, staring in terror at the boy who remained seated in the armchair without even changing his posture.
Pure violence.
No dazzling magic.
No clever spellwork.
Only raw physical strength and the sheer hardness of the wand itself.
“This is my blood.” Morrin’s voice echoed through the silent chamber, calm enough to make the words even more chilling.
“Where I come from, we call this hard power.” He rose and pulled his wand free from the shattered wood.
His gaze slowly swept over every person present, from the proud prefects to the heirs of old pure-blood families.
Not one of them dared meet his eyes for long.
At that moment, Morrin looked less like an eleven year old boy and more like some monster wearing human skin.
The oppressive presence of [Half Giant Bloodline] erupted without restraint.
Alongside it, Morrin imitated the principle behind the Bloody Baron’s [Soul Intimidation], reproducing its pressure through his own overwhelming presence and calculated use of fear.
“I don’t care how many wizards there are on your family trees.” Morrin stepped towards Malfoy.
“Nor do I care who your ancestors were.” He stopped before the increasingly pale young master.
“I came to Hogwarts for three reasons.” Morrin raised three fingers.
“First, to learn everything that can make me stronger.” A second finger.
“Second, to find valuable allies worth investing in.” Then the third.
“And third…” A devilish smile curled across Morrin’s lips, his black eyes burning with almost feverish ambition.
“To remake this outdated, decaying, inefficient wizarding world into something I actually like.” He turned towards the room.
“So, ladies and gentlemen of Slytherin.” Morrin spread his arms as though embracing territory that already belonged to him.
“If we are to unite, then let us unite around mutual interest.” His gaze sharpened like a blade.
“And if you intend to follow the strong…” “Then I suggest you open your eyes and work out who can truly take you to the top.” With that, Morrin put away his wand and gave the dumbstruck Gemma Farley a slight nod.
“Excellent speech, Prefect.
I believe I’m rather tired now.
Which way are the boys’ dormitories?” Gemma Farley stared at him for a moment before mechanically pointing towards a doorway on the right.
“Thank you.” Morrin straightened his collar.
Under dozens of gazes filled with awe, fear, and even the first faint traces of admiration, he walked towards the dormitories with measured, elegant steps.
That night, Slytherin welcomed a kind of ‘king’ it had never encountered before.
Not one crowned by blood.
Not one elevated by Dark magic.
But one who relied upon absolute violence— and an even more absolute ambition.