Following the prefect past the stairs that constantly moved at random, they arrived at the dungeon common room exclusive to Slytherin.
“Remember, the password is ‘Pure-blood.'” “The password changes every two weeks.
I don’t want any first-year to be stupid enough to forget it and make me come to the entrance to fetch them,” the prefect said to all the little first-years before leading them through the portrait into the common room located beneath the lake.
The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with walls and ceilings made of rough stone.
The dungeon was circular with a vaulted ceiling decorated with exquisite frescoes depicting the founding history of Slytherin House.
Green-glowing lamps hung from the ceiling on chains.
Between two nearby staircase entrances stood a curved fireplace, surrounded by intricately carved silver serpents.
Above the fireplace hung a silver and green wall clock, with a snake’s head as the hour hand and a snake’s tail as the minute hand, indicating eight-seven.
A few carved chairs were set around it.
Portraits of past Slytherin Heads of House hung on the blank walls, giving the overall environment a gloomy and oppressive atmosphere.
The first-year snakes stood in the middle of the common room while the older students gathered in a circle, waiting for the Head of House’s address—a thousand-year-old tradition in Slytherin.
Sure enough, before long, black robes billowed like waves as a figure appeared before everyone.
Severus Snape swept his gaze over his new students, successfully instilling them with a sense of his authority.
“I do not expect you to do anything for Slytherin.” “But you must remember: you are Slytherins.” “Consider carefully why you chose Slytherin—or why Slytherin chose you.” Snape’s silky voice echoed, driving his words deep into their hearts.
“You know the traits of Slytherin, and you understand Slytherin’s standing in this school.” “If you are even slightly smarter than a troll, you ought to use the thing sitting on top of your neck before you act!” “If you intend to do anything that forces me to deduct points from my own house, think carefully first about whether you can bear the wrath of all Slytherin.” With that, he turned, his black robes billowing as he departed, leaving the terrified first-years trembling in his wake.
Toward Professor Snape, Kyle harbored genuine gratitude.
It could be said that as Head of House, Professor Snape had protected Kyle since his first year.
The anger of parents outside the school and the dissatisfaction of upperclassmen inside were all shouldered by this Head of House.
Though never spoken aloud, Kyle’s respect for the professor was beyond question.
Next came the prefect announcing the rules of Slytherin: “Slytherin is different from other houses.
Aside from the school-appointed prefects, every year group has its own Year Chief.” “You must fight for your own status in the house.
And the Chief serves as the leader of the house during collective external activities.” “Generally, that is the Seventh-Year Chief, but anyone from the second year up can issue a challenge.” “The qualifications required for a Slytherin Chief are family power and personal strength.” “If your family lacks power, then having power yourself is also acceptable.” “It is undeniable that societal influence is a quality a Chief must possess.” The prefect cast a warning glance at several half-bloods who looked indignant, then continued: “Among you first-years, those with the greatest family power are Malfoy, Zabini, and Parkinson.
Next comes personal strength.” “On the first day of every school year, a one-on-one challenge system is held.
The First-Year Chief must be determined before midnight.” The prefect turned and left after finishing his speech, while several combative first-years were already itching to test their skills, hurling spells at one another.
Most of the fourth-year snakes had returned to their dormitories, leaving only a few to watch the fun, though they made it clear that the fourth-year Chief naturally belonged to no one but Kyle.
Through three years of friendly exchanges, Kyle had been thoroughly accepted by Slytherin, just as the Sorting Hat had proclaimed: *”Or perhaps in Slytherin,* *You’ll make your real friends,* *Those cunning folk use any means* *To achieve their ends.”* To these cunning yet ambitious little snakes, a powerful friend was only an honor that brought them greater benefits.
Why would they push him away?
Kyle stood to the side, casting a brief glance at the farce among the first-years before focusing his attention on the other small circles.
He had to admit that regardless of whether Slytherin was arrogant and sneaky, the snakes’ pursuit of power far surpassed that of the other three houses.
In the battles of the upperclassmen, dark magic appeared frequently, and both combatants had clearly undergone strict training, moving smoothly without a hint of disarray in their footwork.
By the time the snake’s head on the clock pointed between eleven and twelve, the Chiefs for all year groups had been decided.
Unsurprisingly, the First-Year Chief was Draco Malfoy.
“Congratulations, Malfoy,” a slightly deep voice echoed.
“Chief represents not only power, but a heavy responsibility.
The glory of Slytherin must not suffer any stain,” said the Seventh-Year Chief, Erickson Parker.
“Alright, I’m sure everyone is exhausted after a long day and wishes to rest early.
First-years, you may return to your dorms,” Kyle said, leaning against the staircase, having witnessed the entire battle for the position of Chief.
He then turned and led the way toward the dormitories.
No one felt Kyle was overstepping his authority; this was a status he had secured through sheer strength.