There were simply too many people here.
Setting aside the other Hogwarts professors, the Heads of House and Dumbledore alone were all exceptionally powerful wizards.
Not to mention a certain noseless socket-faced fellow who was probably clinging to life on the back of someone’s head at this very moment.
Vaughn glanced toward the staff table and immediately found the man with the purple turban wrapped around his head.
This wasn’t the right time to claim the reward.
He would wait until he was alone.
With that thought, he dismissed the system panel and calmly ignored the pointing fingers and whispered discussions filling the Great Hall.
Then he strolled toward the Slytherin table.
Thud!
The loud noise silenced the hall for a brief moment.
It was Draco Malfoy.
His face had already been pale to begin with, but now it had turned a sickly shade of blue-white.
He scrambled up from the floor in a panic, not even daring to look at Vaughn.
His robes trembled visibly as he tried to flee toward the far end of the table.
“Hi, Draco.” Draco froze mid-step.
Slowly and stiffly, he turned around.
“W-We-We-Weasley…
M-Mister…” “You can call me Vaughn.
We’re in the same House now, so please take care of me in the future.” Vaughn patted him on the shoulder.
Draco nearly jumped out of his skin.
He tried to force a smile, but the muscles in his face refused to cooperate.
The result looked even uglier than crying.
Vaughn then glanced at Crabbe and Goyle.
The two foolish cowards had practically buried their heads in the table.
Their teeth chattered uncontrollably.
At that moment, a tall, burly upper-year student wearing a prefect badge with a silver P finally stepped over.
Apparently unable to watch any longer, he lowered his voice and snapped, “Hey, Weasley brat.
Get back to your seat and stop causing trouble.” Vaughn carefully examined the prefect’s imposing physique and deeply unfortunate appearance before replying with a smile.
“Of course, Prefect.” The prefect nodded in satisfaction.
As a reward for Vaughn’s obedience, he took the lead in applauding.
The other Slytherins exchanged glances.
Still, they gave the prefect some face and joined in with scattered applause, “welcoming” this red-haired Weasley—the traitor to pure-blood families.
Vaughn couldn’t care less.
Smiling, he sat down beside Malfoy.
The applause from the Slytherin table finally prevented the atmosphere from becoming even more awkward.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.
“Ahem.
Silence.
The Sorting Ceremony will continue.” Nothing unusual happened afterward.
The ceremony quickly concluded.
Dumbledore, apparently unaffected by everything that had occurred, stood and delivered a speech whose meaning seemed completely incomprehensible.
Then he announced the start of the feast.
Food instantly appeared across the tables.
To be honest, the variety wasn’t particularly impressive.
There was plenty of meat, but the side dishes were painfully repetitive.
Potatoes.
More potatoes.
And even more potatoes.
After eating them for years, Vaughn was already sick of the sight.
“My dear Draco, I think Professor McGonagall was right.
Since we’re in the same House, we should treat each other like family.” Vaughn picked up a roasted lamb chop—one of his favorites even in his previous life—and slowly took a bite.
“Therefore, I’ve decided to forgive your offense on the train.
Let’s get along happily from now on, shall we?” “…” Was that really how it worked?
Draco stared blankly.
For some reason, the world seemed darker than ever.
Looking at the feast before him, he desperately wanted to stuff himself until he forgot everything.
Ideally, he’d eat until he couldn’t move, go to sleep, and wake up to discover the entire day had been a nightmare.
Unfortunately…
“Draco, pass me the pudding.” “Mmm.
Authentic Yorkshire style.
I like it.
Draco, hand me the lamb chops.” “Oh?
You’re not eating?
Potatoes bring happiness, Draco.
Stop looking so miserable.
Smile a little.” “See, Draco?
You’re quite popular.
Even Slytherin’s ghost wants to sit beside you.
Ghost, what should I call you?” The newly arrived ghost was covered in blood.
His expression was dull and lifeless, his presence cold and oppressive.
“Baron…” The single word seemed soaked in blood.
After stuffing himself full of potatoes, Draco finally reached his limit.
Clutching his mouth, he bolted toward a side door connected to the lavatories.
By the time the feast ended and Draco returned, he looked completely drained.
His complexion was now comparable to that of a ghost.
The male and female Slytherin prefects were responsible for escorting the first-years to their dormitories.
The male prefect was the same person who had reprimanded Vaughn earlier.
He had introduced himself at some point.
Vaughn hadn’t bothered remembering the name.
Honestly, aside from Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass—who wouldn’t enroll until the following year—Vaughn felt there was little reason to remember any recent Slytherin students.
Either they lacked brains.
Or they had been thoroughly brainwashed by their families.
Or their appearances were…
difficult to comment on.
Back when he had read the novels, Vaughn had often wondered what kind of strange collection of misfits Slytherin kept recruiting.
The unfortunate-looking prefect led the first-years to the Slytherin common room.
Located beneath the lake, its windows looked directly into the depths of the Black Lake.
The scenery had a unique charm, though the place was also widely known as “the dungeon.” Apparently convinced that he had successfully restrained Vaughn during the feast, the prefect seemed very pleased with himself.
After finishing his routine explanation of House rules in the common room, he forcefully slapped Vaughn on the shoulder.
“Listen here, Weasley.
I don’t care what issues you have with Malfoy, but in Slytherin—in Hogwarts—you follow my rules.
And I expect you to show Malfoy more respect.
You’re both pure-bloods, but the Weasley family has long since—” “Prefect.” Vaughn interrupted him with a smile.
“Before you continue lecturing me, I have a question I’d like to ask.” “A question about spells.” The prefect frowned.
“Weasley, is this how your poor parents taught you manners?” “The spell is called…” Vaughn raised his wand and looked at him coldly.
Only then did the prefect realize something was wrong.
He hurriedly drew his own wand.
But just as he was about to cast a spell— “Expelliarmus!” A burst of red light exploded forth.
The prefect’s massive body flew backward.
Smack!
He slammed against the enormous window separating the common room from the lake outside and slowly slid down.
The first-year Slytherins and several older students lounging in the common room stared in stunned silence.
Then they watched as Vaughn casually followed up with another spell.
“Stupefy!” The prefect collapsed completely unconscious.
Vaughn nudged the man’s head with his foot, searched his pockets, and pulled out a piece of parchment.
It contained the dormitory assignments.
Finding his own name, Vaughn folded the parchment and looked calmly across the room.
His gaze eventually settled on Draco Malfoy.
“My dear Draco, did you happen to see what just occurred?” Draco shuddered violently.
“N-No…?” “No.
That’s not very clever.” Vaughn smiled.
“What you should say is that this gentleman—whatever his name happens to be—raised his wand and attempted to attack me.” “And I was forced to defend myself.” “Understand?” Realization dawned on Draco’s face.
He nodded frantically.
“Very good.” Vaughn swept his gaze across the room once more.
His wand remained in his hand.
No one dared move.
He gave a courteous nod.
“Well then.
Good night, gentlemen.” With that, he turned and walked away.