The male prefect’s meaning was easy enough to understand.
If Slytherin failed to keep the House Cup this year, then clearly it would be the first-years’ fault.
After all, before they arrived, Slytherin had already won six years in a row.
If the streak suddenly ended after the new students enrolled, then surely the blame couldn’t possibly lie with the “elite” upperclassmen who had spent years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The prefect looked at the tense first-year Slytherins with satisfaction and began introducing himself.
“I’m Gregory Travers.
As you can probably tell from my name, I’m a member of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”
“Though I don’t usually go around bragging about it.”
As he spoke, Draco Malfoy visibly puffed out his chest.
Perhaps sharing the same “pure-blood heritage” made him feel honored by association.
“As everyone knows,” Travers continued smugly, “Slytherin is a House that places great importance on bloodlines.”
“Therefore, we need to know everyone’s background.
Whether both your parents are wizards.
Whether there are any Muggles among your close relatives.”
“Of course, if your surname alone already makes your lineage obvious…”
He left the sentence unfinished.
Nobody missed the implication.
The moment Travers stopped speaking, Draco stepped proudly forward.
“Draco Malfoy,” he announced loudly.
“Also one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
A pleasure to meet you, Prefect.”
Travers immediately plastered a fake smile across his face and shook Draco’s hand warmly.
Meanwhile, Ivy Doom simply shook his head and turned away from the group.
He began heading toward the second floor of the common room, where the four-person dormitories were located.
“State your name, first-year!
Where do you think you’re going?”
Travers finally noticed him.
To be fair, it was difficult not to notice someone wearing glowing emerald robes.
“Oh!
That’s Ivy Doom,” Draco quickly explained, clearly not expecting things to escalate like this.
Travers’s smile vanished instantly.
Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Draco coldly.
“I believe I was speaking to him, not you, Mr.
Malfoy.”
“Mr.
Doom?” called Gemma Farley, the female prefect.
She was a refined-looking older student with chestnut-colored hair and delicate features.
“The wandless Levitation Charm you used at dinner was impressive,” Gemma said calmly.
“And so are those robes.”
Ivy stopped halfway up the stairs and turned back toward her.
“Thank you for the compliment,” he replied politely.
“But it’s getting late.
I’d like to go rest.”
“In a hurry to sleep so you can grow taller?” Travers sneered.
“A silent Levitation Charm and a fancy robe won’t save you.”
“As your prefect, I think it’s my duty to teach you how rules work around here, Mr.
Doom.”
“Doom… Doom…” Travers muttered mockingly.
“No, can’t say I’ve heard that surname before.”
“Maybe you inherited it from some Mudblood family.”
“But those robes…” His eyes gleamed greedily.
“Now those are valuable.
I heard they can transform themselves?”
“What a shame your bloodline doesn’t deserve them.”
“If I were you,” he continued smugly, “I’d offer them as a gift to a respectable pure-blood family.
Might make your future here a little easier.”
Ivy merely shook his head.
Then he calmly walked back down the stairs.
Golden mist gathered in his hand as the Book of Ruin materialized from thin air.
He opened it, reached inside, and pulled out a pair of ivory-white riding gloves.
They were spoils from his long-ago vigilante adventures in the Forbidden Forest.
Elegant.
Beautifully tailored.
And most importantly—
Perfect for slapping people across the face.
SMACK!
One glove flew across half the common room and struck Travers squarely across the cheek with a loud crack.
Every conversation inside the common room died instantly.
All eyes turned toward them.
“Pick it up,” Ivy said calmly.
He had no intention of letting a pleasant day end on a sour note.
A little before-bed exercise seemed like the perfect solution.
“…What?”
The action had been so sudden—and so absurdly natural—that his brain simply failed to process it.
SMACK!
Naturally, gloves came in pairs.
The second glove hit his other cheek.
“Travers!
That’s a duel challenge!”
One of the older students shouted excitedly from the crowd.
Clearly enjoying the drama.
“I’m aware,” Ivy corrected casually.
“And it isn’t aimed at just him.”
His gaze swept slowly across the entire common room.
Every expression.
Every reaction.
Every flicker of arrogance.
“Come on,” Ivy said softly.
“This may be one of the few opportunities in your lives to face me directly.”
He drew his pale silver wand and brushed a hand through his hair.
“You people seem very fond of talking about ‘pure blood.'”
“So show me.”
“Let me see the ambition and strength your bloodline supposedly gave you.”
“You’re just a first-year!” Travers finally exploded in fury.
“I’d love to know where all this confidence comes from!”
He yanked out his wand furiously.
“Too noisy.”
A streak of red light burst from Ivy’s wand.
Travers was blasted backward across the room, slammed violently into the wall lined with portraits of famous Slytherins, then collapsed heavily onto the floor.
He never made a sound.
Because the moment the spell hit him, he lost consciousness instantly.
The upper-year students who had been treating the situation like entertainment could no longer hide their shock.
A silent Levitation Charm was one thing.
But silently casting an offensive spell like the Disarming Charm?
That was an entirely different level.
“The strong make rules,” Ivy said calmly as he walked toward the center of the common room.
“The weak obey them.”
He slowly raised his wand.
“Come on.”
“Let me see what you’re worth.”
(End of Chapter)