Ivy Doom was, without question, provoking the entirety of the Slytherin common room.
The older students who had been enjoying the drama moments earlier now exchanged uneasy glances.
None of them had expected things to escalate this quickly.
“Ivy… may I call you Ivy?”
The female prefect, Gemma Farley, still standing in front of the first-years, slowly raised both her free hand and wand to chest level to show she meant no harm.
“You really don’t need to take things this far.”
“That silent Disarming Charm you used already proved your strength.”
“I believe that among the first-years—no, perhaps among all Slytherin students—you’re already exceptional.”
“But trust me… antagonizing the entire House will only create unnecessary enemies for you.”
“And we—pure-blood families—should be your allies.”
A faint smile appeared on Ivy’s face.
Seeing it, Gemma quietly let out a breath of relief.
The atmosphere softened slightly.
“A good strategy,” Ivy said with a smile.
“If suppression fails, move to recruitment.”
“But you—you all—seem to have forgotten something.”
“Only those of equal strength can become allies.”
Gemma’s heart immediately shot back into her throat.
She had assumed this handsome and polite child was simply arrogant.
Instead, he turned out to be completely insane.
Not only had he instantly defeated an older student, he was now stubbornly insisting on challenging every upperclassman in Slytherin at once.
Pure-bloods valued self-preservation above all else.
But that didn’t mean they could ignore such blatant provocation forever.
Maybe it really was time to teach him the meaning of “there’s always someone stronger.”
Even if he could easily handle one older student…
What about five?
Ten?
A hundred?
“Come on,” Ivy said calmly before Gemma even finished her mental preparation.
“Raise your wand and show me whether you’re worthy.”
“I—”
Gemma inhaled sharply.
Then suddenly—
“Expelliarmus!”
The red spell shot forward almost like a sneak attack.
At this range, most people would never have time to react.
“Protego.”
Ivy’s response was smooth and utterly composed.
Compared to the ruthless poachers and Dark wizards he had fought in the Forbidden Forest a century ago, these students still sheltered inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked painfully inexperienced.
The crimson Disarming Charm slammed into the violet shield Ivy summoned—
Then instantly rebounded.
Gemma barely managed a muffled grunt before her wand flew from her hand.
“Ambushes are good tactics,” Ivy said casually as he tossed her wand onto the floor.
“But next time, don’t stare directly at the spot you’re aiming at.”
“It makes your intentions far too obvious.”
It was the magical equivalent of solo-killing your opponent, taunting afterward, and typing insults into all-chat.
Utterly ruthless.
At first, Gemma had thought Ivy was showing mercy.
After all, the last person hit by a Disarming Charm was still unconscious on the floor.
But after hearing Ivy calmly critique her technique, her Slytherin pride almost wished she had passed out too.
“Besides the prefect,” Ivy continued, “is nobody else willing to step forward?”
He waved his wand, forcing the expensive furniture in the common room to slide aside and clear a battlefield.
Then he continued mocking them.
“Since when did Slytherin pride become cowardice?”
“You’re disgracing your so-called pure-blood heritage.”
“Come on,” he urged softly.
“Dying on your feet is better than living on your knees.”
“Though honestly… even if you kneel, I still might not spare you.”
“How dare you!”
At last, someone stepped forward.
A freckled boy with spit flying everywhere as he shouted:
“Do you even know who my father is?!
He works at the Ministry—AAAH!”
“I don’t know.”
“And I’m not interested.”
Ivy casually interrupted him with another silent spell.
The boy collapsed into unconsciousness mid-sentence.
“What a pathetic crowd.”
“Can any of you do anything besides talk big?”
Ever since Lord Voldemort used his ridiculous pure-blood ideology to gather followers and wage war against Order of the Phoenix under Albus Dumbledore, the so-called pure-blood families had become nothing more than cautious opportunists.
The true believers were either dead—
Or locked away in Azkaban.
Back then, Voldemort’s followers had largely fallen into three groups.
The first were the truly fanatical loyalists.
Some believed deeply in blood purity.
Others simply worshipped the Dark Lord’s overwhelming power.
Regardless of how insane Voldemort’s actions became, they followed him unconditionally.
People like the Bellatrix Lestrange family and Barty Crouch Jr.
After Voldemort’s fall at the hands of Harry Potter, they refused to accept reality and continued causing chaos until they were captured.
The second group consisted of aristocratic opportunists led by families like the Lucius Malfoy household.
At first, they simply viewed Voldemort as a useful political investment.
A spokesperson.
A weapon.
But Voldemort’s mastery of Dark Magic eventually birthed horrors like the Dark Mark itself.
The moment that mark branded their arms, these proud nobles stopped being investors.
They became slaves.
Tools.
Disposable servants.
So when Voldemort fell, they immediately betrayed him, sold out their comrades, and maneuvered politically to preserve themselves.
Most of the students now sitting inside Slytherin descended from those same families.
Once bitten by a snake, one fears ropes for ten years.
And so, when Ivy openly challenged them, not one student in the common room dared confront him directly.
Because the true hardliners were already either in prison—
Or in graves.
The third category of Voldemort followers were simply idiots.
People with no convictions whatsoever.
They joined the Death Eaters because everyone around them said the Dark Lord was great.
So naturally, they believed it too.
As for why he was great?
They had no idea.
People like Peter Pettigrew and Regulus Black fit neatly into this category.
Many realized too late what they had joined.
Most died as disposable pawns beneath Voldemort’s rule.
Looking at the trembling students in the common room, Ivy shook his head sadly.
Was this really the Slytherin he remembered?
Forget masters of advanced Dark Magic—
Not a single student even possessed the nerve to cause trouble anymore.
At this rate, Gryffindor had practically stolen Slytherin’s reputation as Hogwarts’ most dangerous House.
Honestly, if even one person had stepped forward and shouted—
“I’ll follow you!”
—then Ivy would gladly have given them a way out.
But now…
He could only sigh internally.
Restoring Slytherin’s former glory…
It seems our generation has no choice but to shoulder the responsibility.
(End of Chapter)