Chapter 111: The Dominance of a Single Glance
Lucius Malfoy leaned on his exquisite silver snake-head cane, stopping at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts.
He didn't move forward, but simply narrowed his eyes slightly, savoring the atmosphere of the moment.
The gazes surging from the surroundings were a mix of fear, awe, and frantic sycophancy. Ultimately, all these looks converged on his twelve-year-old second son standing beside him.
The surrounding crowd seemed to have their voices collectively drained; the clamor vanished instantly.
Lockhart? That fraud who swindled his way through with a few worthless books?
Right now, his face was deathly pale as he was held up by his publishers, his legs so weak he could barely stand, and even a full "sorry" came out trembling.
Cassius didn't even draw his wand.
He simply put his hands in his pockets and gave the man a cold glance.
Truly just one glance.
Lucius took a deep breath, finding even the scent of cheap perfume in the air refreshing. The pure-blood pride in his bones was screaming, feeling that this was a massive victory.
In nine hundred years, the House of Malfoy had never fought such an easy, overwhelming battle!
"Let's go."
Cassius's voice was flat as he took the lead with his long legs, walking straight through the frozen, terrified crowd.
Draco held his chin high, following closely behind his brother like a dutiful, fanatical devotee.
As he passed Harry Potter, he didn't even spare a glance at the "Savior" shrinking in the shadows of the bookshelf.
There was no need anymore.
They were no longer in the same league.
It wasn't until the Malfoys' backs completely disappeared around the street corner that the noise held back in the bookstore exploded like a dam breaking. However, everyone's discussion tacitly avoided the blond-haired, black-robed boy.
The title "Hogwarts Tyrant" had truly dealt "true damage" today.
It was no longer just a synonym for a brute who could tear a Troll apart by hand.
It represented a dominance akin to a strike from a higher dimension—as long as Cassius stood there, the rules had to step aside for him.
...
September 1st, King's Cross Station.
When the Malfoy family passed through the wall to Platform 9 3, the same script was played out with the oppressive weight of a royal procession.
A year ago, it was Lucius who held his head high, clearing the way with his snake cane.
Today, when Cassius's deep, dark blue eyes swept across the platform—
The entire venue cooled down instantly.
A high-ranking Ministry official who was bragging to others had his words stuck in his throat, his face turning red from the strain.
Several arrogant pure-blood heads of houses, who were cursing and kicking house-elves just a second ago, immediately lowered their heads to the dust, making way for the slowly approaching boy with extreme humility.
Hardly anyone dared to look him in the eye.
Walking beside him, Lucius was feeling so elated he could practically fly.
Those colleagues who usually stood equal to him in the Ministry of Magic, or even held higher authority, were now approaching with fawning smiles, subtly hinting at their willingness to offer top-tier treasures from their family vaults just so Cassius might give their juniors at school "a bit of guidance."
Guidance? Lucius sneered inwardly.
With those pure-blood wastes in your families who can't even cast a Levitation Charm properly, are they even worthy of my son's teaching? They'd likely be carried away on a stretcher before he even lifted a finger.
Cassius didn't even bother to show an expression.
The deep blue magic swirling around him formed an invisible vacuum zone, keeping all the flattery three feet away.
He walked straight toward the Hogwarts Express.
Draco followed behind, feeling like he was walking on air.
He knew perfectly well: this top-tier prestige that made the entire British wizarding world weak in the knees was no longer just because of the name "Malfoy."
It was entirely due to being carried by his god-like younger brother in front of him.
As soon as Cassius's combat boots stepped onto the train corridor, his high-pressure aura cleared the area.
Students scurried back into their compartments like frightened quails, the sliding doors slamming shut with a deafening noise.
He activated the sensing network of the Dual-Soul Furnace, and invisible magic tentacles instantly covered the entire train.
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Interesting."
Outside the platform, he captured the magic fluctuations of Ron Weasley struggling with some barrier. But Savior Harry's magic signal was completely non-existent.
Cassius didn't need to think twice to know it was likely his brain-dead House-elf, Dobby, causing trouble.
But he had no intention of intervening.
A game of noobs pecking at each other didn't even deserve a second glance from him.
Leading Draco, he pushed open a compartment that looked decent.
Coincidentally, two notable figures were already inside.
One was the overachiever Hermione, obsessing over a book thicker than a brick titled "Conjectures on High-Level Magic Physical Conduction."
The other was Neville Longbottom, holding his pet toad and shaking all over in fear.
The moment he saw Cassius's oppressive face, the freckles on Neville's face lost all color, and his legs went soft, nearly sliding off his chair into a kneel.
Draco lifted his chin, preparing his daily arrogant routine: "Get out, this compartment is mine—"
Before he could finish, a cool hand pressed down on his shoulder.
Cassius directly interrupted his older brother's performance.
He sat down boldly opposite Neville, those eyes glowing with deep blue light staring straight at the round-faced boy who was on the verge of fainting.
The surroundings were so quiet that even the sound of breathing was clearly audible.
Neville felt his heart was about to stop, his mind filled with the terrifying image of himself being ground to ashes.
In this maddening silence, Cassius finally spoke.
His tone was as cold as a blade fresh from an ice hole, yet it carried a trace of condescending scrutiny:
"Under extreme fear, the muscles tighten instantly, yet the magic didn't collapse on the spot. Instead, it contracted inward under high pressure, forming an instinctive shield that prioritizes protecting the heart and brain..."
He paused, delivering an earth-shattering evaluation.
"This kind of passive defense mechanism engraved in the bones is much more interesting than those wooden wastes who just stand there waving wands and chanting spells."
The compartment fell into a dead silence.
Draco's mouth hung open wide enough to fit a Bludger.
He was completely stunned, his worldview shattered.
His formidable brother, who usually looked down on everyone and treated Ministry Aurors like trash, was actually seriously praising a famously useless pure-blood?
Neville, opposite him, was completely short-circuited.
He stared blankly at Cassius, his mind a total void, not even noticing that his toad had jumped away.
In all his life, this was the first time he had been acknowledged.
Not because of the ancient name "Longbottom," nor because of his parents' heavy achievements that weighed down on him.
But purely because, from a high-dimensional perspective he didn't even understand, someone saw the light within him.
Even in the dust, sparks can be hidden.
"More interesting than... them?" Neville stammered, repeating the verdict in a small voice, his eyes instantly turning bright red.
Chapter 112: Professor, Is My magic Savage?
Tears welled up in Neville's eyes, spinning wildly, but he bit his lip hard, refusing to let them fall.
He was completely stunned; his brain's CPU was totally unable to process the situation before him.
Should he say "Thank you, big boss"? Or should he continue to tremble because of the other party's terrifying reputation?
Snap!
Just then, Hermione slammed shut the academic tome in her hands, which was thicker than a brick.
She was the first to snap out of these subversive remarks. Compared to Neville's hidden talent, she keenly grasped an even more terrifying amount of information!
"Muscle tension leading to magic contraction... Cassius, do you mean that emotional fluctuations can directly change the physical form of the magic flow, rather than just changing the output power?"
Hermione suppressed her instinctive fear of Cassius. The fanatical thirst for knowledge in her eyes was maxed out, making her look like a crazy student who had just seen an out-of-print exam paper.
She nimbly pulled a large roll of parchment covered in dense formulas from her schoolbag and spread it on the table like an offering.
"This is the 'Magic Heat Displacement Formula' I derived over the summer based on your hints! I've calculated that during Wandless Magic, the energy loss at the moment magic leaves the body is directly linked to air temperature and humidity."
"But for the life of me, I can't figure out why the loss rate actually increases by 0.03% in a vacuum..."
She spoke rapidly, her words coming out like they had special effects added. Only at the end did she remember something and mention in passing: "By the way, have you seen Harry and Ron? They don't seem to be on the train, I'm a bit worried..."
Cassius leaned against the leather back of the seat, arms folded.
He didn't even give a sideways glance to the parchment on the table that she had poured her heart into. As for whether the Savior, Harry, was dead or alive? What did that have to do with him?
His gaze remained locked on Neville, as if evaluating the data of a rare live specimen. Only when Neville was about to spontaneously combust from the stare did he deign to glance at Hermione, throwing out a cold sentence:
"You missed the Gravitational Collapse Effect after magicleaves the body."
"Your theory only works in a weightless vacuum chamber."
A total dimensional strike!
Hermione was instantly petrified.
Gravitational Collapse Effect... this was definitely an advanced topic! She had only caught a glimpse of that term in "Astrophysics and Ancient Alchemy Conjectures" on the edge of the Restricted Section.
After her brain stalled for three seconds, she suddenly jumped up like she'd been injected with adrenaline, grabbed a quill, and without even bothering to dip it in ink, began frantically calculating in the blank spaces of the parchment.
As for her good buddies Harry and Ron's disappearance? They had long since been tossed into the Pacific Ocean.
Compared to verifying a great theory that could overturn the foundations of Modern Charms, the death-defying adventures of two blockheads were utterly insignificant.
The atmosphere in the compartment instantly became extremely bizarre.
One was studying a live specimen with great interest.
One was frantically solving problems and calculating.
One was trembling and doubting his life.
One was sitting nearby doubting the world.
The train moved forward steadily.
Just when Draco thought this journey would end in this hellish academic atmosphere...
There was a loud "Bang!"
The compartment door was suddenly pushed open in an extremely flamboyant and theatrically painful-to-watch manner.
"Haha! I smell the fragrance of genius and knowledge!"
Accompanied by a piercing aria, Gilderoy Lockhart made his grand entrance.
He wore peacock-blue velvet robes that were even flashier than forget-me-nots, and his wavy blonde hair was slicked with who-knows-how-much hair gel, shimmering in the sunlight. His face bore his signature, reflective, eight-toothed standard fake smile.
This guy had clearly thrown the lesson of nearly wetting himself at Flourish and Blotts to the back of his mind.
This overconfident man probably felt that in a closed carriage without a crowd of fanatical middle-aged women fans watching, he was capable again.
In his straw-filled head, this was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! He had to force himself onto Cassius Malfoy's top-tier popularity on this train; the front-page headline of tomorrow's The Daily Prophet had to be his!
Lockhart was perfectly immune to the freezing low pressure in the compartment, completely ignoring the look in Draco's eyes that treated him like a dead man.
He pulled out a stack of blindingly bright signed photos and walked up to Cassius with overflowing confidence. His patronizing tone was incredibly punchable:
"Cassius! My dear boy! I've considered it all summer and decided to make an exception and take you as my 'Special Disciple'!"
"I will personally guide you and teach you how to control that savage, crude magic of yours to be like mine—elegant and charming!"
Draco silently shrunk into the corner. He was truly afraid that Lockhart's brains would splash onto his newly bought high-end robes later.
Neville was even more terrified, closing his eyes tightly and covering his ears with his hands, as if he could escape the impending physical transcendence this way.
Cassius didn't even change his sitting position.
The [Dual-Soul Furnace] inside him emitted a heart-palpitating low-frequency hum that only he could hear.
He merely lazily raised his right index finger.
The next second.
The stack of signed photos Lockhart was so proud of instantly burst into blindingly bright eerie blue flames!
The flames were incredibly violent, yet they were precisely locked to the edges of the paper by a terrifying degree of control.
The Lockhart in the photos twisted wildly and screamed silently in the fire, turning to ash. But these flames, which were hot enough to melt through steel, didn't burn so much as a single hair on the real Lockhart!
Half was ultimate destruction, half was absolute control.
This kind of operation, which took violent aesthetics to the peak, was simply hair-raising.
"My magic... is savage?"
Cassius finally lifted his eyelids, his eerie blue pupils bottomless.
Boom!
A physical high-pressure magic barrier exploded on the spot, like an invisible giant hand, tightly clutching Lockhart's throat.
Lockhart looked at the handful of blackened ash in his palm, then met Cassius's eyes, which looked at him like he was a corpse.
His rusty brain finally realized—just what kind of monster he had been dancing in front of just now.
"I... I..."
His signature fake smile shattered on the spot, and fear completely pierced through his psychological defenses like a tsunami.
In the suffocating silence, this so-called great author, who had "won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Awardfive times," performed a live demonstration of his legs turning to jelly.
Screech—
Accompanied by the socially-lethal sound of his crotch fabric splitting, Lockhart's knees buckled and he slid into a kneel, then scrambled and crawled out of the hellish compartment on all fours.
The quill in Hermione's hand stopped.
She stared blankly at Lockhart's pathetic retreating figure with his split pants. The last bit of her top-student filter for so-called "Professors" and "academic authorities" shattered into a pile of dust.
At this moment, her worldview was reshaped.
She became even more convinced that the pure, domineering, and utterly unreasonable absolute power Cassius displayed was the freaking truth of magic!
Draco gave a cold laugh and spat out two words with utter disdain.
"Clown."
Not long after the compartment quieted down, the train was about to pull into the next station.
Just then, a piercing sound of shoving came from the corridor outside, accompanied by the unrestrained laughter of several upper-year boys.
"Hey! Loony girl! What can you even see through those Spectrespecs?"
"Why don't you help us see if there are any Wrackspurts hidden in our robes?"
Chapter 113: My Guest—How Dare You Touch Her?
In the shadows of the corridor, three upperclassmen in Slytherin robes had a blonde girl cornered against the wall, laughing with lecherous intent.
The leader was none other than fifth-year Marcus Flint.
Last school year, he had been tortured to the point of begging for mercy by Cassius's Vacuum Field in the Common Room; that humiliation and fear remained his inner demon to this day.
He didn't dare cause trouble for Cassius, nor did he even dare to breathe too loudly in the man's presence.
However, that didn't stop him from venting his pent-up resentment and frustration on someone weaker and more "abnormal."
Like the Ravenclaw freshman before him—a loony girl wearing ridiculous Spectrespecs and a necklace made of Butterbeer corks.
By bullying an outcast from another house, he sought to reclaim the pathetic self-esteem that Cassius had ground into the dirt.
"Move."
The cornered Luna Lovegood didn't show a hint of fear. Her large, misty silver-grey eyes looked calmly past Flint's shoulder at the air behind him.
"You're blocking my view of the Nargles around your head."
She spoke in a light, airy tone, as if talking in her sleep.
"They're laying eggs in your brain, so your soul looks... like a rag that's been soaking in a sewer for three days."
With that one sentence, Flint's composure instantly shattered!
"What the hell did you say?! You nutter!"
His face, already distorted by his buckteeth, instantly turned the color of pig's liver. To be publicly humiliated by a first-year, especially a loony Ravenclaw, felt worse than being crushed by Cassius again!
"I think I need to teach you what it means to respect your seniors at Hogwarts!"
Flint whipped out his wand, pointing it viciously at Luna's face as an ominous red light glowed at the tip.
However, the incantation was never uttered.
BOOM—!!
A massive explosion sounded!
The door to the compartment where Cassius was seated was physically torn from its frame by a surge of violent, solidified magic!
The heavy wooden door traced a lethal arc through the air, whistling as it tore through the wind, grazing Flint's scalp and even shearing off a few strands of hair! Finally, it slammed into the end of the corridor with a 'bang,' exploding into fragments!
Cassius stood expressionless in the center of the shattered doorframe.
He hadn't even taken a single step out.
Flint and his two lackeys almost had their souls scared out of them as they turned back in terror.
The moment they saw who it was, the wand Flint had pointed at Luna let out a sharp, agonizing—
"CRACK!"
Without any physical contact, the hard walnut wand was snapped ninety degrees by an invisible yet peerless, terrifying force!
The broken core emitted green smoke, as if wailing silently.
Then, the three upperclassmen Slytherins simultaneously met Cassius's eyes, which had turned a pure, ghostly blue.
In that moment, they felt they weren't looking at a twelve-year-old boy.
But at the core of a star about to go supernova—extremely compressed and utterly restrained.
A cold abyss from the deepest reaches of the universe, capable of swallowing all light and heat!
A shudder reaching their very marrow caused their legs to buckle instantly, and they collapsed on the spot!
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The three of them knelt heavily on the cold floor in unison.
"My person—how dare you touch her?"
Cassius's voice wasn't loud, but it was like the whisper of a death god; every word carried the weight of absolute judgment.
He looked down at the three seniors shivering like chaff on the ground, his tone carrying a trace of cold, pure curiosity.
"Who gave you the courage to think your kneecaps... were harder than a Mountain Troll's?"
"No! No, no, no! Sorry! Lord Cassius! We were wrong! We didn't know she was yours!"
Flint completely broke down.
He kowtowed frantically, his forehead hitting the floor with dull thuds, while tears and snot flowed as he begged for mercy.
A Troll?
The Troll's kneecaps were only shattered by a kick! He had no doubt that if he delayed his plea by even a second, his own kneecaps would be ground into the finest powder by that terrifying magic!
Amidst the sickening sounds of begging and kowtowing, Luna turned her head.
Her ethereal silver-grey eyes seemed to pierce through Cassius's cold exterior to see something deeper.
She smiled at him, a look that was pure and clean.
"The blue fire in your soul is burning brighter," she said in her sleepwalking tone. "But it seems... to have set its sights on something very ancient and very hungry."
Cassius gave the girl a deep look.
He casually tossed a priceless Potion candy, specially made from dragon blood and Unicorn horn powder, from his pocket; it landed precisely in Luna's hand.
"Eat it. It will help you see more clearly."
With that, he turned and went back into the compartment.
Draco quickly and skillfully used a Mending Charm to restore the doorframe to its original state.
In the corridor, only the three Slytherins remained kneeling, lacking even the courage to stand, along with the strange Ravenclaw girl who carefully unwrapped the candy—worth enough to buy the entirety of Honeydukes—and popped it into her mouth.
From that moment on, all of Hogwarts knew.
The King of Slytherin had a "guest" from Ravenclaw whom no one dared to provoke.
...
Night fell deeply.
The train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station.
When Cassius's feet stepped onto the solid ground of Hogwarts, he could clearly feel the ancient ley lines beneath him, which had slept for a millennium, trembling once more in fear and submission at his arrival.
Just then, a piercing roar of an engine—one that absolutely did not belong to this magical era—erupted from the distant night sky!
Following that, a battered blue Ford Anglia, billowing thick black smoke like a broken iron bird, plummeted out of control from the clouds, crashing desperately and directly... into the Whomping Willow that was flailing its branches in the night.
Cassius looked up, gazing at the comical yet brilliant burst of light in the night sky.
A cruel and excited curve finally tugged at his flawlessly handsome face.
The script for the second school year had begun.
The prey for this year... had finally entered the stage.
The only prey in his eyes was the one coiled in the depths of the Chamber of Secrets, sleeping for a thousand years, which could help him complete his ultimate physical metamorphosis—
The ancient Basilisk!
Chapter 114: The Concession of Death
Hogsmeade Station.
The September night wind carried a damp chill, and even the air held that distinct, murderous solemnity of the Scottish Highlands.
Students were pouring out of the express train, noisy as usual, enjoying the joy of reuniting for the new term.
But the moment that slender figure in black robes with gold trim stepped onto the platform, unhurried and calm, the boiling crowd fell instantly silent, as if someone had forcibly pulled their power plug.
The young Wizards who had still been shoving and joking felt their voices stuck in their throats, their eyes collectively glazing over.
Even the most arrogant upper-year prefects dared not even breathe loudly now.
Instinctive survival urges drove this group of young Wizards to retreat wildly to the sides.
So-called pure-blood pride, faced with this suffocating oppression, shattered until not even a scrap remained.
Hundreds of people on the crowded platform forcibly cleared a "vacuum zone" three meters wide.
Cassius, hands in his pockets, walked forward with long strides and a calm expression.
Without even releasing a shred of magical pressure, that face—which had topped the Ministry of Magic wanted list for the entire summer—was enough to complete this dimensionality-crushing strike.
Draco followed closely at his side, his pale, sharp face filled with cold pride and reflected glory.
His chin remained slightly tilted, but his eyes were far fiercer than a year ago.
If he had previously been a young master who barked at everyone, he had now thoroughly evolved into a venomous snake that could bite.
On the muddy path outside the platform, a row of black carriages for transporting students was parked.
To the ordinary NPC students, this was fully automated driving.
But in Cassius's field of vision, it was an entirely different picture.
The [Dual-Soul Furnace] within his body was running at low frequency.
His high-frequency sensory network, like a high-precision radar fully activated, projected the outlines of the creatures pulling the carriages directly into his mind.
Skin-and-bone black bodies, bat-like skeletal wings, and that intense aura of death.
Thestral.
The wizarding world had a lousy rule: only those who had witnessed death with their own eyes could see these unlucky things.
But Cassius never reasoned with rules.
Naked eye can't see them? No need.
The terrifying perception brought by the [Dual-Soul Furnace] in his body forcibly tore through the underlying logic of the wizarding world.
Like turning on a 3D perspective hack, he locked onto every bone of the Thestrals with perfect clarity.
Walking to the first carriage, Cassius stopped.
The Thestral responsible for pulling the carriage suddenly let out an extremely agitated whinny.
Its skeletal wings tensed tightly, its massive hooves digging desperately into the mud; it was clearly terrified out of its wits.
This beast sensed that, inside the twelve-year-old boy before it, was hidden a magical volcano capable of vaporizing the entire scene in an instant.
The dangerous creature that usually only prowled on the edge of darkness was now trembling like a sieve.
It didn't even dare to run; it just froze in place.
This was pure bloodline suppression.
The Thestral, extremely humiliated yet incredibly submissive, lowered its ugly head, not even daring to breathe loudly.
Cassius was expressionless, merely extending his fingertips casually, hovering an inch above its skeletal wing.
No wand, no incantation, just a sliver of leaked magic.
A ghostly blue light flared, the surrounding air twisted violently, and the temperature dropped to freezing point.
"Woo——"
The Thestral let out a desperate, mournful cry, its massive body sinking suddenly.
With a "thud," it knelt firmly into the mud.
Is death scary?
Faced with absolute, violent dimensionality-crushing power, even the magical creatures representing death must obediently coil up!
The surrounding students couldn't see the Thestral.
From their perspective, it was just the tyrant raising his hand casually at thin air.
With a "bang," the front of that carriage smashed directly into the ground, as if pressed down by immense, crushing weight.
Gasps of fear exploded through the crowd.
"Get in." Cassius didn't even spare them a glance, his tone as cold as if he were ordering inanimate objects.
The two stepped onto the Thestral's trembling body and entered the carriage.
As the door closed, the carriage, as if granted amnesty, sped toward Hogwarts Castle in the Thestral's frantic dash.
Inside the carriage, magical lanterns emitted a dim yellow light.
Draco stared at the shadows rapidly receding outside the window, his brows locked, fingers unconsciously gripping his cuffs.
A few minutes ago at the station, he had keenly caught a detail.
Harry and Ron from Gryffindor hadn't arrived.
A year ago, he would have popped champagne in the carriage, loudly mocking the Savior for being a fool who missed the train.
But having experienced the life-and-death struggle in the restricted area, he touched the scar on the back of his hand, feeling an uncharacteristic sense of unease.
Those two idiots wouldn't have been taken out at Platform 9¾, would they?
"Put away your worthless emotions."
In the quiet carriage, a cold, emotionless warning drifted over.
Cassius leaned against the cushion, not even lifting his eyelids, seeing right through his thoughts.
"They have tough lives; the Savior's halo isn't that easy to break."
Cassius slowly lifted his eyelids, his ghostly blue gaze sharp as a knife.
"Sparks can be hidden in the dust, but the weak only die by accident. Before you can trample everyone under your feet, compassion is a joke."
His oppressive gaze fixed on the boy's eyes, every word striking the heart.
"Don't empathize with the incompetence of the weak. Malfoy, only look at the results, understand?"
A chill shot up Draco's back, his scalp tingling.
Being stared at like that by his boss, he felt as if the very air had been sucked away.
He took a deep breath, quickly extinguishing that ridiculous sense of saintliness.
His eyes sank completely, leaving only pure focus and ruthlessness.
"I understand." Draco lowered his head abruptly, his voice tight but exceptionally firm.
"When I go back tonight, I will double the stacking frequency of the Gravity Interference Curse; I won't sleep until I master it."
Half an hour later, the carriage stopped at the Castleentrance hall.
The second Cassius stepped into the Great Hall doors.
The four house tables, which had been noisy like a wet market, instantly jammed.
All sound was completely wiped out within 0.5 seconds.
The top students of Ravenclaw put down the books in their hands.
Hufflepuff's knives and forks dropped onto silver plates, making crisp clattering sounds.
Hundreds of eyes swept over, staring intently at the slender black shadow in the doorway like they were looking at a monster.
The awe and fear in their eyes could not be hidden at all.
Even the high-and-mighty Professor table showed a moment of stiffness.
Dumbledore's gaze behind his half-moon spectacles was deep and unfathomable.
Snape gripped his goblet expressionlessly, his knuckles white.
Undoubtedly, this was the ruthless person from the rumors—
The "Hogwarts Tyrant" who had single-handedly slaughtered a high-level Auror squad from the Ministry of Magic over the summer, and even forced Minister Fudge to swallow his grievances!
Cassius ignored the gazes of these NPCs the entire time, not even deigning to give them half a glance.
He walked with steady steps, carrying the natural aura of a monarch, and went straight to the Slytherin table.
The upper-year students blocking the way acted as if they had seen a living King of Hell, throwing all pure-blood etiquette to the back of their minds.
They scrambled to get out of the way, terrified that if they were a second too slow, they would be physically eliminated on the spot.
Walking to the very front of the long table.
Cassius sat down leisurely in the position originally belonging to the prefect—the silver snake high-backed chair that symbolized absolute authority.
His slender fingers tapped casually on the sterling silver tabletop.
"Ding."
The crisp sound echoed in the deathly silent Great Hall.
At this moment, no more words were needed.
The entire Slytherin, and even most of Hogwarts, had thoroughly become his private territory.
Chapter 115: The Madman's Applause
Draco pulled out his chair and sat down, his left thumb habitually rubbing the sterling silver cufflink on his right sleeve.
That was the family crest of the House of Malfoy, which usually gave him absolute confidence.
He looked up, scanning the Gryffindor long table across the center aisle.
Two conspicuous figures were missing from the edge of the long table.
Potter and Weasley.
A year ago, he would have definitely jumped onto the long table and pointed at that group in red and gold robes, laughing loudly to ensure the whole school heard about the Savior's stupidity in missing the train.
But now, he kept his mouth shut and sat properly, his hands folded and pressed against the cool solid wood tabletop.
Previous lessons tumbled through his mind.
Rather than wasting words to suppress the weak, it was better to obtain the strength to crush them.
He forced down the vanity that wanted to show off, cleared the stray thoughts from his head, and began to silently practice the magic purification circuit Cassius had taught him within his body.
If you can crush them with a spell, never waste your breath.
The Sorting Ceremony officially began.
Professor McGonagall called out the names.
Ginny Weasley walked toward the four-legged stool with her head down.
Her hands gripped the hem of her faded old robes, her nails catching on the frayed fabric.
That stemmed from a natural insecurity about her own poverty.
The Sorting Hat shouted out Gryffindor, and cheers erupted from the red and gold camp.
Cassius sat in the silver serpent chair, not even turning his head half an inch.
The sensory web within his body spread out, scanning the red-haired girl.
Perfectly clean.
Not a single trace of deep-seated Dark Arts pollution.
As it should be.
Tom Riddle's inferior diary had been obtained by him during the summer break, becoming a consumable item for extracting information about the Chamber of Secrets.
Without being possessed by the Dark Lord's soul fragment, this girl, who was supposed to cause a stir in the Chamber of Secrets incident, had been completely stripped of her original fate, becoming a background character with zero presence in the Great Hall.
"Luna Lovegood!" Professor McGonagall's voice rose above the noise.
A blonde girl walked forward.
She wore a necklace made of Butterbeer corks around her neck, which clattered with a dull wooden sound as she walked.
Before sitting on the four-legged stool, she turned her head, looking across most of the Great Hall to lock eyes directly with Cassius, who sat at the head of the long table.
There was no fear in those silver-grey eyes, only pure clarity.
She gave him an unguarded smile.
"Ravenclaw!" the Sorting Hat made its judgment.
At the Ravenclaw long table, only a few sparse, disdainful claps sounded.
This eccentric style clearly failed to evoke any sense of recognition from that group of pretentious academic overachievers. The Great Hall fell into a cold silence.
Cassius raised his right hand, bending his index finger. His knuckle struck the solid wood table in front of him.
Knock, knock.
Two light taps.
Falling on the Slytherin long table, it became the highest command.
From the seventh-year prefects to the newly enrolled first-years, two hundred snakes straightened their backs in unison.
Marcus Flint, who had previously experienced Cassius's methods, even dropped his dinner knife and stood up to lead the applause.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Uniform clapping erupted from the Slytherin table, directly vibrating the floating candles at the top of the Great Hall.
Two hundred people offered the highest level of courtesy for a girl sorted into Ravenclaw whose surname was labeled as crazy.
The Ravenclaw students looked over with faces full of horror.
Cassius sat in his chair, saying nothing.
He gave this girl dignity. This was not just because of the cork necklace, but also to draw a line for the whole school: here, he made the rules.
The feast spread out.
The atmosphere at the staff table was extremely tense.
The new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, stared intently at the mashed potatoes on his plate.
His face, which usually maintained a perfect curve for the cameras year-round, was now so pale it tinged with green.
He should have stood up to show the new students his trademark smile that had won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award and promote his new book while he was at it.
But now, his left hand habitually reached out to adjust his gelled blonde hair, only to shake uncontrollably.
The ghostly blue flame that had locked onto his throat on the train had already burned through his arrogance.
He didn't even have the courage to turn his head to look at the Slytherin table.
He picked up the cup full of pumpkin juice in front of him, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Clang!
The bottom of the cup struck the gold plate.
The gold cup tilted, and cold pumpkin juice splashed out, soaking the peacock-blue robes he was so proud of.
Lockhart gasped, shrinking back into the depths of his chair, trying to hide himself in the shadows.
Sitting further away, the Potions Master Severus Snapehad no time to deal with the blonde idiot next to him.
Snape had a dark expression, his fingers tightly gripping the stem of his glass goblet.
The glass surface pressed into his skin, leaving deep red marks.
He was absent-minded, frequently scanning the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall.
With every breath, he could feel the anxiety churning in his chest.
It stemmed from a deep-seated hatred for the Potter family and frustration over Lily's son constantly causing trouble.
Three hundred meters away, Cassius swallowed a bite of medium-rare steak he had cut.
The Dual-Soul Furnace within him accurately captured Snape's magic waveform.
The rings of the waveform appeared as extremely manic, upright spikes.
A high-intensity secondary physical collision had just erupted in the direction of the Whomping Willow.
The outer defensive magic barrier had been forcibly torn open with a gap.
Cassius swallowed the meat and made a judgment in his mind. The scrap car driven by the Savior had already crashed.
At that moment, the oak doors were pushed open.
The caretaker Filch hunched his body, quickly moving along the wall across the hall, and whispered urgently into Snape's ear.
Snape pushed back his chair and stood up.
The hem of his black robes billowed in the air with a sharp arc.
He strode out of the Great Hall with undisguised fury.
"Professor went to the entrance hall," Draco lowered his voice, tapping his finger twice on the tabletop. "Potter is definitely in big trouble. Want to go take a look?"
"Eat your meat."
Cassius didn't even lift an eyelid.
The dinner knife in his hand precisely cut through the texture of the beef.
"Two stupid lions driving scrap metal in the sky, are they even worth wasting time on? Go back tonight and stack your wandless Levitation Charm to three layers. If you can't do it, go to the dungeon for detention tomorrow."
Extreme indifference.
In Cassius's eyes, the Savior's little troubles weren't even worth as much as the perfectly grilled steak on his plate.
As the feast neared its end, the desserts on the long tables disappeared one by one.
The prefects of each house were about to stand up to organize their ranks. The golden high-backed chair in the center of the staff table was empty.
Albus Dumbledore walked down the steps.
He didn't stand at the podium but instead, under the shocked gazes of the entire school, walked down the aisle with steady steps.
His intricate silver star robes trailed across the stone floor, finally stopping at the very front of the Slytherin long table.
Right next to Cassius's silver serpent chair.
The highest authority and the purest violence completed their first face-to-face contact of the second school year.
The air in the entire hall suddenly tightened.
Hundreds of people held their breath; no one dared to make the slightest sound.
Dumbledore peered through his half-moon spectacles, examining the twelve-year-old boy.
In those deep blue eyes that had experienced a century of vicissitudes, there was a very deep-seated probe.
He habitually folded his hands over his stomach, his right thumb gently rubbing his left knuckle.
"Good evening, Cassius," Dumbledore spoke, his voice carrying an elder's gentleness. "Was the steak to your liking tonight?"
Cassius didn't stand up, still leaning against the back of his chair.
"If you feel you haven't had your fill..." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his syllables echoing in the Great Hall, "I wonder if I might have the honor of inviting you to the Headmaster's office to try some newly arrived lemon sherbet?"
A cunning probe.
Using the status of an elder and the tone of small talk, he tried to impose the shackles of morality and communication.
Everyone in the hall was waiting for a response from the silver serpent chair.
Cassius threw his napkin onto the table.
He looked up, his ghostly blue eyes crashing directly into Dumbledore's.
No backing down, no honorifics.
"Sure."