Chapter 44 You Stay Away From Me!
"No, you can't!"
The young wizard let out a shrill, miserable scream.
"No, I can. You offended me, so you will be punished in my way."
Dudley gave a cruel smile, his palm slapping down mercilessly, producing crisp smacking sounds.
Annoying children deserved a harsh spanking.
Fortunately, Dudley controlled his strength. It hurt, but it would not cause serious injury—at most they would have to lie down for a day or two. With magical potions, they would likely be up again the next morning.
Once he finished with one, he moved on to the next. Anyone who tried to run was dragged back and beaten first.
Before long, every Slytherin student present had no strength left except to groan on the floor.
This round earned Dudley the title of Butt Destroyer.
When he had finished spanking them all, Dudley turned his gaze toward Malfoy, who had already collapsed in fright.
Each light footstep struck like a heavy hammer against Malfoy's chest.
"You… you stay away from me!"
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In a hidden room within the Slytherin common room, several senior Slytherins sat around a round table.
Slytherin not only had independent resting chambers for prefects but also many unused rooms. This was partly because Slytherin had the fewest students among the four houses, and partly because their common room had been built out of a dungeon, which was far larger than imagined.
In fact, it had the largest area of all four houses, with more rooms than Gryffindor and Hufflepuff combined.
And Hufflepuff, after all, had the greatest number of students.
Most of these empty rooms had been converted into meeting chambers, secret gathering spots for Slytherins. The upper-year students occupied one of them now.
Malfoy's heart-wrenching screams of terror reached them, causing one tall student to rise from his seat. He had a cropped haircut, an unremarkable face easily lost in a crowd, but a glaring set of buckteeth.
"Marcus, what are you doing?"
Marcus had just stood up when a cold rebuke sounded behind him. The speaker was the seventh-year prefect of Slytherin, seated at the head of the table.
This Marcus was none other than the current captain and Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team.
"I want to go out and see."
Marcus lowered his head, not daring to meet the prefect's gaze.
The prefect only waved his hand, speaking in a tone somewhat like Malfoy's, though less oily and clumsy, much smoother and more natural. "It's just a conflict among the lower years. Nothing serious. We need not interfere."
"But that's Draco, Uncle Lucius' only son," Marcus pressed.
His Flint family had decent ties with the Malfoys, even some distant kinship.
"So what?"
The prefect's voice was flat, without the slightest trace of emotion. He simply looked at Marcus quietly.
Under that gaze, Marcus' briefly stirred courage crumbled away completely.
Weakly he muttered, "But… he's being bullied right now!"
"So what?"
"What does that have to do with us? What does it have to do with you?"
The prefect questioned him sharply.
"I—" Marcus' face turned red. After stammering for half a day, he finally squeezed out a feeble line: "I think we should help him."
Before the prefect could respond, the Slytherin sitting to his left spoke coldly. "Haven't we already helped enough? We didn't stop the second and third years, not to mention the first years. Do you know how many there are altogether?"
"The entire common room was placed under a Silencing Charm to keep the outside world from knowing, so he could have his little outburst properly."
"And the result?"
They did not know exactly what was happening inside, but Malfoy's anguished screams spoke for themselves.
"Malfoy is a Slytherin, after all."
Marcus spoke again, his voice even weaker this time.
"The other one is also a Slytherin."
The prefect seemed provoked by Marcus' words, his tone rising sharply.
"Listen, Marcus. Malfoy was the one who gathered those people, and he was the one who started this fight. If he can't win, what does that have to do with us? We're not from the Vincent or Gregory families—Crabbe and Goyle's families—let alone Malfoy's dogs. We don't need to clean up after him."
"And the other side is Potter's cousin. You should know exactly who I mean."
In the British wizarding world, all pure-blood families were more or less related. Even Harry's Potter family could claim kinship with nearly every pure-blood line.
The name Harry Potter was a taboo among pure-bloods, especially those who had once been Death Eaters. It carried the same weight of dread among them as Voldemort's name did among ordinary wizards.
Until they knew how Harry had defeated the Dark Lord—whether he was truly a powerful, dark wizard—they would always treat him with caution, respect, and even friendliness.
Of course, they would not stop others from testing him first.
"Malfoy has plenty of resources. If he can't even handle such a small matter, what right does he have to expect our help? Just because of his face? Or his father?"
Malfoy's constant habit of flaunting his father's status easily bred resentment, especially among families no less noble than his own.
Was he the only one with a father in this world?
"Remember, Marcus, we are Slytherins, not babysitters in a nursery. We don't have time for childish games."
The prefect's voice softened slightly, speaking with weight and patience.
"Do you remember Slytherin's creed?"
The question left Marcus at a loss. He thought for a long while before stammering out, "Pure-blood supremacy?"
"It is supremacy of interest, supremacy of ability. The winner is king, the loser is nothing. How many times must I tell you, you fool?"
The prefect's voice grew impatient, silently cursing Marcus as a "Flint family idiot."
He forced himself to calm down after a while, then spoke earnestly. "Marcus, you're in your fifth year now. We will be graduating within one or two years. We don't have the time or energy to guide you anymore. From here on, you must rely on yourself. You've already failed in competing for prefect. Don't make me regret appointing you as Quidditch captain, and don't bring shame to your Flint family."
But Marcus still kept glancing toward the door, showing he had not taken the words to heart. The prefect's blood pressure rose. At last, he could only shake his head and sigh helplessly.
"They were the ones Malfoy chose. If they're useless, then so be it."
"If you really want to help Malfoy, then go inform Professor Snape."
"But if I were you, I wouldn't do it."
"Anyone who can defeat so many people is certainly no simple opponent. At the very least, not someone you could overcome. If I were you, I would choose to befriend him."
The prefect felt he had already spoken with more than enough kindness. If Marcus still refused to understand, it would no longer concern them. After all, they would be graduating soon.
Inside the common room, Dudley had already reached Malfoy, who was sitting on the floor curled into a ball.
Ignoring Malfoy's repeated cries of "Stay away from me," Dudley pressed one hand on his head, forcing it up, and leaned down close. His face loomed larger and larger in Malfoy's desperate eyes until their gazes met.
Malfoy could clearly hear the heavy sound of the other's breathing.
In that moment, he recalled the same terror he had felt at Madam Malkin's robe shop, the fear of being devoured alive.
Dudley slowly opened his mouth, revealing two rows of white teeth. Under the eerie green glow, they looked especially chilling.
At that sight, Malfoy let out a sharp "clack," his eyes rolling back as he fainted dead away.
(End of Chapter)
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