The Hogwarts start-of-term feast was lavish, and the food tasted quite good—far better than the English cuisine Lykos remembered.
Unfortunately, every time he felt Quirrell's subtle glances drifting toward him, anxiety about his future at Hogwarts crept in, leaving him with little appetite.
But someone had even less appetite than Lykos.
Across from Draco Malfoy sat a ghost with a gaunt face, a gloomy expression, and bloodstains covering his entire body. From the terrified whispers of nearby upper-year students, Lykos learned his name—Bloody Baron.
The chilling ghost made Malfoy feel as if he were eating his final meal in a freezing slaughterhouse.
"I can't take this anymore!"
After chewing half a piece of black pudding that tasted like cardboard and feeling the metallic tang lingering in his mouth, Malfoy slammed the table and jumped to his feet.
"Crabbe, switch seats with me!" he barked, smacking the shoulder of the large boy beside him.
Crabbe had been devouring a steak like a starving beast. Hearing Malfoy's demand, his movements froze instantly.
He looked solemnly at the Bloody Baron sitting diagonally across from him, then just as solemnly turned back to Malfoy.
"Draco… I think I've gone deaf," Crabbe mumbled through a mouthful of half-chewed steak, his cheeks still bulging as he chewed.
Malfoy nearly exploded. His thin lips trembled with anger.
"You idiot! Do you think ghosts would believe such a terrible excuse?!"
He kicked Crabbe's thick backside in irritation, then leaned past him to look at Goyle, who sat one seat away.
"Forget it. I can't rely on that idiot. Goyle, you switch with me!"
Goyle secretly glanced toward the Bloody Baron—and unfortunately locked eyes with the ghost's terrifying gaze. A violent shiver ran through his body.
Using the limited brainpower he possessed—barely more than a troll—he quickly weighed his options.
Offending Malfoy might earn him a beating.
But sitting directly in front of the Bloody Baron… might actually kill him.
After reaching this logical conclusion, Goyle also turned to Malfoy with a solemn expression.
"Draco… I think I'm deaf too."
"You two bastards!"
Furious, Malfoy stormed behind Crabbe and grabbed his arm, trying to drag him out of the seat.
Unfortunately, the difference in their body weight was far too great. Malfoy used every ounce of strength he had, yet couldn't budge Crabbe an inch. Instead, he exhausted himself and ended up panting heavily while crouching in the aisle between the two tables.
Lykos bit into an apple, watching the three fools' ridiculous scene with great amusement.
His worries about Quirrell and Voldemort faded quite a bit thanks to the spectacle.
Just then, Malfoy seemed to notice someone watching the show and shifted his gaze toward Lykos.
Immediately, his eyes lit up.
"Hayden! Quick—switch seats with me!"
Like a drowning man spotting a lifeline, Malfoy sprang to his feet and grabbed Lykos's left wrist—the one holding the apple.
The smile on Lykos's face disappeared.
"I refuse."
He had no intention of indulging the young master's whims.
"Come on, Hayden. My father is a school governor!" Malfoy said self-righteously. "And you're just a half-blood with a surname no one's ever heard of. If you want to survive in Slytherin, you'll need my protection!"
"Not interested," Lykos replied flatly, glancing at him before trying to pull his arm back.
But once Malfoy's spoiled temper flared up, it wasn't something easily withdrawn.
He suddenly yanked Lykos's wrist while muttering,
"I can't move Crabbe and Goyle, those two fat pigs—but I can definitely move you!"
With a harsh scraping sound from the chair against the floor, Lykos was abruptly pulled forward. The half-eaten apple slipped from his hand and fell to the ground—clearly no longer edible.
Now Lykos was genuinely irritated.
He jerked his arm free and stood up, staring coldly at Malfoy.
"Are you done yet?" he said icily.
Seeing the anger flickering in Lykos's dark golden eyes, Malfoy was suddenly intimidated.
"I-it's just a seat… no need to be so fierce about it," he muttered uncertainly while repeatedly signaling Crabbe and Goyle to back him up.
The two large boys nodded heavily, stood up, and glared at Lykos.
With their massive frames standing side by side in the aisle, they completely blocked the passage. Anyone facing them would feel as if several tons of pressure were bearing down on them.
Yet even under the glares of three people, Lykos stood perfectly still, unmoved.
He suddenly felt a strange energy stirring within his body.
His right hand twitched slightly, almost instinctively wanting to slip into the inner pocket of his robes and pull something out…
A wand.
An instinct to cast a spell.
As for Malfoy, being stared at by Lykos suddenly made him feel a chill run through his entire body.
It was even more terrifying than eating dinner face-to-face with the Bloody Baron.
"L-listen… the Malfoy family doesn't fight injured people," Malfoy said at last. He didn't dare order his cronies to attack, so he tried to salvage his dignity. "When you're healed, we'll duel for three hundred rounds!"
"Injured?" Lykos frowned.
"Yeah. Why else would you have bandages wrapped around you?" Malfoy pointed toward the floor near Lykos's feet.
Lykos looked down.
Sure enough, a strip of bandage lay scattered on the ground.
Only then did he remember—when Malfoy had yanked his wrist earlier, something must have come loose.
Lykos instinctively lifted his wrist to see what injury he supposedly had.
The next moment, his pupils shrank sharply.
On the inside of his left forearm was a pale red, grotesque skull. From the skull's mouth emerged a massive serpent, extending outward like a twisted tongue.
It was—
The Dark Mark.
The Dark Mark was the unique brand of the Death Eaters. Only core Death Eaters bore this mark, because in the entire wizarding world, only one person had the power to place it upon someone.
Voldemort.
Lykos's face turned extremely grim.
"See? I told you—you're injured!" Malfoy's smug voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "Your face is pale as a ghost. Instead of sitting here, you should probably go see the school nurse…"
Lykos said nothing.
Without drawing attention, he slipped his left arm back into the wide sleeve of his robes and quietly picked up the bandage from the floor.
"The seat's yours."
With that, he turned and walked away from the end of the table without hesitation.
Now was not the time to argue with some spoiled young master.
The most important thing was hiding the Dark Mark on his arm.
Walking through the aisle, Lykos quickly wrapped the bandage back around his forearm while discreetly lifting his head to glance toward the professors' table.
Quirrell was still acting timid and submissive, desperately trying to socialize with the other professors.
What impressive acting.
Now Lykos was certain.
Quirrell hadn't summoned him to the office for no reason.
Voldemort must have a task for him.
Just arriving in this world and things were already this intense.
Was that really reasonable?