Who let this evil dragon into Hogwarts!

Chapter 13 The Gamble

"The Snake King?"

Poisson wasn't interested in this rather childish title, but the others clearly didn't think so.

Malfoy had already begun to gather his supporters, while Crabbe and Goyle stood like two mountains, intimidating the other restless young wizards. However, Theodore, also a pure-blooded member of the Twenty-Eight Saints, seemed unwilling to relinquish the leadership and quietly drew his wand.

"Just wait to die!"

Malfoy mouthed threats to Persson, clearly blaming him for everything that had happened today: the attack on the bag spider on the train, the humiliation at the Sorting Ceremony, and all the misfortunes he had suffered.

Gemma watched this scene without stopping it; in fact, a slight smile appeared on her lips.

"This is your battlefield," she continued, explaining the rules of the duel. "Slytherin doesn't care about methods, nor are they bound by any rules."

"You can form alliances with others, or stab your teammates in the back; you can skillfully guide enemies to attack each other, or you can suppress everyone with absolute strength."

"Everything you possess will be an asset in this battle, whether it's your illustrious family background—" Gemma looked at Malfoy and Theodore, "or your exceptional eloquence—" Blaise on the other side was trying to persuade several half-blood wizards to join forces against the enemy.

There are no rules here.

"It's absolutely fair here!"

"All you have to do is defeat everyone else and be the last one standing!"

Standing until the very end?

Poisson had already begun to think about how to play dead.

Without a doubt, the so-called "Snake King" was nothing but harm to him, like a red name highlighted in red and enlarged in a game. Even Persson himself didn't believe that Dumbledore would let him off easily.

Slytherin was like a corpse floating on a river, seemingly huge and ferocious, but in reality, it was already rotten and decaying. The power it once contained was slowly falling away as its muscles were soaked in the river water, revealing its bones riddled with worms.

The empire, built on pure blood, is on the verge of collapse, and then the new leader, Voldemort, steps on the gas.

Slytherin remains illustrious today. Prefect Gemma doesn't forget to introduce the new students to the six consecutive House Cup champions, the famous seniors in Slytherin's history, and that Merlin was once a part of Slytherin, even though Merlin lived 500 years before Hogwarts...

The reality is that Slytherin has been ostracized by the other three houses, and even Ravenclaw, who was once the most friendly, now wishes Slytherin would lose the House Cup.

Persson thought with a hint of malice that all of this might be a conspiracy by Dumbledore, allowing Snape to favor Slytherin, thus uniting the other three houses against a common enemy and weakening the power of the pure-blood families represented by Voldemort...

Regardless of the truth, just play dead!

As she pondered this, Gemma uttered her final reminder, or perhaps warning:

"Slytherin is not like Gryffindor, where pointless bravery is not valued."

"So, if you feel you're not good enough and want to give up, you can just say so, and I'll let you go back to your dorm and get a good night's sleep."

"However, think it through: the price of showing weakness is far heavier than you imagine..."

After speaking, Gemma took a step back, leaving the stage to the eager freshmen, while the other senior students looked down at these bean sprouts who couldn't even wave their wands properly, with an air of superiority.

Who do you think will win?

In a corner of the lounge, several burly men gathered together, occupying the most spacious sofa. Those around them looked at them with fear. As the Quidditch team that brought glory to Slytherin, these men were clearly of high status.

"Is there even a need to think about it?"

Slytherin batter Lucien leaned lazily against the sofa and casually pointed.

"Look at the eldest son of the Malfoy family, look at how many people are gathered around him. Quite a few Slytherins depend on the Malfoys for their livelihood!"

"Theodore's not bad either," said another batter, Perrykin. "I heard his father taught him a lot, much better than Malfoy, that good-for-nothing who got dragged out of the box. You have no idea how loudly the Weasley brothers laughed at the dinner party!"

"He was dragged out?" Captain Marcus asked, intrigued. "Who did it? Even if the Weasley brothers are scoundrels, they wouldn't lay a hand on a freshman, would they?"

“It wasn’t them,” Perigin waved his hand, pointing to Poisson standing in the corner. “Were you all too busy eating at the dinner party? The youngest son of the Malfoys was cursing that kid the whole time, it was driving me crazy!”

"Is that so?" Lucien sat up straight. "Persson Savanrick... a strange surname. To dare lay a hand on the eldest son of the Malfoy family, he must either be one of the Twenty-Eight Purebloods, or he can only be a Muggle-born Mudblood. Which one do you think he is?"

As he spoke, Lucien couldn't help but laugh.

"Let's bet something new this year. I bet this kid will get a good beating from Malfoy. What about you guys?"

"I still favor Theodore," Perigin shrugged.

"Why can't it be Persson beating Malfoy again?" Marcus said with a wicked grin, but he didn't throw Galleons on the table, clearly not intending to participate in the betting.

"Terence, how do you bet?" Lucien suddenly turned his head and looked at the Seeker in the team, who was also the only player on the Slytherin team who wasn't that burly.

"Uh...me?" Terence put down his book and said somewhat timidly, "I'll bet he'll just give up; there's no chance of winning anyway."

"Ha, you think everyone's like you?" Lucien made no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his tone. "The first guy in all these years to give up before even fighting. Maybe Muggle bloodlines are just birds of a feather! Looks like you, as a half-blood, understand Mudbloods better than I do."

"No, I just..."

Terence wanted to explain himself, but Poisson suddenly stepped forward and, in front of everyone, said calmly:

I give up.

Boom!

The Galon on the table bounced up from the shock, startling Terence. Marcus glanced at Lucien's grim face and, not wanting to miss a good show, fanned the flames, saying:

"Alright, looks like Terence is the winner tonight. Lucien, losing to a half-blood, you're really getting worse and worse. So, are you going to accept the loss?"

"No...no, we're just having fun, there's no such thing as winning or losing!"

Terence hurriedly denied it, but Lucien just silently put the Galon on the table into his pocket, stood up, roughly pushed aside a few troublesome guys, and went to the entrance of the men's dormitory.

They stopped Posson, who was about to return to his dormitory.

"go back."

Lucien crossed his arms and looked down at Persson as if commanding a house-elf, speaking with an unquestionable air.

"You're not allowed to give up until I tell you to stop."

"Do you understand?"