Chapter 107: Malfoy's Room
George said impatiently, "What else did you expect? Do you really think restoring ancient spells is like stumbling upon a tattered book in some forgotten corner, filled with legendary forbidden curses—and once you learn to read it, you can defeat a whole quartet?"
Kate blushed. "How did you know?"
George rubbed his forehead and looked up at the ceiling. "I read novels too," he said quietly. "And I've seen quite a lot."
"Restoring ancient spells is a long and difficult process. You're exhausted right now—you should get some rest. Once your mind is clear again, we'll continue," George added, noticing her growing fatigue. Even he had spent an entire year before making any real progress.
At the mention of rest, Kate couldn't help but stretch. The ancient curse had truly worn her out, and she was afraid she had already messed it up.
Meanwhile, Goyle ran as fast as he could, panting heavily, barely able to breathe. Life felt harder than ever, and he found himself missing the old days—when all he had to do was stand beside Draco Malfoy and follow orders. But he didn't dare stop.
Malfoy had changed—become frightening. Goyle could only follow along, whether he wanted to or not. That was the fate of a follower. Even as a follower, he had to survive.
He arrived at the door of Malfoy's dormitory. As the top student of his year in Slytherin, Malfoy had his own private room.
Each of the four Hogwarts houses had its own distinct traits: Gryffindor valued bravery and recklessness, Hufflepuff emphasized simplicity and loyalty, Ravenclaw prized intelligence and peace, while Slytherin was known for cunning and ambition.
Gryffindor and Hufflepuff focused more on teamwork and friendship, so their students lived in shared dormitories. Ravenclaw prioritized knowledge, granting special treatment to its brightest students. Slytherin, however, even established hierarchies within its own house based on strength.
Malfoy was very satisfied with Slytherin—especially this private room. As the heir to the Malfoy family, although it couldn't compare to Malfoy Manor, having his own space was enough.
Just imagining sharing a dorm with "mudbloods" or fools like Neville, Goyle, and Crabbe made his skin crawl.
Among all things at school, this room was his favorite. Here, no one disturbed him. He could arrange everything as he pleased, do whatever he wanted. Sometimes, he even felt more comfortable here than at home.
Last year, portraits of powerful historical wizards hung on the walls of Slytherin. But this year, they were gone. Instead, the walls, floor, and ceiling were decorated with intertwining gold and silver patterns, twisting and extending all the way to the door.
Anyone who entered would be startled by the eerie sight. Malfoy liked that—he enjoyed seeing fear and shock in visitors' eyes. The room had become his lair… a devil's lair.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Hearing the knock, he knew it was that fool Goyle. After undergoing meditation training, Malfoy's magic had grown stronger, his control sharper, even his senses heightened. It allowed him to focus more deeply, and he relished the sense of power and achievement it brought.
He had named his meditation technique "Serpent's Breath." In truth, he preferred to call it "Demon King's Heart," but that name was too conspicuous. A clever Malfoy wouldn't make such a mistake. "Serpent's Breath" was suitable enough—and perhaps one day, Slytherin itself would covet it.
"Come in, Goyle!" Malfoy called without getting up, still seated at his desk—his most important meditation spot. Beside it sat an empty goblet. When needed, he would fill it with various types of snake blood—the perfect drink for practicing Serpent's Breath.
At first, the taste might be hard to endure. But gradually, as one's senses sharpened and the mind cleared, a deep, chilling sensation hidden within the blood could be felt. It slid down the throat, spread through the body, flowed with the blood, stimulating the senses and awakening the mind. The feeling was indescribably exhilarating.
Goyle pushed the door open and stepped inside. The moment he saw Malfoy—cold, slightly intoxicated—his sweat turned cold. His words came out stuttering:
"Master Malfoy… Harry… they… went to find Geo—George to help them…"
"They knew they couldn't win honestly. As expected, they've gone looking for help behind the scenes," Malfoy sneered coldly. He had long anticipated that Harry Potter and the others wouldn't give up so easily—and had already considered multiple countermeasures.
When his father, Lucius Malfoy, agreed to provide Slytherin with seven Nimbus 2001 brooms, Malfoy had already begun calculating how the other houses might respond—especially Gryffindor, and especially Harry Potter.
Slytherin's victory wouldn't come from brooms alone. Before Harry joined Gryffindor, they had already been losing for seven years—and they weren't exactly known for strategy. Slytherin surpassed them in both strength and tactics. Now, with superior brooms added, victory was almost guaranteed.
What could Harry Potter do?
Gryffindor couldn't rely on its members alone. Malfoy understood this even better than Harry. Unless someone wealthy replaced all their brooms with Nimbus 2001s—which was impossible—they were doomed to lose badly.
So in the end, the outcome of the Quidditch match would depend entirely on Malfoy and Harry.
And with those seven brooms, the advantage was firmly in Malfoy's hands—and would only grow stronger as the match progressed.
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