"So it's true—the famous Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts." Draco Malfoy, pale-faced and sharp-chinned, sauntered up to Harry, eyeing him with the cold scrutiny of a snobbish aristocrat. He looked Harry up and down, as if inspecting merchandise, and only when Harry began to look impatient did Draco continue in that slow, drawling voice, "But I have a question—was your mother a witch or a Muggle?"
Sean watched Harry, who was clearly trying to keep his temper, then glanced at Malfoy. Compared to the actor in the films, the real Draco Malfoy was utterly lacking in charm. From head to toe, he radiated the arrogance and stench of pure-blood superiority—there was nothing likeable about him.
Of course, for someone like Sean, who was determined to get sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, it didn't matter whether Slytherins were likeable or not. Even in daily school life, there were always Gryffindors charging ahead to challenge them. Sean just wanted to keep his head down, attend his classes, duel when necessary, and spend his seven years at Hogwarts as quietly as possible. Once Harry Potter finally took down Voldemort, Sean could go off to Hong Kong and try his hand in the entertainment industry.
While Harry and Draco were still bickering, Sean was already edging away, hoping to avoid the spotlight.
But before he could slip out, Draco suddenly turned his attention to Ron and Sean.
"Potter, there are wizarding families in this world who are simply better than others. If you want to make friends, you should choose people like us—not those wearing old robes and red hair like second-rate wizards, and…" Draco's gaze swept over Sean, his face twisted with disdain. "And the sons of Squibs, who are hardly any better than Mudbloods. Their parents are useless Squibs—no matter what noble surname they have, they'll never be anything special!"
That was the last straw.
Sean's eyebrow twitched. He stepped forward, planting himself right in front of Draco.
Draco looked Sean up and down, sneering, "This is Hogwarts, and my father is on the Board of Governors. If you dare lay a finger on me, I can have you thrown out in no time!"
Sean gave him a half-smile. "So, according to you, as long as someone in your family is on the board, you can do whatever you want here?"
"That's right!" Draco grinned, convinced he had the upper hand. He'd seen plenty of kids like Sean—minor family wizards or those without any background, who would immediately try to curry favour with the Malfoys. Especially those born to Squib families or with a Muggle parent. In Draco's mind, Sean was just another nobody.
Sean kept smiling. "So, as long as someone in your family is on the board, you can do whatever you want at Hogwarts. That's what you mean, right?"
Same question, different meaning.
But Draco didn't notice the shift. He just snorted and repeated, "That's right! Even if you ask again, my answer's the same. If your family's on the board, you can do whatever you want at Hogwarts!"
"What a coincidence…" Sean took another step forward, closing the gap. "My grandfather happens to be on the board too. So, does that mean I can do whatever I want at Hogwarts as well?"
"A Squib's son like you, even if your surname is Bulstrode, how could you—"
He never finished. Sean's fist shot out and connected squarely with Draco's nose.
Bang!
Draco stared at Sean, stunned, then instinctively reached up to touch his nose. Two streams of blood trickled down, and his once-straight nose was now bent and red.
He'd been hit? By a Squib's son?
It took Draco a moment to process what had happened. Then he clutched his nose and began to wail.
Seeing Draco's state, Goyle and Crabbe immediately charged at Sean. Their families were tied to the Malfoys, and they'd been warned before coming to Hogwarts—if anything happened, they were to defend Draco, no questions asked.
Goyle and Crabbe were big, but Sean knew that unless he used magic, he couldn't take them both in a straight-up fight. Still, Malfoy had been right about one thing: he could get away with punching Draco, and it would only be seen as a childish scuffle. But if he was the first to use magic, that would be a whole different story.
Goyle and Crabbe might have size on their side, but like most young wizards, they had little real fighting experience. If it came to a proper brawl, even Dudley Dursley could probably take them. Sean couldn't handle four at once, but two? That was doable—especially if he fought dirty.
He quickly shifted his stance, putting Goyle between himself and Crabbe. As Goyle charged, Sean feinted a punch. Goyle's eyes locked onto Sean's fist, but at the last second, Sean lashed out with a vicious kick to Goyle's groin. Goyle's momentum vanished in an instant. He collapsed to the ground with a strangled squawk, clutching himself like a duck whose neck had just been stepped on.
Crabbe, stunned by Goyle's sudden fall, was just about to lunge at Sean when Harry and Ron tackled him from behind. The three boys tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The sudden help caught Sean off guard, but he grinned, then spun around and charged at Malfoy.
Malfoy, nose bleeding and eyes streaming, had thought Goyle and Crabbe would take care of Sean. But now, seeing Sean coming for him, he didn't hesitate—he turned and bolted for the Great Hall, still clutching his nose.
Sean sprinted after him. Just as Malfoy reached the doors, Sean delivered a flying kick to his lower back, sending him sprawling face-first into the Great Hall. Malfoy skidded across the floor, two bloody teeth bouncing away and coming to rest right at the feet of Professor McGonagall, who was preparing to lead the first years inside.
For a moment, the Great Hall—which had been filled with chatter—fell utterly silent.
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