Who let this evil dragon into Hogwarts!

"To... to deal with... the evil spirit... all you need to do is cover your ears..."

In Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Quirrell recited the textbook with stumbling blocks, just like always, purely reading from the book without a single insight of his own.

If Persson hadn't known the plot beforehand, he would have found it hard to believe that this timid guy, who looked like he could cry for a long time if punched, was actually Voldemort's henchman.

At that moment, the bell rang, and Quirrell decisively closed his textbook, even though he hadn't finished explaining half of the knowledge points.

Fortunately, the young wizards had no objections and were even eager for Quirrell to leave.

There was nothing he could do; Quirrell's garlic stench was just too overwhelming...

Among the many refugees, only one person went against the tide, braving the toxic gas comparable to a biological weapon, to stand before Quirrell.

"Teacher, I have some questions I'd like to ask!"

The visitor was none other than Possus!

Malfoy, standing to the side, reached out slightly, intending to ask Persson where he had been these past few days, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the strong smell of garlic, like a burly man seeing a little girl, forcefully pried open his teeth and surged into the depths of his throat.

Malfoy could no longer bear it and had no choice but to retreat in a sorry state. At the same time, he became more and more certain in his heart that Persson had been conducting some kind of inhumane secret training with the family these days!

Otherwise, how could he have withstood Quirrell's bio-attack?!

On the other side, a look of surprise also flashed across Quirrell's face.

After all, as a normal person pretending to be a coward, he was well aware of his own smell and teaching ability.

Why would anyone come to ask him for advice?

"Do...do you have...a problem...?"

Quirrell maintained his stuttering tone, speaking so slowly that Poisson wanted to fast forward.

“Of course,” Persson said, holding his breath, his voice deep. “I’ve been thinking that this course, called Defense Against the Dark Arts, has never taught anything about the Dark Arts.”

"But how can we defend against it without understanding black magic? What do you think, Professor?"

"Oh...no...I think..." Quirrell was about to brush it off as usual, but he suddenly stopped, as if he had received some kind of instruction. He forced a smile and said, "Of course...I've always thought that the school's educational philosophy...has some problems...but Professor Dumbledore obviously doesn't think so."

As Quirrell's speech became increasingly fluent, Persson was delighted, not expecting Voldemort to fall for his trap so easily.

He decisively followed up on Quirrell's lead, saying, "Perhaps, Dumbledore is, after all, the most famous white wizard. But you are the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, aren't you? You have the right to decide what to teach and what not to teach."

"You are the expert in this area. Even if you teach dark magic to young wizards, Dumbledore has no right to interfere."

As he spoke, a strange golden hue appeared in Persson's amber pupils, and Quirrell's expression momentarily dazed. He murmured, "Of course, I am the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, and I should be the one to decide what to teach..."

With that, Quirrell grabbed Persson's hand and pulled him out of the classroom, through the corridor, up the stairs, and all the way to the door of Quirrell's office.

Just as Poisson thought he had messed up and was about to run away with his bucket,

"You absolutely have to see this!" Quirrell rushed into the office first, tossed the lesson plan onto the table, and rummaged through the drawers like a child eager to share a new toy with a friend.

"This is it!" Quirrell pulled out a thick, tattered parchment book with a black cover and handed it to Possou.

"You are a studious and good child. This 'Fatal Codex' is a treasure of mine, and I believe you know how to treat it."

Persson, slightly surprised, took the parchment book, immediately hugged it to his arms, and assured Quirrell:

"Please rest assured, I will study it carefully and strive to unravel the mysteries of black magic... defensive magic as soon as possible!"

After saying this, Persson decisively withdrew by a million dollars, leaving Quirrell alone in his office, marveling that Hogwarts actually had such a studious young wizard.

until--

"You idiot, you're being manipulated and you don't even realize it!"

Voldemort's voice exploded in Quirrell's mind, startling him so much that he almost collapsed. His hand, which was supporting him on the table, accidentally swept the lesson plan off the table, but he didn't bother to pick it up.

"Fuck...fuck...fuck...control?!"

Quirrell stammered, as if he had truly become a stutterer.

Only then did he finally realize that something was wrong.

How could I have so easily trusted a complete stranger and handed over a book of dark magic?

"Master...Master...what should we do? I'll kill him right now!" Fear gripped Quirrell's throat. He couldn't imagine what would happen if Dumbledore found out. It seemed that the only way out was to kill him to silence him...

"Fool, don't make any rash moves!" Voldemort roared again, his dissatisfaction with his wretched servant growing ever stronger.

"Since I didn't warn you at the beginning, it means this matter isn't serious! An ambitious and cunning Slytherin, as long as he doesn't discover my existence, we might have a chance to use him against him..."

Voldemort remembered Persson's eyes, filled with longing, greed, and a ruthless pursuit of power.

In a daze, he saw his younger self in Persson...

……

Meanwhile, driven by curiosity about the secret training, Malfoy finally returned to the Slytherin common room.

As soon as I entered.

Several burly figures stopped him.

"Malfoy, you and Persson are roommates, right?" Marcus, the leader, asked directly.

"So what if it is?" Malfoy retorted without any politeness, maintaining the arrogance befitting the Twenty-Eight Pureblood Saints.

"Let's... let's forget about it," Lucien said hesitantly, seemingly trying to persuade Marcus. "That guy... he's a monster! He really dares to kill!"

"Shut up!"

Looking at Lucien, who didn't even dare to call Persson by his name, Marcus was furious: "If it weren't for a piece of trash like you, would we have done this?"

He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before turning back to Malfoy: "Young Master Malfoy, you were there during that battle. As a member of a pure-blood family, you should know very well that Persson wasn't just challenging Lucien, but all pure-blood wizards!"

"Regardless, he must be taught a lesson after saying those things; it's a matter of face for all pure-blood families!"

"So, what are you planning to do?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. He was already convinced that Persson came from some super-powerful family, and at this moment, Marcus looked like a clown in his eyes.

"Just a friendly reminder, Persson is no pushover. If Lucien's fate were to repeat itself, that would be truly embarrassing!"

"That's none of your concern," Marcus said, sensing the sarcasm in Malfoy's words, but merely smiled coldly. "I remember Professor Snape saying that Persson had to take leave because he was ill. How powerful can someone recovering from a serious illness be?"

"Just recovered from a serious illness?" Malfoy's expression was strange.

As Poisson's roommate, he didn't think Poisson's appearance was a sign of recovering from a serious illness.

Malfoy even had a feeling that Poisson couldn't be better right now!

"Now is our best chance!" Marcus, oblivious to the strangeness in Malfoy's tone, continued, "Lucian, Perkin, and I will teach Persson a lesson. You just need to lure him to that abandoned old classroom on the right side of the third floor."

"I……"

Malfoy intended to refuse.

But then he thought, isn't this the opportunity he's been dreaming of—to get closer to Poisson?

"Of course, I will lead Persephone there," Malfoy smiled slightly, now bearing a resemblance to his father. "A pure-blood family, we share both glory and ruin."

"If one suffers, all suffer!" Marcus smiled contentedly, extending a hand. "Well then, how about a pleasant collaboration?"

"It's a pleasure working with you!"

Malfoy gripped Marcus's hand tightly, grinning like a cunning old fox...