First Attack

For a few weeks, life at Hogwarts had been peaceful for Dante. No altercations, no events, just quiet days spent working on his Magic Circuits and attending classes. Tonight, however, was Halloween, and the Great Hall was alive with the festive atmosphere of the feast. Dante sat at the Slytherin table, enjoying the food alongside Draco and their housemates.

Draco, ever the potter-obssesed, leaned over to Dante. "Harry Potter's missing," he said, his tone a mix of curiosity and disdain.

Dante glanced at his brother, raising an eyebrow. "Why are you so obsessed with the Potter boy?"

Draco scowled. "He's repulsive and annoying. He doesn't deserve all the special treatment he gets."

Dante was momentarily speechless. Draco, who had received more special treatment and training than anyone else in the school, was showing jealousy of Harry Potter? Dante sighed. "Give the boy a break, Draco. This isn't a rivalry—it's just bullying at this point."

Draco crossed his arms. "Not until he admits defeat."

Dante frowned, wondering what "defeat" Draco was talking about, but he let it slide.

___________

After the feast, the Slytherins left the Great Hall, only to find a crowd gathered in the corridor. Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger stood frozen in front of a horrifying sight: Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, hung by her tail from a torch bracket. Blood-red words were scrawled on the wall:

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware."

Draco read the message aloud, a smirk playing on his lips, but he didn't say anything more. Dante, however, focused on the cat. His first thought was clear: [She's petrified.]

Filch pushed through the crowd, his face pale with rage. He grabbed Harry by the collar. "You!" he shouted. "You have murdered my cat!"

Harry stammered, "I didn't! I swear!"

Filch was shaking with anger, but Dante stepped forward, his calm voice cutting through the tension. "The cat isn't dead," he said. "She's just petrified. And Potter has nothing to do with it."

The students turned to Dante, their expressions a mix of surprise and relief. Filch's grip on Harry loosened as he muttered, "Not dead?"

Dante walked closer to the cat, his silver eyes scanning the scene. To him, this looked like a silly Halloween prank, albeit a cruel one.

The professors arrived moments later—Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Lockhart. Dumbledore immediately told Filch to calm down, while Lockhart took a step back when he noticed Dante looking in his direction.

The professors turned to Harry with questioning eyes, but Dante sighed in frustration. These were supposed to be wise educators, yet they were jumping to conclusions just like the students.

"Potter has nothing to do with this," Dante said firmly. "The cat is petrified, and this is probably a prank by an older student."

Snape's scowl deepened. "Explain yourself, Malfoy."

Dante raised his wand. "Revelio," he incanted. A golden mist spread through the corridor, but nothing happened.

"There are no traces of petrification magic here," Dante explained. "That means it wasn't used, or the caster is a highly skilled wizard. In this school, including the professors, there are probably no more than three or four who could pull that off."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the crowd. "If it's not spellcasting, then the person responsible likely used a potion. Petrification potions are difficult to brew, even for seventh-years. Potter is too incompetent to pull this off, so it's probably another student, most likely from the advanced classes."

His words were met with silence, followed by murmurs of agreement. The students believed him—Harry Potter, while famous, was hardly known for his magical prowess. Harry himself wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or resentful for being called incompetent.

Dumbledore and the other professors, however, exchanged uneasy glances. They knew about the Chamber of Secrets and its dark history. Dumbledore wondered if Dante would change his opinion if he knew this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his tone measured. He turned to Filch. "Mrs. Norris will be okay. We have a young patch of Mandrake, and we can brew a healing potion for her before the end of the year."

Dante raised an eyebrow. Dumbledore's words would be true if Mrs. Norris were a human, but for a cat? Petrification was far easier to reverse in smaller creatures. Without a word, Dante pointed his wand at the cat, levitating her gently into Filch's arms.

"Finite Petrificus," Dante incanted. A flash of light shot from his wand, and Mrs. Norris stirred, her eyes blinking open.

Filch cried out in relief, clutching his beloved cat. The students gasped, their shock painted on their faces. Headmaster Dumbledore had just said they needed a potion to heal her, yet Dante had undone the petrification instantly. Did that mean Dante's magical skill surpassed even Dumbledore's?

The professors, too, were taken aback. Dumbledore hid his embarrassment well, but his eyes betrayed his surprise.

Dante looked at Dumbledore with a disappointed expression. "It's just a cat," he said. "You don't need Mandrakes for smaller creatures."

With that, he turned and left, the Slytherins following him in awe.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, addressing the crowd. "Twenty points to Slytherin for a brilliant performance," he said. Then, his tone turning serious, he added, "The rest of you, return to your dormitories. Mr. Potter, stay behind."

As the students dispersed, whispers of Dante's power and skill filled the halls. The legend of Dante Malfoy had grown once again.

___________

As the Slytherins made their way back to their dormitories, the events of the evening still fresh in their minds, Draco turned to Dante with a curious expression.

"Do you think the Chamber of Secrets is real?" he asked. "Or was this just a cruel prank, like you said?"

Dante's silver eyes glimmered in the dim light of the dungeon corridors. "Given Salazar Slytherin's personality, it's quite possible he built a chamber or two," he replied. "But I still think this is more likely a prank—albeit a cruel one."

Draco smirked. "It would be interesting if it were real. Imagine muggle-borns being attacked. It'd serve them right."

Dante stopped walking and turned to face his brother, his expression serious. "Draco," he said, his voice calm but firm, "our parents' ideology is blinding you. Hating or looking down on muggle-borns is foolish. It makes you blind to the world around you."

Draco rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You're the only person other than the Weasleys who thinks like that."

Dante shook his head, a faint sigh escaping his lips. "With time, you'll learn to understand and appreciate those who are different from you. Muggle-borns, pure-bloods, half-bloods—it doesn't matter. What matters is their character, their potential, and their willingness to grow."

The other Slytherins listened to the brothers' conversation with keen interest. Many of them found Dante's behavior and words strange, even contradictory to the values they had been raised with. But none of them objected, they were not his little brother.