"I heard Professor Malfoy is exceptionally skilled," said Odin Bletchley, also from Slytherin, to Snape and the others. "Abraxas Malfoy, my father says he has close ties with the higher-ups in the Ministry of Magic."
"Is that so?" Snape replied. "I just hope he manages to stay long enough to teach at least two terms."
"What do you think will happen?" Mary leaned closer to Lily, whispering, "I heard the Ministry is pushing a new bill to restrict the employment options for Muggle-born witches and wizards. This Malfoy is supposedly one of the main backers."
"You heard what he said at the Opening Feast," Lily answered, her green eyes tinged with concern. "Mary, the Malfoy family is not exactly known for being open-minded or friendly."
As she spoke, the sound of measured footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.
All conversation ceased instantly.
Mr. Malfoy's tall figure emerged from the shadows, his pale blond hair elegantly draped over his shoulders. His black robe bore the faint, embroidered crest of the Malfoy family.
"Now," he said, stopping in front of the classroom door. His gray-blue eyes swept over the students before pushing the door open. "Enter."
The students hurried inside.
Malfoy strode to the lectern. With a casual flick of his wand, the heavy curtains drew shut, leaving only candlelight flickering across the desks.
"Put your textbooks away," he sneered. "Encountering Faceless Fiends? The author was a weak-willed half-blood who admired Muggles. I have something far more important to say, so I expect your full attention."
A flurry of noise followed as several students hastily shut their books and shoved them into their bags.
"I am pleased to have the opportunity to uphold our finest magical traditions and values," said Malfoy, placing both hands on the lectern. "First, you must purge your minds of the falsehoods you've been taught. You must learn to recognize your true enemies, and no, Zetsu is not some dark magical creature."
"Let us begin with the real history," Malfoy continued, waving his wand. White letters appeared on the blackboard: 'The True History of Wizards and Muggles.' "I will guide you through the parts of History of Magic that the textbooks conveniently omit."
"Muggles-" his lips curled in disdain, as though he were uttering something foul, "—are like animals: filthy and stupid. For centuries, they have persecuted wizards, burning our kind at the stake and forcing us into hiding, denying us the lives we deserve."
"That's not true! Everyone makes mistakes, at least two-thirds of the victims of the witch hunts were Muggles!" a Hufflepuff student blurted out, his face flushing red. "My parents are both Muggles, they-"
"Hufflepuff, minus ten points. Sit down. Interrupt me again, and you'll serve detention," Malfoy said icily. "Your words prove the inherent baseness of Muggles."
"Now then," he continued, his tone swelling with fervor, "beyond Hogwarts, a group of great wizards are working tirelessly. A new and glorious order is being established, and every one of you should strive to be part of this noble cause."
To Snape, Malfoy's speech was dull, the same old 'pure-blood supremacy' and 'Muggles as vermin' rhetoric he'd heard countless times.
"Even in this very classroom," Malfoy went on, his gaze sweeping over a few uneasy students, "there are some unfortunate witches and wizards tainted by Muggle blood. But I believe, if we trace your ancestry far enough, there must be magic running through your veins somewhere."
"Although you have strayed from the right path for too long," he added with a mock smile, "there is still time to rally around your pure-blood betters..."
From the back of the classroom, a voice cut through his droning words: "Professor Malfoy, why do you believe that pure-bloods are nobler than half-bloods or Muggle-borns?"
Everyone turned. Odin Bletchley sat grinning, clearly proud of himself.
Malfoy's eyes gleamed. "A fine question. Five points to Slytherin." Straightening, he said, "The purer the blood, the stronger the magic. Those who consort with Muggles produce feeble offspring with pitiful power, weaklings who can only find self-worth among Muggles or Squibs."
"To prove my point, today I will teach you something truly fascinating and righteous."
"Dark magic," Malfoy declared, his tone feverish, "is a perfectly legitimate means of defense, and of punishment for traitors and Muggles alike. To protect ourselves and advance our great cause, we must learn to master it. Today you will not merely learn to defend against it, but to wield it. Only by understanding dark magic can one use it effectively."
With another wave of his wand, the writing on the board shifted again, three horrifying spell names appeared in glowing script: Imperius Curse, Cruciatus Curse, Killing Curse.
A collective gasp filled the room.
"Dumbledore will never allow this!" Lily finally shouted, her green eyes blazing.
Malfoy's smile vanished, replaced by a cold fury.
"I presume you're a Gryffindor? Excellent. Twenty points from Gryffindor," he said softly, his voice freezing the air. "Forget Dumbledore. This is my classroom."
Snape narrowed his eyes slightly and gave Lily a subtle shake of his head.
"Now, back to the lesson," Malfoy said sharply. "Theory is nothing without practice." He snapped his fingers. "Dobby!"
With a sharp crack, a small, frail house-elf appeared in the center of the classroom.
Dobby still wore his filthy pillowcase. His large, tennis-ball eyes were full of fear.
"You may practice your spells on this creature," Malfoy said casually, as if discussing the weather. "House-elves are remarkably resistant to magic, they won't die easily. Perfect for practical exercises."
No outcry followed, as Snape had half-expected. Most students looked on indifferently; they were used to such things.
"What a waste," Abbott muttered to Snape. "Most families wouldn't squander a house-elf like that."
Snape said nothing. He understood that in most wizards' eyes, house-elves were not equals. Unlike centaurs or goblins, who had official representation within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, house-elves didn't even have their own liaison office.
The only "Rehoming Office" that existed merely sought new masters for elves who had lost theirs.
"This is horrible," Mary whispered to Lily. "The very fact that house-elves are enslaved is unjust, and now they're made to suffer for it."
A few steps away, James and Sirius overheard.
"They like it," Sirius said automatically, earning approving nods from a few pure-bloods. "My family's got one, a nasty little thing called Kreacher. He lives to serve, never stops working, and thinks it's an honor. His greatest wish is to have his head cut off and mounted on the wall next to his mother's."
"How can you say that?" Lily snapped at him, furious. "No sentient being should ever be treated that way!"
"This student is absolutely correct, and she's provided us with perfect evidence," Malfoy interjected smoothly, turning toward Sirius with a pleased look. "What is your name?"
Sirius shot him a disdainful glance and refused to answer.
"He's Sirius Black," Wormtail whispered, too softly to restrain himself.
Sirius glared at him, but said nothing.
"Ah, the Black family," Malfoy said approvingly. "Ancient and noble blood." He turned back to Dobby. "It seems that some impure-blooded wizards still hold dangerous misconceptions. Tell me, Dobby, do you object to being our practice subject?"
The little elf trembled, tears welling in his huge eyes. "Dobby... Dobby is willing, master! Dobby has no objections!"
He turned away, a tear rolling down his long nose. He wiped it quickly on his grimy pillowcase before facing them again.
"Professor Malfoy," Snape suddenly spoke up, his tone calm but curious. "If our goal is to prepare for conflict against Muggles, will casting curses on a house-elf demonstrate any realistic results?"
In that moment, he understood why Dobby's devotion to Harry had later been so sincere, in these dark days, the lives of house-elves were truly miserable.
"Moreover," he continued after a pause, "with your approval as Head of the Board of Governors, we now have a Duelling Club holding its first practical session tonight. Wouldn't that be a more suitable venue for demonstration?"
"Ah, yes!" Malfoy's eyes brightened. "I have already suggested to Dumbledore that I take charge of the club as its instructor." He turned to Snape. "What's your name?"
"Severus Snape."
"Snape..." Malfoy frowned slightly, thinking. "Your mother's maiden name?"
"Prince."
Recognition flickered across Malfoy's face, followed by a pleased smile. "The Prince family, an old and noble pure-blood line."
"Although..." His gaze lingered on Snape, the unspoken words clear enough.
Malfoy did not allow the students to cast curses on Dobby themselves, but he continued demonstrating various minor hexes on him.
The house-elf's muffled screams echoed through the classroom.
When the bell finally rang, many students sighed in relief. At Malfoy's command, the battered Dobby Disapparated once more.
Snape watched Malfoy's retreating figure, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.
Night fell. The long tables vanished, and the Great Hall was again transformed into the Duelling Club arena.
First-years crowded at the front, eyes shining with excitement, while upper-year students whispered among themselves about the day's lesson.
When Malfoy entered, clad in a black robe trimmed with silver, all eyes followed him.
He mounted the central platform and flicked his wand; a shower of silver sparks exploded overhead.
"Silence!" he called. "As the new instructor of the Duelling Club, I'm delighted to see such a fine turnout."
"By tradition," Malfoy continued, scanning the crowd, "I will begin with a demonstration. I'll need a volunteer, who was last year's duelling champion?"
Every gaze shifted toward Snape. The crowd parted for him, forming a path that led directly to the stage.
"Ah, it's you," Malfoy said with satisfaction. "Once again, this proves the importance of lineage. Mr. Snape's mother belongs to the distinguished Prince family, which has produced several masters of potion-making."
"I am the Half-Blood Prince, sir," Snape said evenly, his voice loud enough for all to hear.
Malfoy's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, then returned. "Yes... half-blood. Possessing at least half noble blood."
"Of course," he said, turning to the crowd with faint condescension, "you needn't worry for your champion's safety. I'll show restraint, he'll be returned to you unharmed. Mr. Snape, you may use whatever spell you wish."
Snape ascended the platform, a thin smile curling his lips. "I look forward to your instruction, sir."
The two turned, walked five paces apart, and bowed.
"One—two—three-" Malfoy counted.
"Bat-Bogey!" Snape's spell shot forth like lightning.
The silvery curse struck Malfoy square in the face. A swarm of bats burst from his nostrils, covering his horrified expression.
Snape was astonished at the power of the spell, he had read about the Bat-Bogey Hex in The Book of Spells, but never used it before. The wand felt like an extension of his own arm.
Malfoy flailed wildly, trying to dispel the bats.
Snape gave him no chance. "Expelliarmus!"
A flash of red light. Malfoy was blasted backward, his wand spinning out of his hand.
He crashed into the wall and slid down in a heap.
The Great Hall fell utterly silent.
Snape descended the platform, watching as Malfoy struggled to rise. He waited deliberately until the man's face turned crimson before murmuring, "Finite Incantatem."
The bats shrieked as they dove back into Malfoy's nose.
"Professor Malfoy," Snape said clearly, his voice echoing through the hall, "judging by the number of bats, you may wish to clean your noble nostrils."
"I am a professor! How dare you-" Malfoy spluttered, his face livid. "You're expelled! I'll report this to the Headmaster!"
"You did say I could use any spell, Professor," Snape replied innocently. "I assumed that, as a senior and a pure-blood of such standing, you'd last at least two spells."
"Clearly," he said, turning to the astonished crowd, "I overestimated certain reputations, and certain abilities."
Malfoy's lips trembled, but he said nothing more. He swept from the hall in humiliation.
Watching him leave, Snape thought coldly that, since his wand worked so well, perhaps he should pay old Mr. Malfoy a visit soon, and offer his sincerest apologies.