Hogwarts: The Greatest Wizard

Chapter 97: Conflict

The new semester had not changed the Slytherin snakes' targeting and rejection of Phineas. Fortunately, Phineas no longer cared as much as before. He was now even more in touch with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Some students were quite close to him. One could even say that if he didn't live in the dungeon, he wouldn't be considered a Slytherin student at all.

Even in class, he preferred to pair with people from those two houses—like the Weasley brothers, or Cedric, the loyal little badger.

Because of this, Phineas was dubbed the "Traitor of Slytherin" and the "Disgrace of Pure-bloods" by the Slytherin crowd.

Phineas hadn't taken it to heart. His reputation in Slytherin had been poor from the beginning—until a certain dinner, not long after he returned to school.

Marcus Flint, who had become Quidditch captain in his fifth year, openly picked a fight with Phineas in the Great Hall.

"Hey, isn't this our young Master Black? Tell me, were you bitten by those filthy vampires when they caught you? Or was it that they couldn't stomach your stench and spat you out?"

Marcus's voice rang so loud that half the Great Hall heard him clearly.

The insult was sharp. If Phineas had been bitten, it gave other pure-blood families an excuse to question whether he'd been turned, and thus an excuse to attack. But if he claimed he hadn't been bitten, it implied his blood was so unworthy that even vampires rejected it. That was a grave slander for a pure-blood. Even if most knew their blood wasn't truly pure, they still clung to the illusion of ancient lineage.

Just like the Malfoy family—despite Muggle blood having long diluted their line, they still called themselves pure-bloods rather than admit the truth.

Phineas didn't feel particularly angry. He'd never put much stock in the idea of pure blood. And after the blood sublimation ceremony, his bloodline was now superior to most in the magical world. People might long to be "pure," but purity—ironically—meant being closer to magical creature hybrids. Wizards scorned magical beasts, yet they couldn't deny their blood ran in their veins.

So Phineas didn't react. He simply kept eating, despite how unappetizing British food could be.

"What? Are you scared? Or are you admitting your bloodline is impure? People say you're the Black heir—but Orion Black died so young. Who knows if you're even his son?"

This remark was different. It questioned Phineas's very identity and the integrity of the Black family's lineage.

That, Phineas could not ignore.

He knew Marcus couldn't possibly have devised this plan alone. The boy looked like a troll and was dim-witted enough to repeat a year. There was someone behind him. The goal was clear: provoke Phineas into acting.

Even though responding was dangerous and might play into their hands, silence would suggest that the Black family had fallen, and might prompt the Council of Elders to relax their control over pure-blood disputes to protect the magical world's power balance.

Phineas understood the trap. But he also understood the stakes.

Marcus's words drew not only Phineas's attention but that of most students. His troll-like bellow ensured it. If George and Fred hadn't been held back by Lee Jordan, they might have rushed over and punched him.

Even the professors took notice. Professor McGonagall and others were already approaching, ready to intervene.

Most students' eyes were on Phineas, awaiting his reaction.

Those who didn't understand the implications were quickly filled in by the pure-blood or half-blood students nearby.

Phineas paused, his face darkening. He quickly considered the political weight of it all. But as he had already resolved—he had to respond.

He calmly placed the last bite of pie in his mouth, drank his orange juice, then stood and fixed Marcus with a chilling gaze.

"Marcus Flint of the Flint family. But you're not a direct heir, are you? Can you truly bear the weight of what you just said? Because with those words alone, I could declare war on the Flint family. Is that what you want?"

Though his voice was quiet, it was icy and deliberate—as though he were merely stating a fact.

Marcus paled instantly. Family wars were not trifles—especially not when the Black family was involved. As a cadet branch, Marcus had no authority to act on behalf of the Flints. If war was declared, his own fate would be sealed regardless of outcome.

Then he remembered the voice behind his provocation. Someone had told him, "Don't worry. Phineas Black is all talk. He won't dare start a war. He doesn't have the guts."

With that thought, Marcus regained his arrogance. He sneered and said loudly,

"So I provoked you—what now? Go ahead, declare war if you dare!"

Just as the words left his mouth, Professor McGonagall and the other professors arrived. Hearing Marcus's declaration, their expressions darkened. Had his comments remained childish taunts, they could have been dismissed with reprimands and reparations. But this—this was open provocation. It could be seen as a formal declaration of war against the Black family.