The Evil Thoughts of Hogwarts and the Genie

Chapter 173 The Angry Pureblood Faction

This week has been terrible.

The Caro family has disappeared, his future in-laws' attitude seems to be wavering again, and Voldemort's leader is still urging Lucius to quickly find out what Soman's current stance is.

One thing after another, each incident left Abraxas Malfoy exhausted.

Exhausted, and angry.

He wasn't exactly known for his good temper. Unlike his son, who was more inclined to be diplomatic, the head of the Malfoy family was actually a man of action.

Of course, this was also because he vaguely sensed that his new master, Voldemort, the "leader" he hadn't bothered to befriend during his school years, seemed to be getting increasingly irritable.

For a few brief moments, Abraxas even felt that his explanation had angered the other party.

He felt the intense pressure and even doubted whether he could escape unscathed.

Is this reasonable?

He's a pureblood, a Malfoy!

But the great Voldemort, he was a son of Slytherin! In terms of nobility, he was noble enough.

Even during his school years, many people suspected that Tom Riddle, who was favored by the professors, was actually of mixed race; after all, everyone could see that he had a rather difficult time at the beginning of the semester.

But soon, these doubts quietly disappeared. Almost everyone "knew" that Tom was actually the illegitimate child of a powerful figure in the wizarding world and a foreign witch, and that he was forced to grow up in the Muggle world because the witch suddenly contracted a serious illness.

Many people even suspect that Tom's father is Dumbledore.

However, since Tom quickly proved that he had Slytherin blood flowing through his veins and could talk to snakes, his status rose even higher, and no one doubted that he was born noble.

At least more prestigious than the Malfoys.

"However, Abraxas is older and not one of the generation directly brainwashed by Voldemort."

Therefore, he was still somewhat skeptical.

Now that the Malfoy family has joined Voldemort's organization and he himself has become a proud Death Eater, it has become impossible and pointless for him to question the bloodline of his leader.

Even so, Abraxas still felt a strange sense of anxiety when facing Voldemort's pressure.

This anxiety is like vaguely seeing the Sword of Damocles hanging over one's head, yet for more practical reasons, one can only turn a blind eye.

This frustration reached its peak after learning that the Carlo family had returned safely. After Apparating to the Carlo Manor and speaking with Mr. Carlo, Abraxas not only failed to vent his anger but also felt a sense of fear.

Old Mr. Carlo implied to him that his family had been kidnapped by that German Soman.

It is said, it is said.

Lord Voldemort killed old Soman's only son; the current young Soman is merely a substitute.

Voldemort, who is about to lead the purebloods to greatness again, has a blood feud with the current leader of the Malay Party.

This is utterly absurd.

They're all extremist organizations—oh wait, I mean, organizations that believe in the "wizard supremacy" theory. It's one thing to be unable to work together, but to have to fight amongst themselves?!

More importantly, old Soman is not Dumbledore; he's a killer!

This clearly puts Abraxas under immense pressure.

When he decided to help the Carlo family, who had just escaped danger, by speaking up for them at the ministry, he witnessed the Squibs firing their guns.

Abraxas laughed in fury. If he couldn't take down Dumbledore and that damned Soman, surely he could take down a bunch of Squibs?

Old Malfoy raised his wand and fired a spell that struck a rotten and ugly old Squib.

Abraxas didn't really think much when he made his move. He was in his prime, with abundant magic power, and in no time at all...

All that could be left for these utterly powerless scum was a mournful lament.

However, his triumph lasted less than twenty seconds before a spell knocked his wand from his hand. Then,

A silvery-white barrier suddenly appeared between the Squib and the Auror, and at the same time, the wails were no longer as mournful as before.

Before anyone knew it, a blue figure had swept up beside old Malfoy like a whirlwind. It was a tall, thin old wizard—...Dumbledore!

"How dare you—"

Abraxas's emotions had been fluctuating greatly since the beginning. He pointed at Dumbledore with almost furious anger.

She even took two steps forward, trying to grab his robe.

However, before he could succeed, someone on the Squirrel's side fired the last RPG—to be honest, these Squirs hardly understood Muggle law, yet they still managed to get their hands on such a dangerous thing, thanks to the Ministry of Magic's oversight.

Or perhaps, if the Arrogance of the Wizarding World had paid even a little more attention to the Aurors responsible for extraditing Squib criminals, and had understood what "transporting or smuggling Class C weapons without a legal reason" meant, and hadn't treated it as ordinary theft, perhaps none of this mess would have happened today.

The final anti-tank grenade did not continue its attack on key buildings within the Ministry of Magic, but instead flew directly at the Aurors.

Previously, the Squibs, following Arachne's instructions, still wanted to hold a peaceful demonstration to show that they still held the concept of "non-violent non-cooperation".

Simply put, they didn't intend to actually hurt anyone.

This is also part of Edmund's cunning.

What revolution doesn't involve bloodshed?

Once blood is drawn and enmity is formed, ordinary people who cannot control their own destiny have no say in when to stop.

The grenade struck the silver barrier set up by Dumbledore. The old wizard seemed to have been prepared, and even though the grenade was powerful enough to blow up a tank, it only pushed the silver battle line back a few meters.

However, that's not important. What is important is that the thick smoke, flying rocks, and even the roar of the grenade caused considerable damage to the nearby Aurors.

"—He's gone mad." Abraxas was speechless.

Even the old Draco Malfoy, who was quite confident in his own magic, would find it difficult to create such a breathtaking scene.

Let's set aside the actual damage—because all that happened was that many wizards' eardrums were shattered, some rubble got into their flesh, and the unluckiest one had his skull smashed—but the visual impact of Muggle firearms was indeed quite different from magic.

Abraxas didn't know this before.

At that moment, a strange voice appeared out of nowhere from the depths of his heart.

This is the power of Muggles. They can produce two thousand of these "giant fireworks" in an hour.

Must our children, our next generation, live in such a chaotic and miserable environment?

The logic behind this idea is actually quite convoluted.

But the voice sounded very familiar; it was exactly the same as Abraxas's.

He immediately took this as his "inner voice." A strange sense of grief and indignation surged into Mr. Malfoy's mind—he threw himself to the ground and picked up his wand.

This leader of the pureblood faction gritted his teeth and chanted several incantations:

"Thunderous explosion! Thunderous explosion! Shattered into pieces!"

"Avada Kedavra!"