Hogwarts: Atypical Slytherin

Eighteen-year-old Philip suddenly left the warm fireplace and the closed house in the cold winter. Even though there were people coming and going in that house who wanted to step on him, but after all, it was his home.

It was, Philip thought.

In his thin robe, he still carried the gold galleons that he had exchanged with the young brother of the Malfoy family for business plans not long ago. It was not much, just enough to hold in one hand, but it was his only confidence in facing sudden changes.

There was a vast expanse of white in front of him, and the unfamiliar scene made him suddenly remember that it was still winter.

"Where is this?" Young Philip didn't know where he was. He looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings warily, but he didn't see any object that made him feel familiar.

He knew clearly that this was not an illusion.

An intensified display of authority.

But it shouldn't appear at this time.

Phillip breathed out a breath of hot breath, and soon, the swaying mist dissipated in the wind along with the snow.

"Damn it." He wrapped his thin coat tightly. This was the thin coat that he wanted to put away when he was near the hot fire, but now it became the only thing that could keep out the cold.

It's of no use. His cold soon overcame the insignificant heat.

He felt like his head was freezing.

Wizards are always like this, they like to overestimate the resilience of life. Once people have something, they can no longer imagine the events that people who do not have these things may face, and naturally they will not consider their situations and experiences.

Fortunately, there is no shortage of such idiots in the dear Parkinson family.

Wizards are accustomed to using their bodies nourished by magic to speculate on other creatures, believing that everyone will have a strong body and be able to stand intact after being torn apart.

They possess magic spells and magic potions that can heal human flesh and bones, but Philip clearly harbors no desire for any of them.

Philip looked ahead. It was a snow-capped area with no end in sight. In the white sky, there were only covered leaves and snowflakes on the treetops. They fell to the ground, and the temperature of his body continued. Falling.

No one could survive a day in such weather without a source of fire.

He will die——

A weak, defenseless squib without any protection against the cold will lose its temperature very quickly in a snowstorm. Maybe in just a few hours, he would turn into a solid ice sculpture.

It's ridiculous, it's ridiculous. No one could have imagined that Squibs did not have insect-like bodies like wizards and could resurrect after being frozen.

Phillip shuddered and his heart became cold. It was just a fight, it was just a fight.

Even though repression is everywhere, even if sudden changes have come long ago, Philip has never seen such a bloody behind so clearly. Perhaps the parents of "Parkinson's" really don't want to have a squib, and the little love they have left comes from his past glory. And this glory cannot be replicated again, so everything that is uncontrollable will become discarded waste.

He is not a smart person as imagined. Philip suddenly realized this.

Like a canary in a cage, Parkinson's people want him to realize that they can kill a wizard without any magic at any time and quietly like a bird.

How terrible is this...

"To live crawling..." He stepped on many icy footprints on the thick snow, but soon they were covered by successive snows, and then disappeared without a trace, "or to die quietly." ?”

Will he spend his whole life hiding in the old house after waiting for the Parkinson's to be content with his "little place" punishment? Or move forward to find a new way out?

Before his head froze, there was only one firm answer in his mind:

"In today's wizarding society, there is no way for a Squib to survive."