The Second Generation of Hogwarts Demons, If I Don't Get Laid Off, Who Will Get Laid Off?

My name is Oscar Drohov. My father was Voldemort's chief thug and was enjoying a lifetime stay in Azkaban. And I, as his only son, received a tricky "family offer": Succeed his late boss and become the next generation of Dark Lord. Frankly speaking, the prospects of this job are worrying: the boss is a noseless lunatic, the company culture is one of backstabbing, and the ultimate benefit is a high probability of dying on the street. I'm not interested in conquering the world, I just want to graduate safely from Hogwarts. But obviously, my father whom I had never met, his fanatical colleagues, and the teachers and students in the school who wanted to give me an Avada didn't think so. My mission is simple: play the role of a lost lamb in front of Dumbledore, the ambitious heir in the temptation of the Death Eaters, and at the same time, find the savior boy and see if we can negotiate a deal - I will help him kill my dad, and he will guarantee me a pardon from the Ministry of Magic. It's really hard to be a good person these days. … Ten years later. When my father, who had just come out of Azkaban, saw me being "supported" as the leader of a third-party force by the Minister of Magic, former Death Eater remnants, and even representatives of magical creatures, he fell into deep confusion. "Son," He asked in a complicated tone: "The career I have been working for my whole life... How on earth did you turn it into this?"