The first night of term, in the Slytherin dormitories.
Draco Malfoy tiptoed past his sleeping housemates, his black robes brushing the floor silently. Sneaking out was a skill he'd perfected since first year, but tonight he was extra cautious.
The common room was empty.
Draco let out a breath, adjusting the canvas bag slung over his shoulder, charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm. A muffled slosh came from within—five casks of aged rum he'd smuggled from his father's wine cellar over the summer, their labels embossed with "1972 Vintage" in gold.
It was the first time Draco realized his family even had Muggle liquor.
Dodging Filch and Mrs. Norris in the corridors, Draco grabbed his Nimbus 2001 and flew out of the castle under cover of darkness.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the damp, earthy breeze whipped his cloak. Hagrid's hut glowed with faint yellow light in the distance.
"Stop right there!"
A booming voice rang out from behind a tree. Hagrid stepped forward, holding a kerosene lamp that cast a flickering shadow. His massive hand gripped a hefty crossbow.
"Oh, it's you," Hagrid said, lowering the weapon. "Norbert's not in the Forest tonight—"
Draco hopped off his broom, brushing dust from his bag with a stiff tone. "I'm just dropping something off for Norbert."
"More booze?" Hagrid grinned, stowing the crossbow. "That vodka you brought last time's still sittin' there."
Draco's lip curled as he shoved the bag toward Hagrid. "It's rum this time. Let Norbert try it."
---
A few days later, the first Care of Magical Creatures class.
The grass at the Forest's edge rustled in the wind. Hagrid stood among a group of massive creatures, enthusiastically addressing the students.
The Hippogriffs shook their speckled wings, their golden-brown feathers glinting metallically in the sunlight. Their equine bodies were sleek, their eagle heads held high, sharp beaks snapping with defiant screeches.
"Listen up!" Hagrid's voice boomed over the breeze. "They're proud creatures! You gotta bow first and wait for them to bow back before you get close!"
Draco, at the back of the crowd, smirked. Just a horse with a bird's head. I've handled a dragon—how hard can this be?
Crabbe and Goyle, clueless about his amusement, chuckled along dumbly.
When Hagrid asked for a volunteer, Draco stepped forward before Harry could, seeing a chance to prove he was just as good—without much risk.
He sauntered up, not bothering to bow or even glance at the Hippogriff named Buckbeak. With his usual sneer, he said, "Come on, beast, let me pet you—"
Before he could finish, Buckbeak reared its neck, wings flaring with a whoosh that sent Draco's robes billowing. Its golden eyes blazed with fury, front hooves pawing the ground. Before anyone could react, its razor-sharp talons slashed across Draco's forearm.
"Ahh!"
Draco's scream pierced the air. Clutching his bleeding arm, he stumbled back, blood dripping through his fingers, staining the grass in vivid red splotches.
Hagrid rushed over, shouting, while Buckbeak turned its head haughtily, as if to say, He deserved it.
In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey sealed the wound with a Blood-Replenishing Charm and wrapped Draco's arm in thick bandages.
Pansy sat by the bed, gripping his uninjured hand. "This is outrageous! That half-giant did this on purpose! We'll tell Lucius—get that oaf kicked out of Hogwarts!"
Draco, pale and wincing, shook his head. "Drop it, Pansy."
"Drop it?" Pansy's eyes widened in disbelief. "He humiliated you in front of everyone and got you hurt!"
"Leave it alone," Draco muttered, his voice low.
Pansy froze, then scoffed. "Merlin's beard! You're defending that monster? Did that scratch knock the sense out of you?"
She stood abruptly. "I'm not letting this go."
Soon, rumors about Hagrid spread like wildfire—claims he'd trained the Hippogriff to attack, that he'd always had it out for Slytherins, even that he was keeping man-eating beasts in the Forest, with Potter in on it.
The rumors grew nastier with every corridor they passed.
When Draco ran into Pansy in the Great Hall, she was gleefully gossiping with other Slytherins. Seeing him, she clammed up, her smile turning awkwardly ingratiating.
"Stop spreading it," Draco said coldly.
"But Draco—"
"I said stop," he repeated, his eyes icy with distance. "This is my business."
Pansy watched him walk away, feeling like she was looking at a stranger. The old Draco would've retaliated for less, but now, despite his injury, he was backing down.
That bandaged wound seemed to have cut deeper than his skin, slicing through the unspoken bond they'd always shared.
---
At Hagrid's hut, Draco stood outside, absently grinding pebbles under his foot. He glanced at his bandaged arm, then called out to the hulking figure weeding the pumpkin patch. "Hagrid."
Hagrid straightened, holding a hoe three times the size of a normal one, and grinned. "Draco, you're here early! Norbert hasn't tried that rum you brought yet—"
"Those rumors…" Draco cut him off, his voice stiff. "I didn't start them. And… can I still come see Norbert?"
Before Hagrid could answer, Ginny leapt out from behind a tree, eyes blazing with suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" She stepped forward, shielding Hagrid. "Come to laugh at him? Or spread more of your lies?"
Draco's face flushed, as if his ears were on fire. "What are you on about? I had no idea Pansy was going to do that!"
"Who'd believe you?" Ginny took another step, like a bristling kitten. "You Slytherins love your sneaky plots! Buckbeak scratched you in class, and now you're trying to get Hagrid sacked!"
"Shut it, you blasted weasel!" Draco's voice shot up, the wound under his bandage throbbing. "I just came to—"
"To see how pathetic he looks, right?" Ginny interrupted, her eyes practically spitting fire. "I'm telling you, Hagrid won't be brought down by your rumors! He's a hundred times better than all of Slytherin!"
Their shouting match echoed through the quiet woods.
Hagrid, stunned at first, glanced between them, his bushy beard hiding his confusion. It took a moment for him to piece together what was happening.
"Merlin's beard, enough!" Hagrid's booming voice cut in, his massive hand thrusting between them. "Ginny, Draco's not what you think."
Ginny opened her mouth to argue but was cut off by new figures emerging.
Harry and Hermione stepped out from behind the tree.
(See Chapter 96 for details.)
Draco left quickly, unwilling to explain himself in front of his (self-proclaimed) rival.
Ginny made an excuse to leave too. Though she'd told Hermione she was over her crush on Harry, she wasn't ready to face him.
---
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco's fingers traced a circle on the cold stone railing. He'd nearly turned back toward Hagrid's hut.
But a sudden burst of gossip in the corridor hit him like a stone.
"…I swear! In Gryffindor's Defense class, Potter's Boggart turned into…" The speaker lowered their voice, but Draco caught it. "You-Know-Who!"
"First time I heard You-Know-Who doesn't have a nose…"
Draco froze, almost thinking he'd misheard.
The Dark Lord without a nose? That was more absurd than the Weasleys affording a Firebolt.
He hurried back to the Slytherin common room, where the fireplace's flickering light illuminated Pansy's shocked face.
"You heard too?" she whispered, scooting closer. "Potter's Boggart is You-Know-Who? How's that possible? Isn't he supposed to be… handsome?"
Draco frowned, skipping his usual snark. He'd grown up hearing how dashing the Dark Lord was, charming Bellatrix Lestrange and all.
"Maybe it's some other dark wizard," he said, though he wasn't convinced.
Pansy, for once, didn't blindly agree, staring into the fire. "If it's true… that's just weird."
The rift between them, caused by the rumors, seemed to fade in the face of this shocking news. For now, they stood on the same side, eyeing the Gryffindor boy who lived in a halo of fame with Slytherin scrutiny.
The common room buzzed with whispers.
"How could You-Know-Who not have a nose?"
"Scared of a Boggart—how'd he even survive back then?"
"If Snape hears this, he'll call it Gryffindor nonsense…"
As if summoned, the common room door rustled. Snape glided in, his black robes trailing silently across the stone floor.
The chatter died instantly. Everyone straightened, the fire itself seeming to dim.
Snape's gaze swept the room, his deep black eyes like bottomless pools, passing over Draco and Pansy's tense faces and every student trying to look away. He said nothing, his silence a suffocating net.
Finally, he spoke, his voice cold as ice. "Anyone with a brain wouldn't believe such foolish talk."
No explanation, no angry outburst—just a single, dismissive statement. But everyone understood: this topic was off-limits.
Snape left, and only when his footsteps faded did soft murmurs resume.
Draco stared into the fire, his earlier confusion now tangled further by Snape's cryptic words.
Soon, he had no time to dwell on noseless Dark Lords—Slytherin's first Defense Against the Dark Arts class arrived.
Professor Lupin carried a cage draped in black cloth, his gentle gaze sweeping the silent students. "You probably know what this is. A Boggart shows your deepest fear, but remember, the Riddikulus spell makes it take form—and makes it laughable."
When Pansy's turn came, her wand hand trembled, though she tried to look calm.
The Boggart swelled into Draco's form—platinum hair, haughty eyes, even the familiar mocking curl of his lips.
"Stay away from me, Parkinson," the Boggart-Draco said icily, shoving her back.
Pansy stumbled against the wall, watching the cold figure turn away, her eyes reddening.
Lupin stepped in, and with a Riddikulus, the Boggart became a fat, tail-wagging rat. But Pansy's face stayed pale. She glanced at Draco, who was staring at the cage, brows furrowed, lost in thought, oblivious to what had just happened.
A vague disappointment settled in her chest. She bit her lip, half-hoping to see what Draco feared.
What could scare him? With his pride, surely nothing.
"Mr. Malfoy," Lupin called, snapping Draco out of his reverie.
Draco sauntered forward, twirling his wand, his face smug. "Hope it's not too boring."
He figured it might be Voldemort or his father scolding him. In Slytherin, showing weakness was worse than death.
The room held its breath. The Boggart hesitated, then swelled into a tall, imposing figure.
Silver-gray hair, impeccably combed, and a black robe embroidered with intricate patterns—Lucius Malfoy. His chin tilted up, his eyes brimming with disdain, locked on Draco. "For the honor of the Malfoys, you must marry her."
Draco's pupils shrank, his grip on his wand tightening until his knuckles whitened. He'd expected his father's disappointment or the family's disgrace—not this commanding decree.
Before he could react, Lucius's form melted like snow, reforming into a slender girl with striking red hair, like burning flames…
But before her face became clear, a spell hit it.
"Reducto!" Draco shouted, furious.
The Boggart screamed, writhing in pain before collapsing into black smoke and retreating into the cage, motionless.
The classroom fell dead silent, everyone stunned.
Draco's rage was raw, like an unsheathed blade, radiating unmasked hostility.
Lupin had only taught Riddikulus to make Boggarts comical—no one expected an offensive spell to harm it so much.
Pansy opened her mouth but couldn't speak. In her eyes, her childhood friend clearly had another girl in his heart.
Lupin studied Draco with an odd look. He didn't know the girl, but red hair and pure-blood narrowed it down—likely a Weasley.
Draco stood rooted, his eyes blazing with anger and a faint trace of panic.
Though the Boggart hadn't fully formed, he knew who the girl was.
Beneath that blurry glow was Ginny Weasley's stubborn face.
"Damn weasel," Draco muttered, storming out without a word.
The thought of his father's "you must marry her" and that redheaded figure made his chest tighten painfully.
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