Although it was a wizarding school, Hogwarts was just like Muggle schools in that it assigned summer homework for young wizards to complete.
After dinner, this was the time Draco and the others used to work on their assignments.
The idea was mainly Pansy's, her only reason being to spend more time with Draco.
The plan lost some of its shine once Goyle and the others joined in, but Pansy still wasn't about to give up halfway...
"'The Burning of Witches in the Fourteenth Century: Was It Meaningful?' Who knows what those Muggles were thinking? I can guarantee those flames were enchanted by wizards—they couldn't possibly kill a single witch or wizard."
"I think so too. Why don't we just copy a few sentences from A History of Magic? That should do the trick, right?"
For academic slackers like Goyle and Crabbe, it was obvious they had no idea about the story or the historical background. With nothing to write, they could only sit there flustered.
By contrast, Draco and Pansy had long since finished their homework and were now nibbling on snacks.
Finally, Draco—unable to watch them struggle any longer—pushed his finished essay over for them to "use as reference." The practiced motion made Pansy sigh helplessly.
Watching the two of them instantly spring back to life, Pansy shot them a sharp look. "You can cut corners on History of Magic, but don't forget Snape's Shrinking Solution assignment isn't going to be that easy."
"Relax, boss. Didn't we handle last year's just fine?"
"..."
Goyle and Crabbe's baseless confidence earned nothing more than an eye-roll from Pansy.
Because magic was forbidden outside of school, Snape's assignment was the only one that required actual practice. While safety concerns kept the potion from being too dangerous, it wasn't exactly easy either.
Just as Pansy was about to say more, something at the edge of her vision caught her off guard...
"Huh? Is that Weasley?"
"Weasley? Where?"
"The Daily Prophet?"
Like spotting a sworn enemy, the moment Pansy said "Weasley," Goyle and Crabbe—who had been copying notes with enthusiasm just seconds earlier—immediately dropped their quills and craned their necks toward her.
To someone unaware, it might have looked like they were gearing up for a fight.
Following their gaze, they saw the Daily Prophet in Pansy's hand.
"Let me see... Arthur Weasley, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Artifacts, has won the Daily Prophet's Annual Award."
Draco's expression twisted into something strange as he studied the black-and-white photograph, which showed several figures smiling broadly. He hadn't expected to see such news in the Prophet—least of all Ron Weasley standing in front of the pyramid, waving cheerfully as if nothing had ever happened.
Draco narrowed his eyes, as though trying to read something behind that carefree smile. He didn't believe that sharing one's soul with Voldemort could come without consequences...
From the photograph, it was clear the Weasley family, flush with a large pile of Galleons, had gone on a trip to Egypt—and not a single member had been left behind.
All nine of them stood before the pyramid, each waving vigorously, faces lit with wide grins.
The plump Mrs. Weasley stood beside the tall, balding Arthur Weasley, while Ron Weasley was right in the center. On his shoulder perched a small rat, its missing claw resting against Ron's cheek.
On the far edge stood Percy, chest puffed out, as if desperate for everyone to notice the badge pinned to him—Head Boy.
Rumor had it the Head Girl was a Ravenclaw witch...
As Draco studied Ron Weasley in the photo, Goyle and Crabbe, who despised the Weasleys, began mocking the scene—even though Ron wasn't there to hear it.
"Look at this—'We're spending the money on a summer trip to Egypt. Our eldest son Bill is working there for Gringotts, breaking curses.' I bet the poor Weasleys are clinging to their one vacation so tightly they even brought the rat along."
"Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office? Please. If Dumbledore hadn't spoken up for him, Arthur Weasley would have been sacked long ago. After all, his son flew across half of Britain in a car with the Chosen One."
"That fool Weasley must be thrilled—now he can finally buy a new wand and stop wearing second-hand clothes."
Draco wasn't sure who they'd picked it up from, but Goyle and Crabbe's sharp tongues seemed to have reached a new level.
He had no intention of stopping them, though. He wasn't interested in meddling in their grudge, even if their words were harsh and made them look like cartoon villains.
But then Draco's attention was pulled to another copy of the Prophet lying on the table.
The article about the Weasley family had been from several days ago. The edition in Draco's hands was hot off the press.
The headline across the front page was startling...
"Azkaban Escapee: Sirius Black!"
Staring at the photo of Sirius glaring out at him, Draco couldn't help but recall the portrait in the Headmaster's office—another Black. He hadn't expected to see a member of the Black family here again.
And Draco's fixation on the name wasn't without reason. After all, his mother was a Black.
Perhaps that was why, back in the Headmaster's office, that Black portrait had given him special attention—not just because he was a pureblood Slytherin.
He shook his head.
Now, locked in a silent stare with Sirius, Draco's expression turned complicated.
He never thought he would see his own... uncle? in the Daily Prophet.