After parting ways with Astoria, Draco didn't return to Malfoy Manor but instead lingered in Diagon Alley.
Strangely, he showed no intention of entering any shop. He simply wandered alone through the crowded streets, his furrowed brow and pensive expression out of place amidst the lively bustle.
His pace slowed only when someone caught up to him...
"Draco."
"You're here. How is it?"
"I heard from others—apparently, to capture Sirius, the Ministry has sent out nearly every Dementor from Azkaban."
Draco stopped abruptly and turned to Goyle beside him, his expression grave.
"You said Dementors?"
"Yes. I think the Ministry will issue an explanation in the Daily Prophet soon."
Draco frowned.
He had never encountered a Dementor himself, knowing of them only from books and secondhand accounts, but he certainly didn't underestimate those dreadful beings who guarded Azkaban Prison.
And before leaving home, his father had specifically warned him about them.
Still, that wasn't what Draco truly wanted to know. Goyle, walking beside him, didn't disappoint—that was precisely why he was here.
"They say it's connected to a Wizengamot seat. There's also a rumor that the Minister and Dumbledore had a fierce argument in his office, though no one knows the reason."
Draco knew such things because nearly half of his followers had parents working in the Ministry, especially now that Cornelius Fudge had begun placing greater trust in pure-blood wizards.
As Goyle spoke, the pieces began to fall into place in Draco's mind.
The Ministry, Dumbledore, and the pure-blood aristocracy led by Lucius Malfoy—these three factions currently formed a somewhat stable triangle.
'So Fudge, seeing Harry as part of Dumbledore's camp, has grown wary of my connection with Potter... Or is he afraid that the pure-blood families might secretly ally with Dumbledore?'
Draco muttered quietly, "If that's the case, then the reason for their argument is the key."
And now, the Wizengamot seats were shifting again...
The Wizengamot—a body that served as both court and council—held authority that, in some respects, surpassed even the Ministry of Magic. It could appoint the Minister and decide on vital matters of policy.
Its seats were limited, and every change seemed to herald some major upheaval in the British wizarding world.
In more recent history, Voldemort's rise had greatly affected the number of pure-blood nobles in the Wizengamot. Of its fifty-one seats, most had once belonged to pure-blood wizards. After Voldemort's defeat, however, Cornelius Fudge, with Dumbledore's support, ensured that several of those seats passed to wizards aligned with the light.
Beyond stripping the pure-blood families of power, Dumbledore himself became the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.
If what Goyle said was true, and the Wizengamot's seats were indeed shifting once more, then the British wizarding world was on the verge of yet another round of unpredictable change.
Whether it would bring good or ill...no one could yet tell.
…
The undercurrents swirling among the upper echelons had yet to touch Draco's life—and he, for now, could do little to influence them anyway. After all, he was merely a third-year student at Hogwarts.
Fully aware of this, Draco temporarily pushed the matter aside. What mattered most now was strengthening his own abilities, especially given the growing likelihood that Voldemort had already set his sights on him.
However, the problem Draco now faced seemed to extend beyond the uncertain return of the Dark Lord...
For aboard the Hogwarts Express, Pansy and Astoria were locked in a silent standoff.
Well—Pansy was the one glaring, while Astoria, who had suddenly appeared in their compartment, met her stare calmly.
"A Greengrass... What are you doing here?"
"Well, isn't it obvious? I'm starting at Hogwarts this year."
"I think you should understand what I mean."
Watching the blonde witch smile at her, Pansy frowned deeply. She couldn't quite grasp why Astoria was here at all—after all, their families weren't particularly close. They'd only exchanged a few polite words at banquets.
As if realizing something, Pansy shot a sidelong glance at Draco and muttered under her breath, "Unless..."
Just as she suspected, Astoria took a seat directly across from Draco and greeted him.
Crookshanks, who had been dozing in Draco's lap, lifted his head for a moment before burying his flat face back into the folds of his paws.
"Long time no see, Draco. Though it's a bit late, thank you for my entrance gift."
As she spoke, Astoria gestured toward the Puffskein perched on her right shoulder. The round, soft-furred creature was irresistibly endearing—though to Pansy, it looked far less charming.
At the mention of "gift," Pansy arched an eyebrow. "Gift? And when exactly was this?"
Astoria blinked, sensing a subtle tension in the air.
At that moment, Crookshanks suddenly bristled and hissed toward the window. "MEOW!!"
Sensing something wrong, Draco set down his book and stood abruptly, his hand tightening around the wand engraved with the Malfoy family crest.
The next second, the compartment lights seemed to vanish completely, plunging them into darkness.
"What's happening?"
"Draco?"
"Quiet. And don't get too far from me. I think I know what it is."
The sudden change made Pansy and Astoria instinctively move closer to Draco. His low, steady voice gave them a flicker of reassurance.
Then came the chill—creeping through their bodies, freezing them to the core, as though every trace of happiness had been drained away.
Pansy and Astoria both realized, almost at once, what it was.
It was... a Dementor!
...
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