What had happened during the Defence Against the Dark Arts class didn't take long to spread throughout Hogwarts—and soon enough, even their families had caught wind of it.
Naturally, the incident drew plenty of attention from the wizarding community. After all, Draco's actions could no longer be dismissed as simple mischief.
Though he hadn't broken any school rules, nor had the situation escalated to wand-point confrontation, Draco still became a "problem student" in the eyes of most professors.
All except one—Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape.
When Snape first heard of the event, the Potions Master's reaction was, to put it mildly, strange. Instead of a reprimand, he handed Draco a vial of Felix Felicis—his own personal brew. Not a single word of warning was given. If anything, there had been a subtle undertone of approval, as though Snape were silently saying, Well done.
The bizarre response left Draco, clutching the glowing golden potion as he exited Snape's office, wondering whether the man inside was truly his godfather or just someone under the effects of Polyjuice Potion.
For a moment, staring at the faintly luminescent liquid, he even suspected it might actually be Veritaserum instead.
After that day, Draco's name became even more well-known than before.
If his victory over the Weasley twins in a duel and his defeat of the Basilisk the previous year had merely sparked some curiosity among upperclassmen, now they were truly paying attention to him—the third-year whom Professor Lupin himself had openly admitted possessed magical power exceeding his own.
After all, the Basilisk's weaknesses were rather obvious. Since the true story hadn't been revealed, most wizards simply assumed Draco's triumph had come from exploiting those weaknesses.
In short, their attitude could be summed up as: I could've done that too.
But things changed once a Hogwarts professor publicly acknowledged him.
Indeed, the new Professor Lupin didn't seem to think being outmatched by a student was anything to be ashamed of. When asked, he even spoke highly of Draco.
"That's him, right? The Malfoy the professor admitted he couldn't outmatch."
"Hmph, such a handsome junior… I must ask him out.
"Magic isn't everything. He's not nearly as amazing as people say."
"Wait, the infamous Malfoy family—that Malfoy?"
Wherever Draco went, he couldn't escape the sound of his own name being whispered by passing students.
Even on the short walk to Divination class, he'd overheard countless comments like these...
And the hostility in those voices was only growing stronger.
"No punishment at all? Draco, something about this doesn't sit right."
"Maybe. But that's fine by me—as long as they don't come looking for trouble."
Draco's tone was indifferent, but Pansy, who'd never been one to accept things quietly, clearly wasn't satisfied.
Puffing out her cheeks, she muttered, "That Lupin said all that on purpose. I'm sure of it. He wants everyone's attention on you. I could tell from the start—there's something wrong with the way he looks at you."
Pansy didn't mind Draco being in the spotlight; he'd done plenty of things to earn attention on his own. But she refused to accept that it might all be part of someone else's scheme.
Draco, of course, wasn't so naive. He, too, sensed something was off.
The only difference was that his suspicions weren't fixed on Lupin—but on Dumbledore himself. Lupin, at most, was just a pawn on the board.
When the school's response turned out to be complete silence—no explanations, no summons for discussion—Draco knew something unusual was going on.
He couldn't yet discern the motive, but two things stood out clearly: Snape's complicated expression... and the mysterious vial of Felix Felicis, whether it was meant as a reward or something else entirely.
As Pansy continued to chatter beside him like a persistent songbird, Draco's gaze lifted toward the top of the North Tower, where the Divination classroom awaited.
It was one of the new electives available to third-year students...
...
Whether it was mere coincidence—or perhaps the inevitable pull of fate—the moment Draco stepped into the Divination classroom, he spotted Harry Potter and his friends.
The sight of that familiar petite figure made Pansy purse her lips in irritation.
"We really shouldn't have taken this class. I heard the professor's a raving lunatic—some kind of fraud."
"Let's wait and see," Draco replied evenly. "I'm curious about what Father said. And never underestimate any wizard, Pansy."
"I know, I know," she muttered, folding her arms.
The room before them was... odd. In truth, it hardly resembled a classroom at all—more like a strange mix between an attic and an old teahouse.
Within the cramped space, about twenty small round tables were squeezed together, each surrounded by cushioned armchairs patterned with colorful, vaguely Eastern designs. Every curtain was drawn shut, casting the entire room in a dim crimson glow.
By the fireplace sat a large copper kettle, from which a cloyingly sweet scent drifted—so strong it made Draco think of the bizarre ice cream he'd once tasted at Florean Fortescue's.
The shelves were cluttered with feathered ornaments, half-melted candles, worn playing cards, dozens of silver crystal balls, and tea sets so old they looked like relics. All of it combined to create an atmosphere that was... unsettling, to say the least.
If first impressions counted for anything, this classroom was downright dreadful. It was hard to imagine how anyone could actually learn here without losing their mind.
Just as the young wizards were deciding whether to find seats or simply keep standing, a voice drifted out from the shadows—soft and airy, yet strangely eerie.
"Welcome. How wonderful it is to finally see you... in the physical world~"
"..."
"..."
Startled, the students exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting toward one another.
The silence that followed was thick with discomfort—until Pansy rolled her eyes dramatically beside Draco.
"Honestly," she muttered under her breath. "We might need a translator for this one..."
...
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