Such blatant malice was plain to anyone with normal senses. And the Gryffindor lions, in particular, were never good at hiding their emotions.
From the looks on their faces to the glances they threw his way, it was obvious this had everything to do with Draco.
Of course, until he knew the reason, it was impossible to tell whether this was good or bad news. No—knowing his luck, for Draco it could only mean trouble.
What's going on with them?
Noticing the strange looks Harry Potter and his friends were sending his way, Draco turned toward his own so-called intelligence officers—Goyle and Crabbe—both half-asleep, staring blankly into their empty teacups.
He twitched his lips and gave up the idea of waking them.
Setting down the red teacup—once one of Professor Trelawney's divination props, now serving only for tea—Draco shifted his gaze toward Hermione, who was muttering softly to herself.
"I must be out of my mind to take Divination again... there's no science, no magic, no logic to any of this nonsense—hm? What is it, Draco?"
"Nothing. Just wondering if you saw anything in those tea leaves."
"Ha! That's the problem—I didn't see a thing. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder if this even has a point..."
Draco listened quietly to Hermione's complaints about regretting her course choice. He had been about to ask whether she'd heard any rumors, but then remembered why she was sitting beside him in the first place.
Though domineering at times, Draco still considered the feelings of those around him.
And right now, Hermione's position was even more difficult than his.
A Gryffindor, befriending a Slytherin wizard.
To the professors, it probably didn't mean much—after all, Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin had once been close friends themselves.
The unlikely pairing of Draco and Hermione might have surprised most of the staff, but it wasn't beyond acceptance.
For the students, however, it was a different matter. To them, such a friendship was little short of betrayal.
In other words, there was no way Harry Potter and his friends would share anything important with Hermione.
That was what Draco realized just as he was about to ask her. He had underestimated the price she was paying for standing by him.
...
"So, Draco, are you even listening to me?"
He looked down at Hermione, her cheeks puffed slightly, a hint of frustration between her brows.
Watching her, so composed even under everyone's scrutiny, Draco almost wanted to reach out and ruffle her hair—if not for Pansy's sharp, possessive gaze locked on them from nearby.
He might be domineering.
He might not be good at expressing emotion.
But a true king was never without a heart...
Draco's unusual demeanor went unnoticed, even by his childhood friend Pansy.
Just then, as the overly sweet scent of tea filled the air, Professor Trelawney, the Divination teacher, drifted over to their table.
If he remembered correctly, the previous group had received the prophecy: "Bloodshed will occur tomorrow morning."
"Children, let me see what results you've drawn from your teacups." Professor Trelawney approached, her wide eyes darting about as she flipped through a parchment whose contents no one could quite make out.
According to Hermione, those parchments listed different ways to die—supposedly to help Trelawney scare her students more effectively.
"I... I didn't see anything. Maybe I should drink a few more cups? Or perhaps that in itself is my ill omen."
"I've told you many times, dear, you must free your mind. Don't let the mundane world blind your inner sight."
"But Professor..."
It had to be said—only Professor Trelawney could make the usually composed Hermione lose her patience like this.
Of course, Draco suspected part of that irritation came from Hermione's consistent inability to earn good grades in this class.
Seemingly giving up on her "untalented" student, Professor Trelawney slowly turned her gaze toward Draco's cup.
At that moment, Hermione, her face still scrunched in frustration, glanced over curiously.
She clearly wanted to hear what "correct" answer Draco—who treated Divination like an afternoon tea—would come up with this time.
What Hermione didn't know, however, was that Professor Trelawney was far from foolish. She likely understood the significance of the Malfoy name, which was why Draco was one of the few who had never received a death prophecy from her. Notably, every one of those few came from one of the twenty-eight pureblood families.
Ahem.
Speaking of which, Hermione hadn't dropped Divination this year either—mainly because of Draco. She'd taken the class because he had.
But avoiding a death prophecy wasn't why Draco continued attending. Nor was it the free tea that kept him coming back.
Perhaps everyone, even Professor Trelawney herself, had long forgotten the prophecy she once made for Harry Potter.
Draco, however, had not.
To be precise, it was because of that very prophecy—spoken years ago by Sybil Trelawney—that he had chosen not to abandon this class.
Draco knew exactly what kind of power came with the name Sybil.
It was the bloodline of those who could make true prophecies.
[The Dark Lord lies alone, friendless, abandoned by his allies. For twelve years, his servants have been bound. But now, everything changes—he has found an ally. Together they will share...]
That was the prophecy spoken back then. And thinking back on it now, Draco couldn't deny—it hadn't been without basis.
As those thoughts resurfaced, Hermione suddenly widened her eyes beside him. She had just noticed Professor Trelawney acting strangely.
Her eyes were turning white, her body trembling more violently by the second.
Draco narrowed his gaze and subtly waved to Pansy, signaling for Goyle and Crabbe to be ready.
Because the true prophecy was coming...
...
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