Although they had first chosen to follow Draco because of his promise and background, it wasn't until they witnessed his magic with their own eyes that they finally understood what kind of power he had been hiding all along.
No—more accurately, Draco had never intended to hide anything. It was simply that no one had ever been capable of forcing him to reveal his full strength. That was why everyone's perception of his abilities had always fallen short of the truth.
It wasn't that Draco could only reach a perfect score—it was that a perfect score was the limit others could comprehend.
Now, Draco could effortlessly cast spells stronger than any of theirs, and the magical pressure radiating from him was so overwhelming that even first-years could sense it clearly. Compared to every other senior in the room, Draco stood apart—undeniably so.
To his followers, the figure standing before them seemed to blaze like the sun itself...
...
For any wizard, there are only a few ways to grow stronger: the most straightforward being to expand one's repertoire of spells.
Assuming no other factors, the more spells a wizard mastered, the more prepared they were for any opponent or situation—and the greater their advantage in battle.
Of course, there were exceptions. Some wizards dedicated themselves to mastering only a handful of spells, perfecting them beyond comparison. Voldemort's Killing Curse was one such example, refined to a terrifying level. But those cases were rare.
Most wizards pursued versatility, diversifying their arsenal so they could respond to anything. After all, it wasn't as if one could go around throwing Killing Curses every time an argument broke out.
That kind of behavior belonged to madmen.
Beyond that, improvement came from refining spellwork through practice—sharpening speed, power, and precision, day after day.
But Draco clearly had no intention of relying on such ordinary methods to strengthen his subordinates.
Instead, he turned to the most direct way—real combat.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"..."
"Are you worried about them—or about Draco?"
Hermione's lips twitched as she watched nearly half the group already lying defeated under Draco's wand.
Clearly, Draco was not the one in need of concern here.
Everywhere she looked, students were sprawled across the training floor—Draco's own followers who had taken him on and lost. Among them, Goyle and Crabbe, the first to step up, now sat grimacing, waiting for their next round.
But the fallen Slytherins weren't what caught everyone's attention.
All eyes were fixed instead on Draco—standing tall, calm, and completely unruffled.
Because no one had expected him to last this long... or to make it look so effortless.
"Which round are we on now?"
"No idea, but judging by Goyle and Crabbe's faces, I'd say around three."
"And your evidence for that?"
"Experience."
Pansy had her reasons.
After all, this wasn't the first time Goyle and Crabbe had gone through one of Draco's brutal training sessions. From the shade of blue on their faces, Pansy could roughly guess how many rounds they'd survived. The only difference this time was that they had an extra classmate sprawled beside them on the floor...
"So, what exactly are you worried about, Granger?"
Catching the hesitation on Hermione's face, Pansy smirked with pride as she watched Draco once again make the onlookers gasp. Even while admiring him, she found time to glance sideways at the Gryffindor witch standing beside her—one who clearly had something special when it came to Draco.
"Parkinson, you and I both know why Draco's doing this."
"Of course. And from the looks of it, things are going perfectly well, aren't they?"
"Then you must also realize that Alastor Moody—he's been keeping an eye on Draco. If he—"
"Looks like you don't know Draco as well as you think."
"What do you mean!?"
Pansy's amused chuckle made Hermione frown sharply. That smug, knowing look on her face—so certain, so familiar with Draco—was infuriating.
Her lips twitched, but Pansy didn't press further, deciding not to provoke Hermione any more.
"I mean, Draco doesn't care about that Alastor Moody at all. He just wants to train these idiots."
"How could he possibly—"
"If he wants to do it, he'll do it. That's all there is to it."
"..."
The words sounded unbearably arrogant, yet Hermione couldn't bring herself to argue.
Because she knew better than anyone—Draco's domineering nature wasn't an exaggeration.
...
Unaware he had become the subject of their conversation, Draco had just blasted Goyle off the platform again as he came up for another round.
"Your power's fine, but your speed's too slow! After training, practice the Stunning Spell fifty times."
"Yes, sir!"
Draco wasn't simply crushing his opponents for sport. Each time he defeated someone, he pointed out their weaknesses and assigned tailored drills for them to improve.
As the duels went on, the expressions of the surrounding Slytherins began to change.
At first, curiosity. Then mild boredom. And finally—shock, admiration, even awe.
The method itself wasn't anything new; to these mostly pure-blood students, it might have seemed like yet another tedious show of superiority. But as time passed, and one challenger after another was sent flying by Draco's spells, disbelief began to take hold.
He was still standing—calm, composed, untouchable.
Yet their astonishment wasn't what Draco sought. His attention had always been on those who wanted to follow him.
His methods were harsh, even cruel, but the results spoke for themselves.
Every Slytherin had ambition and pride running deep in their veins. But it wasn't until they met someone who could truly dominate them that they would submit willingly.
Cold-blooded as serpents, loyal as wolves.
And in that moment, Draco Malfoy proved with sheer, crushing strength that their loyalty—and their choice—had not been misplaced.
Watching his followers—who had recently begun to doubt—now meet his gaze with renewed fire in their eyes, Draco finally lowered his wand, satisfied.
Once, he hadn't cared much for his so-called followers.
Truthfully, if not for Pansy, this group might have fallen apart long ago.
Calling it an "organization" was generous—it had no structure, no rules, no real unity. Just a loose collection of names.
But ever since he had crossed paths with the Aurors of the Ministry and the madness of the Death Eaters, Draco's view had changed.
He had begun to take this so-called "influence" seriously.
And more importantly, he had begun to value these wizards—the second generation, heirs of old families—who looked to him as their hope.
Bringing them together, making them stronger... that was Draco's true purpose.
...
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