Draco's display in the Charms Training Grounds hadn't caused much of a stir at Hogwarts in the days that followed.
The main reason was simple—aside from the Slytherins themselves, none of them had any real friends in other houses to share the story with. And even if they did, who would believe such claims?
"One versus ten," they'd say. "Spells thick as water barrels." It all sounded like absurd exaggeration.
Even a few upper-year Slytherins who disliked Draco swore they'd seen it with their own eyes, but their insistence did little to sway students from other houses. The image of Draco that Alastor Moody had painted in class was already deeply ingrained.
Of course, it was also possible that no one wanted to believe them...
...
Morning.
The Great Hall at Hogwarts.
"Look at those Slytherins. You don't think that rumor's actually true, do you?"
"No way. It has to be another one of their lies. It sounds ridiculous."
"Exactly, Kesha. You don't actually believe them, do you? Don't forget—they're Slytherins. Lying comes as naturally as breathing."
"But... how do you explain the way they look...?"
The moment the Slytherins entered the Great Hall, every student noticed something off about them.
Several of them looked completely drained, their faces pale and their steps unsteady, as if they might collapse onto the floor at any second.
And upon closer look, one could see that those exhausted Slytherins—who seemed not to have slept a wink all night—were, without exception, trailing right behind Draco.
And in their eyes, whenever they looked at his back, there was a faint gleam—one of admiration.
The color of reverence...
...
When Draco and his group finally took their seats, the students from other houses gradually turned their attention back to their meals.
Compared to the weary, hollow-eyed Slytherins, most were far more concerned with something else—the sudden increase in coursework.
Especially now, in their fourth year, it was clear that this term's workload was far heavier than in previous years.
Naturally, that had led to a fair amount of complaining.
Well—except from one person.
Thunk.
"I heard from Professor McGonagall that we're now entering a crucial stage in our magical education—the O.W.L.s!"
"..."
"..."
Goyle and Crabbe, still slumped lifelessly over the table, hadn't even touched their breakfast before Hermione's announcement hit them like a curse.
No... it was more like a death sentence.
Between Draco's combat training and Hermione's relentless academic pressure, the two had suffered both physically and mentally.
Seeing the ever-uninvited Hermione settle in beside them again, Pansy glanced at Goyle—who looked ready to faint at the word "exam"—then turned to Hermione with visible irritation.
"The O.W.L.s? If I'm not mistaken, that's something we only have to worry about in fifth year. You're getting anxious way too early."
"Maybe so," Hermione replied calmly, "but that doesn't mean we shouldn't start preparing properly."
"Hmph. It sounds like Miss Granger lacks confidence in her ability to ace her O.W.L.s without starting early. Unlike me—I don't need to waste my time."
"In fact, I've been second in the year every single year. How about you, Miss 'I Don't Need To Study' Parkinson?"
As the two girls started up again, Draco took a sip of his pumpkin juice, expression unchanged. Ever since Hermione had begun spending time with them, scenes like this had become a daily occurrence.
The surrounding Slytherins didn't even bat an eye anymore.
In fact, if Pansy and Hermione didn't bicker a few times a day, they might start to worry something was wrong.
And just as their usual back-and-forth reached its rhythm, Pansy's good mood for the morning was abruptly ruined—by the arrival of an uninvited guest.
"Let me see… Harry, your morning class is with Professor Moody, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Trust me, pay attention. That's where you'll learn how to take down a Death Eater."
Whether or not they had gone out of their way to pass by Draco's table, the Weasley twins' voices were loud enough for the entire Great Hall to hear.
To say it wasn't deliberate would've been a joke—no one in the room would have believed it.
Their intent was obvious: to provoke Draco and the Slytherins.
Yet, to everyone's surprise, there was no angry retort, no wands drawn in response.
Instead… what they got was a collection of calm, almost pitying looks—like they were watching a pair of jesters perform.
Just as the Weasley twins had mentioned, Draco's first class that morning was indeed Defence Against the Dark Arts with Alastor Moody.
Though no one could quite explain why the Slytherins had reacted so strangely in the Great Hall earlier, that did nothing to curb Harry Potter and his friends' excitement and anticipation for the lesson.
Harry's sidelong glances toward Draco were enough to make Pansy want to hex him on the spot.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The same magical eye. The same wooden leg. The same cane tapping rhythmically against the floor.
Maybe it was just Draco's imagination, but Moody looked even older than the last time they'd met—more worn, more hollow somehow.
Before Draco could dwell on the thought, Moody began scanning the room, his voice low and gravelly as he spoke.
"I've confirmed your progress from last year with Lupin."
The mention of that name made Draco narrow his eyes slightly.
Was that connection through Dumbledore… or had the two actually known each other personally?
"Compared to dark creatures, your training in dealing with wizards is woefully inadequate. Yes—very inadequate! So, I plan to let you experience the kind of spells wizards use against one another. Over the next year, I'll teach you how to defend yourselves… from Dark magic."
The moment those words left his mouth, every Gryffindor turned toward Draco.
It wasn't just because of Moody's pointed tone—it was because they already knew what his second lesson entailed.
And now, every one of them, including Harry Potter himself, couldn't help but wonder—
As the person at the center of it all, just how would Draco fare under Alastor Moody's "lesson"?