116: Draco Is a Talented Young Man Too

Every first year at Hogwarts experiences a whirlwind of magic and wonder.

It's a time of firsts—the first time wielding a wand, the first time casting a spell, and the first time wandering through the halls of the mysterious magical school with newfound friends. It's a joyful, almost romantic journey of discovery.

Draco Malfoy, like his peers, was reveling in the experience.

But unlike most first years, Draco spent his year fixated on a single mission: how to humiliate Harry Potter in front of everyone.

It was a goal that demanded remarkable patience and determination. Few people could sustain such focused disdain for a child they barely knew, but Draco managed it effortlessly.

"Listen, Crabbe, Goyle," Draco began, his voice dripping with self-assured superiority. "Every Slytherin knows Potter's an idiot. But the other three houses? They've all been duped by his foolish little act. They're obsessed with staring at the 'legendary' scar on his forehead. I don't get what's so fascinating about it. All we have to do is expose him for the dimwit he really is, and everyone will see the truth!"

Crabbe nodded eagerly, as if Draco had just revealed the meaning of life. Goyle, slightly more thoughtful, asked, "So, how do we do that?"

"Conveniently," Draco said with a sly grin, "I overheard Potter planning to meet up with that dragon-loving Weasley brother of his. They're going to sneak Hagrid's smelly dragon out of here tonight. This is our chance! Here's the plan…"

While the trio were deep in their scheming, Nolan returned to the common room.

He'd spent the entire afternoon in Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration prep room, working on the development of a substitute for the Noble Bloodline Elixir—a potion traditionally requiring noble blood. Nolan's idea was to use an alchemical ring as a replacement, but the project was proving far more complex than anticipated, even for Professor McGonagall.

"If I'd studied Ancient Runes last year, maybe I could help you now," Eve said, trailing behind him with a crestfallen look.

Nolan tousled her hair affectionately. "You've got your own priorities, Eve. Tomorrow is the final Quidditch match. You can't make me the center of your world all the time."

"I know…" Eve murmured, her cheeks glowing as she nuzzled into his palm.

They settled onto a sofa in the common room, only to find Draco sitting directly across from them.

"Draco?" Nolan raised an eyebrow. "If you're craving chocolate, there's a jar on the mantel. I've put plenty there."

"They're from all the girls who gave him chocolates on Valentine's Day," Eve added with a hint of annoyance. "But Nolan doesn't like chocolate, so you can help yourselves."

The truth was, few upper-year Slytherins dared touch Nolan's chocolates—some overzealous admirers had laced them with love potions. Several daring boys had already landed in the hospital wing after sampling them, much to Madam Pomfrey's exasperation.

Crabbe and Goyle, however, were undeterred and dove into the chocolates with gusto. Draco hesitated but eventually reached for one. Before he could take a bite, both Crabbe and Goyle collapsed, foaming at the mouth. Startled, Draco threw his chocolate aside like it was cursed.

Eve scowled. "Hmph. Figures Draco wouldn't be the one to get caught."

That night, Crabbe and Goyle were rushed to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, predictably furious, was heard shouting: "More of those blasted chocolates?! Have you children never seen candy before? Were you starved at home? For Merlin's sake, just throw them in the bin where they belong!"

Nolan ignored the commotion entirely. He spent the night curled up on the common room sofa, sketching designs for an alchemical replacement for the noble blood potion. By morning, he was bleary-eyed and exhausted, and the second-year Slytherins had to drag him to breakfast.

Even in the Great Hall, the atmosphere was odd. A heavy tension lingered.

"Could someone explain what's going on?" Miles Bletchley asked, struggling to prop Nolan upright.

"Oh, it's Draco," Montague said with a wry smile. "Last night, he got caught sneaking around after hours by Professor McGonagall. Cost us fifty points."

A collective groan swept through the Slytherin table.

"Unbelievable," someone muttered. "He's got the worst luck."

At Hogwarts, sneaking out at night wasn't exactly a crime—it was almost a rite of passage.

However, how you sneaked out and, more importantly, how you avoided getting caught, was what truly mattered.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy's luck had run out. He'd been caught by none other than Professor McGonagall, who was renowned for her fairness but equally unyielding in matters of discipline.

"Not just him," whispered Camille, Slytherin's unofficial gossip hub. "Word is, Harry Potter got caught too."

Nolan, who had been slumped in his seat half-asleep, suddenly perked up. He blinked groggily and glanced over at Draco, sitting alone and looking unusually subdued. "Potter and Draco? Sneaking out together? What were they doing? On a date?"

Camille snickered. "As much as I'd love to say yes, unfortunately, there were others involved."

She leaned in conspiratorially. "Four people were caught last night: Potter, Draco, and two other Gryffindors. Gryffindor got docked one hundred and fifty points—they've fallen to last place!"

"That's... unfortunate," Nolan murmured, though his tone wasn't entirely sincere.

Unfortunate for Gryffindor? Not quite. He was thinking of Hermione Granger.

Everyone knew that Gryffindor's success this year was almost single-handedly built on Hermione's tireless efforts.

After breakfast, Nolan caught sight of her. Hermione sat alone in a distant corner, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed. Even the Gryffindors she used to get along with were avoiding her, leaving her ostracized in her own house.

When the rest of the school trooped excitedly toward the Quidditch pitch for the day's big match, Nolan noticed Hermione lingering by the lake instead.

"You're not going to watch the match?" Nolan asked, approaching her quietly.

Hermione stiffened, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe before turning her back to him. "Why would you even talk to me?" she muttered, her voice thick with unshed tears.

Nolan tilted his head thoughtfully. "I thought you were Eve's friend," he said simply. "She's busy with the match today, so I figured I'd look out for her friend in her stead."

Hermione's shoulders sagged slightly at his words. "Right... today's Eve's match. I—I should go cheer for her," she murmured, her voice shaky as she turned to leave in a hurry.

Before she could slip away, Nolan stepped in front of her and held out a handkerchief. It was one Eve had insisted he carry, saying a true gentleman should always have one on hand.

"Dry your tears first," he said gently.

Hermione hesitated but finally accepted the handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. "Thank you, Nolan. You're the first person to be kind to me today... even if it's only because of Eve."

She smiled faintly through her tears, her large front teeth flashing in the morning sun.

…

Meanwhile, at Hagrid's hut, trouble was brewing.

"The big oaf actually went to watch the match," Draco sneered as he pushed the door open. "Honestly, how does he even come up with these things?"

A wave of scorching heat hit him the moment he stepped inside, and Draco's sneer widened with satisfaction.

"Soon enough, that bumbling fool's oversized pet will be gone, and I can't wait to see the look on Potter's face when it happens."