The news that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had been taken to the infirmary spread through Hogwarts in no time.
Not that it was anything worth fussing over—Harry and Ron ending up in the infirmary wasn’t exactly rare. Between the two of them, they’d been in there four times just this term. Wizards who didn’t know any better might’ve thought they lived there.
What really made the story travel so fast was the fact that this time, their hospitalization meant they didn’t have to take the end-of-term exams. That kind of enviable treatment was what got the whole school talking...
...
Slytherin common room.
“I wish we got injured too.”
Crabbe, slumped over the table like a dead fish, muttered something so pitiful it turned heads.
Surprisingly, Pansy—who usually scolded them for saying dumb things—didn’t correct him this time. Because truthfully, she was a little envious of Harry Potter and the others skipping the exams too.
It wasn’t that she feared the exam material. But as a student, she still had a natural aversion to exams...
Just thinking about the tests made Pansy’s little face scrunch up in distress.
Maybe it was the warming weather, or maybe just stress, but the classrooms had become unbearably hot during the written exams.
And then there were the practicals—making fruit on a table dance, or transfiguring a mouse into a snuffbox.
The worst, though, was definitely Potions with Snape. No one knew why, but even with Harry Potter in the infirmary, Snape didn’t look even slightly pleased. If anything, he seemed more sour than usual.
On the bright side, since Professor Quirrell had disappeared, this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts exam had been canceled...
“Just one more left, right? We’re finally almost out of this exam hell.”
Watching Draco breeze through the exams like it was a game, Pansy wasn’t sure whether to admire him or hate him. She poked his arm halfheartedly.
Her pitiful expression and that annoying little gesture made Draco glance at her irritably.
“Hell? This is way easier than I expected.”
That extremely smug remark wasn’t even his own. It was originally said by that know-it-all Gryffindor girl, and Draco had shamelessly stolen it.
The fact that he quoted it word-for-word made Pansy—who just a second ago looked half-dead—snap like she’d been poked in a sore spot.
“A wizard’s worth isn’t determined by some dumb exam! And besides, I’m not losing to some sneaky—other witch!”
She shot Draco a glare, then slammed her hand on the table for emphasis.
“Well, what are you waiting for? The next exam is History of Magic. Goyle, do you know which weird old wizard invented the self-stirring cauldron?!”
“...”
“...”
The sudden burst of energy left Draco momentarily stunned, while Goyle and Crabbe, who’d been dragged into this mess, pulled long faces and reluctantly started flipping through their notes. To anyone passing by, they might’ve looked like model students.
But Draco, who knew them far too well, seriously doubted this newfound motivation would last until the exam...
...
Sure enough, when faced with the dull and practically useless subject that was History of Magic—the kind of knowledge you’d rarely use even after graduation—Draco caught Pansy looking at him with a pleading, almost puppy-eyed expression.
Had it even been ten minutes?
He tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Just spit it out. Must’ve taken all your strength to hold back this long.”
“I just have a tiny little question, really.”
As she responded with a bright smile, Pansy held out her pale hand, gesturing with two fingers to emphasize just how little she wanted to ask. That shamelessly cutesy act made Goyle and Crabbe turn away in embarrassment.
This couldn’t possibly be the same bossy queen bee who exuded authority in front of other wizards...
Draco shut his book with a snap and lightly tapped her on the head with it.
“I already know what you want to ask. Coincidentally, I’ve got something I need you lot to look into.”
“Ooh, what is it? What do you want us to investigate?”
It was rare for Draco to ask them for help, and Pansy's eyes lit up with excitement, like she'd been waiting for this moment. Goyle and Crabbe also set down their quills, suddenly serious.
“This has to stay secret. Most importantly, you can’t let anyone know what you’re doing or why.”
Draco’s serious tone instantly sobered them. Even Pansy dropped her usual teasing attitude.
“Some of us pure-blood families... have ties, more or less, to the Dark Lord.”
“...”
“...”
Just hearing the words “Dark Lord” made all three of them flinch.
Compared to other wizards, Voldemort was practically a forbidden name for those raised in pure-blood households. Influenced by their elders, the younger generation had long internalized that Voldemort wasn’t someone you casually mentioned—his name wasn’t to be spoken aloud.
But Draco didn’t seem fazed by their reactions and continued.
“I want you to observe their left forearms.”
“Their... left forearms?”
“But that means...”
“Draco, you’re not seriously thinking...”
The color drained from their faces in an instant. They knew all too well what was on the left forearms of certain people. That was exactly why they looked so pale, their expressions filled with shock and disbelief.
They understood perfectly what this implied. It wasn’t a secret.
And as for joking?
Every one of them knew—this wasn’t something you joked about. And Draco Malfoy was not the kind of person who would joke about this.
“I got it. We’ll look into it when we get back.”
Pansy, ever the composed one, was the first to recover. Draco’s trust in them made her trust him in return. He wasn’t some fool acting on a whim.
Draco must’ve noticed something. That’s why he wanted them to investigate quietly. And, well, checking their own families wasn’t too dangerous... probably.
Still, Pansy couldn’t shake her unease.
Because what Draco had asked them to confirm...
...was the presence of the infamous Dark Mark.