The reason Draco asked Pansy to send that letter was simple—he knew full well that Lockhart wasn’t an idiot.
If he were truly stupid, he wouldn’t have achieved all those so-called accomplishments.
There was no way Lockhart didn’t understand the consequences of what he’d just done—especially someone like him, who lived off his public image. For a fame-driven wizard like Lockhart, tarnishing the shining persona he built in his books was unthinkable.
So if he still chose to act that way, knowing how it might backfire, then the only possibilities were: either the persona in the books was entirely fabricated, or he had a hidden agenda. And that was exactly what puzzled—and intrigued—Draco.
Definitely not because Draco held grudges or anything like that...
...
That day, word quickly spread among the students: the Chosen One and his ever-loyal sidekick had once again passed out and been taken to the infirmary.
For the new students, it sparked a bit of curiosity. But for the older ones, it was just business as usual.
After all, Harry Potter had practically made the infirmary his second home last year.
But this time felt different. Because Draco was involved, the news didn’t just spread—it exploded across the school. And with Lockhart tangled up in it as well, it didn’t take long for gossip to spiral out of control.
As always, rumors strayed far from the truth.
At some point, the focus shifted entirely. It wasn’t about Lockhart’s uselessness anymore—it was about Draco allegedly using a spell to attack Ron Weasley. And the story only got more outrageous as it circulated.
According to the latest version, Draco Malfoy had singlehandedly sent the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team to the infirmary...
As for who deliberately spread the rumor? That wasn’t hard to figure out. Only someone with a vested interest would want Draco painted as the villain who turned on his classmates.
The goal was obvious: force the school to take disciplinary action.
Because even with Snape’s obvious favoritism toward Slytherin, not even he could justify shielding Draco this time…
…
The Potions Office.
The moment you stepped inside, a strange, unidentified potion scent hit your nose, and the gloomy look on the Potions Master's face made it clear this wasn't a place for the faint of heart.
If Neville Longbottom ever came in here alone, he'd probably leave either in tears or with lasting trauma.
And in absolute silence, the eerie atmosphere only grew heavier.
Just like now...
“...”
“...”
Draco, now at the center of swirling rumors, sat calmly across from Snape in the Potions office. He didn’t seem nearly as troubled as one might expect. In fact, when facing Snape, his mood appeared unusually light.
While Snape's piercing stare looked like it could see right through him, Draco seemed unfazed, quietly eyeing the shelves of potion ingredients as though deciding which ones he might take on his way out.
Only Draco could sit there so casually under Snape’s scrutiny and still have the audacity to consider “shopping.”
Snape, clearly growing impatient with Draco’s relaxed attitude, still wasn’t quite angry—at least, not until he noticed Draco’s gaze hovering a bit too long on his precious stock of ingredients. His expression started to darken. He felt like a greedy dragon had just set its sights on his treasure hoard.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Snape finally broke the silence.
“Our ‘brilliant’ Slytherin captain knocks down a fellow troll-brained Weasley... How does it feel to be the center of attention now?”
He punctuated the sarcasm with a trademark sneer and a dramatic swish of his black robes. Watching this, Draco suddenly understood why the younger students called him the “Black Bat.”
And that question made it clear why Draco had been summoned here...
Snape was probably worried about him.
Even if his way of showing it was... unconventional.
Before Draco could answer, Snape changed the subject.
“I heard the famous Harry Potter got hurt. What exactly happened?”
“...”
Draco glanced at his godfather, noting the contradiction in his tone—his words were full of contempt, but the concern was obvious. The way he masked worry with disdain...
Godfather...
“Is he actually a tsundere?”
To avoid giving himself away, Draco turned his gaze elsewhere. And in that moment, he understood—this wasn’t just about his spell on Weasley, or the rumors circulating around school.
Snape wanted to know why Harry had passed out.
Draco wasn’t surprised. If anything, it made him even more curious why Snape cared so much.
Still, no matter how curious he was, Draco hadn’t forgotten how he’d been used.
“Bicorn horn powder, Scurvy grass, and Salamander blood. All ingredients I happen to be missing.”
“And why should I—”
Snape narrowed his eyes, but didn’t finish the sentence. Because Draco, with deliberate calm, set down the piece of parchment he’d been toying with since entering. The moment Snape saw it, his cold smirk froze mid-expression.
They stared at each other.
A long silence followed.
Finally—who knew how long it took—Snape tossed the Quidditch pitch authorization slip, bearing his own signature, into the fireplace. Then, with visible annoyance, he began setting the requested potion ingredients on the table.
Draco quickly tucked the parchment away, recognizing that stormy aura swirling around his godfather. He knew better than to gloat now and push his luck.
Blinking, Draco figured he’d gotten more than a fair deal, and maybe—just maybe—he could help Snape in return.
“I’ll look into it. If you really want to know, godfather.”
“Oh, will you? Then get out!”
Bang!
Draco had barely gathered the materials before Snape physically shoved him out of the office.
The familiar scene made Draco’s mouth twitch.
Just as he turned to leave, the door that had slammed shut flew open again.
“Almost forgot—your detention notice will be sent later, Mr. ‘Brilliant’ Malfoy.”
Bang!
Draco: ...