Ever since that duel ended, it had become clear that the once-proud Slytherins—who used to look down on the alliance of the other three Houses with disdain—had begun to change their attitude.
After Goyle and Crabbe lost, the Slytherins finally started taking the situation seriously. Especially once their competitive spirit was ignited...
As a result, recent classes had been full of tension whenever Slytherins were present, even affecting a few professors.
Most notably, Professors Snape and Lupin. One found every excuse to deduct points from Harry Potter, while the other seized every opportunity to award him extra.
This back-and-forth, with the scores ending up nearly the same, might make an outsider think it was all planned. But that was far from the truth—as anyone could tell from Snape’s increasingly dark expression.
Today’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class, which Harry and his friends had been looking forward to, held an unexpected surprise. The professor standing before them wasn’t Professor Lupin, who had seemed unwell the past few days...
“Sorry I’m late, Professor Lupin. Quidditch practice ran over, so I—”
Harry Potter had just managed to escape Oliver Wood’s relentless Quidditch training and rushed into the classroom. But as he bowed his head in apology, a low, mocking chuckle reached his ears, making him look up in confusion.
“This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter. I believe Gryffindor should lose ten points.”
It wasn’t Professor Lupin at the podium—it was Professor Snape.
Having long since grown numb to Snape’s constant point deductions, Harry didn’t move. Instead, he asked sharply, “Where’s Professor Lupin?”
For once, Snape seemed oddly patient with his reply.
Snape let out a cold laugh. “He’s ill today and unable to teach. Any further questions, Potter?”
“Professor Lupin is ill? What kind of illness could keep a professor from teaching? Don’t tell me it’s you—”
“Another five points from Gryffindor. And if I have to tell you to sit down again and you refuse, I’ll make it fifty.”
Snape’s warning, paired with the suspicion written across Harry’s face, drew a round of smug laughter from the Slytherins, earning furious glares from the Gryffindors.
While most students were busy exchanging heated looks, Draco remained silent, his eyes fixed on Snape, who wore an unmistakably malicious expression.
Knowing his godfather all too well, Draco could see the glint in Snape’s dark eyes—it was the look he had whenever he was scheming something unpleasant.
As Draco wondered what it could be, Snape’s sharp gaze swept across the classroom.
“Now, everyone turn to the final chapter. Today’s lesson is... Werewolves.”
The glimmer in Snape’s eyes made Draco tap his fingers lightly against his desk.
Werewolves?
That was far ahead of where they were supposed to be in the syllabus...
...
When it came to being late, Harry Potter wasn’t the only one.
With the Quidditch season about to begin, training had intensified dramatically. Especially for Oliver Wood, who was graduating this year—determined to leave Hogwarts without regrets, he was giving everything he had for one last shot at the Quidditch Cup.
And with the formation of the Anti-Slytherin Alliance this year, access to the Quidditch pitch had become much more flexible, giving Wood a flicker of hope.
As a result, the heavy training schedule had eaten up much of Harry and his teammates’ free time, even forcing them to practice right before classes.
Unfortunately, though their team opened the season, their first opponents weren’t Slytherin—and luck wasn’t on their side. They lost the match.
The events at the Duelling Club had temporarily made everyone forget about Sirius Black, but that didn’t mean the danger had passed.
Halfway through the Quidditch season opener, Dementors had invaded the field, and Harry Potter had fallen from the sky. That was when everyone was reminded that Hogwarts was still under the watchful threat of those monsters.
If Dumbledore hadn’t appeared on the pitch just in time, things might have ended far worse—Harry wouldn’t have escaped with just minor injuries.
“Ha! Draco, you really missed out on today’s game.”
“Potter not only lost the match, but he fell off his broom too. He’ll need a new one now—how pitiful.”
The weather outside had been dreadful, and Draco had little interest in watching the game, so while everyone else ran off to the Quidditch Pitch, he and Astoria remained in the Slytherin common room.
He hadn’t expected that only a short while later, Goyle and Crabbe would come back from the pitch...
“Fell off? What happened?”
The question came from Astoria, who looked a little flustered.
Only Draco noticed how she quickly hid the book in her hands behind her back.
Hmm... judging by the title, it looked like a story about a protagonist reincarnating into another world.
“I should be the one asking why you’re here.”
“Huh? What’s wrong with that? Draco promised to look after me—and Aunt Narcissa knows about it too~.”
Ignoring the two girls starting to bicker again, Draco turned his attention to Goyle.
“Ahem... well, during the match, those Dementors suddenly broke into the pitch.”
“You mean Dementors?”
“Yeah. If Dumbledore hadn’t driven them away, I think they might’ve attacked us directly.”
At that, Goyle shuddered as if remembering something, and even Pansy lost her playful mood.
“And Draco, you didn’t see it.”
“There were over a hundred Dementors, completely powerless under Dumbledore’s spell.”
“If we hadn’t seen it with our own eyes, we never could’ve imagined such strength.”
Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, watching Pansy and the others’ uneasy faces. He didn’t know exactly what Dumbledore had done, but he could guess what they were feeling.
Because only after gazing into the abyss can one truly understand the fear of standing within it...