The next morning dawned clear but still bitterly cold.
Today was one of those rare days at Hogwarts with no classes at all. On days like this, most young wizards preferred to sleep in as long as they could, often combining breakfast and lunch into a single meal.
Honestly, except for a few unusually disciplined students, no one wanted to leave the warmth of their bed on a day this cold.
Even someone as seemingly perfect as Draco, in the eyes of the other students, chose to stay cozily by the fireplace, enjoying the breakfast delivered by a House-elf, rather than venturing out into the freezing weather.
Who could argue with that? Wasn't it the obvious choice?
But life rarely goes exactly the way one wants...
Looking up at the cloudless sky and feeling the sharp wind bite at his skin, Draco wore a rare expression of disbelief—like he couldn’t quite accept that he was really out here.
In a normal timeline, he should’ve been relaxing in the common room right now—not standing under this freezing blue sky that could probably freeze a dog solid.
“Why am I out here in weather like this?”
Draco muttered to himself, prompting a raised eyebrow from Princess Parkinson standing beside him.
“You promised me. Don’t tell me you’re backing out now?”
Her face was tense, her voice sharp with suspicion as she stared at him. Draco rolled his eyes and lightly knocked her on the head.
“If I were going to back out, I wouldn’t even be here.”
“Hmph! If you’re that unwilling, then just go back. I’ll pretend this never happened.”
“Mm... If you’d let go of my robe while saying that, maybe it’d be a little more convincing.”
Draco gave her a speechless look. Pansy Parkinson had one hand firmly gripping his robe, and the other wrapped around a small fire pot for warmth. He pointed out her not-so-subtle move.
She was bundled up so tightly that only her big, bright eyes peeked out, and clutched to her chest was a small transparent jar containing a twisting blue flame.
The flame itself wasn’t anything special. Its only purpose was to keep its owner warm.
Setting aside that magical item, it was clear that Pansy had no intention of letting Draco go anytime soon...
Draco gave a helpless shrug.
The real reason he wasn’t lounging in the common room this morning and was instead standing outside the castle was due to something that had happened recently. Because of that, he had to pay the price for a mistake he’d made.
Well, “mistake” might be a strong word. It was the intimate gesture he’d made toward Pansy last time.
Even though Pansy hadn’t seemed all that angry at the time—and Draco, only eleven, certainly wasn’t the type to do anything extreme to someone he saw as a “little sister”—
And considering Pansy had been so out of it she probably couldn’t even remember whether Draco had touched her all over—
Still, that didn’t stop her from using it as leverage now. And in the end, Draco—very uncharacteristically—gave in.
Maybe... he did feel a bit guilty about it?
…
As for Pansy’s request, it wasn’t really that difficult for Draco. In fact, it came more from her concern for him than anything else—which was obvious from the place she had brought him to.
“Relax. I already agreed, so I won’t go back on my word.”
“Alright then…”
Draco’s face darkened.
He wasn’t sure if it was just his imagination, but he had the feeling this girl looked a bit... disappointed?
Don’t tell him she had more requests lined up...
Just then, the sharp sound of a wizard shouting—clearly amplified by magic—reached Draco’s ears.
“Don’t forget! No matter who you're up against, you’ve got to be ruthless. Even if it’s a girl—no holding back!
“This formation we’re using today was specially designed to target that new Seeker. Best case, knock him off his broom right from the start!
“Trust me, if we master this formation, every single one of those scrawny Gryffindors will be carried off to the infirmary by the end of the match!”
They hadn’t even stepped onto the Quidditch pitch yet, and already that harsh, aggressive tone had reached them.
It might have sounded like he was giving out tactical instructions, but the longer Draco listened, the more bizarre his expression became...
He paused slightly, having caught every word, then turned to glance at Pansy—who looked somewhat disgruntled—with a subtle, pointed look.
“I mean, I haven’t studied Quidditch that much... but it’s basically a blood sport where the goal is to kill people, right?”
“......”
Pansy twitched at the corner of her eye, glaring wordlessly at Draco, who had clearly said that on purpose.
Slytherins had a unique obsession with achievement. Their ambition often stemmed from that drive.
But if one could earn glory fair and square, why stain it with underhanded tactics?
Having ambition didn’t automatically mean someone was evil.
Being clever and cunning didn’t necessarily mean being ruthless.
Though only eleven, Pansy—despite her slightly spoiled attitude—had values that were still relatively normal. At the very least, she had a clear distaste for dirty tricks.
That might’ve been her one small sliver of innocence.
And as for the domineering Draco, he preferred to utterly overwhelm his opponents through sheer superiority.
He leaned more toward a noble, straightforward approach than relying on trickery.
So...
When faced with Draco’s gaze, Pansy—who knew him well—could only look away, unsure how to respond...