As Draco sat down, the entire group of Slytherin students followed suit in perfect unison. It was a moment that could've gone down in Hogwarts history—but it was soon eclipsed by what came next...
The next student stepping forward for the Sorting Ceremony was none other than Harry Potter, the boy who defeated the Dark Lord and whose name was known by every witch and wizard!
There was no denying Harry Potter's fame. The moment he walked up, nearly every pair of eyes in the hall locked onto him.
"Everyone, quiet!"
Even though the students tried to lower their voices, the collective murmuring was still a buzz of noise. Professor McGonagall looked out over the Great Hall, visibly displeased by the chaos.
Thanks to Harry Potter's entrance, the disturbance caused earlier by Draco was quickly forgotten by the young witches and wizards.
Still, that didn’t seem to affect Slytherin House...
At the long table, Draco calmly pulled out the book he had only half-finished on the train, flipping it open beneath his robes as if the rest of the hall didn’t exist.
Come to think of it, which House did Longbottom end up in?
The thought came and went. Draco’s attention returned to his book.
"Why would they do that?"
He murmured to himself as he turned the page. It was unclear if he was commenting on something in the book or referring to the students nearby who were all staring in his direction...
Indeed, nearly every Slytherin’s gaze had drifted away from the Sorting Ceremony to settle squarely on Draco. Or more precisely, in his direction.
It wasn’t just Draco’s composed demeanor that drew attention—what really caught people’s eyes were the Prefects seated around him.
That alone, along with Draco’s muttered question, made one thing clear: the scene earlier had been orchestrated, planned by those right next to him...
"Sorry for not telling you in advance, but we felt it was necessary."
"Most people might not understand how powerful you are yet, Draco."
"But your name and reputation—they can be established first."
Slytherin students were ambitious by nature. While there were a few who leaned toward caution, they were in the minority.
So once they recognized Draco’s potential, these young nobles instinctively saw him as someone worth backing—someone they could follow and invest in.
And those who had earned the title of Prefect by fifth year were clearly more capable and discerning than average students. That’s why they used their authority and influence to build momentum around Draco...
...
Draco, now understanding what had happened, glanced sideways with a bit of resignation at the Slytherin Prefects flanking him—especially the two pairs of eyes that looked particularly fanatical...
"I remember... your name’s Gary, right?"
Gary Rosier.
In addition to being the fifth-year male Prefect, he was one of the 28 pure-blood families. After a single interaction at a banquet, this person had mysteriously latched onto Draco ever since.
"And you, Evan."
Evan Shafiq.
A sixth-year Prefect, also from one of the 28 pure-blood families. But unlike Gary, Evan had lost to Draco in a wizard duel and since then viewed Draco as someone who could change his destiny...
Whenever Draco thought back to that incident, he couldn’t help but regret it. He really shouldn’t have said those things to others.
[The essence of magic is destruction.
Wizards are those who wield it.
When everything falls apart, the Dark Lord is born—and with him, the Greatest Wizard rises.
Even back then, we should have realized that change had already begun.
What the wizarding world lacked was a proper system and true leadership...]
Thinking of the younger version of himself who said those words made Draco wince.
Yes... he had matured early—and unfortunately, developed a bit of a “chuunibyou” streak earlier than most.
But whether or not it was middle-school syndrome didn’t really matter.
What mattered was the ambition Draco kept buried deep inside.
Luckily, thanks to his age, the adults simply laughed it off. And after that, Draco never spoke like that again...
In the end, Draco glanced at four other students whose faces he vaguely recognized. Their motivations weren’t as transparent as Gary and Evan’s, and that alone made Draco rub at his temples in frustration.
To be honest, Draco had never gone out of his way to recruit anyone—let alone gather followers. Even with his early maturity, there was no way he’d be thinking about things like that at his age...
...
In truth, these Prefects reached out to Draco not just because of his extraordinary strength—something far beyond what ordinary wizards possessed—or as an early investment in a rising talent.
More than that, it was his blatant disregard for Voldemort that drew them in.
For the children of Death Eaters, this attitude hinted at a different kind of future—one they hadn’t dared to imagine before. It might’ve seemed irrational, even uncharacteristic for the usually composed Slytherins, but there was something in Draco’s presence, a kind of unspoken charisma, that stirred a desire to follow him.
Not a mad Dark Lord, nor a withered Greatest Wizard...
If Draco hadn't been influenced by another soul, perhaps things wouldn’t have turned out this way.
Maybe, in another timeline, he would’ve grown up as a pampered little wizard, spoiled by his parents. Maybe he would’ve looked down on most half-blood wizards in the name of pure-blood superiority. And maybe, no one would’ve paid special attention to Draco himself—only to the Malfoy name.
But the truth was, Draco had been affected by the soul of a dragon.
He might not have been fully aware of it, but with the pride that burned inside him, there was no way he’d ever accept being beneath anyone else.
Especially not as the son of a Death Eater—an identity shrouded in shame.
Even if that person had nearly taken over the entire British wizarding world, it made no difference.
So, perhaps Draco didn’t even realize it...
At every pure-blood gathering, each young wizard who approached him was drawn to something deeper: his ambition that ran to the marrow, and a potential that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Draco hadn’t deliberately planned any of it, but that proud self-assurance alone was enough to attract others.
Maybe that’s what they called personal charm.
And that was why a scene like this had played out at the Sorting Ceremony...