The next morning, Draco boarded the train back to school.
There is one thing in the world that spreads faster than anyone can imagine, and that is rumours.
Draco sat in his seat, and without even needing to prick up his ears to listen carefully, words like these drifted into his ears:
"Have you heard? Draco's wand has been confiscated by the Ministry of Magic."
"Why?"
"I heard he was caught using magic to torture a Muggle."
"No way, he usually seems so gentlemanly and dashing," some girls said.
"If you don't believe me, go and see if his wand is still there."
The result, naturally, was that some girls pretended to pass by his seat unintentionally, only to scurry away with panicked expressions, clearly having believed most of it.
Draco was happy for the peace; in any case, Slytherin's image had always been like this.
"Is this seat taken?" a gentle female voice came. "If you don't mind, I'll sit here." A girl sat down in the seat next to Draco.
"I haven't agreed yet," Draco said, somewhat amused and exasperated. "Besides, I brutally tortured a Muggle just a few days ago, Cho Chang. Aren't you afraid?"
Cho Chang shook her head, stared at him, and said, "I still trust my own judgement." Then she asked, "Can you tell me what's going on?"
"No comment." Just kidding—if Lord Voldemort ever found out about this sort of thing, it would be absolutely disastrous. In the previous timeline, she had a history of leaking secrets. As for simply making up a lie, Draco had no interest in that either.
Cho Chang gave a disappointed "Oh," but still insisted, "No matter what, I still believe you."
"Thank you," Draco replied politely with a slight nod, then began to flip through the latest issue of The Quibbler.
The journey seemed short, but by the time Draco returned to Hogwarts, the setting sun was casting its last rays, and it was already dinnertime.
Walking on campus, people were coming and going. Some students avoided him like the plague; students walking towards him would dodge his gaze, afraid of being remembered by him, and students walking behind him would always find opportunities to detour elsewhere.
Of course, there were also a small number of students in green robes following him from a distance. Clearly, the rumoured Draco was exactly to their taste, and his previous performance in the house showed that he was very capable. Slytherin admired strength; this was tradition.
"It's over, I've gotten myself into a mess," Draco lamented inwardly. "Dumbledore is probably going to call me to his office to give me a good lecture now." The current Draco was the spitting image of a young Lord Voldemort. Followers, talent, and certain misunderstood tendencies were enough to make Dumbledore wary.
"Take it one step at a time," Draco comforted himself, walking slowly toward the Great Hall.
The feast seemed to have just begun; many people's plates were still full. Hogwarts always had so many reasons to hold a feast, and the end of Christmas was one of them.
As soon as he found a seat and sat down, Pansy's face leaned in, and she asked with concern, "Are you okay?"
"What could happen to me?" Draco smiled and waved his hand to indicate he was fine.
Seeing him smile naturally, not like he was forcing it, Pansy relaxed, leaned back in her chair, and whispered, "I knew you were fine. Some of the stories you told me before often emphasized things like racial equality." She paused, then added, "But I still hate Muggles."
Draco was noncommittal; changing one's mindset was not a matter of a day or two.
"I am very dissatisfied with the Christmas gift you gave me!" Pansy tapped the table, seemingly trying to attract his attention. "Shouldn't you have given the pen and ink to that Mud—" She seemed to think of something and abruptly stopped herself, "to that Muggle-born witch?"
Before Draco could answer, Pansy continued, "But I do quite like the colour of the ink."
"And at least you have a conscience," Pansy glanced at his hands and whispered.
Draco raised his hands to look at the pair of gloves with their strange colour combination and loose strands of yarn sticking out.
"Put them down," seeing him raise his hands to inspect them, Pansy said hurriedly with a blushing face.
"You dared to knit them, I dare to wear them; why should I be afraid of others looking?" Draco smiled; he thought Pansy looked extremely cute right now, making him unable to resist teasing her.
"Stop laughing! Give them back to me." After saying this, Pansy made a move to get up, looking as though she truly wanted to snatch the gloves back.
"Weren't you full of confidence when someone wrote that letter?" Draco raised an eyebrow.
"Don't mention it." Pansy's head suddenly drooped, her tone indescribably low. "I took a photo with a camera as a souvenir, and my mother saw it; she actually made fun of me."
Then she lifted her head and said seriously, "Really, give them back to me, I'll go fix them, they'll definitely look better." Draco clearly saw the fighting spirit igniting in Pansy's eyes; she was clearly competing with her mother.
"There's no reason to take back a gift that's been given. I will treasure it until the day I die." Draco looked at the gloves with a cherished gaze, his eyes filled with indescribable affection.
"Disgusting!" Pansy's face turned even redder, the flush spreading to the roots of her ears.
"Alright, I won't tease you anymore." Draco straightened his expression and continued, "I am very grateful to Miss Pansy for taking time out of her busy schedule to knit this pair of gloves for me. I am deeply honoured, but given the special nature of this first gift, I have decided not to return them."
"When did you become so slippery! Give me back the old blockhead from before," Pansy said somewhat resentfully.
"Growth is irreversible, Miss," Draco smiled.
In the end, the gloves remained on Draco's hands and were not taken off, and Draco was not spared from Pansy's glares.
"Harry, have you heard?" The Gryffindor table was equally bustling. Ron reached into the middle of the table to take a pancake and said to Harry.
"Heard what?" Harry asked without raising his head; he was busy finishing off a chicken leg.
"It's all over the school, and you actually don't know?" Ron glanced at the Slytherin table first, then whispered to Harry, "Draco was caught by the Ministry of Magic. It's said he used magic to torture a Muggle. I think if it weren't for his father, he might already be in Azkaban by now."
Ron was somewhat gloating.
"But even so, his wand was confiscated," Ron added.
"That was really too lucky," Harry couldn't help touching his chest, feeling his heart beating violently. "It's hard to imagine that I actually suggested we go ask him who Nicolas Flamel is. Ron, you really helped me a lot."
"That goes without saying," Ron lifted his head, feeling somewhat smug.
"That's not it," Hermione suddenly slammed the table and said loudly, causing the Gryffindor students to look over, and even some Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students turned their gaze.
"What's not it?" Ron asked her. Obviously, they didn't expect Hermione to speak up for that Slytherin; he thought perhaps Hermione was simply thinking about some problem.
"Nothing," Hermione said weakly. That sentence just now had been an impulse. Once she finished speaking, it felt as though the breath she had been holding was released. She didn't dare to admit she was speaking up for him; she was afraid of others looking at her with strange eyes.
"Hermione, we were worried about you before, but we didn't find a chance," Harry interjected. "Your state seemed very bad over Christmas." Harry paused, then continued, "But you seem much better now."
"Yeah," Ron nodded.
Hermione wouldn't tell them that she was happy because she had received that note, even though that note contained only a few nonsensical sentences and a spell written on it.
---
A/N: Advance Chapter Has Been Uploaded. Please Check It Out. It will really help me out and will keep me motivated to continue.
Support: patreon.com/Narrator_San