After Halloween, the wind at Hogwarts grew colder day by day; the lawn outside the Castle faded to a pale yellow, crunching underfoot.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the Castle spires, casting dappled spots across the courtyard, as the faint scent of grass and withered leaves drifted through the air.
The atmosphere in the Slytherin common room, however, was even colder and harsher than the autumn wind outside.
Draco Malfoy’s days were becoming increasingly difficult.
Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe no longer stayed by his side as they once had; at breakfast, they sat directly at the other end of the long table, actively avoided being in his group during Charms Class, and even when he asked them to go to the common room to fetch a spare vial of Forgetfulness Potion for him, they just shook their heads indifferently, saying they had to rush to finish the homework assigned by Professor Snape before turning to leave.
In the corridors, at the stairwells, and in the corners of the common room, the quiet whispers never stopped.
“Malfoy can’t even boss around a lackey anymore.”
“He used to be so imposing, but now he’s all alone; it’s quite pathetic.”
These words were like fine needles, pricking his chest until it felt tight.
He gripped his wand, his knuckles turning white, but he could only grit his teeth and keep moving forward.
He didn’t know why everything had turned out like this; he only felt that everyone was laughing at him.
All the humiliation, anger, and resentment piled up in his heart, nearly overflowing.
That afternoon, the sunlight was unusually soft, and a group of people gathered in the courtyard on the south side of the Castle.
Gryffindors Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom; the Weasley twins Fred and George; Ravenclaws Baelon Targaryen, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot; and Hufflepuff’s Hannah Abbott were gathered in small groups around a stone table, the atmosphere relaxed and lively.
Hermione spread out her History of Magic parchment, her finger pointing at the writing as she spoke quickly and clearly: “The section on Medieval Wizard Trials will definitely be on the final exam; don’t keep taking it so lightly.”
Ron squatted on the grass, twirling a blade of withered grass in his hand, looking impatient: “What’s the use of memorizing this stuff?
I’d rather practice a couple more spells.”
Harry leaned against the edge of the stone table, spinning a Silver Wizard Coin with his fingertips, and interjected with a smile: “You just don’t want to study.”
Neville held his toad, Trevor, sitting quietly in a corner, gently stroking the toad’s back for fear it might suddenly hop away.
Fred and George leaned against a stone pillar, their heads close together as they whispered, stifling a few mischievous laughs from time to time.
Hannah sat on a stone bench next to Baelon, her elbows propped on the table edge, chatting idly with Terry and Michael.
Baelon sat in the center of the stone bench, his fingertips lightly tapping the handle of his wand, his expression calm.
He occasionally looked up at the bickering Ron and Hermione, a faint smile in his eyes.
Terry propped his elbows on the stone table, resting his chin in his hands, and casually asked Baelon: “How’s Sunflare’s appetite this week?
It ate quite a bit of that roast beef I brought last time.”
Michael nodded as well, picking up the conversation: “Speaking of which, Sunflare hasn’t been growing as fast lately, has it?
Last time we went to the clearing under the old oak tree, it was lying there soaking up the sun, and it only seemed a bit taller than two weeks ago.
Is Norberta still always clinging to it?”
Hannah pushed a Pumpkin Pasty toward Baelon and added with a smile: “I came across a copy of ‘A Handbook of Dragon Feeding’ last week.
It says it’s normal for dragon hatchlings’ growth to slow down after three months.
It also mentioned they like honey nut cakes; should we bring some next time to try?”
Baelon took a small bite of the pasty, the corners of his mouth curling slightly: “It has slowed down.
Hagrid said this is a normal stage after shedding the first layer of scales.
I got some Special Tonic for Magical Creatures from him and mixed it into the fresh meat; its scales have become much shinier.
Norberta is still the same, insisting on sleeping against Sunflare’s claws every day.
Sunflare lets her, even turning over very carefully.
We can bring honey nut cakes; it sniffed Hagrid’s honey cake for a long while last time, even wagging its tail slightly.”
Hermione put down the parchment and spoke as if talking about an old friend, tracing a circle on the table edge with her finger: “No wonder.
Last time we took it to the clearing under the oak tree for exercise, it lay there curled up, much steadier than before.
Its new scales were shimmering gold in the sunset, definitely shinier than before.”
“Yes,” Baelon nodded.
“Besides me and Hagrid, only you few know the specific location.
Every time we take it out, we only go to that clearing under the oak tree.
Even if Centaurs pass by the edge, they won’t find their way there.”
Harry’s eyes lit up as he heard this.
He leaned forward, nudging Ron with his elbow, his tone full of envy: “I’m so jealous; you’ve all seen it several times.
When you take it out again this weekend, can you bring Ron and me?
We promise not to make a sound, just stand far back behind the oak tree and watch.”
Ron immediately tossed the withered grass to the ground, patted his knees, and chimed in repeatedly, gesturing with his hands like wings: “Yeah!
Count me in!
I just want to see Sunflare spread its wings.
That five-meter wingspan you mentioned must be spectacular.”
Fred and George also leaned in.
George raised an eyebrow, shaking a small bag of Fizzing Whizbees: “Sunflare?
That name sounds spirited!
We’ll go this weekend too, and we’ll bring some of our homemade Fizzing Whizbees; maybe it’ll like them.”
Fred nodded in agreement, wagging a finger: “And bring a camera, though we’ll have to stay far back so as not to startle it.”
Neville also quietly looked up, his fingers clutching Trevor’s legs, and said softly: “I…
I want to go too.
You said it was very gentle last time; I want to touch its scales, just for a second.”
“We’ll go together,” Baelon said, looking at them and nodding slightly.
“Saturday evening, I’ll take Sunflare to the oak tree first.
You follow me through the path on the west side of the Forbidden Forest.
Don’t touch anything in the Forbidden Forest randomly.
Although Sunflare is gentle, it is a dragon after all, so don’t get too close.”
The group instantly became lively.
Harry and Ron huddled together to discuss what to bring, the twins pondered small gifts for Sunflare, and Neville clutched Trevor, a rare smile appearing on his face.
Ron, getting excited, sat down on the grass, hugging his knees.
He suddenly gave a snort of laughter, his voice rising with pure schadenfreude: “Speaking of which, who’s the most interesting person in school lately?
It’s got to be Malfoy.
He used to go everywhere with two lackeys, acting so high and mighty.
Now look at him—all alone, without a soul to talk to.
In my opinion, he deserves it.”
As he spoke, he deliberately tilted his chin, his face full of disdain: “Who told him to bully people all day and look down on everyone?
Now that no one’s paying him any mind, it’s just karma.”
Harry immediately tugged at his sleeve, whispering urgently: “Ron, keep it down!
What if he hears…”
Hermione also frowned, pulling the parchment to her chest: “Don’t say that.
No matter how bad he is, there’s no need to discuss it in public.”
Hannah nodded as well, taking a sip from her cup: “Yeah, it’s not good to talk about people behind their backs.”
But Ron didn’t care, brushing off Harry’s hand and stiffening his neck: “I’m not wrong!
How did he used to insult us?
How did he bully Neville?
Isn’t it just what he deserves, ending up like this?”
His voice was just loud enough to drift on the breeze into the shadows of the archway.
Draco Malfoy was walking out of the Castle, clutching a list for Herbology Class, intending to circle around to the other side of the courtyard to fetch materials from the greenhouse.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his face first flushing bright red before turning a ghastly, livid green.
He gripped the list tightly, his knuckles white and his chest heaving, his pale gray eyes swirling with fury and humiliation.
He watched this group laughing and talking.
Baelon was surrounded by friends who could see that golden dragon; they talked about the dragon as if discussing a pet cat or dog, so casually and intimately—while he hadn’t even seen a shadow of the golden dragon and had now become the laughingstock of the whole school.
Why?
Why could a pauper like Ron Weasley laugh so happily?
Why did Baelon have such a golden dragon and keep the secret so tightly?
Why did everyone revolve around him, while he himself was being mocked and isolated in Slytherin?
Jealousy tightened around his heart like poison, and coupled with Ron’s stinging “deserves it,” his anger exploded completely.
Draco lunged out of the shadows, his steps fast and heavy, his black robes sweeping a sharp arc across the lawn.
He crumpled the herbology list into a ball, clutching it fiercely as he charged straight at Ron.
“Weasley!” his voice was shrill and piercing, filled with suppressed, extreme rage.
“What did you—just say?!”
Everyone fell silent instantly, looking up at him in unison.
Ron jumped up from the grass, standing half a head taller than Draco.
He stood with hands on his hips, chin held high, not intimidated in the least: “I said you deserve it!
What, can’t handle the truth?”
Draco trembled with rage, his finger shaking as he pointed at Ron and then swept it toward Harry, his voice shrill: “You Gryffindor idiots!
Huddling together for warmth all day, thinking you’re so special?
You’re just a bunch of pathetic nobodies who’ve seen nothing of the world!”
“Watch your mouth!” Harry immediately stepped forward, blocking Ron, his brow furrowed and his gaze cold.
“Malfoy, you’re the one who came over looking for trouble!”
Fred and George shared a look and stepped forward together, flanking Ron with arms crossed, their expressions cooling.
Fred’s tone was lazy but carried a sense of pressure: “Malfoy, looking for a fight?
We Weasleys are never intimidated by threats.”
Draco’s gaze swept over the crowd and found them all difficult to deal with, finally landing on Hermione.
She was frowning, her eyes full of disapproval as if looking at a raving lunatic.
This look struck his sore spot perfectly; his mind went blank, and all the most venomous words rushed out.
“And you, Granger!” he pointed at Hermione, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air.
“A mudblood dares to put on such a superior act?
You think because you know a few spells, you’re worthy of standing with us pure-bloods?!”
The air froze instantly.
Hermione’s face turned deathly pale.
Her fingers gripped the parchment so hard her knuckles turned white, her lips trembling, unable to say a word.
Her eyes quickly reddened, and a surge of grievance and embarrassment washed over her like a tide, making her nearly unable to stand.
Ron’s eyes turned red instantly, fury rushing to his head.
He gave Draco a violent shove; Draco stumbled back two steps, nearly falling, and the herbology list dropped to the ground.
Ron pointed at his nose, his voice shaking with rage: “You dare call her a mudblood?!
Malfoy, you’re asking for it!”
“You dare push me?!” Draco shrieked after steadying himself.
He bent down, picked up the list, crumpled it even further, tossed it aside, and whipped out his wand, pointing it directly at Ron.
“I’ll make you pay!
Weasley, you’re finished!
I’m writing to my father right now—”
“Stop using your father to pressure people!” Fred also pulled out his wand and stepped forward, his eyes sharp.
“You must apologize for what you said today!”
George followed closely, his wand aimed at Draco, his tone cold: “Apologize, or we’ll just beat you!”
Harry gripped his wand, standing in front of Hermione, his face livid: “Malfoy, apologize!
Or don’t blame us for being rude!”
Neville was trembling all over, but he still took a small step forward while clutching Trevor, saying softly but firmly: “You…
you can’t say that about Hermione…
she’s a good person.”
Michael and Terry also frowned deeply.
Terry adjusted his glasses and said gravely: “Malfoy, that was too much.
That’s one of the most vicious insults in the Wizarding World.”
Hannah also stood up, moving to Hermione’s side, her tone serious: “You must apologize.
Granger hasn’t done anything wrong.”
Baelon slowly closed his book and stood up.
He didn’t speak, but simply walked to Hermione’s side and reached out to gently steady her arm, his grip steady and firm.
Hermione looked up at him, tears in her eyes, but she bit her lip and gave a small nod, indicating she could hold on.
Baelon’s gaze fell calmly on Draco.
There was no shouting or accusation, but a silent pressure that made Draco feel an inexplicable sense of panic.
Surrounded by the crowd, Draco was both angry and anxious, his face alternating between green and white.
He held his wand high, shrieking defiantly: “Why should I apologize?
She’s just a mudblood—”
“Say that again!” Ron roared, trying to charge forward, but Harry and Fred held him back.
He struggled, his arms flailing, his eyes full of fire.
Hermione suddenly took a deep breath, pushed aside Harry’s hand, and took a step forward on her own.
She lightly wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand.
Her face was still pale, but her back was ramrod straight, and her gaze was stubborn and determined as she looked directly at Draco: “You can call me stupid, you can call me a meddler, but you have no right to insult my heritage.
I am Muggle-born, but I work harder than you, I know more about respect than you, and I am more like a true Wizard than you are.”
Draco was momentarily stunned by her intensity, but then he grew even more enraged.
He gritted his teeth, flicked his wrist, and shrieked while waving his wand: “I’ll teach you a lesson!
Petrificus Totalus—”
A jet of red light shot from the tip of his wand, heading straight for Hermione.
Baelon’s eyes turned cold.
With a very slight flick of his wrist, a silent Shield Charm instantly blocked the path in front of Hermione.
The red light struck the shimmering barrier and vanished instantly, without even causing a ripple.
Draco’s eyes widened in disbelief, his hand holding the wand trembling slightly: “You—you actually know the Shield Charm?”