Draco Malfoy—the sole heir of the ancient, pure-blooded Malfoy family.
As one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Malfoys carried a legacy of prestige and power. And as the only son, the future of the entire house rested squarely on Draco's shoulders. Pride and honor were his birthright, woven into every day of his eleven years. Sometimes that pride felt like a heavy cloak—stifling, exhausting—but he understood: if you wish to wear the crown, you must bear its weight; if you reach for the rose, you must accept its thorns.
He knew this. He was willing to pay the price for his family's glory.
Until this summer in Diagon Alley, in that robe shop, when he met two boys—first, a quiet, bespectacled boy with black hair, and then another, slightly older, also black-haired boy from the East who radiated a quiet, formidable strength.
That day, for the first time, Draco's pride and honor were dismissed—looked down upon.
To belittle him was to belittle the entire Malfoy name.
That was something he simply could not tolerate.
Then, on the Hogwarts Express, he'd tried in earnest to befriend the legendary Harry Potter, only to realize he was the same quiet boy from the shop. Once again, he was brushed aside—this time, in front of that ridiculous Ron Weasley, whose family was the laughingstock of the pure-blood world, a pack of pitiable paupers.
Each slight was a fresh humiliation.
After school began, Draco had tried to fight back, to reclaim some dignity. But Harry Potter was always shielded by that Qin—someone he simply couldn't outmatch, not now. Somehow, Qin had won over the likes of Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall. And worst of all, Qin was a brute, a bully who ruled Hogwarts by strength, terrorizing good students and lording it over everyone.
"Yes, that's it. Qin is a bully through and through! He'll grow up to be a disgrace to wizardkind, mark my words!"
Draco clung to this belief.
…
Then, just yesterday in flying class, he'd only picked up that idiot Neville's Remembrall when that insufferable Harry shouted, "Give it back!" as if the ball belonged to him.
"Why should I give it to him? Who is he to order me around? That arrogant, self-important Harry Potter!"
Even now, just thinking about it made Draco's chest burn with fury, his temples pounding.
Next thing he knew, he and Harry were dueling in midair for the Remembrall, both of them astride their brooms.
"I'll admit, the kid's got talent. I practiced flying before coming to Hogwarts, but he still managed to keep up. Good thing I was quick-witted and tossed the ball away at the last second."
Draco smirked at the memory, recalling how Harry had caught the ball—only to be caught himself by Professor McGonagall and marched off.
Surely, Harry would lose points for Gryffindor for breaking the rules so blatantly.
Later, Draco had set another trap—provoking Harry and challenging him to a midnight duel. He'd even tipped off the caretaker, making sure someone would catch them in the act.
Everything had been planned perfectly.
So why was Harry Potter still walking around, untouched? Did the Hogwarts staff really turn a blind eye to a repeat rule-breaker? It was outrageous—unfair!
Seething, Draco ground out his frustration between clenched teeth. "It's just not fair!"
"What's not fair?" grunted Goyle at his side.
Morning classes were over, and the three of them had just finished lunch in the Great Hall. Goyle and Crabbe each clutched a pile of food, looking utterly content.
Draco shot Goyle an irritated glare. "Nothing! Just eat your bread!"
He stormed off toward the Slytherin dormitories, not sparing another glance for his two useless henchmen. He had no patience left for followers who did nothing but eat.
"Did I… do something wrong?" Goyle asked, turning to Crabbe.
Crabbe shrugged. "No idea."
"I must've messed up somehow, or he wouldn't be so angry…" Goyle muttered, hurriedly stuffing the rest of his croissant into his mouth before jogging after Draco, Crabbe close behind.
…
After lunch, there was always a bit of free time—time for a nap or whatever you liked.
Draco had no interest in games or company. He just wanted to hole up in the dormitory for a while.
Not that he'd ever admit it was because he wanted to avoid Harry, Qin, and their lot—he just felt tired, that was all.
Yes, tired. Charms class that morning had been draining. He needed to rest.
But his clenched fists betrayed him. He was, in truth, just a little bit afraid.
"I'm the heir to the Malfoy name! Descendant of the purest bloodline in the wizarding world! A prodigy among young wizards… Why should I have to endure such humiliation?"
The thought echoed in his mind, bitter and sharp.
A self-mocking smile twisted his lips.
He hadn't expected that, in less than a month at Hogwarts, his life would be turned upside down by a string of humiliations.
But what could he do?
He could only grit his teeth and bear it…
With that bitter knowledge, Draco trudged toward the Slytherin dormitory.
The golden autumn sunlight should have been comforting, but it only made him feel more irritated.
Without realizing it, he slipped into a deserted corridor—choosing, almost instinctively, the path least likely to bring him face-to-face with anyone else.
He'd barely made it a third of the way down the corridor when a sudden gust of wind swept in from the courtyard, barreling straight through the passage.
In an instant, dust and grit stung his face. Draco threw up an arm, shielding his head with his robe's wide sleeve.
The wind vanished as abruptly as it had come, leaving an uneasy silence in its wake.
Lowering his sleeve, Draco looked around in confusion. What was with that freak gust?
"Just my luck—why does everything have to happen to me…" he grumbled, growing more and more agitated.
Then he glanced down.
A pile of fallen leaves on the floor caught his eye. That, in itself, was nothing unusual. But these leaves had been arranged—deliberately, unmistakably—into letters.
Leaf by leaf, they spelled out a single, glaring word:
C-O-W-A-R-D.
For a moment, the pale boy's face flushed bright red—anger, humiliation, and something rawer still.
That word was the very thing he'd been running from, the truth he couldn't bear to face.
Yes, deep down, he knew it: he was a coward.
And now, someone had laid the accusation out before him, plain as day.
Draco Malfoy stood frozen, burning with shame and fury. ~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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