Watching the young witch leave the compartment, Draco—who didn't feel he'd done anything noteworthy—turned his gaze back to the book in his hands.
But he didn't continue reading. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes...
He was Draco.
And yet, he wasn't just Draco.
More precisely, he was Draco Malfoy—fused with another soul.
A soul that, fittingly, bore a name like his own.
Dragon.
And not just any dragon.
A rare branch of the mighty golden dragon.
A Platinum Dragon...
...
Draco himself had no idea that such a thing had happened to him.
Or rather, back then—still a fetus—he had no way of knowing such a transformation had occurred.
But that transformation didn't mean Draco had become someone else.
He hadn't been taken over or replaced by some unknown force.
He was still Draco.
Only now, on some deeper level, he had become... more.
Under the influence of the Platinum Dragon's soul, Draco had shown remarkable magical talent from the moment he was born.
It was the dragon's natural affinity with magic, combined with the pure-blood aristocratic grace that seemed to be etched into his very being...
This influence extended beyond magic. His intelligence, too, had outpaced others his age from an early stage.
Of course, every gift comes with a price.
While he benefited from the dragon's power, the inherent greed and pride of its lineage had also begun to shape Draco.
His greed showed itself in an unquenchable thirst for magical knowledge.
And as for pride—while he wasn't the type to outright belittle others or act insufferably superior...
It did make it difficult for him to form friendships.
Cold and composed.
To those who didn't know him, he seemed distant and unapproachable.
He had the refinement of a well-educated noble.
He was a true Malfoy.
These were the kinds of things people said about him.
Placed in the world of ordinary people, a boy like Draco might have been isolated—or even bullied. Some might see everything he did as arrogant posturing.
But within the world of pure-blood wizards—among those who revered bloodlines, valued strength above all, and carried their own brand of arrogance...
Draco was different.
He possessed a strange, compelling presence that made people want to follow him.
You could say that even though he was still growing, Draco already carried the bearing of a true leader among young wizards.
A golden dragon by blood.
Noble and brilliant by nature…
…
Just as Draco closed his eyes to rest, savoring the quiet moment alone, the compartment door opened once again.
This time, however, the visitor actually knocked...
"Draco, do you know who we just saw?"
"Draco, it was Harry Potter—the Harry Potter!"
Draco opened his eyes slightly.
In front of him were two boys who had plopped down excitedly across from him. The way they looked, you'd think they'd just spotted a rare magical creature. Draco raised an eyebrow in confusion.
Since when did these two start fanboying over people?
Still, setting his doubts aside, it was clear they were also first-years at Hogwarts and apparently very familiar with Draco. Judging by how casually they acted around him, there wasn't a trace of formality in their behavior...
That said...
Maybe it was just his imagination, but the ever-composed expression on Draco's face showed a flicker of exasperation when they appeared.
For a moment, he actually looked like an ordinary eleven-year-old boy.
"Goyle, Crabbe. How many times do I have to tell you? Swallow your food before you speak."
Gregory Goyle.
And Vincent Crabbe.
These were the two boys now in the compartment with him. In terms of appearance, Crabbe was the short, pudgy one, while Goyle was the tall, stocky one among their peers.
If you really had to say it... maybe you could call them cute?
"Heh, we were just excited to tell you!"
"Don't you want to go see him? Harry Potter?"
Honestly...
It was hard to picture someone like Draco—always so poised and aristocratic—being friends with the likes of them.
They weren't exactly dull, but they definitely weren't clever either, and they had absolutely no noble bearing.
Yet somehow, those two boys, grinning foolishly and setting down their Chocolate Frogs as they looked at him, had ended up as some of Draco's few friends.
Maybe that's just fate...
And right now, the ever-famous Harry Potter had become the center of their conversation.
"The so-called savior of the wizarding world?"
Draco's tone carried no sarcasm, no envy. He was simply stating a fact.
His face didn't change in the slightest at the mention of the name.
At most, he looked mildly curious.
After all...
This was the boy who had defeated the Dark Lord...
But Crabbe and Goyle seemed to completely misread his reaction.
"So what do you think, Draco? You want to go see that Harry Potter too, right?"
"Draco, did you hear? That poor Weasley is sticking close to him—and apparently saying nasty things about our house."
They weren't among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but being pure-bloods themselves, raised in an environment steeped in bloodline pride, both Goyle and Crabbe naturally held a low opinion of so-called "blood traitors" like the Weasleys.
Draco caught on quickly.
It sounded like, while they'd gone off to find food earlier, something had happened between them and the Boy Who Lived...
Draco, however, had no interest in the details. He didn't ask.
In his eyes, it was nothing more than kids who didn't get along, getting into childish spats.
Even if he himself was only eleven.
And really, Draco would swear on the Malfoy family's honor—
These two, already munching away again, probably didn't even understand what being a "pureblood" truly meant.
Still...
It didn't matter whether Draco felt like joining in now.
He could already feel the train slowing down.
And that could only mean one thing.
Closing his book, Draco stood up slowly.
"Looks like we've arrived."
Gazing out toward the distant castle now visible through the window, he gently smoothed the hem of his robe.
Hogwarts.
I'm here...