The real reason Slytherin was so disliked—aside from their pure-blood ideology, which already set them apart—was largely because of their Quidditch team.
Each house had its own distinct playing style.
Ravenclaw favored strategy over brute strength, and that was where their strength lay.
Hufflepuff's matches were rarely thrilling, but their steady, methodical gameplay made them strong contenders in Quidditch.
Gryffindor, on the other hand, was all about grit and determination. Even though they'd lost more games than they'd won in recent years, no one dared underestimate them—especially with Oliver Wood, who was becoming more and more of a true leader.
As for Slytherin—the reigning champions five years running—there was really only one word to describe them:
Brutal.
Their playing style wasn't just aggressive—it was downright violent. In nearly every match against Slytherin, at least one opposing player ended up injured.
Over time, this unsportsmanlike approach left a bad impression on younger students, and most of them grew to dislike the Slytherin team altogether.
Naturally, that dislike extended to Slytherin students in general.
Words like "despicable" and "shameless" eventually became labels stuck to Slytherins as a whole...
...
Unfortunately, that didn't make Slytherin change their tactics. In fact, once they saw how effective it was, they became even more reckless.
To be fair, this had a lot to do with the way Quidditch was structured.
The sport's rules weren't exactly tight—in fact, they were notoriously vague. According to incomplete records, there were over seven hundred types of fouls that could be committed in a match without triggering any major penalties.
Draco still remembered reading in Quidditch Through the Ages that during the final match of the first-ever Quidditch World Cup in 1473, every single known foul was committed.
One could only imagine how chaotic that game must have been—and yet, the match went on...
As long as the fouls didn't technically break the rules, even professional teams occasionally resorted to rough tactics.
If it weren't for concerns about public perception, this kind of thing would happen more often in pro matches. Or at the very least, the fouls would be disguised well enough that spectators wouldn't notice.
But Slytherin's current Quidditch captain didn't seem to care about appearances at all.
Blagging opponents, breaking fingers, knocking players off their brooms—those were just part of his standard repertoire.
And maybe, just maybe, it was because of this ruthless playstyle that Slytherin had managed to win the Quidditch Cup five years in a row...
As for all this, Draco had no idea.
To be more accurate, he didn't care.
He had no interest in Quidditch, nor in the rules, nor in the state of his house's team.
Truthfully, if it hadn't been for his godfather trying to make a point to Harry Potter, Draco never would've been dragged into this mess, let alone given the chance to join the team.
Still, even for someone who never paid attention to the sport, this wasn't the Quidditch he had in mind.
When he brought it up, Pansy—who clearly knew something—turned away a little too quickly.
"How would I know?"
"....."
Who would believe that?
But Draco didn't press the issue. He'd see for himself soon enough anyway.
"Come on. We'll know once we're inside."
"Wait for me!"
Draco was starting to feel amused by the whole thing.
The original plan had been simple: become a regular Quidditch player, beat Harry Potter in an unremarkable game to make Snape happy, and then retire with some half-baked excuse.
That had been the idea.
But the moment he saw Pansy watching him with that hesitant, expectant look—and caught sight of the Quidditch captain who once gave Hermione such a nasty glare—something in Draco stirred.
The unknown and the thrill of challenge...
That was the kind of thing Draco could never walk away from.
...
Broomsticks streaked across the sky with a sharp whistle.
They called it tactical training, but to Draco, it looked more like mindless chaos.
He glanced over at the wizard who clearly seemed to be the team captain and tugged his robe tighter.
"If Quidditch is really just a sport where brute force wins over any actual skill, then that's honestly disappointing."
"That's not true! Our house team is just... a bit special, that's all!"
Pansy jumped up immediately, clearly offended by how dismissively Draco had spoken about Quidditch. She looked like a cat with its tail stepped on—flustered and frantic, as if worried he might form the wrong impression about the sport she loved.
Her over-the-top reaction made Draco chuckle. He reached out and gently pressed his palm to the little princess's head, as if to calm her down.
"Alright, spill it. What's your real reason for dragging me here?"
"Um…"
Just as Pansy understood him, Draco also knew her well enough to sense she had some sort of plan in mind. She wouldn't have brought him here for no reason.
Sure enough, her face turned a little sheepish, like she'd just been caught.
"It's just… I don't want to see our house win the Quidditch Cup using such dirty tactics, that's all."
Despite her noble upbringing and the kind of education that taught her to prioritize family honor—even at the cost of certain principles—Pansy was still only eleven. She was at that age where fantasies meant everything. And after being around Draco for so long, some of his ideals had quietly rubbed off on her.
To her, winning through dishonorable means just didn't feel right.
Doing whatever it takes didn't mean having no limits.
And Slytherin wasn't supposed to be synonymous with underhanded.
In Pansy's eyes, Draco was the one who could change that.
Her knight in shining armor.
"A real Slytherin shouldn't be ruled by ambition. You're the one who said that."
"So… you're going to do something about it, right?"
Draco blinked, caught off guard by the look in her eyes.
It surprised him—not just how much faith she had in him, but that she'd actually remembered something he'd said offhandedly and taken it to heart.
"Honestly, after that kind of speech, how could I say no to you? Fine, it's settled. We'll call off that whole body-touching incident while we're at it."
As soon as Draco agreed, Pansy lit up and arched her brows in delight. But a second later, her mouth parted slightly and her expression went completely blank—clearly stunned by Draco's last remark.
After all, that incident was the excuse she'd used to guilt him into this.
But… had he actually touched her?
In truth, Draco hadn't touched anything at all.
Ahem. Not in any meaningful sense, anyway...
...
[Upto 50 chapters ahead for now]
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