Watching the little witch leave the carriage, Draco—unaware that he had done anything unusual—lowered his eyes to the book resting in his hands.
Yet he did not resume reading. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing the rhythmic clatter of the Hogwarts Express to fade into the background.
He was Draco.
And at the same time… not quite Draco.
To be precise, Draco Malfoy carried the fused soul of another being entirely.
A dragon.
A soul whose nature matched his name with uncanny precision.
Not an ordinary dragon, either.
A descendant of the golden dragons—A Platinum Dragon.
The truth of this fusion was something even Draco himself could not possibly know. At the time the change occurred, he was still a developing fetus, incapable of understanding the monumental shift unfolding within him.
Yet this transformation did not replace him.He was not overwritten or taken over.He remained Draco Malfoy.
He had simply… evolved.
Under the silent influence of the Platinum Dragon soul, Draco had shown exceptional magical potential from the moment he could walk.
Dragonkind possessed an innate affinity for magic—an affinity that blended seamlessly with the pride and heritage of an old pure-blood family. It shaped his very aura: regal, composed, and unmistakably noble.
Beyond raw magical power, the dragon's presence sharpened Draco's intellect far beyond what was typical for a wizarding child.
But balance existed in all things.
The advantages of the dragon's lineage came paired with its inherent flaws.Greed.Pride.
Greed manifested in Draco's relentless hunger for magical knowledge.
Pride seeped into his temperament—a quiet, effortless arrogance. He didn't sneer at everyone or flaunt himself with obnoxious superiority, but there was a natural distance in his posture, a cool elegance that made approaching him difficult.
To strangers, he was calm, polished, and unreachable.
A model pure-blood aristocrat.A true Malfoy.
Placed among Muggles, others might misread him entirely—mistaking confidence for boastfulness, composure for pretentiousness.
But among pure-bloods, who valued lineage, strength, and self-assuredness, Draco carried a presence that drew rather than repelled. Even at eleven, he possessed the early poise of someone destined to lead.
Golden dragons were known for elegance and intelligence.He embodied both.
Just as Draco settled into the quiet of his thoughts, enjoying the fleeting solitude, the compartment door opened again.
This time, however, the visitor knocked properly.
"Draco, do you know who we just saw?"
"Draco! It's Harry Potter—the Harry Potter!"
He opened his eyes.
Two boys stumbled in, plopping themselves down with unrestrained excitement. They stared at Draco as though expecting him to share their astonishment. Draco raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.
Since when did these two become starstruck?
Regardless, one thing was clear:They, too, were first-years bound for Hogwarts, and they were—unfortunately—very familiar with him. Their lack of formality made that obvious.
Oddly, the faintest hint of helplessness flickered over Draco's usually composed expression.
After all, he was still a child.
"Goyle, Crabbe—I've told you countless times. Swallow your food before speaking."
Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe.
The two wizards who had barged in, distinguishable if one looked closely: Crabbe, short and thickset; Goyle, large and broad for his age.
If one tried hard—very hard—one might find them endearing.
"Hehe, I was just excited!" Goyle said, chocolate smearing the corner of his mouth."Don't you want to see Harry Potter?"
It was difficult to associate the dignified, well-poised Draco with friends like these.
They weren't stupid, but they certainly weren't sharp; and nobility was the last thing their manner suggested. Yet, as they grinned at him—chocolate frogs momentarily forgotten—they were undeniably Draco's friends.
Fate worked strangely.
Naturally, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, became their primary topic.
"The Savior of the Wizarding World?" Draco repeated mildly.
His voice held no ridicule, no envy—just a calm acknowledgment.Even hearing the legendary name did little to change his expression.
If anything, he felt a flicker of curiosity.
After all, this was the child who had defeated the Dark Lord.
But Crabbe and Goyle misread him entirely.
"What do you think, Draco? You want to see Harry Potter too, right?""Draco, guess what? That poor Weasley is trailing after him and saying bad things about our House!"
Though they were not part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, both boys were steeped in pure-blood thinking. Naturally, they had a poor impression of the Weasleys—blood traitors by reputation.
Draco listened with idle disinterest.
Apparently, while the two had wandered off for snacks, they'd had some minor conflict involving the famous Boy Who Lived.
Draco had no desire to hear details.
To him, it all sounded like petty squabbling among children.
Even though he was only eleven himself.
He could confidently swear on the Malfoy name that the two boys stuffing sweets into their mouths probably didn't even understand the ideology they parroted.
But continuing the conversation was impossible now.
The train had begun to slow.
Meaning only one thing.
Draco closed his book with calm finality and rose from his seat.
"It seems we've arrived."
Through the window, the outline of the ancient castle emerged—tall towers gleaming beneath the darkening sky, its silhouette both imposing and enchanting.
Draco smoothed the hem of his robe with elegant precision.
Hogwarts.
I am coming…