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Chapter 55
Dumbledore's "official explanation" had never carried much weight in Slytherin. Most of the students openly scoffed at it, insisting Malfoy must have been the true Heir of Slytherin and had merely been unlucky enough to get caught.
Ron's petrification no longer frightened anyone—every Slytherin knew about the bad blood between the Weasley and Malfoy families. What was surprising, they said, was that Draco hadn't gone further.
As for why Malfoy hadn't been expelled, that answer was simple: he had a father. Clearly, Lucius Malfoy and Dumbledore must have reached some private compromise.
Compared to last term, when Harry and his friends made blunders and still received point rewards, Malfoy's treatment was far better. To Slytherin, he was practically a tragic hero—he had nearly restored Hogwarts to "pure-blood hands," and was only thwarted by a filthy Mudblood and an incompetent Defense professor.
Regret was a popular emotion.
The result was absurd: the supposed "villain" of the school was suddenly its most admired Slytherin.
"I trust the Heir of Slytherin won't disappoint us next time," a visiting sixth-year said with great seriousness.
"Forget the House Cup," a graduating seventh-year told him solemnly, patting his shoulder. "Fulfilling Slytherin's legacy is far more important."
Lucius visited briefly as well. His expression was unreadable, but Draco noticed several new white hairs.
Students in Draco's year—or a few above—looked at him with a mixture of fear and awe. He received baskets of fruit, heaps of sweets, even a collection of pink love letters.
"Teenagers and their conspiracy theories…" Malfoy sighed. Yes, there were secrets, but the fantasies these students invented were something else. Then again, Slytherins disliked Dumbledore enough to turn him into an antagonistic mastermind in their heads.
The sentiment spilled into other Houses too. While Slytherin admired him, the rest of Hogwarts saw Draco's actions as serious wrongdoing—regardless of what rumors said.
"I should consider forming my own organization," Malfoy joked to himself. His influence in Slytherin had become so ridiculous that he felt he could raise an arm and collect a dozen enthusiastic future Death Eaters within minutes.
A few days later, the Mandrakes finally matured.
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When Ron discovered Malfoy was allegedly responsible for the attacks, he jumped off his bed and tried to tackle him then and there. Only Madame Pomfrey, Harry, and the twins managed to restrain him.
"He almost killed me!" Ron shouted, pointing at Draco, who sat quietly reading.
"Ron, calm down," Harry urged. "He's already been punished. Slytherin is completely out of the House Cup this year."
"Calm down, Ron," the twins echoed, each holding an arm.
"I'm a victim too," Malfoy said blandly, snapping his book shut. The insincerity only enraged Ron further.
"The Headmaster will expel you next time!" Ron spat.
"Then I suppose I'll still have time to transfer," Draco replied lazily. "Durmstrang would welcome me, at least. Some families—" he eyed Ron pointedly, "—lack the funds for that sort of thing. By the way, did you ever find that car?"
Ron's eyes filled with fury. He lurched forward again but was forced back down.
The quarrel ended without resolution.
"Think of something happy, Ron," Harry said quickly, rushing to redirect him. "Look at the House points. Slytherin's hourglass is practically empty! And Hermione got the Special Services Award—two hundred points! We'll win the Cup for sure."
"Right—Hermione! How is she?" Ron demanded.
"She's fine," Harry said. "Much better than you. She left the hospital days ago—she should be in the Great Hall eating right now."
At that, Ron realized he was starving.
"Let's go," Harry said, helping him up. Ron wobbled, legs stiff from disuse, so Harry wrapped an arm around him, and together they limped toward the doors.
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"What do you want?" Pansy spread her arms protectively, blocking the two Weasley brothers who marched toward Draco's bed.
"Here to avenge your brother?" Draco asked without looking up, already returning to his book.
"We just… feel something's off," George began.
"Whatever the Headmaster said—we don't care," Fred added, shooting a sharp look at George to keep him quiet. "But we don't take advantage of people. Especially Malfoys."
They placed a parcel on Draco's bedside table and walked out.
"Don't open that," Pansy warned immediately. She held out a hand. "It's probably one of their stupid pranks. I'll toss it."
"Relax." Draco shook his head. He sensed no malice from the twins. He unwrapped the parcel.
Inside lay piles of gleaming gold and silver coins.
"Well, aren't they interesting," Malfoy murmured. The amount was substantial—undoubtedly profits from their Howler business. They must have suspected something and had chosen to treat him differently from the rest.
"What does that mean?" Pansy frowned. "Is there a feud between them and Ron? Did they hire you to kill their brother? I knew it—those Weasleys pretend to be poor, but they're secretly loaded!"
Malfoy buried his face in his hand. Pansy's imagination was unstoppable. Amusing, but hopeless.
"Oh! The business you mentioned—the Howlers!" she suddenly said, eyes widening. "But you were under the diary's control then. How could you run a business while controlled by the basilisk's master?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, finally connecting the dots.
"If the rumors say you acted on your own, then it makes even less sense."
She stared critically, confusion and suspicion mixing in her expression.
"This Forgetfulness Curse is quite the thing," Malfoy muttered, stroking his chin. "I'm starting to understand Lockhart a little."
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