The Hogwarts Express spewed plumes of scarlet steam that mingled with the London soot and the cacophony of hundreds of tearful farewells. The air smelled of coal, nervous owls, and the vulgarity of public sentimentality.
Draco stood motionless amidst the chaos, a statue of ice wrapped in premium Acromantula wool. Around him, families embraced and wept. He, however, analyzed the emergency exits and cataloged the surnames of those passing nearby.
"Remember who you are, Draco," Lucius's voice cut through the ambient noise. His father leaned on his snake-headed cane, surveying the crowd with practiced disdain, though his eyes darted nervously seeking an Auror or political rival. "Do not mix with the rabble. The Crabbes and Goyles have already been warned that they are to serve you. Use them."
Draco nodded slightly. As human shields, perhaps, he thought.
[SYSTEM: AUDIO FILTER ACTIVE][Input: "Advice from Lucius Malfoy"][Analysis: Obsolete strategy. Follower mentality. Irrelevant noise.][Recommended Action: Ignore content, replicate gesture of obedience.]
"And about Potter..." Lucius continued, lowering his voice. "If the rumors are true and he possesses some special power, observe him. But do not expose yourself. The Dark Lord may have fallen, but his ideals..."
"Ideals do not pay the bills, Father," Draco interrupted, with a smoothness that made Lucius blink. "Influence does. Do not worry about Potter. He will play the hero; I will play the owner of the board."
Lucius opened his mouth, but closed it upon seeing the absolute coldness in his son's grey eyes. There was a moment of disconnection, as if Lucius were trying to recognize the child he had raised and found only a dangerous stranger.
"Good," he said finally, clearing his throat. "Write to us."
Draco shifted his gaze to Narcissa.
She was pale. Her hands, gloved in black lace, gripped the clasp of her purse tightly. She wasn't looking at the people; she was only looking at him.
"Mother."
Draco took a step forward, invading Narcissa's personal space in a way public etiquette advised against, but which the intimacy of their new dynamic demanded.
He took her right hand. He didn't shake it. He bowed with Old World elegance and pressed his lips against the back of her knuckles. The contact lasted a second longer than protocol allowed. It was a brand. An anchor.
"I will look after the name," he whispered against her skin, his eyes locked on hers. "And when I return, the Manor will be too small for my shadow. Expect it."
Narcissa exhaled a trembling breath. Her pupils dilated. Amidst the crowded platform, the rest of the world seemed to fade for her. Only the promise of power emanating from her son existed.
"Write soon, my dragon," she murmured, with a mixture of fear and a strange, new devotion.
Draco released her hand slowly, letting the sensation of loss linger on her.
"Of course."
He turned, his cloak billowing with a fluid motion, and boarded the train without looking back. The locomotive's whistle sounded like a war cry.
—[<×>]—
The interior of the Hogwarts Express was a narrow corridor of mahogany and noise. Second and third-year students ran back and forth, casting minor spells and shouting greetings that sounded to Draco like monkey howls.
He walked with squared shoulders, his travel robes perfectly buttoned. His ebony wand weighed against his forearm in the hidden holster, a cold and reassuring presence.
He ignored the full compartments. He wasn't interested in socializing with the Greengrasses or Notts just yet. He needed to establish a base of operations.
He found an empty one near the end of the car. He entered, slid the door shut, and lowered the blinds halfway, creating a controlled gloom. He sat by the window, crossed his legs, and opened the Occlumency grimoire he had taken from the family library.
Not even five minutes passed before the door banged open.
"Draco! There you are!"
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle filled the door frame. They were large for their age, blocks of flesh and bone with bowl cuts and expressions of perpetual bovine confusion. They entered with the familiarity of one expecting a routine: cruel jokes about first-years and a mountain of chocolate frogs paid for by the Malfoy vault.
"My mum gave me cauldron cakes," Goyle said, dropping his heavy body onto the seat opposite Draco. "What did you bring?"
They expected the spoiled rich boy.
They found the Lord.
Draco didn't look up from his book. He turned a page with a slow, deliberate movement.
"Sit down, Vincent," he said. His voice lacked volume, but it had gravity.
Crabbe, still standing and scratching the back of his neck, blinked.
"Huh? Yeah, sure. Hey, have you seen Potter? They say..."
"I said," Draco closed the book. The dry snap resonated like a gunshot in the small space, "sit down. And shut up."
He looked up. His grey eyes locked onto Crabbe's. There was no camaraderie. There was no usual mocking smile. There was an icy authority that instinctively made Crabbe's reptilian brain recognize a threat.
The larger boy stumbled over himself and dropped into the seat next to Goyle. Both looked at each other, exchanging a silent alarm. The atmosphere in the compartment had dropped ten degrees.
"We are not here to eat sweets," Draco said, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning toward them. He looked at them like someone inspecting a brick wall: assessing their resistance, not their personality. "Listen well, because I am not going to repeat myself. The rules have changed."
"Draco, mate, what's wrong with you?" Goyle muttered, uneasy. "You're acting weird."
"I am awake, Gregory. And it is time you were too."
Draco pointed to the compartment door with a pale finger.
"From now on, you are not my playmates. You are my perimeter. Your job is simple: you occupy space. You intimidate. And if anyone tries to cross that door without my express permission, you ensure they regret it."
Crabbe frowned, processing the words slowly.
"Like... bodyguards?"
"Like an extension of my will," Draco corrected. "If you do this well, if you are loyal and efficient, House Malfoy will elevate you. Your families will thrive. If you fail..." he let the silence finish the sentence.
There was a moment of tension. Crabbe and Goyle were simple, but they understood the language of power. They had been raised in families that served Dark Lords. They recognized the tone.
Slowly, both their postures changed. They stopped slouching in the seats. They straightened up. Goyle crossed his arms over his broad chest. Crabbe adopted a sullen expression, staring at the sliding door.
Draco leaned back, satisfied. He opened his book again.
"Good. Now, silence."
[SYSTEM: HIERARCHY ESTABLISHED][Minion Acquired: Vincent Crabbe (Role: Tank / Brute Force).][Minion Acquired: Gregory Goyle (Role: Enforcer).][Loyalty: Fear/Respect (Initial Binding).]
The compartment fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the rhythmic clacking of the train beginning to move, taking them away from London and toward the north. Draco read, protected by his two walls of meat, waiting for the first real prey—or the first problem—to come knocking at his door.
Ironically, the book he was reading dealt with the construction of mental fortresses, but Draco's peace was besieged from the outside.
The compartment door flew open, crashing against the frame with unnecessary violence.
"Finally, I found you!"
Pansy Parkinson burst in like a whirlwind of frills and cheap floral perfume. She had black hair cut in that severe bob her mother insisted was elegant, but which only accentuated her sharp chin and pug nose.
Behind her, Crabbe and Goyle tensed, unsure if they should block the path of a known Pureblood. Draco didn't even look up.
"I've been looking for you through half the train, Draky," she said, dropping into the seat next to him with a dramatic sigh, invading his personal space. "You won't believe what Daphne Greengrass is wearing. It's so last season. And I heard Potter is on the train. Can we go find him? I want to see if he has the scar, I bet it's ugly and..."
"Pansy."
Draco closed the book. He didn't slam it. He closed it softly, with a final, definitive sound.
He turned his head slowly toward her. The look he gave her didn't have the conspiratorial shine she expected. It was a dead look. Grey. Void of patience.
"What?" Pansy blinked, her smile faltering. "What's wrong? You're so serious."
"You are making noise," Draco said. His voice was low, a whisper of velvet over gravel. "You enter shouting, you sit without permission, and you prattle on about clothes and scars like a fishwife in the market."
Pansy recoiled, offended. Color rose to her cheeks.
"How dare you! I am a Parkinson. My family is as old as yours and..."
Draco stood up.
The movement was fluid, predatory. In the confined space of the compartment, his height seemed to multiply. He loomed over her, resting a hand on the back of the seat, pinning her against the cold window.
Pansy swallowed hard. The insult died in her throat. Suddenly, the compartment felt very small.
"You are a child, Pansy," Draco whispered, bringing his face close to hers until he could see her pupils dilate. She smelled of fear and a sudden fascination. "A child who thinks being loud is the same as being powerful."
Draco slid his gaze over her face, evaluating her like one evaluates a racehorse. The System hummed, overlaying data on her features.
[TARGET DETECTED: PANSY PARKINSON][Status: Chronic Insecurity / Need for Approval.][Compatibility: Submission (High). Loyalty (Potentially Fanatical).][Recommendation: Break the ego. Rebuild as devotee.]
"You want to be the Queen of Slytherin, don't you?" Draco continued, his voice dropping to an almost hypnotic register. "You want them to look at you with envy. You want Daphne and the others to wish they were you."
Pansy nodded slightly, unable to tear her gaze from his grey eyes. Her breathing quickened.
"Yes..."
"Then stop acting like a jester," Draco cut in. He pulled away from her, breaking the physical tension but leaving her with the sensation of cold. "True power does not need to shout. True power makes others hold their breath to listen to you."
He sat back down, crossing his legs with elegance.
"If you want to sit by my side, Pansy, you will learn to be silent. You will learn to observe. And when you speak, you will ensure that what you say is useful to me."
He pointed at her with a finger, without looking at her.
"Now, sit. Be quiet. And be decorative."
Pansy remained motionless for a moment, mouth parted. Her pride screamed at her to leave, to hex him. But something deeper, something visceral in her magical core, vibrated at Draco's absolute authority. No one had ever commanded her like that. No one had ever really seen her.
Slowly, she closed her mouth. She smoothed her skirt. She sat up straight, mimicking Draco's regal posture.
"Yes, Draco," she murmured, lowering her gaze.
Draco opened his book again.
"Much better."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look of pure terror. If Malfoy could tame Pansy Parkinson in thirty seconds, they stood no chance.
[SYSTEM: SEED PLANTED][Pansy Parkinson: Ego fractured. Dependence initiated.][Status: "The Silent Doll".]
The train continued its course, and absolute silence reigned in the compartment, heavy and charged with static electricity that made Pansy shiver with pleasure without knowing why.
But that stillness was not peace; it was the tension preceding a new move on the board.
The compartment no longer felt like a simple school train space. It had become an echo chamber for power, a marked territory. Crabbe and Goyle remained rigid, attuned to Draco's every breath; Pansy, rebuilding her broken pride, watched him with an incipient and dangerous devotion.
Draco turned a page of his grimoire, enjoying the disciplined silence he had imposed.
That calm, however, did not last.
The sound of the sliding door opening was not an invitation; it was an invasion.
Draco did not startle. He simply looked up from his book, marking the page with a long, pale finger, as if he had been interrupted in the middle of a sacred prayer.
Ron Weasley stood at the threshold.
The redhead was already wearing his robes, though they were short at the ankles and had a suspicious stain on the lapel. Behind him, barely visible, a mop of messy black hair and round glasses betrayed the presence of Harry Potter.
"Heard you were here, Malfoy," Weasley said. His tone sought to be threatening but sounded shrill. His eyes swept the compartment, stopping on Crabbe and Goyle with disdain. "See you're still surrounded by gorillas. What's the matter? Did your father tell you that you needed protection so you wouldn't wet your pants?"
Crabbe growled and began to rise, his fists closing like hams.
"Stay, Vincent," ordered Draco, without raising his voice.
The gorilla stopped instantly, sitting back down with mechanical obedience. Ron blinked, surprised by the absolute control Draco exerted.
Draco closed the book and placed it on his lap. He looked at Weasley not with hate, but with a kind of clinical curiosity, like someone watching a fungus grow on a damp wall.
"Weasley," Draco said. His voice was calm, devoid of the screeching mockery Ron expected. "You enter without knocking. You insult my associates. And you bring the smell of second-hand clothes into my private space."
Ron's face turned the same color as his hair.
"Shut up, Malfoy! We just came to see if it was true that..."
"Brog nakh griss, ta krazz borka," Draco interrupted.
The words left his mouth with a guttural and harsh fluidity, a sound that seemed to scrape the air. It was Gobbledegook.
Ron stood with his mouth open. Harry poked his head over his friend's shoulder, frowning.
"What did you say?" Ron asked, confused.
Draco smiled. It was a small, sharp smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"It is an old goblin financial proverb. It means: 'The screaming copper never turns to gold.'" Draco leaned slightly forward. "You are noise, Weasley. And noise devalues property."
Pansy let out a cruel giggle, covering her mouth with her hand.
Ron, furious and humiliated by not understanding the scope of the insult but feeling its weight, reached for his wand.
"I'm going to...!"
"Harry Potter," said Draco, ignoring Ron's threat and locking his grey eyes on the boy in the back.
Harry tensed. He expected an insult. He expected arrogance.
What he received was indifference.
"Close the door on your way out," Draco said, reopening his book. "You are letting the conditioned air escape, and I have no intention of breathing your air more than necessary."
"Think you're better than us, Malfoy?" Harry snapped, feeling the need to defend Ron.
Draco didn't even look up from the page.
"It is not a belief, Potter. It is a statistic. Now, leave."
With a lazy flick of his left hand—wandless—the sliding door slammed shut, closing in the faces of both Gryffindors with a dry, definitive thud.
From the corridor, indignant knocks and Ron's voice cursing could be heard, but no one dared to open it again.
Inside the compartment, silence returned.
Pansy looked at Draco with wide eyes, her pupils dilated.
"That was..." she began, searching for the right word. She had expected a duel, shouting, hexes. But Draco had dispatched them as if they were annoying servants.
"Efficient," Draco finished, turning the page. "Anger is for those who lack control, Pansy. Remember that."
[SYSTEM: SOCIAL DOMINANCE][Enemies (Weasley/Potter): Humiliated / Confused.][Reputation (Slytherin): The Untouchable King.][Skill Used: Linguistics (Gobbledegook) + Charisma (Intimidation).]
The train gave a final lurch and stopped, releasing a hiss of steam that sounded like the sigh of a metallic beast. Outside, night had fallen over Scotland, cold and absolute.
"We have arrived," announced Draco, standing up and smoothing his robes. "Vincent, Gregory. Get the trunks. Pansy, fix your hair. We are going to conquer a castle."
Draco exclaimed with his gaze fixed on the system screen.
[MAIN QUEST UNLOCKED: THE SILVER CROWN][Location: Slytherin Dungeons.][Objective: Take control of the House before dawn. Democracy does not exist in the snake's nest; only strength.][Reward: Title "Prince of Serpents" (+15 Political Influence / Harem Unlock: Astoria Greengrass Route).]