In the Slytherin dormitory, Draco Malfoy's body was bright red, tears streamed down his face, and golden patterns spread across his skin. He kept hitting his head and fists against the floor.
There was no other way—the pain was unbearable.
If possible, Draco wished he could just pass out from the pain.
But the truth was, this pain went deep into his mind, making it impossible for him to faint.
He could only try to fight pain with more pain, hoping to ease the pressure on his nerves.
He hit the floor with such force that, if he were still his old weak self, his bones would have broken and his head would have split open.
But because of the Elixir, his body was getting stronger. So aside from some redness, he wasn't really hurt.
Instead, it was the floor that ended up full of dents.
Normally, such loud noises would have alerted the professors at Hogwarts. The dormitories had protective spells that would trigger an alarm if damaged.
Luckily, the Rune Josh gave Draco not only blocked sound but also magic, so no alarms were set off.
Draco had also sent his roommate away before taking the Elixir, and they wouldn't be back for a few hours.
So no one knew what happened there except Josh and Draco himself.
Draco's suffering lasted for almost an hour before it finally eased.
"You okay, kid?" Josh asked, feeling a little guilty.
He knew about the side effects of the Supreme Elixir. The pain was hard even for adults to bear, and for an eleven-year-old, it was especially harsh. He was worried Draco might have been driven mad by the pain.
But without a doubt, this Elixir was the fastest and safest way to make Draco strong.
There was also the Super Soldier Serum, which was safer, but it only strengthened the body, not magic. And against magic, that kind of strength wouldn't help much.
As for making Draco a warrior powered by a dimensional god? That was even less practical. Not only would Draco have to be in Josh's world for that, but the ritual was also riskier than the Supreme Elixir.
"Whew... It was painful, but I've never felt better than I do now!" Draco looked up, took a deep breath, and answered Josh's question.
"Good. Now, let's see how you do tomorrow night." Josh nodded, pleased that Draco had made it through without any issues.
He had chosen well. Even though Draco might have been led astray by his father Lucius before, his potential was clearly there.
"Don't worry, I won't let you down," Draco said confidently.
"Good, that's the spirit. Now rest well. I'll contact you again tomorrow night on Halloween," Josh said.
With that, their communication ended.
Afterward, Draco used a spell to repair the damaged floor, removed the barrier, took a shower, and lay down on his bed. He kept thinking about what Josh had told him would happen the next day.
"A troll, huh? I'm really looking forward to it," he muttered. Feeling very tired, he soon fell asleep.
Time passed quickly, and the next day arrived—Halloween Eve.
As an important holiday, the sweet smell of roasted pumpkins filled Hogwarts from early morning.
But for the main trio, it wasn't a good day.
They had gotten into a fight.
A few days earlier, after Harry and Ron went out at night because of Draco's teasing, Hermione had stopped talking to them.
As a top student from a regular school, she strongly disliked such rule-breaking behavior.
Of course, if things kept going as in the original story, even this good student would eventually become just like Harry and Ron.
But not yet.
Because of this, Ron grew even more annoyed with Hermione.
After an argument in Flying class and some harsh comments from Ron afterward—like "She thinks she's so great," "She's a nightmare," and "She has no friends"—Hermione was clearly upset.
She was only eleven, after all, and couldn't handle such direct rejection.
So for the rest of the afternoon, Harry and Ron didn't see Hermione.
It wasn't until the Halloween feast that evening that they overheard some girls saying Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom.
But once the feast began, the two boys quickly forgot about her.
It was only when Professor Quirrell ran in shouting about a troll that they remembered Hermione.
They hurried to find Hermione to warn her about the troll. On the way, they ran into Snape and had to hide from him, which cost them some time.
By the time they found Hermione, they were met with a shocking scene.
Hermione Granger, who was supposed to become their good friend, had her head buried in the chest of Draco Malfoy—a Slytherin they saw as an enemy—sobbing quietly.
Just a few meters away lay the headless corpse of a terrifying troll.
"Dammit, Hermione, what are you doing with that Slytherin?" Harry and Ron were more focused on how close Hermione and Draco seemed to be, especially Ron, who shouted immediately.
They didn't notice the ornate, blood-stained sword in Draco's hand, or that the trail of blood led straight to the troll's body.
In other words, Malfoy had killed the troll with a sword.
Why use a sword instead of magic? Well, haven't wizards in other worlds done similar things? It's not that strange.
Hearing Ron's shout, Hermione lifted her head from Draco's comforting embrace and looked at them.
But the look in her eyes, which used to be friendly or at most annoyed, now held a hint of disgust.
"Well, well, if it isn't the Weasel who can't do anything right and talks behind people's backs, and our famous 'Savior' who hasn't seen much of the world," Malfoy sneered, patting Hermione reassuringly—I've got this.
While Draco had let go of his pure-blood obsession on Josh's advice, he'd fully embraced the idea that strength is what matters.
Looking back, he felt nothing but contempt for Harry and Ron—and even for his former self.
"You jerk! Who are you talking about?" Harry and Ron had never been good at controlling their tempers and immediately reached for their wands.
"What is going on here?"
Just as another fight was about to break out, an angry shout came from nearby.
They turned to see Professor McGonagall storming toward them, followed by Snape and Quirrell.
Quirrell took one look at the troll and pretended to faint, sobbing quietly.
Snape, however, gave Draco and his sword a deeply surprised look before examining the troll's body.
Professor McGonagall stared sternly at the four students. "What on earth are you playing at? You're lucky you weren't killed! Why didn't you stay in your dormitory as instructed?"
Harry and Ron trembled, too scared to speak.
"No, Professor, it's not Malfoy's fault! He came to find me. We weren't in the Great Hall, so we didn't know about the troll. He killed it and saved me!" Hermione spoke up first, telling the truth.
Her words shocked everyone, even Snape, who had already suspected something.
A first-year student killing a troll? It sounded like a fairy tale.
Only then did everyone notice the blood dripping from the sword in Draco's hand.
"Mr. Malfoy... you killed the troll with this sword?" Snape asked, his expression deeply strange.
Using a sword to kill a troll? Are you really a Slytherin and not a Gryffindor? Sword-fighting is something only Gryffindor brutes would do. Among the four founders, only Godric Gryffindor used a sword—a weapon most wizards avoid.
"Yes, Professor. As you know, I'm just a first-year. I don't know many spells yet, so I wasn't confident facing the troll with magic. But I happen to have learned a little swordsmanship..." Draco explained.
It sounded reasonable... but was it really? For a boy his size, killing with a sword was even more unbelievable than using a wand.
Even though the Elixir had strengthened Draco's body to a dragon-like toughness, his outward appearance hadn't changed much—he just looked a bit sturdier than the average student. But compared to a troll, he was still completely outmatched.
Yet, the evidence suggested he wasn't lying. The fatal wound on the troll matched Draco's sword perfectly, and Hermione was a witness.
Could this spoiled rich kid really have killed the troll? McGonagall and Snape were deeply puzzled.
In their eyes, the old Draco had been nothing more than an arrogant brat from a wealthy family.
While they were still confused, Quirrell, who was still pretending to be unconscious, had a dark, unreadable expression on his face.