Goyle and Crabbe were still fairly efficient—perhaps their only redeeming quality at this point.
In any case, Draco's sudden orders took Gary and the others by surprise when they arrived, and they were clearly puzzled by the summons.
Draco had always treated the wizards willing to follow him with indifference, so no one expected him to actually assign them a mission this time.
If memory served, the last time they had all appeared before Draco was on the Christmas Express last year—and even then, Draco hadn't issued any significant orders. But now, the moment they stepped into this small room steeped in Slytherin aesthetics, everyone could sense something different in the calm on Draco's face...
...
Standing beside Draco, Pansy noticed the confused looks the wizards exchanged. She could only shake her head—because even she didn't know what Draco was about to say.
Normally, Pansy would speak on Draco's behalf. But this time, she stood silently behind him.
Draco's usual laziness had its own charm, but Pansy longed to see him at the top, radiant and commanding—just like on the Quidditch Pitch, where no one could match his brilliance.
Maybe the real reason she joined the team was to witness that side of him up close?
But while Pansy's reasons were personal, Gary and the others had pinned their families' hopes on Draco. As members of the younger generation, they felt no loyalty to the Dark Lord, nor did they see him as someone worth following.
So even though Draco had never truly acknowledged his followers or formally accepted their loyalty, that didn't stop them from sticking to their beliefs.
In fact, the more they got to know Draco, the more their numbers grew...
As Gary and the others glanced at one another in uncertainty, Draco finally returned from his thoughts.
Watching the noble wizards before him bow with one hand over their chests, Draco, seated in a carved chair, slowly narrowed his gray eyes.
"I want to know which wizards were conveniently not at the Quidditch Pitch during the match. That includes every professor—even the ghosts. I want to know where everyone was."
He didn't waste time on pleasantries, didn't bother with small talk, and offered no explanations. But this was how Slytherins communicated—or rather, how a king gave orders to his followers.
"Yes!"
Draco's command caught Gary and the others off guard for a second, but they quickly bent low in excitement. Unlike Goyle and Crabbe, however, they hadn't yet earned the right to draw their wands in front of Draco.
Still, Draco hadn't made any promises or offered anything in return, yet it was clear they accepted the task willingly—no matter how difficult it sounded.
To outsiders, it might seem irrational. But for these aristocratic wizards, heirs to long-standing traditions, following strength and revering power was a natural path.
Beyond Draco's noble bloodline, they trusted their judgment. They believed that investing in Draco Malfoy was the key to their families' future.
They had faith.
This era might belong to Dumbledore—but the future, without a doubt, belonged to the wizard standing before them...
...
After Gary and the others accepted the order and left the small room, Pansy—still full of questions—couldn't hold back any longer and immediately turned to Draco.
"Are you trying to find the culprit? Why? Anyone can see this is a perfect chance to damage Dumbledore's reputation."
With Voldemort's fall, the Ministry of Magic—once reliant on Dumbledore—had begun to grow wary of the powerful and increasingly popular greatest wizard. So naturally, this Chamber of Secrets incident would become a weapon the Ministry used to go after him.
In fact, based on the intel in Pansy's hands, the Ministry had already started to make moves...
Given their natural opposition to Dumbledore, there was really no need for them to get involved in solving this.
Draco, resting his cheek against one hand, clearly understood what Pansy meant. In response, he reached out and tapped her forehead with his fingertip.
The gesture made Pansy lean back slightly in surprise. When it registered, she bared her small fangs at him in mock annoyance.
"Draco! I'm being serious!"
Her pouty, harmless scowl only made Draco chuckle as he stretched lazily.
"I don't think something like this—when no wizard has even died—is enough to tarnish Dumbledore's reputation, let alone get him removed as Headmaster."
"But..."
"More importantly, I think this whole thing was orchestrated."
"Orchestrated?"
"Forgot already? Just like last year."
"Last year—you mean...?"
"I think in the end, someone will have to step up and resolve this. And it'll be the same person as before."
"But..."
"Then why can't that hero be me?"
"..."
Draco rose from the carved chair, his eyes flashing with a glint that left Pansy momentarily speechless.
It was confidence. And ambition.
It lasted only a moment, but Pansy caught it.
"And didn't I promise you something?"
"Promise... what?"
Pansy repeated his words with a slightly flustered expression, the tips of her ears turning red.
Draco, not noticing the change in her demeanor, gently patted her on the head.
"Didn't I say? I don't want to see a certain someone crying at this year's House Cup."
"..."
Pansy, who had been embarrassed and a little annoyed by the head pat, froze as soon as she heard that.
So... it was because of her?
Suddenly, all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat. A wave of warmth rushed through her, leaving her body weak and light.
As she watched his figure disappear through the door, her brows arched with quiet delight.
As expected, I—Pansy Parkinson—really do like Draco Malfoy...
...
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