With Lockhart missing and Slytherin's attitude shifting, if Draco failed to sense that something was wrong, then he would not be Draco.
At a time like this, nothing could be brushed aside as trivial, let alone something like this.
Setting Lockhart's whereabouts aside for the moment.
Other students had also begun to notice that the Slytherins had been acting strangely lately. Some even suspected they were plotting something again.
With the Quidditch match just around the corner, supporters of each house team were especially on edge.
After all, Draco was the team's ace. Every move he made drew attention.
From their perspective, the fact that Draco no longer appeared surrounded by a crowd was interpreted differently. They assumed it was to keep their star player from being disturbed.
Like clearing distractions before heading into battle, so he could focus completely on the upcoming match.
If only they knew it was simply the result of being isolated.
...
Even if it was called isolation, Draco's calm demeanor made it clear he did not care in the slightest. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that he had never cared about being welcomed wherever he went.
He only cared about the people he truly cared about.
It was probably that very attitude that led others to misunderstand him.
Still, while Draco could treat the situation lightly, the people around him clearly could not.
Especially Goyle, Crabbe, and the followers who had pledged their loyalty to Draco out of admiration. During this period, they had not been remotely polite toward the other Slytherins.
Under Pansy's urging, they had even used their influence to make life difficult for certain particularly outspoken students.
And that trouble did not stop at petty disputes. It extended to suppressing and swallowing up the family businesses behind those students.
The Parkinson family was, after all, a commercial giant. As the sole young princess, Pansy naturally had some authority to mobilize family resources.
Compared to Gryffindor's noisy scuffles at school, Slytherin's retaliation was far more direct and far more ruthless.
...
Slytherin Common Room.
Perhaps because Draco was present, the common room was unusually empty.
This was normally the busiest time of day, yet the moment someone caught sight of Draco, they either hurried back to their dormitories with complicated expressions or pretended not to see him and quickly crossed the room.
Unbothered, Draco turned a page in his book. Then he glanced at Pansy, who seemed to be staring at him in a daze.
"They probably didn't expect you to take action like that."
Pansy paused before realizing what he meant.
"Hmph. If my family hadn't been tied up, it would've been handled even faster."
As the little princess of the Parkinson family, Pansy certainly had her own private funds, as well as a measure of assets and authority under her control.
Even if the amount she could directly mobilize was limited, it was still enough to leave those families scrambling.
This was the foundation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
...
In the end, seeking advantage and avoiding danger was only human nature. The Slytherins had simply made what they believed to be the right choice.
After all, this involved the Dark Lord, a name that struck fear into countless hearts. Compared to some abstract sense of justice, they trusted their own interests and their own survival far more.
So after venting her frustration, Pansy gradually came to accept the outcome.
Then, as if remembering something, she suddenly leaned closer to Draco. Her soft, warm body pressed against his side, and the faint, pleasant fragrance she carried made his hand pause midway through turning a page.
Draco glanced at her. His voice came out slightly hoarse.
"What is it?"
Pansy blinked up at him innocently.
"Draco, when are we going to go 'Dragon' again?"
"…"
"Just the two of us."
He turned his head. At some point, Pansy had leaned in so close he could see the sheen in her eyes. Her breathing had quickened, and the faint warmth between them seemed to rise all at once.
Caught off guard by her sudden advance, even Draco's steady composure faltered for a second. His gaze drifted from her face downward to the petite figure pressed against him.
Even through her loose robes, the graceful curves of her growing figure were impossible to ignore.
He closed the book in his hand without thinking. His tongue briefly brushed over his slightly dry lips.
Pansy's meaning was not subtle. Draco was more than capable of understanding what she was hinting at.
The same kind of solitude.
The same atmosphere.
What had happened that afternoon remained a vivid and intoxicating memory for both of them. For two young people, it lingered like fine wine, something to be savored over and over.
But…
"Ahem."
"Mmph."
A fingertip pressed firmly against her forehead.
Before Pansy could react, her head tilted back from the force, and she let out a small, dissatisfied sound.
The moment she bared her teeth in protest, Draco withdrew his hand and gave her head a light pat instead.
"Draco?"
Before he could explain, a light yet chilling voice drifted over, cold enough to make the air feel thinner.
"Parkinson, what exactly were you doing to Draco? Care to explain?"
"Ah!"
Pulled slightly away, Pansy finally saw who had arrived.
"Oh, it's you, Granger."
"What do you mean, 'it's you'? If I hadn't shown up, what were you planning to do?"
"…Nothing."
"You hesitated just now!"
"Tsk."
Yes, that was the real reason Draco had not responded to Pansy.
It was not because this was the common room and therefore inconvenient.
Nor was it because he had failed to understand her hints.
It was because Draco knew Hermione would appear.
After all, he had been the one who called her here.