Chapter 557: Malfoy's Transformation
【Representatives from various Magic Schools will arrive on Friday, October 30th, at 6 PM. Afternoon classes will end half an hour early…】
The giant notice was posted in the Great Hall, visible to everyone passing through. Students eager to join the Tournament grew increasingly anxious.
“One week left!” Marcus Bellby of Ravenclaw said, his voice tinged with worry. “But my Stunning Spell isn’t even mastered yet… If only the Spell Study Society meetings were daily!”
“Are you serious about trying out for the Tournament?” Ford, one of his friends, grinned. “Do you really think you’d get picked? You’ve got some pretty impressive teachers, after all.”
He lifted his chin, signaling subtly. Bellby turned—and saw Wade, accompanied by a few friends, walking out from the Greenhouse.
Bellby studied his friend seriously. “Who even knows the selection criteria? Given how dangerous the Tournament is, I think age will be a major barrier. The School will probably prioritize adults.”
Ford nodded sagely. “True… If a minor died during the competition, the Ministry of Magic would have a tough time explaining it.”
Bellby missed the irony in his tone and pressed on. “And we don’t even know what events we’ll face. Last time, it was deciphering riddles, searching for hidden objects, identifying traps, memory retention, judgment, and leadership… Even if Gray is exceptionally talented, he can’t possibly be better than everyone in every way. We still might have a chance.”
“Well… I guess you’re not entirely out of it,” Ford scratched his head. “Best of luck, then.”
In truth, few students were as determined as Bellby—firm in their belief that they had a real edge in some area, yet still clinging to hope of becoming a Hogwarts champion. Most others had long since shifted from ambition to mere curiosity, watching the Tournament like a spectacle.
After nearly two months of study and training, the majority of students had already come to terms with the reality of the gap between themselves and the truly exceptional—like Wade. The dream of being chosen as a champion had faded.
Yet, the Spell Study Society’s numbers had only grown.
During weekly tutoring sessions, students found concepts once considered impenetrable suddenly becoming clear. Each small success built upon the last, creating a deep sense of confidence and satisfaction. The fulfillment was profound—more addictive than any game.
Wisdom Creatures instinctively crave strength, the power to master more, and rewards that are visible and tangible. But in most cases, learning is too difficult. Long stretches of no progress become a painful burden, and students gradually give up, pretending not to care, then surrendering to shallow pleasures.
Here, though, students regularly experienced that moment of breakthrough—the sudden clarity, the mental lightness, the feeling of being fully alive and energized. Some even felt like they wanted to stay in that state forever.
So, despite never intending to join, several students began showing up on time—some even from Slytherin. Among them was Draco Malfoy.
When Harry saw his “rival” enter the activity room, his eyes nearly popped out. Ron, Dean, and Seamus from Gryffindor immediately wore mocking grins, ready to pounce and mock him.
But Hermione stepped in, arms crossed. “Don’t you remember the rules of the Spell Study Society?” she said firmly. “No matter your year, no matter your House—everyone inside is treated the same. Anyone is welcome.”
“Hey, Hermione,” Ron protested. “Do you really think we care about him? Remember how he insulted you—how he insulted us?”
“I remember perfectly,” Hermione said without hesitation. “And that’s exactly why I’m stopping you—not for him, but for you. Do you really want to break the rules and get kicked out?”
Ron and the others fell silent.
They glanced at the podium—and saw Wade quietly watching them. His expression held no amusement, no encouragement for them to harass Malfoy.
Dean muttered under his breath, “Ravenclaw really is… always defending their friends, isn’t it?”
Ron didn’t say anything, but he thought the same. Sometimes, rules should be flexible.
Hermione arched an eyebrow, her gaze locking onto Dean. “Malfoy bullies others—we all know he’s vile and shallow. If we were to bully someone in return, would that be the right thing to do?”
Dean said nothing.
Wasn’t it different when it was Malfoy?
“Alright,” Harry stepped forward, gently pushing Ron and the others aside. “There’ll be plenty of chances to confront him later. But not here. Not now. Remember why we’re even here.”
Pale and expressionless, Malfoy stood by the Horn, staring blankly ahead—as if he hadn’t even noticed the Gryffindors had just argued over him just a few meters away.
His once-arrogant face now looked gaunt and exhausted, dark shadows beneath his eyes, his condition unmistakably poor.
When the tutoring session began, Wade gave him no special treatment. No extra attention. No sympathy. Just a neutral, ordinary demeanor—as if Malfoy were just another face in the crowd.
Before entering the room, Malfoy had braced himself for a fight. He’d expected taunts from Wade, from Harry, from the others. He’d clenched his teeth, preparing to endure.
But after Wade offered a few brief corrections and walked past, Malfoy realized—what hurt most wasn’t hatred.
It was being completely ignored.
The bell rang at nine. Wade clapped his hands. “That’s it for today’s Spell Study Society.”
At the sound, Malfoy was the first to yank open the door and bolt out. He hurried to the restroom, slammed the door shut, and leaned against the wall, gasping as the suffocating weight in his chest finally began to ease.
After a long moment, he emerged from the cubicle, hands pressed onto the sink, staring into the mirror.
“Did you see how he looked?” a boy laughed loudly. “If it weren’t for his father’s money, no one would ever notice him.”
“Hasn’t Lucius Malfoy been found yet?” another asked.
“No. My uncle works at the Ministry. He says Malfoy’s wife has hired dozens of people—nothing. I say he’s dead for sure.”
“Then Draco inherits all that wealth, right?”
“What good is inheritance if he can’t even protect it?”
“Hear the Ministry’s planning to investigate Lucius Malfoy’s connection to the Camp Attack?” a third voice growled. “If they prove he was involved, the family vault could be seized.”
“So our ‘Malfoy Prince’ will be left with nothing… Hahaha!”
The cruel laughter echoed down the corridor, fading into the distance.
Malfoy’s stomach twisted. His throat tightened. A chill crept into his bones.
He recognized the voices—not Gryffindors, but Slytherins.
Yet he lacked the courage to storm out, to face them, to expose their hypocrisy and disgust.
In that moment, he understood—clearly, painfully—
He was no longer the “Malfoy Prince,” sheltered beneath his father’s shadow, able to do as he pleased.
(End of Chapter)
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