Chapter 655: Mist and Reunion
In the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, a silver top spun endlessly on the desk, beside a jar of purple-smoking liquid and several spyglasses marred with scratches. Most striking of all was the large cage on the teacher’s podium, housing a goat with curly hair, calmly grazing on hay.
Professor Moody, limping slightly, instructed the students to put their textbooks away as usual, then moved slowly down the aisle between the desks.
"In the Middle Ages, a certain spell was all the rage among wizards—something you’ve likely studied in your books. The Goat Transfiguration Charm." He tapped the cage with his wooden staff. "This isn’t an Animagus transformation, nor is it like those silly candies you’ve been playing with lately. It’s a truly vile form of Dark Magic."
The students watched the goat with curiosity. The soft rustling of feather quills on parchment filled the air.
"The victim couldn’t break the curse naturally. The magical effects didn’t fade with time. Back then, Dark Wizards would turn Muggles who’d offended them into goats, drag them to market, and sell them off. And then… well, I think you can guess the goat’s fate."
Moody’s magical eye swiveled slowly, scanning each student. Some looked disgusted, others fascinated. A few wore expressions of quiet longing, while others clearly feared what this could mean.
His scarred face remained expressionless as he continued.
"Of course, this transfiguration isn’t limited to goats. It can turn a person into a frog, a swan, a pig, a dog—any animal you can imagine."
"The outcome depends not on how the victim looks, but on the wizard’s intent. Once transformed, the person’s family could never reclaim them."
"Of course, I won’t teach you this dark magic. If you’re curious, go ask Professor McGonagall. What you do need to know is how to prevent it—and how to resist it. Pay attention! This isn’t some silly shape-shifting gummy game!"
For the rest of the class, the room echoed with the occasional bleat of a goat, or the grunts, barks, and croaks of other animals—each sound a chilling reminder of the spell’s power.
Draco Malfoy had been transformed into a weasel earlier in the lesson. After Professor Moody reverted him, the professor coldly pointed out that Draco had forgotten the third point he’d just emphasized—and that his resistance was weaker than a nosedog’s.
A low ripple of laughter spread through the classroom. Several Slytherins stared at Draco with their strange, ancient eyes.
In the past, such a remark would have turned Draco crimson with shame, filling him with hatred toward Moody. But now, he listened in silence, gave a single nod to acknowledge the correction, and sat down calmly.
Inside, he wasn’t as composed as he seemed. Yet, remembering the horrifying painting of the Cruciatus Curse, he found that being mocked didn’t feel so terrible after all.
For the first time, he began to understand why someone like Moody despised him—not because of Draco himself, but because of the name he carried. The legacy of his father, and his grandfather’s allegiance to the Dark Lord.
He also finally grasped how Harry Potter must have felt—when Snape mocked him, when the others laughed at him.
That day, Draco had returned to the Slytherin Common Room only after making sure he looked pristine and orderly. No one doubted he was the one who’d been caught spying. But his standing within the house hadn’t improved.
During those hard days, he’d often sit alone beneath a beech tree by the Black Lake, watching the squid’s tentacles ripple through the water. He’d lie awake all night, staring through the window at the shimmering, ever-changing light dancing on the lake’s surface.
As he watched the fractured reflections, he realized for the first time that the world had countless facets. Re-evaluating his own life, he saw that his previous sense of simple happiness had only been an illusion—his parents had wrapped his world in the finest, most beautiful layers, showing him only the surface.
But in truth, he’d never truly known the girl he thought he’d marry. He’d never seen through the false friendship of those he called his peers.
Everything he’d possessed—his wealth, his status, his reputation—felt like fine silk, dazzling on the outside but hollow, fragile, even faintly rotten.
“Ding-dong…”
The bell rang. Students pulled back their chairs and began filing out. Draco snapped out of his thoughts, instinctively glancing toward the Ravenclaw section—toward Wade Gray.
Even after being dazed through most of the class, Draco knew one thing for certain: Wade Gray was the only student who had successfully resisted Moody’s Transfiguration Charm.
In fact, Draco suspected that if Wade had wanted to, he could have turned the spell back on the professor.
Wade’s skill in Transfiguration was unquestionably beyond that of most adult wizards.
It reminded Draco of the day Wade had transformed a candy into a rabbit with a flick of his wand—keeping the form until he chose to release it.
Since then, Draco had waited nervously for days, fearing retaliation from the Rosen group, or that Wade would hold it over him. But nothing happened.
Whenever they passed in the corridor, Wade acted as if nothing had happened—like the entire episode had been a dream.
After a moment’s hesitation, Draco was the last to gather his backpack and leave.
He pressed his lips together, then walked alone toward the Great Hall.
Halfway there, he was suddenly bumped from behind.
Draco bristled—thinking it was Crabbe again—but the Hufflepuff student didn’t even notice him.
A crowd had gathered in the corridor, students craning their necks, tiptoeing on their toes, whispering in hushed tones.
“Look! It’s Percy Rosen from Slytherin!”
“Kelly, Burns, Nelson, Pansy, Braith—they’re all Slytherin! Oh, wait—there are two Ravenclaws at the back too!”
“What happened? I’ve never seen McGonagall look this furious!”
“And Snape… he looks terrifying!”
Draco froze, pushing forward through the throng until he finally saw what was ahead.
There, marching in a line, were the very same students he’d seen in the Chamber of Secrets—hunched, fearful, heads down.
At the front, Professor McGonagall’s face was ashen. At the back, Professor Snape’s eyes were dark and cold, like they wanted to kill.
Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor Moody—each one stood like a guard, their expressions grim.
As the procession passed, the whispers died. Students scattered, giving them wide berth, terrified of being caught in the wrath of any furious professor.
Draco felt a sudden twist in his stomach. His throat went dry, as if on fire.
Only when the group had passed and the corridor cleared did he swallow hard and mutter, almost unconsciously:
"Why…?"
"Because they caught the one they were looking for," said a voice beside him, warm and amused.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
"An innocent little Slytherin first-year, claiming he ran off to spy on them out of admiration. How pathetic."
Antoine leaned down, grinning. "The fools actually believed him. Now they feel so confident, they’re holding their second meeting right away. And look—caught red-handed."
The voice was unfamiliar—but the tone… it felt strangely familiar.
Draco stiffened, whirling around. "You’re that fake Bleach…"
His eyes widened as he recognized the man behind him.
"You’re… you’re not… from Salem?"
Antoine tapped the side of his head with a finger and laughed. "Even if I am from another school, you still address me as Professor, boy!"
He turned to gaze at Wade, who stood leaning against the wall nearby. "Wade, is this Slytherin really one of your year’s top students? He doesn’t look very bright."
Draco realized Wade was there too. A flush of embarrassment crossed his face.
"He just didn’t process it," Wade said, watching Draco. "You weren’t among those taken. Sometimes, the worst moment can be a blessing in disguise, don’t you think?"
If Draco had stayed with them, he’d have been dragged out in front of everyone—possibly even labeled a ringleader and punished accordingly.
Before, Lucius Malfoy was still in power, and Draco had commanded a presence in Slytherin that made even older students bow to him.
But now… he stood silent, watching the two.
A flood of thoughts surged through his mind—but too chaotic to sort through. In the end, he blurted out:
"How did they catch a first-year who was just spying?"
—You know full well it was me.
"Oh, actually, he volunteered," Antoine said lightly. "He overheard a few fragments, thought it was his chance to join, and stepped forward. Said he hadn’t even seen anything before they caught him."
—Really? Are you sure it wasn’t you who pushed him into it?
Draco eyed Antoine, who seemed far too casual, far too at home. He turned to Wade for confirmation.
Wade nodded. "The boy’s the younger brother of Mileson Borthed. Pureblood, and they trust him more than they do you. Even if he was caught in the first meeting, they wouldn’t blame him."
"Ha-ha!" Antoine chuckled with delight. "And guess what? He got caught too!"
Draco couldn’t help but smirk. Then he asked: "What happens now?"
"Main instigators will be expelled," Antoine said. "Teaching Unforgivable Curses to minors? If Dumbledore doesn’t send them all to Azkaban, he’s being generous."
"As for the others…" Wade considered for a moment. "Especially those in fifth year or below—probably demerit points, detentions. Dumbledore will give them a chance to redeem themselves."
The OWLs—Ordinary Wizarding Levels—were the most important exams in a wizard’s life. The certificates determined career paths, job opportunities, marriage prospects—even how a wizard was treated in court.
Take Hagrid, for example. He never took his OWLs. If Dumbledore hadn’t taken him in, he’d likely have been a homeless wanderer in the wizarding world—or worse, a criminal.
Yet Dumbledore had hired Hagrid as a professor of Care of Magical Creatures, despite him having no OWLs. It was a controversial move.
But Hagrid’s deep knowledge of magical beasts and his excellent teaching had silenced the critics.
Now, if Pansy and her friends were expelled—exactly as the rules demanded—they’d lose the chance to take OWLs. Their lives would be derailed into paths they’d never imagined.
Pansy had a wealthy family, so her margin for error was high. But not every Slytherin had such a safety net. For some, being expelled would mean immediate ruin.
Hearing this, Draco exhaled in relief. Then, ashamed of his own weakness, he scowled at himself.
Wade and Antoine had stayed behind in the corridor, it seemed, deliberately ensuring the capture of the group. After their casual chat, Antoine clapped Wade on the shoulder.
"Since this is settled, I’ll be off. About that matter—let’s meet up soon."
Wade nodded. "Saturday, then."
Antoine waved and strode away.
Wade slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed toward the library.
Left alone, Draco blinked slowly. After a moment, he remembered—he’d meant to go to the Great Hall for dinner.
As he walked, he replayed the scene: the ease between Antoine and Wade, Antoine’s use of Polyjuice Potion to infiltrate the Slytherin gathering, Wade’s sudden appearance to save him…
Something was forming in his mind—like a truth just out of reach. But when he tried to grasp it, it dissolved into fog.
One thing was certain: Wade Gray was hiding something huge.
The young wizard frowned, lost in thought, as he passed through the corridor—when suddenly, he heard rapid footsteps.
"Malfoy!" A first-year Slytherin sprinted toward him, hands on his knees, gasping. "T-to the Castle Entrance! Your father… your father…"
Draco froze. He dropped his backpack and bolted.
The cold wind stung his face as he raced past shadowy figures, his eyes blurring with tears. A thousand dark thoughts raced through his mind.
"Whoosh!"
He burst through the main gate, the force of his sprint whipping the robes of nearby students.
He stopped mid-stride.
There, standing at the foot of the staircase, was Lucius Malfoy.
Clad in a long black robe, he gripped a newly forged serpent-head walking stick, gazing up at the towering castle.
He heard the footsteps and turned.
A soft smile touched his lips.
"Draco!"
(End of Chapter)
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