Although no one could define it precisely, the difficulty of wandless and nonverbal spells was undeniable. In terms of practicality, these techniques did have their advantages—but that didn't necessarily make them worth a wizard's time to master.
After all, there were far too many benefits to using a wand. A wand not only amplified the power of spells, but also reduced the amount of magic expended.
It was said that the strongest wizard of his time possessed a wand so powerful that it could increase his strength by more than thirty percent.
So while it was indeed surprising that Draco had managed to grasp such techniques at his age, it wasn't enough to draw too much attention. Some even considered it unwise of him to spend time on something so impractical.
This was why Snape had always wanted to teach his godson a lesson. But Draco seemed to have a particular fondness for such skills—perhaps because of his exceptionally high affinity with magic. In this area, Draco truly seemed gifted...
Hermione, knowing little about the intricacies of such magic, wasn't aware of any of this. She simply thought Draco was stronger than everyone else, and that sparked a bit of competitiveness in her.
She was sure she could surpass him—this annoying guy who always bullied her...
...
The young wizards of Hogwarts had once thought that History of Magic was the worst subject in the entire curriculum. Not only was the content dull and sleep-inducing, but Professor Binns' monotonous, droning voice was like a magical spell in itself—one that made it impossible to keep their eyes open.
And then there was the homework—scrolls of parchment meters long that sent shivers down their spines.
Even after just one class, History of Magic had quickly become the least liked subject among first-years...
However, it turned out they had been too quick to judge.
Because today, they realized something horrifying: there was a subject even more detested than History of Magic.
At least in History of Magic, one could sneak a nap or quietly do their own thing while the ghost professor rambled on about long-forgotten magical events.
But Potions... Potions was nothing but pure suffering.
Well... unless you were in Slytherin.
...
The Potions classroom was located deep in the dungeons. A cold, clammy chill hung in the air—not entirely due to the underground setting.
Lining the walls were glass jars filled with mysterious, unidentifiable specimens from various magical creatures. It was unclear whether they were alive or dead, but just the sight of them sent a psychological chill through the room.
Of course, another reason for the icy atmosphere could very well have been Professor Snape himself. His gaze, cold and piercing like the dead of winter, made every student in the room shiver.
Among them, the only one who remained calm was Draco, who understood Snape well enough not to be rattled.
"I can't believe I'm seeing her here again."
"Another class with Gryffindor?"
Draco, standing beside her, easily noticed Pansy shooting a glare at a certain little witch. At the same time, he realized something else—it seemed like every single class had been arranged with Gryffindor.
"The reason for this must be competition..." Draco thought.
Perhaps it was due to the limited number of professors. But there was also the possibility that it was deliberately arranged to encourage rivalry between the two houses. Otherwise, what was the point of the House Cup?
The mutual animosity between the two houses seemed to be a tradition passed down through generations.
Maybe that was why the relationship between Gryffindor and Slytherin had always been so strained...
"Still, even though my godfather can be a bit difficult..."
"...this is the first time I've seen him show such open hostility toward someone..."
Yes. That wasn't just bias.
Draco could tell—this was genuine hatred, bordering on loathing.
Watching Snape relentlessly direct his venom at Harry Potter, who sat among the Gryffindors, Draco's expression became a little strange.
What had the Chosen One done to provoke his godfather?
...
As Snape blatantly ignored Hermione's raised hand, held high with determination, Draco noticed it too.
His godfather's gaze shifted toward his seat.
"Well then, let's have our truly intelligent Mr. Malfoy answer the question for the famous Mr. Potter!"
...
Feeling very much like a tool, Draco rolled his eyes in irritation. Still, for the sake of the precious potion ingredients, he didn't refuse—or remind Snape about the little witch whose arm looked like it was about to snap off from being raised so long.
He stood up, cleared his throat, and deliberately ignored Hermione's angry glare.
"Asphodel root powder and wormwood can be combined to make a very powerful sleeping potion, also known as the Draught of Living Death."
"Cow bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a cow and has extremely strong detoxifying properties."
"As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are actually the same plant, collectively known as aconite."
There wasn't the slightest pause as he spoke. That magnetic voice of his drew the attention of the young wizards around him. His gray eyes glinted with intelligence.
There was no denying it—this version of Draco had a charm that made people want to listen.
Unfortunately, the moment was soon broken.
"Did you understand?"
"And why aren't you writing this down?!"
Snape's cold, growling voice startled everyone in the room. The students scrambled to grab their quills and frantically jotted down Draco's answer.
But Snape wasn't finished.
"Potter, since you couldn't answer, Gryffindor will lose one point."
"As for Malfoy, one point to Slytherin."
The heated glare from behind made Draco turn slightly and blink. It was clear Hermione thought this was completely unfair. She had known the answer and had been the first to raise her hand. Yet, she still didn't get the recognition she deserved.
It wasn't hard to guess how upset that made her.
Hmm... expecting fairness in Snape's classroom—wasn't that just wishful thinking?
Hermione knew Draco wasn't to blame, but still... since class was in session and Snape was her professor, there wasn't anything she could say.
All she could do was glare daggers at Draco with burning intensity.
It seemed Hermione cared a lot about how well she performed in class. Draco didn't know exactly what she was thinking, but her emotional reaction caught his interest.
He blinked.
His lips curved upward.
That deliberately provocative wink of Draco's only made Hermione angrier. With her brows furrowed and eyes blazing, she looked like a feisty little tiger—adorable, but not exactly threatening.
There was no denying it.
Besides studying magic, Draco had found something else entertaining at Hogwarts.
Like, say... teasing little witches?
...
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