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Chapter 79
At last, it was time for school to begin.
Although Draco insisted to Lucius and Narcissa that Sirius Black would never dare commit a crime in broad daylight, his parents remained unconvinced. They insisted on escorting him personally—right up to the station, and watching him board the train with their own eyes.
Compared to other families, the Malfoys appeared far more composed.
They carried no bulky luggage. Narcissa, who doted excessively on her only son, had paid extra to ensure his belongings were sent ahead in comfort. She could not bear the thought of her precious child dragging heavy trunks through crowds.
Lucius, naturally, saw no reason to object over such a trivial expense.
Draco accepted their concern without argument.
Without the Traceless Extension Charm, the large iron cage was indeed inconvenient to carry.
Upon arriving at King's Cross, they followed the flow of the crowd toward the platform. Narcissa frowned frequently, clearly displeased by the stale air and the press of bodies. With so many people brushing past one another, her mild obsession with cleanliness was thoroughly tested. She voiced her dissatisfaction by knitting her narrow brows and criticizing the environment without pause.
Lucius ignored it calmly. He was long accustomed to his wife's temperament.
Soon, they reached the platform. The scarlet steam engine hissed loudly, white vapor billowing overhead. Wizarding parents and children filled the platform, scenes of farewell unfolding everywhere.
"Hector."
Lucius smiled, switching his cane to his left hand as he strode forward, extending his right in greeting.
Hector returned the gesture politely, their handshake brief but cordial.
"Draco's grown taller," Hector remarked with a smile. "He'll be quite the man one day—just like his father."
Lucius inclined his head slightly. "You flatter him. Your family's little princess has grown as well."
Pleasantries followed, and the younger generation dutifully greeted their elders. Time slipped by beneath the platform canopy.
Draco's gaze inevitably fell on Pansy Parkinson.
Her expression was composed, distant—almost indifferent.
He couldn't help but search his memory for whatever offense he might have caused. She had grown cold near the end of last term, yet he could not recall a single decisive moment that explained it.
Eventually, he attributed it to adolescence.
They boarded the train together and took seats beside one another. Silence settled between them.
Draco said nothing.
Neither did Pansy.
Yet only she knew how unsteady her heart truly was.
Seeing that she had no intention of speaking, Draco chose not to press. Once the train began to move, he leaned back against the window and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.
Pansy watched his familiar profile and finally felt her tension ease.
When news of the monster's rampage had spread, she had been in Professor Snape's office, cleaning ink stains from his robes. At the time, she had secretly rejoiced, wondering which unlucky Muggle-born had been attacked next.
Then she saw Draco in the hospital wing—pale, barely breathing.
That was when she realized something was wrong.
"A pureblood is noble. A Muggle-born is filthy."
She had heard those words countless times growing up. They were etched into her thinking so deeply that she had never questioned them.
Until Draco.
He would frown when she insulted Muggle-borns. He would deliberately weave Muggle history into his stories—strange, unbelievable tales that sounded more like fiction than truth. Her parents had never cared about such things. Everything he told her felt new.
Yet she forced herself to respond coldly, masking curiosity with disdain.
She remembered him once telling her that a Black man would become president of a Muggle nation in the future.
She hadn't believed it.
And yet… she had.
The change within her was subtle, but real.
She restrained herself in public, convincing herself it was merely proper behavior for a well-bred lady.
Still, resentment lingered.
She hated Hermione Granger.
Outstanding grades.
Relentless diligence.
And worst of all—Draco's attention.
She had seen them together. Alone.
She believed she alone deserved his indulgence. He saved sweets for her, comforted her after Quidditch losses, taught her defensive spells, tolerated her temper. Even when wrong, he apologized first.
But his affection was paternal, restrained—like that of a guardian.
Perhaps she was still a child in his eyes.
When she recalled him lying injured, blood seeping through bandages, fear had seized her completely. What if it had been his head? Magic could not restore that.
Even purebloods were powerless before death.
And she could not deny the truth—Hermione had saved him.
She thought long and hard, hiding every doubt beneath her usual composure. Only she knew how much had changed.
She refused to be a burden.
That was why she had not written to him all summer.
She chose to believe his warnings of future danger. Even if she could not stand beside him, she would at least not hold him back.
The nightmares returned often.
Ruins.
Broken walls.
A noseless man with a twisted face.
Crows crying beneath a darkened sky.
Then curses flew.
Fear flooded her veins like poison.
Suddenly, silver light pierced the darkness.
"Pansy, are you alright?"
Draco's voice.
Warmth followed—chocolate melting on her tongue.
Only then did she realize she was shaking violently, frozen to the bone.
When her senses returned, she found herself in his arms.
And for the first time, she stopped resisting.
"Let me rest," she murmured softly, clinging to him like a koala.
Draco noticed the change. She was herself again—but not entirely.
His instincts told him it was a good thing.
Then his expression darkened.
Thinking of what had attacked her, anger flared in his eyes.
"These filthy creatures…" he muttered.
"One day, I'll make you pay."