Draco Malfoy woke up that morning with an unusual spring in his step, the kind of giddy excitement that only came from the promise of a perfect scheme. Today was the day he would finally turn the tables on those he deemed beneath him—those "blood traitors" and "Mudblood lovers." Today, he would become the hero of Slytherin.
He had overheard enough snippets of conversations from Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott the previous night to piece together their little plot. They thought they were being clever, but Draco had a plan of his own. He had intentionally kept quiet about their escapades, letting the lower years chatter about it while he watched from the shadows. The thrill of his imminent triumph made him almost giddy as he envisioned the look on their faces when they were caught red-handed.
"Today's the day," he murmured to himself, a sly smile creeping across his lips as he smoothed down his sleek blonde hair. He made his way to the common room, feigning nonchalance while glancing around for any potential witnesses to his soon-to-be-great accomplishment.
As the Slytherins filtered in and out of the common room, Draco's keen eyes landed on Blaise and Theo, who were whispering to each other, clearly in on whatever foolish plan they had concocted. He watched, barely containing his satisfaction, as they waited for everyone else to retire to their dormitories. They had no idea that their secrecy was about to lead them to their downfall.
With a calculated sigh, Draco pretended to head back to his dormitory, but as soon as he was out of sight, he ducked into a nearby alcove. He pulled out his wand, his heart racing with anticipation. After a few moments, he saw Crabbe and Goyle making their way toward him, sleepy-eyed but alert at the prospect of a little adventure.
Draco Malfoy leaned closer to Crabbe and Goyle, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Alright, you two, I need you on board for a little midnight adventure."
Crabbe raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across his face. "What kind of adventure?"
Draco smirked, casting a quick glance around the dimly lit common room to ensure no one was eavesdropping. "We're going to find the Hogwarts kitchens. I heard the house-elves are always eager to whip up snacks for anyone brave enough to ask."
Goyle's eyes lit up at the mention of food. "Food? Like, a lot of it?"
"Exactly," Draco replied, leaning into their excitement. "Think of all the sweets and treats we can get! They might even have some of those chocolate frogs."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances, their faces lighting up with enthusiasm. "I'm in!" Crabbe said, bouncing slightly on his heels. "What do we have to do?"
Draco grinned, pleased that his ruse had worked. "Just follow me, and keep your eyes peeled. We'll sneak through the castle and find the entrance. It'll be a piece of cake."
"Or a piece of chocolate frog!" Goyle added with a grin.
With their appetites ignited, Crabbe and Goyle fell in line behind Draco, murmuring excitedly about the various foods they hoped to find in the kitchens. As they exited the common room and stepped into the cool, quiet corridors of Hogwarts, Draco felt a surge of confidence.
He led them through the twisting hallways, keeping his pace brisk to build anticipation. The castle was eerily silent at this hour, with only the occasional creak of old wood breaking the stillness. Draco could hear Crabbe and Goyle whispering to each other about what they would ask the house-elves for once they got there.
"Do you think they have treacle tart?" Crabbe wondered aloud, his eyes shining with delight.
"Maybe some pumpkin pasties too," Goyle chimed in, his mouth watering at the thought.
"Just imagine how much we can eat," Draco encouraged, stifling his own chuckle. "But keep it down; we don't want anyone catching us out here."
They continued down the winding corridors, Draco leading the way with a confident stride, all the while knowing that they were getting closer to the moment he would reveal his true intentions. He could already picture the stunned look on Blaise and Theo's faces when they were caught, and that satisfaction was far sweeter than any treat he could find in the kitchens.
As they reached a fork in the hall, Draco paused, glancing over his shoulder at his two friends. "Alright, we need to be careful here. If we want to avoid getting caught, we'll take the back staircase. It'll lead us to the kitchens without anyone noticing."
"Got it," Goyle said, nodding earnestly.
"Let's go!" Draco urged, and with that, they turned down the narrow staircase, hearts racing with excitement. Each step brought them closer not to the kitchens, but to the grand reveal of his scheme to outsmart Zabini and Nott.
Draco Malfoy strode confidently down the corridors, Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind, their excitement bubbling over as they chatted about the potential feast awaiting them in the kitchens. However, Draco's mind was focused on a much more significant prize—he needed to catch Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott in the act of smuggling dragon eggs. The seventh floor corridor was the perfect place to intercept them, and he felt a rush of anticipation at the thought of his impending victory.
Draco Malfoy pressed on, determined to reach the seventh floor corridor before anything could derail his plans. He knew he was on the right track; Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott had mentioned Charlie Weasley's arrival, and he could not let the opportunity slip through his fingers. The exchange of dragon eggs was to take place there, and he was determined to catch them in the act.
Navigating the winding halls of Hogwarts at such a late hour was both exhilarating and perilous. Draco moved with practiced stealth, aware of the potential pitfalls lurking around every corner. He ducked into shadows and slipped through doorways, narrowly avoiding the patrols of Prefects and the ever-watchful Eye of Slytherin. Each time he heard footsteps approaching, his heart raced, but he was quick and resourceful, often hiding in alcoves or behind statues until the coast was clear.
As he made his way toward the seventh floor, he mentally rehearsed what he would say when he confronted them. "Caught you red-handed!" he imagined himself exclaiming, relishing the thought of seeing the looks of shock and dismay on their faces. It was going to be the triumph he had longed for—a way to reclaim his status among his peers and perhaps even win some favor with his father.
Finally, Draco reached the landing of the seventh floor. The corridor stretched out before him, dimly lit by flickering torches. He took a moment to steady his breathing, then continued down the hall, keenly aware of every sound and movement. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, pushing him onward.
As he approached the end of the corridor, he slowed his pace, glancing around the corner. The air was thick with anticipation, and Draco felt a thrill at the thought of the imminent confrontation. He leaned against the wall, listening intently for any signs of Zabini and Nott or the unmistakable sound of Charlie Weasley's broomstick.
"Just a little longer," he muttered to himself, trying to keep his nerves in check. He could almost visualize the scene in his mind: the dragon eggs exchanged beneath the cover of darkness, and him standing there, ready to expose them for the frauds they were.
But as he waited, the minutes felt like hours. Draco's impatience began to grow, and he wondered if he should move further down the corridor to get a better vantage point. Just as he was about to step forward, he heard a soft whispering sound drifting from the direction of the entrance.
Draco's heart leaped in his chest. He pressed himself flat against the wall and strained to hear better. It was definitely voices, low and conspiratorial. He couldn't make out the words, but there was no mistaking the urgency in their tone. They were close—so close.
Draco held his breath, poised in the shadows, but as the figures approached, his stomach dropped. Instead of Blaise and Theo, it was two Gryffindor Prefects—one with fiery red hair and the other with an air of authority that set Draco's nerves on edge. They were clearly on patrol, their expressions betraying a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
"Malfoy! What are you doing here?" the red-haired Prefect demanded, crossing his arms.
Draco's heart raced. This was not how it was supposed to go. "I—uh, I was just—" he stammered, searching for the right words. Before he could think of a convincing lie, the second Prefect stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"Are you alone?" he asked, glancing around the corridor as if expecting more Slytherins to jump out of the shadows.
"Of course I'm alone!" Draco snapped, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "I'm investigating something serious—there's a dragon egg smuggling operation happening here at Hogwarts!"
The Gryffindor Prefects exchanged incredulous looks. "Dragon eggs? Really, Malfoy?" the first Prefect said, his tone dripping with skepticism. "You expect us to believe that?"
But before Draco could defend his claim further, the Prefects' gazes flickered past him. He turned just in time to see Crabbe and Goyle rounding the corner, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.
"Draco!" Goyle shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "What's going on?"
Draco felt his stomach twist. "Just—stay back!" he called, but it was too late. The Prefects had already seized Draco by the arms, dragging him away from the alcove.
"What is this?" the second Prefect demanded, grabbing Crabbe and Goyle as they rushed to Draco's side.
"We were just—" Crabbe began, but the Prefects had no patience for their excuses.
"Patrolling, are we?" the red-haired Prefect said with a smirk. "You three are in big trouble. We're taking you all to McGonagall."
"What? No! You can't do that!" Draco protested, but his struggles only earned him a tighter grip. He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle, desperately trying to signal them to play along, but the fear in their eyes mirrored his own.
The Prefects marched them down the dimly lit corridors, ignoring their protests as they made their way to Professor McGonagall's office. The dread grew heavier in Draco's stomach with each step, knowing he was about to be caught in a trap of his own making.
When they finally reached the office, the Prefects knocked firmly on the door, and within moments, Professor McGonagall appeared, her sharp eyes assessing the situation. "What is the meaning of this?" she asked, her voice stern.
"Professor, we caught these three sneaking around the castle," the red-haired Prefect explained. "Malfoy claims there's a dragon egg smuggling operation happening at Hogwarts."
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but McGonagall held up a hand, silencing him. "Is that true, Mr. Malfoy?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean—" he stammered, floundering under her intense gaze. "I was just trying to find out what Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were up to! They're up to something, I swear!"
"Mr. Malfoy," she said, her voice steady, "you and your friends are clearly out of bounds and causing trouble. You must understand the seriousness of this situation."
Draco felt the weight of her words press down on him. "But, Professor—"
"Enough," McGonagall cut him off. "You will all serve a month of detention for being out of bed after hours, and I am deducting one hundred points from Slytherin for this foolishness. I expect better from you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco's heart sank further at the punishment. A month of detention and a loss of points? This was a catastrophe. "But—"
"Go to bed, all of you," she said sharply, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. "And consider this a lesson in the importance of discretion and responsibility. Next time, think twice before you concoct a wild story to explain your late-night activities."
As they walked back to the Slytherin common room, Draco could feel Crabbe and Goyle's glances filled with disappointment. He had dragged them into this, and now they were all facing the consequences. The thrill of the hunt had turned to humiliation, and he would have to find a way to reclaim his reputation after this.
In the quiet of the dungeon, Draco vowed to himself that he would make Blaise and Theo pay for this humiliation, no matter what it took. He couldn't let them win; he would find a way to turn this around and emerge victorious.
The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the Slytherin common room, casting long shadows across the stone floor. The atmosphere was heavy with resentment as Draco Malfoy sat in a corner, his usual bravado all but stripped away. Whispers filled the room, sharp and pointed like daggers, aimed squarely at him.
"Can you believe he got us 100 points taken away?" hissed Flora Carrow, her voice low but laced with venom. "We were leading the House Cup, and now look where we are!"
Draco clenched his jaw, biting back the urge to retort. He could feel the eyes of his Housemates boring into him, their disapproval palpable. The once-comforting green and silver banners now seemed to loom over him like dark clouds, a constant reminder of his failure. He had always been the center of attention, whether it was for his sharp wit or his family's legacy. Now, he was the pariah of Slytherin.
Marcus Flint, who had once been his closest ally, now kept his distance, shooting Draco sideways glances filled with disdain. "You really messed up this time, Malfoy," he said, his tone betraying the irritation he tried to mask. "We could've won the Cup this year, and now we're sitting in third place with only a few weeks left."
"Shut it, Flint," Draco snapped, but the words lacked their usual venom. He was too busy nursing the wound to his pride and the growing anger he felt toward himself. It had all seemed so simple—the perfect plan to expose those he deemed traitors to purebloods everywhere. Yet, the only thing he had succeeded in doing was throwing his own House into chaos.
In the following days, the hostility only intensified. Slytherins who once admired Draco for his audacity now regarded him with barely concealed contempt. He overheard snippets of conversations in the hallways, whispers of his downfall echoing off the ancient stone walls.
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