After Divination class ended, Draco and the others didn’t get a chance to sit down and discuss the prophecy.
The mont they returned to the Slytherin common room, Goyle and Crabbe were already rushing toward them with bad news.
“Draco, boss lady, there’s sothing we’ve got to tell you!”
“What is it? You both look like soone died. Don’t tell the House-elves preparing dinner went on strike?”
“Well...”
Unlike Draco, Pansy was only mildly preoccupied with the earlier prophecy. Since she didn’t fully understand the part about the dragon’s shadow, it hadn’t affected her much—so she still had the presence of mind to joke.
She didn’t notice Hermione watching Draco closely, a look of hesitation and realization flickering across her face. It seed she’d connected sothing in her mind but hadn’t decided whether to say it.
Facing Pansy, whose expression had soured at the sight of Granger standing among them, Goyle gave an awkward smile before blurting out his news.
“No, it’s Alastor Moody.”
“Professor Moody, Goyle.”
“Uh... right, Professor Moody.”
Hermione’s sharp correction made Goyle freeze for a mont before quickly adjusting his words. As for Pansy’s fiery glare, he wisely pretended not to notice.
The supposedly dim-witted gorilla, it seed, had his own rules for surviving the jungle.
In any case, the nervous way Goyle and Crabbe carried themselves imdiately caught Draco’s attention.
“Go on, then. What did you find out this ti?”
“It’s about that Moody—uh, Professor. Draco, if you knew what he did, you’d be just as angry as I am.”
“Oh?”
Draco’s mind instantly jumped back to the odd behavior of the Gryffindors during Divination.
Maybe the strange looks on Harry Potter and his friends’ faces had sothing to do with whatever Goyle was about to say.
And his hunch was right.
Just as Draco suspected, Goyle began recounting what had happened during Alastor Moody’s second Defense Against the Dark Arts class that morning.
By the ti he finished, both Pansy and Hermione were wearing the sa expression—equal parts anger and worry.
...
It was common knowledge.
When casting spells without verbal incantations, success depended on several strict prerequisites—precise pronunciation, control of magical power—but contrary to what most believed, the motion of the wand was not so rigidly fixed.
In short, there was no single, definitive way to move a wand when casting a spell.
Most wizards waved their wands instinctively, and with ti, these movents evolved into individual, habitual casting styles unique to each person.
This ant that, in many cases, one could analyze an opponent’s familiar gestures to roughly predict which spell they were about to cast.
Of course, it wasn’t foolproof, but it was still a viable thod...
Now, through ans and connections unknown, Alastor Moody had sohow obtained extensive information about Draco’s combat performance.
He’d taken that information and dissected it in ticulous detail, as if he were conducting the sa kind of analytical review used in the World Wizarding Duelling Championships—only now, it was part of his classroom curriculum.
The scope was exhaustive.
Even Draco’s use of Sectumsempra against the mountain troll in his first year—Snape’s own creation in Dark Magic—had been brought up and analyzed by Alastor Moody.
If Snape ever found out, he’d probably go pale with fury.
In his second year, Moody had reviewed Draco’s speed and precision during the Duelling Club and even speculated on the possible sequence of events that led to the defeat of the Basilisk.
As for last year—if not for a brief lapse in his magical control that forced him to stay under the radar—Draco would likely have found that year’s events picked apart in class as well.
So, after hearing Goyle and Crabbe’s account, Draco and the others finally understood why their faces had been so grim.
It looked like Moody was singling Draco out as a model student—but in truth, it was nothing of the sort.
By publicly analyzing Draco’s casting gestures, magical growth, and weak points, Moody had effectively laid bare his every strength and flaw for all of Hogwarts to study.
For any wizard, that was nothing short of a devastating blow.
...
“How could he do sothing like that!?”
“Hmph. You’re too naïve, Granger. Even after all these years of retirent, he’s still an Auror. Don’t expect them to play fair.”
“...”
Hermione, who only knew of Aurors from books, couldn’t refute soone like Pansy, who ca from a powerful pureblood background. Instead, she focused on finding a way to set things right.
“I’ll go to Professor McGonagall!”
“No need.”
Before Hermione could even stand, Draco—calm and unbothered—stopped her.
His deanor made it seem as though he didn’t care at all. Or perhaps he simply didn’t believe that sothing like this could ever give his peers an edge over him.
The confidence in his voice made Hermione pause, and his next words settled her agitation.
“It’s pointless. Haven’t you realized? Dumbledore allowed this to happen. Even if you go to Professor McGonagall, it won’t change a thing.”
“Headmaster Dumbledore? But... why?”
“Just a guess,” Draco said quietly. “Maybe I’ve beco a threat to soone.”
“Soone?”
Draco didn’t answer.
It was only speculation, after all.
On the surface, this might have seed like the deliberate act of a veteran Auror intolerant of darkness—but Draco sensed there was sothing deeper at play.
He felt that Moody’s intent went beyond simply targeting him.
Perhaps it was partly a reflection of the tension between the Ministry and Hogwarts... or maybe it was a calculated effort to build the confidence of younger wizards.
After all, showing that Draco Malfoy wasn’t invincible—that he had weaknesses, flaws, and spells he struggled with—could make others believe they could surpass him.
And, of course, to the world, he was still the Death Eater everyone loved to hate.
With that thought, Draco turned toward Pansy, who was already deep in thought, clearly planning sothing.
“Gather everyone. We’ll need to act as well.”
Pansy blinked, surprised for a mont, then nodded firmly.
Slytherins, after all, weren’t made to be anyone’s punching bag...
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